A Silken Thread

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Absolutely nothing. I’d bet Thaddeus’s tintype on it.” Miss Warner kept writing, not even glancing up. “It’s a dreadful mistake, and I intend to fight it all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary.”

  Berta gasped. “Did he murder somebody?”

  Miss Warner looked up with a withering glare. “Did I not say he’s done nothing for which to be arrested? But that fool Felton claims Willie stole the pay envelopes from this room.”

  Laurel’s knees went weak. She caught the edge of the desk to keep herself upright. “How…how did Mr. Felton come to that conclusion?”

  “I have no idea.” Miss Warner took up the pen again. “But it’s absolutely ludicrous. I’ve never met a kinder, more honest young man than Willie Sharp. Girls, return to your duties so I may concentrate. I want this letter to make an impact.” She bent over the page.

  Laurel, Felicia, and Berta put their arms around one another’s waists and moved as a unit to the loom. Laurel sank onto the stool, but she didn’t pick up the shuttle or reach for the warp beam. Her mind whirled and she couldn’t recall how to operate the loom. She sat with her hands in her lap, her gaze locked on the purple cloth.

  Berta glanced at Miss Warner, then leaned in. “Who do you suppose”—she whispered so softly Laurel turned her ear closer to hear—“accused Officer Sharp? I bet whoever did it is the real thief. That’s how it is in a lot of the mystery serials I’ve read.”

  Felicia’s green eyes grew round. “Or the accuser might want revenge on Officer Sharp for something.”

  A sick feeling filled Laurel’s stomach. Langdon had suggested Officer Sharp had the opportunity to take the pay envelopes. He’d often indicated resentment toward the officer. But Langdon wouldn’t be malicious enough to place a formal complaint without proof, would he?

  She stood and took two jerky steps sideways. “I…I need…” She clutched her stomach.

  Berta pointed to the door. “Go!”

  Laurel scurried out. She raced down the steps, skittered around a few stragglers on the walkway, and pounded across the bridge. She didn’t slow her pace until she reached the Georgia Manufacturers Building. Outside the doors she paused long enough to catch her breath and smooth a few stray wisps of hair into place. Then, trembling from head to toe, she entered the building and went directly to the Rochester booth. Two of the men she’d seen in the booth last time were there, and one was speaking with a middle-aged couple.

  She approached the second man. “Excuse me.”

  He smiled, showing off one gold tooth. “Yes, miss, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Lang—for Mr. Rochester.”

  “He hasn’t arrived yet today. May I deliver a message for you?” He pulled a small pad of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket and reached for a pencil on the table beside him.

  She considered refusing. How embarrassing to leave word with a stranger. But she needed to know if Langdon had anything to do with Officer Sharp’s arrest. “Yes, please. Ask him to come see Miss Millard.”

  The man applied the pencil to the pad. Then he looked at her, his expression bright. “ ‘See Miss Millard.’ Anything else?”

  “No, sir. He’ll know where to find me.” She would even take her lunch in the Silk Room so she’d be easily found.

  “Very well, miss. Good day.” He slid the pad into his pocket and joined the little group at the engine.

  Laurel made the return trip to the Women’s Building, walking this time instead of running. As she crossed the bridge, she couldn’t help noticing the rowboats on the water. She stopped and rested her hands on the wooden rail, watching a young man apply the oars and give a smiling young lady a ride.

  The urge to cry struck with force. Was it possible that the man with whom she’d taken boat rides, who’d treated her to lunches at the rooftop restaurant, and to whom she’d surrendered her heart could be cruel enough to arrange someone’s arrest? If he had, she knew his reason. Jealousy. Misplaced jealousy.

  If she were responsible for Officer Sharp being wrongly accused and jailed, she would never forgive herself. She moaned, “It’s not what I wanted…”

  “What’s that?”

  She spun around, her hand over her thumping heart. Quincy Tate, Officer Sharp’s friend, stood a few feet away, a boat oar over his shoulder like a fishing pole. She released a long breath. “Y-you startled me.”

