A Love So True

by Melissa Jagears

  He tapped the railing. He could run this factory during the day and help the orphans at night. Plus, if the orphanage was ever shut down or Evelyn decided she wanted to leave, he’d be able to provide for her without hiccup.

  Nicholas never said a good male role model had to be present at the orphanage at all times. Perhaps a few soiled doves could help Evelyn during the day, as she’d once hoped.

  It wouldn’t be what Father wanted for his life—but was it what he wanted?

  I need some advice, God, one way or the other. Help me figure out if I’m just fascinated by a woman I don’t understand or whether I’m called to her for deeper reasons.

  After filling his lungs with the cool air the furnaces would turn muggy within the hour, David pushed off the balcony and headed into the offices.

  Mr. Elliot was already at work, a pen behind his ear, a stack of papers lying in front of him. If his invoice manager had had a family, he would’ve insisted the man not work so much, but since he had kept the office running so smoothly after Mr. Burns and his nephew had stomped out, David was more than willing to pay him for the extra hours.

  “Good morning, Mr. Elliot.”

  The man looked up at him and then at his office door. “Good morning to you, Mr. Kingsman.”

  David leaned over to pick up a paper that had fallen to the floor, set it on Mr. Pennysworth’s desk, then headed into his office.

  But he stopped halfway through the door.

  “Finally made it to work, eh?” Father sat behind his desk, his broad shoulders making David’s chair look small. He used a pen to point at him. “I’ve always stressed it’s best to start work an hour before everyone else—that’s how you get ahead.” He put down his pen and stared, his blue eyes narrowed as if trying to determine where best to stick the tip of a fishing knife to gut his own son. The man had never met a person he couldn’t criticize to death.

  David pressed his lips together, though his tongue itched to tell Father to return home. He turned his back on him and hung up his things. Since Father hadn’t bothered to say good morning, neither would he. He’d thought today would be a good day on the way to the factory. Clearly he’d been wrong.

  He pulled his flask out of his satchel. He was going to need a lot of coffee. “What are you doing here?” Thankfully his voice sounded on an even keel, despite the anxiety roiling inside him.

  Father flipped over a stack of papers and picked up a folder. “When you refuse to do as I ask, what do you expect? This place should have already been under negotiation, and you haven’t even put it on the market. I sent you a very explicit letter telling you we don’t have time for you to fix things up.”

  David pointed at the ledger on the desk. “Have you looked at the books yet? I’ve gotten the profit margin up eight percent in just six weeks. Look at my trajectories.” He stomped over and flipped open a notebook to a series of charts. “I’ve increased our output without hiring any more men, I’ve gotten seven new clients, I made several promising contacts this week, I’ve reinvested—”

  “I’m not interested, son.” Father let his fist fall onto the desk like a heavily weighted ax.

  Well, he was interested, and wasn’t he a partner? “Of course, this business alone won’t make us millionaires, but—”

  “Exactly—it’s not a business worth babying.” Father’s well-chiseled face was hard, but then, it was rarely ever soft. “What I need is the money this place will bring—as is.”

  “But if we reinvest our operational profits moderately to maximize—”

  “Son, that’s all fine and dandy in the long run, but I needed the profit from the sale. And then with the money you’d bring in marrying Marianne—”

  “I’m not going to marry Marianne.”

  Father’s gaze was as inflexible as his waxed mustache. “There’s no one better suited for you.”

  To a certain extent, Father was right. He understood Marianne. He knew all her secrets, she understood family business, and they ran in the same circles. “But Marianne is not in love with me.”

  “Do you think her infatuation with your secretary matters?”

  Father knew about that? “Yes, I think that matters.” Though he wouldn’t call it an infatuation.

  “She’ll get over it.” Father went back to looking at whatever paper he had in front of him as if the subject was settled.

  Before now, David would have simply found something else to do, and perhaps after Father had simmered, he’d quietly push for what he wanted. But that was before he’d met Evelyn. Before he knew Nicholas and Lydia and had seen firsthand that a man could be successful in business while also having a family he loved. And not just that he loved, but that he valued over his business endeavors. “Being forced to marry someone she doesn’t love is not something Marianne will get over.”

  “Give her time.”

  “Even if time might help her, it won’t help me. I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t love me.” He licked his lips and swallowed against his tight throat. He already knew how it was to live with someone who didn’t love him. How could he choose to do that to himself for the remainder of his life?

  Father looked at him as though they’d never met before. “It’s not as if you’re interested in anyone.”

  David had to swallow twice before he could answer. It would be easier to keep things to himself, but he couldn’t do that anymore. What kind of husband would he be if Father controlled his every dream? “That’s not true.”

  Father stopped fiddling with the papers again. “It’s not? Who are you considering? I’ve only heard of a few men with daughters wealthy enough down here to be in your social strata.”

  “She’s not one of them and likely has nothing to her name.”

  “That’s foolishness, son.” He waved his hand dismissively and went back to flipping pages.