  He flicked a wary look left and right, then seemed to focus somewhere behind her to her left. “Didn’ mean to. Heard you say somethin’. Didn’ know if you was talkin’ to me.”

  “No, I wasn’t, but I’m glad to see you.” She sensed his discomfort in communicating with her, so she pretended to gaze across the water. “Did you know that Officer Sharp was arrested and taken to jail?”

  The young man’s gaze met Laurel’s and then jerked away. “No. How’s come he git took in?”

  “He’s been accused of stealing.”

  Quincy snorted. “That don’t sound much like Willie. He learn bettuh a long time ago, when him an’ me snitched a couple o’ apples from a barrel at the market. His ma catched us eatin’ ’em an’ made us tell ’er where we got ’em. We both got our britches smoked. Never took nothin’ that ain’t mine since, an’ neither has Willie.”

  Hope fluttered in Laurel’s chest. “Would you be willing to tell Will—Officer Sharp’s supervisor what you told me?”

  “ ’Bout us gettin’ our britches smoked?”

  “No, about how you know Officer Sharp wouldn’t steal.”

  The man shifted the oar to his other shoulder. “Can’t do that, miss.”

  Laurel stomped her foot. “Why not? You’re his friend. You’ve known him since you were children. Your word could make all the difference.”

  Quincy puckered his lips and angled his face away from her. “Miss, ain’t no white man gon’ believe anythin’ I tell him. I jus’ be wastin’ words.” He trudged off, his heels scuffing on the bridge.

  Langdon

  Langdon leaned back in the springed chair and propped his feet on the edge of Father’s massive desk. The first thing he’d done upon arrival to Father’s office overlooking the factory floor was close the shutters to block as much noise as possible. For the first time, thanks to Willie Sharp’s unfortunate—or was it fortunate?—incarceration, Langdon had control of the factory for the morning. Possibly the whole day, if Father chose to spend all of Monday at the courthouse.

  Acid burned in the back of his throat every time he thought about Father roaring out of his chair in defense of that common laborer. But not even Father would believe in the man’s innocence once he learned about the large sum of money placed on Otto Sharp’s account at the convalescent hospital. Ninety dollars. The only way Willie Sharp could produce that amount would be to take it from someone. Or several someones.

  He wasn’t yet sure how he would bring this information to light without incriminating himself, but if he thought about it long and hard, he’d find a way. Father had instructed him to organize a stack of invoices, but Langdon passed it off to Father’s assistant. He couldn’t waste precious time shuffling through papers when his plan to elevate himself above Willie Sharp in his father’s eyes was only half-completed.

  Locking his hands behind his neck, he bounced the chair, stared at the painted ceiling, and waited for an idea to drop into his brain.

  Quincy

  Quincy paid his dime to a herdic driver and climbed into the back. He told the driver his address, then slumped low and rubbed his forehead. A pain throbbed behind his eyes. A worry pain. ’Cause of Willie.

  He didn’t wanna feel sorry for his old pal. Ever since Miss Millard told him about Willie, Quincy’d been trying not to think about him. But Willie stayed right there in Quincy’s mind, pesky as a gnat. Why’d it bother him so much that Willie was sitting in jail? Hadn’t he decided him and Willie couldn’t be friends no more? That they was too d
ifferent? He should be thinking serves him right, getting to find out how Quincy felt being locked up for no good reason. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t be glad about Willie.

  The cab bounced and jiggled side to side, scrambling the boiled egg he’d ate for his afternoon snack. He rubbed his belly and told that egg to stay put. The sick feeling in his gut maybe wasn’t all because of the egg, though.

  How many days now he been nursing his mad at Willie? Near three weeks. And that mad, it was festering inside him. “Whatever control you, that what owns you.” Mam hadn’t spoke one word about him being mad since the night she told him about being a slave to God or a slave to mammon, but it didn’t matter. She’d been yammering inside his head most every day since. The only way he’d get her quiet was choose. God or mammon?

  The herdic driver stopped the cab in the usual spot, four blocks away from Quincy’s house. The drivers, they’d take his ten cents and give ’im a ride, but they wouldn’t go clear to his neighborhood. Quincy tried to dredge up some indignation, but it refused to rise. With a sigh, he climbed out of the cab and started up the dirt street.