  “Why would it be foolish if I love her?” He slapped a hand on the papers Father was using to ignore him. “I don’t need money to be happy.”

  Father sighed as if he couldn’t possibly believe David needed an explanation. “When considering marriage, you can’t just take love into consideration. Within the year, your wife could die in childbirth, and then what would you have to show for it?”

  He turned cold all the way down to his toes. His father had nothing to show for his marriage after his mother died? “Perhaps you’d have a son to show for it, Father.”

  “Well, yes, a child, but a wife?” He waved his hand in the air again. “The more you’re attached to her, the harder it is when she’s gone. It’s not worth the heartache.”

  “Is that why you’ve treated me this way my whole life? Do you consider it my fault Mother died having me? You’re getting revenge by making sure I’ll never experience the love you did?”

  His father blinked at him as if he wasn’t sure his normally pliable son actually stood in front of him. “That love ripped my heart out, son. Business doesn’t rip your heart out.”

  Father was indeed heartless, he couldn’t argue that. “You’re wrong. It’s a father who cares more about his business than his own son that rips a person’s heart out.”

  “Why do you think I do all of this?” He hit his fist against the desk. “I’m working to set you up so you can live as you deserve.”

  “I don’t care about a large inheritance. I just want to be happy, and I can be as happy in Teaville as I can be in Kansas City—or Africa, for that matter.” He closed the folder his father had been going through and took it away. “Let me have this factory. Keep the rest for yourself.”

  Father eyed him for a second, his mouth twitching. “No.”

  “And if your refusal drives me to dissolve the partnership?”

  “Don’t you even think about leaving me.” He pointed at him. Whether his hand was shaking from fear or anger, he couldn’t tell. Both most likely.

  David refused to look at Father’s accusatory finger. “I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t be ridiculous.” He waved the back of his hand at him as if their conversation had become as bothersome as a buzzing fly. “I need you to oversee the books and deal with people.”

  Really? Since when did Father ever need him? “But you’ve never been impressed with anything I do. You could easily replace me with someone you like better.”

  “Wrong, I sent you here because you were the best one to take care of this. Teaville is too small for me and my brashness. If I angered one person, I might anger them all. I’ve done well enough in the big city because there’s plenty of people eager to make a deal there.” He marched toward the window. “You could have sold this factory with ease, negotiated the daylights out of it, and left Teaville with everyone loving you. You’re so inoffensive, you and the buyer likely would have become friends in the process. Me? I’d probably sell it for more than you—if I didn’t manage to irritate everyone in town wealthy enough to purchase it.”

  Did his ears deceive him, or had Father rattled off several backhanded compliments? Did he actually think well of him in certain aspects, or was he just placating him? Did he actually love him but the only way he showed it was by creating a business empire for him? “I’m supposed to be a partner, so why didn’t you tell me that was why you were sending me here? Treat me as an equal rather than bossing me around as if I’m still twelve.”

  He looked at David for a moment or two, his jaw moving in contemplation, then shook his head. “No, you’re soft enough as it is.”

  Apparently expecting more than a handful of indirect praises in one day was unrealistic. “Then I’ll stop being soft and tell you you’re making a foolish decision. Keeping this place is smarter.”

  “But I need the money now.” Father pushed back the hair on his forehead, pulling his wrinkled skin tight. Then he blew out a breath, and his shoulders bent inward. “I made a bad deal, son. A really bad one.”

  The man was just too calculating to make a bad deal. But he’d never seen his father wilt like that either. As much as David was tempted to tell him he couldn’t care less, this was his father’s entire world. He sat on the edge of the desk and shook his head. “Again, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Who wants to admit to a failure if it can be fixed?” He stared off into space for a minute, then sighed. “If I don’t come up with five thousand dollars to pay back Mr. Quaid by year’s end, he’ll no longer sell to us. And if anyone gets wind of why he’s cutting off doing business with me, others will follow suit. That doesn’t even take into account I’ve failed to pay the Jacobs brothers for the past two months.”

  If he could get this place running as it should, he could likely pay Mr. Quaid off in . . . eight months, maybe. Surely he could negotiate more time with Quaid. Unless there was more Father wasn’t telling him. “Do you owe anyone else?”

  “No, but it’s not going to look good if we don’t settle up, considering the other debts I have that have not been called in . . . yet. If others start refusing our business, the hit to our reputation would make our customers nervous and things could go downhill quickly. It’s better to sell this place, pay the debt, and avoid the taint to our name completely.”

  Had Father been doing business like this all along? Maybe he shouldn’t have been obeying Father’s seemingly erratic commands without question. David took a moment to recall how involved they were with Quaid. “Why are you so concerned about Mr. Quaid supplying us anyway? If he can’t appreciate how much business we’ve given him and grant us a bit of leniency, then maybe we should find ourselves a new supplier and scale things back. There are more important people you should try to win over than men who only look at you in terms of dollars and cents.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like me.”

  Father just stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “You’d rather us hold on to five percent of our holdings than clear our name with Quaid?”