  Should he oughta tell Mam and Pap about Willie? They’d be plenty upset. They’d likely want to pray for him. Maybe try to take him some of Mam’s fried chicken and biscuits. The jail food, it was pretty bad. Part of him didn’t want to get Mam all upset, and part of him wanted Mam to say some prayers for Willie and carry him some chicken. He huffed, kicking the toe of his scuffed boot against the ground and sending dust flying. What was the matter with him, anyway? His insides were all in a muddle.

  He still hadn’t made up his mind—tell or don’t tell—when he got to the grassless yard of his folks’ house. He took one step from the street and Bunson come running out of the house, all a-smiling and whooping like it was Christmas morning. He run right up to Quincy and grabbed on to his arms.

  Quincy tried to shake him loose. “Lemme go, boy. What’sa matter with you? You actin’ like you ain’t got no sense.”

  Bunson laughed. “You gon’ be actin’ thataway in a minute. Guess what Pap brung home from the post office.”

  Something inside Quincy’s chest made a jump. “It come?”

  “It come!”

  Quincy danced a circle in the yard with his brother, laughing at the sky. Then he broke loose and galloped to the house. He skidded to a stop on the wood floor, and right there on the settee, all laid out like somebody’d been raptured out of it, was his suit, vest, and bow tie. He hissed through his teeth and admired it all.

  The little ones gathered around him, smiling like a host of jack-o’-lanterns. Sassy aimed a pudgy finger for one of the buttons.

  Quincy grabbed her wrist. “Nuh-uh. Don’t touch. It ain’t yours.” Sassy’s lower lip poked out, and Quincy used one of her little braids to tap the end of her nose. She hunched her shoulders and giggled. Quincy sighed. “My oh my, ain’t it a fine-lookin’ suit?”

  Bunson nudged Quincy. “Try it on. See how it looks.”

  Quincy grimaced. “I’s too dirty. Don’t wanna muck it up.”

  “If you’d transferred any of that muck onto my clothes, you would have paid to have them cleaned.”

  Langdon Rochester’s voice blasted through Quincy’s mind, and rage-burn stirred in his chest. “See if Mam’ll lemme have a bath.”

  Port gaped up at him, showing the big gap where his two front teeth had falled out. “You gon’ take a bath on a Monday?”

  Quincy grinned. “If Mam’ll fill the tub, I am.”

  The three littlest ones stared at each other, then darted for the kitchen at once, their bare feet pounding the floorboards, all hollering for Mam.

  Bunson sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Quince. It’s the finest suit I ever did see.”

  Quincy nodded.

  “You gon’ look like a real gentleman when you got it all on.”

  And just like that, an idea hit Quincy square on the head. He grinned at Bunson and nodded hard. “A gentleman. Uh-huh.” He better go convince Mam to let ’im have that bath on a Monday.

  Laurel

  The carriage came to a stop and Laurel reached for the door. Before she caught the handle, it opened. She gave a start. Eugene was still nursing his toe and hadn’t climbed down from the seat to help her in, so she hadn’t expected him to assist her out. She extended her hand and received the second surprise of the morning.

  “Langdon?”

  He smiled his disarming smile and bowed. “At your service, my dear.”

  A nervous giggle built in her throat. She clenched her teeth to control it and took his hand. She stepped from the carriage, waved to Eugene, then slipped her fingers into the bend of Langdon’s arm. “I wasn’t sure I would see you today.” She hadn’t seen him yesterday. She wanted to ask if he’d received her message and chose to ignore it, but she couldn’t find the courage.

  He placed his gloved hand over her fingers and guided her through the tunnel. “I wasn’t sure I would have time to seek you out, either. Thus my decision to meet your carriage and at least steal a few minutes of your day.” He gave her one of his lazy, crooked smiles. “I hope you were pleasantly surprised.”

  Surprised, most definitely. She had yet to determine whether it was pleasant. “Have you heard the news that Officer Sharp was taken into custody on a charge of theft?” She observed his face for hints of guilt or satisfaction. Either reaction would tell her a great deal.

  His lips tipped downward into a moue of sympathy. “I actually witnessed the officers placing him in the police wagon. Such a distressing scene.” His hand pressed more firmly against hers. “I hope you believe that I didn’t want my suppositions proved true. I know you’re…fond…of Willie Sharp.”

  He sounded sincere, but something in his eyes—a tiny glimmer of smugness—unnerved her. “All of us in the Silk Room were quite distraught. Especially Miss Warner. She holds a great deal of affection for Willie.” His gaze narrowed. Heat attacked her face. “That is, Officer Sharp.”

  At once his expression cleared. “Yes, well, some people are adept at hiding their true character. But eventually it will be revealed. I’m sorry you had to experience the reality of Mr. Sharp’s duplicity.”

  Laurel shook her head, examining his face. “Oh, none of us in the Silk Room are convinced he is guilty. As a matter of fact, Miss Warner believes he’s been framed by an unscrupulous individual, and she’s set on proving it.”

  “Is that so?” He met her gaze, seemingly mildly amused rather than indignant or worried. “I hope she won’t be too badly crushed when it’s proven he did take the money.”

  Laurel’s feet refused to take another step.

  He stopped, too, and frowned down at her. “What is it, dear?”

  Did you arrange Willie’s arrest? The query hovered on her tongue. She gazed into his handsome, concerned face, while a war took place under her skin. If she asked the question and Langdon said yes, she would be devastated. Eugene had told her she was brave, but at that moment she possessed not even a smidgen of bravery.

  She sighed and hung her head. “I’d better go to the Silk Room. Miss Warner is already upset about Officer Sharp. I don’t want to add to her concerns by arriving late.”

  “That’s very considerate of you. Come along.” He drew her forward. At the base of the stairs, he bent over her hand and gave her his customary kiss. He straightened and smiled. “Please don’t spend your day brooding over Officer Sharp’s situation. My father has hired one of the best lawyers in Atlanta to represent him.” A hint of disapproval sharpened his tone, although his smile remained intact. “If he is indeed innocent, it will come out at the trial.”

  Laurel’s pulse skipped a beat. “When is the trial?”

  “Next Monday morning, at eight o’clock.” He squeezed her hand. “Would you like to meet for lunch by Clara Meer today? Perhaps a picnic on a rowboat?”

  Longing fl
ooded her. How enticing he was when he spoke so sweetly and held her hand so tenderly. She nodded. “Yes. If you aren’t too busy.”

  “I’ll make the time for you, my dear.” He gave her a gentle nudge. “Go on in, now.”

  Miss Warner was at her desk, pen in hand. Laurel hurried over to her. “Next Monday morning, Officer Sharp will face the judge.” Mama would be appalled at Laurel’s lack of courtesy, but there wasn’t time for manners.

  The woman bolted upright. “Do you know the time for his trial?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  Miss Warner gave a firm nod. “We will close the Silk Room and attend the trial. If they allow character witnesses, I shall be the first to volunteer.”

  Laurel raised her chin. “And I shall be second.”

  Quincy

  Quincy slid the bundle holding his new suit under the bench in the maintenance shack. Mam’d folded it just right and then wrapped it real careful with brown paper and tied it with string. It’d keep nice until he could put it on come lunchtime for his visit to Willie’s supervisor. Trick now would be staying clean until then.

  Pride puffed his chest as he recalled how his brothers and sisters had all oohed and aahed over him when he tried on the suit last night. Pap’d got watery eyed, and Mam’d told him he looked smart as a lawyer. He’d knowed that suit would make him different. When he talked to Mr. Felton about Willie being innocent, that man’d surely listen ’cause he couldn’t help but listen to a man dressed as fine as a lawyer.

  Cass came in and headed for the corner where they kept their tools. “Mornin’, Quincy. It’s fixin’ to be a sunshiny day. Clouds’re rollin’ off, an’ I hear tell they finally got the fountain workin’. Exposition ’fficials gon’ make it shoot up watuh at noontime. Ain’t that gon’ be a sight to behold?”

  Quincy perked up. “Noontime, you say?”