  “I’m afraid I really don’t care one way or the other.”

  “Then what do you care about? Besides cooking and girly stuff.”

  David’s fists clenched, wanting to prove with a jab to his father’s nose just how manly he could be. “Being valued at more than five percent of your holdings, that’s what I care about. Having someone be proud of what I can do, who supports me in my endeavors.”

  A ridge of skin popped up between Father’s brows, and his mustache contorted as his mouth scrunched in confusion. “So it’s all about you, then?”

  “No, Father, it’s all about others.”

  “Fine, if you want to marry someone else, do so, but I still want this factory sold by next month.” He pulled a note from his chest pocket and held it out to him. “You’ll have to break the news to Marianne though. She wanted you to have this as soon as I saw you.”

  Maybe he could end this silly business about Marianne right now. She’d told him she’d let him know when she and Calvin decided to become serious. He slipped the letter from Father’s hands and tore it open.

  Dear David,

  I believe my dreams are only just that. Calvin won’t consider me. I’m beginning to wonder if my parents are correct. Though I’ve fancied Calvin, you’re the one I run to with all my problems and felt safe enough to talk to about my feelings for him. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a friend for the rest of my life than you. Perhaps we’ve been fighting our parents over this not because it’s such a bad idea, but because we just wanted to have a say in the matter.

  I’d like to talk when you get back. I hope you’re doing well for yourself. Your father is steamed, so perhaps you are. Best of luck with him.

  Your Mari

  “Well?” Father’s eyebrows lifted.

  He refolded the note and blew out a breath. If he’d gotten this letter a few weeks ago, he’d have caved—as Father seemed to expect, considering his triumphant expression.

  But he didn’t want to pick the easiest path anymore. He wanted to be like Mr. Hargrove when he told his parents that law school wasn’t for him. He needed to forge his own path, live his own life, strive for the greatest reward—no matter how difficult it might be.

  He could explain to Father that he was done capitulating, but talking with him had never truly worked. He’d have to prove himself by standing with conviction. This note didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to marry Marianne. “Doesn’t change anything.”

  Father stilled and pulled on his mustache. “It doesn’t?”

  Had he ever confused Father more than he had today? Hopefully the man would start trying to understand him instead of assuming he knew what his son thought.

  “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at the clock and took in the sounds of the factory coming to life. “Now, excuse me. I need to get to work.”

  32

  “Where do I put the dirty towels?” One of the two women David had just hired scuttled over to him as if afraid he’d manhandle her for forgetting. Kathleen had been skittish yesterday when Queenie had brought her and Bethany to meet him, and the fear that simply rolled off her made his heart ache.

  He wanted to give her a hug, but knowing such a gesture would be the furthest thing from comfort for her . . . Well, how could he not wish God would come down and punish every man who took advantage of the red-light district and turned a woman into such a shell? He refrained from touching her and pointed across the factory floor. “You’ll need to wash them first. You can do that in the washroom right there. Hang them up, and then tomorrow, one of my janitors will put them away in the closet. If you see any dry ones on the line, fold them and do the same.”

  “Yes, sir.” She walked backward a few steps before turning around to scurry to the washroom.

  Was she backing away so she could keep an eye on him or out of some sort of deference? It was quite unnerving, but at least Bethany acted more normal.

  He walked over to where she was scrubbing the stairs. The two women would clean until nightfall, as they had last night, but he wanted to be sure they underst
ood the list so they didn’t run out of things to do. “Is there anything you need explained before I leave?”

  Bethany pulled out the paper he’d given her earlier. Thankfully she could read, though Kathleen couldn’t. He’d not considered what he would have done if both were illiterate.

  She scanned the items. “Where’s the mail room?”

  He pointed up the stairs. “Third door. Don’t move any papers, even if it looks a mess.”

  “I understand.” She kept looking at him instead of going back to work.

  “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  She dropped her gaze onto the soapy water glazing the stairs. “I’m not sure this is going to work, but I thank you for being willing to try.”

  “I don’t know why it can’t. I’ll try my hardest if you will.” Except he wasn’t sure what to do come winter, since it would be best that they work after hours, and keeping the lights on later would only call attention to them working here alone. If the women’s home didn’t exist by then . . . he’d have to think of something else for them to do. “Remember, I want you to leave at least twenty minutes before nightfall, even if you don’t finish the tasks for the day.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you again.” She picked up her brush and attacked the stair with a vengeance.

  He’d gotten carried away trying to come up with ways to give Evelyn her dreams and gotten too far ahead of himself. When he’d asked Queenie if she knew of any women who’d want to escape the district, he’d not thought about them leaving the second they knew they could. But how could he possibly refuse to help, no matter how ill prepared he was? He’d give up all his comforts before he sent either back to her former vocation.

  Without a women’s home though, he’d had to find housing for them quickly, so he’d bought a tiny house that was, unfortunately, right next to the railroad tracks. It was available and cheap and nowhere near the bad part of town. It lacked charm, a floor, and windows, but they’d have a place completely their own.