A Life Worth Living (2 page)

Now he wished he hadn’t attended the Biltmore dedication at all. He didn’t think it likely that in the large crowd he would even come face-to-face with Dora or that she would even recognize him. So he was surprised when she had made an effort to single him out at the party. With all the other men of her own class attending the big celebration, why had she chosen to spend most of the day with him? It had puzzled him throughout the night.

Allen looked with disfavor on his petite young cousin, Marie, who sat beside him. She kept talking about Biltmore and what a good time she’d had the day before. She must have become aware that he was displeased with her when she asked, “What’s causing that scowl on your face?”

“I didn’t realize my face was any different from usual.”

Marie laughed. “Well, it looks like a thundercloud, and I can’t figure out why. You monopolized the belle of the ball yesterday. You should be happy, happy, happy this morning.”

He smiled slightly. “You always have been a nosy brat. I didn’t sleep much last night, so don’t pick at me this morning.”

Marie was always a person who sensed when others were downhearted, but judging from the humor mirrored in her eyes, she didn’t realize how the hours he’d spent in the presence of Dora, a New York socialite, had changed his life. Allen had always considered himself immune from attractive women, but he’d overestimated his willpower. After he’d helped Dora in the forest, he had supposed she’d returned to New York, and he doubted that he’d ever see her again. Then yesterday he’d gone to that dedication. His first glimpse of Dora had hit him like a bolt of lightning. During the time they’d spent together, she’d made it fairly evident that she intended to keep in touch with him.

“I’m sorry,” Marie said. “I was pleased to see you enjoy-ing yourself.”

Allen doubted that she was sorry. Marie had pestered him since she was old enough to toddle around the house. Although he hadn’t lived with her parents, they’d treated him like a son, and he’d been at their home quite often.

“Oh well, forget it.”

“I figured you’d be in a good humor this morning. Dora Porter is one of New York City’s most illustrious women, and you had the privilege of spending most of the day with her. I understand she’s not easily attracted to men, but you seemed to be an exception.” She smiled slyly. “In fact, I thought I heard you arrange to accompany her on a horseback ride into the mountains tomorrow.”

He scowled at Marie, thankful that she hadn’t heard about his rescue of Dora. Apparently Dora hadn’t told anyone about their encounter, and he certainly had no intention of mentioning it. Actually, it was such a precious memory to him that he didn’t want to share it with anyone.

“I might remind you that it isn’t nice to eavesdrop, but it was a foolish thing for me to do. The way she was decked out in diamonds and other finery, it’s obvious I can’t afford her company. I’ll have to send word that I can’t keep the appointment.”

Marie grinned widely. “Coward.”

“And another thing—don’t ask me to take you to Biltmore again,” Allen said. “If they have another party, your brother can escort you.”

“You know very well that Earl won’t go. He’s more interested living in that mountain cabin of his, pretend-ing he’s a frontiersman, than to associate with his family.”

Allen didn’t answer, and Marie sighed, wondering why she and her brother were so different. She’d always heard that most twins were inseparable, but that certainly wasn’t true of Earl and herself.

They passed through Canaan, which had grown considerably from the small village that Vance Bolden had established twenty years ago. It was still a small town, where everyone knew everyone else, so they waved and called greetings to all visible residents. Canaan hadn’t changed much since Allen had left it three years ago.

Leaving town, they turned south from Canaan and followed a creek valley for about a mile when they rounded a curve in the road and Sunrise Manor came into view. A square two-story brick dwelling, the home of Vance and Evelyn Bolden, stood on a hill above the creek. Eight shuttered windows dominated the front of the house, and a small portico covered the massive front wooden door. Dry leaves from the two towering maple trees in front of the house littered the ground. A white picket fence surrounded a lawn, and a large barn and other outbuildings were located on a hill behind the house. Allen had come to this area as a boy, and here he’d grown to manhood. But he’d never seemed to fit into the society of Canaan, so he’d moved farther south.

As they approached the lawn, Jasper, a caretaker of the property, came out to take charge of their horses. A tall, well-built man stepped out of the front door and waved a hand in greeting. Vance Bolden’s hair had turned gray, and he had put on some extra pounds, but he was still the same vibrant, authoritative man who’d led a wagon train of settlers from South Carolina to Canaan in 1875. Marie jumped from the buggy and rushed to her father. He picked her up and spun her around a couple of times.

“I’ve missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“Same with your mother and me, but did you have a good time? That’s all that matters.”

“I did,” Marie assured him. “It must be nice to have enough money to live in a house like Biltmore and to throw a party that hundreds of people attended.” She looked around the yard, at the view of the mountains to the west, and when her mother stepped out of the house, she said, “But I wouldn’t trade what we have for all the money in the world.”

Evelyn Bolden hugged her daughter. “When I hear you make a remark like that, I know your father and I brought you up as you should be.”

“By the way,” Marie said, “all the Asheville cousins send their love. They were so nice to me.”

Evelyn turned toward the front door. “Come in the house. Fannie just took a pan of gingerbread from the oven, so let’s have a snack.”

As he entered the home, Allen marveled at this woman who still treated him like family. In spite of a disastrous shipwreck that had almost taken her life, she had adjusted well to her new life in the United States. Her light hair had not turned gray, she was still slender, and the strength of her character had only grown stronger through the years. Although his biological parents still lived in South Carolina, Evelyn Bolden was the one who had “mothered” him.

Sometimes he wondered if he should return to his birthplace for a visit, but the longer he lived here, the farther away his old home seemed. He wasn’t a rich man by any means, but he owned his own farm, free from debt, made an adequate living with his carpentry work, and belonged to a church where the pastor fed his soul each Sunday when he expounded on the Word of God. He hadn’t possessed any of those things in his childhood home. No! He had all he needed.

two

Dora’s eyes widened at her father’s words. Although she knew Oliver Porter wasn’t given to levity, she did wonder if she’d heard him correctly.

“What did you say?”

They were sitting alone in a large room at Biltmore when Oliver handed her a brown envelope. “Happy birthday,” he said.

Speechless, Dora stared at him.

“Your twenty-eighth birthday is next week, isn’t it?” he prompted.

“Well, yes,” she answered. “But you haven’t remembered my birthday for a long time.”

An expression, which was more like a smirk than a smile, spread across his face. “I know I’ve been lax in my attentions, but I’m making up for it now. Here, take it!” he said, pushing the envelope into her hand.

Her father had hardly acknowledged her birthdays, so little wonder that his sudden change of heart surprised her.

“It isn’t polite to refuse a gift. I’m your father; I want to give gifts to you.”

“Thank you,” she answered, wondering what his ulterior motive was.

“I’m making up for my neglect,” he said. “I’ve bought complete ownership of a textile mill here in Asheville, and I had the deed made out to you. George Vanderbilt knew that I was interested in buying property in this state, and he notified me that the Fairfield Textile Mill was for sale. That’s the reason I paid him a visit. I’m too busy with my New York and New England investments to manage this plant, but the price was reasonable and the mill is making quite a lot of money. It’s a good investment. I expect you to live here and operate this business as if you were my son.”

To a young woman who’d lived all of her life in New York City, such a statement seemed like being banished to a desert island. It had never been any secret that her father resented the fact that she was a female instead of the son who’d died in infancy. As if that was her fault! When he was so upset because she wasn’t a boy, she’d often wondered why he hadn’t married again after her mother had died giving birth to her. Still, he’d loved her mother devotedly and apparently not even for the possibility of a son would he have taken another wife. Instead, he’d tried to mold Dora into a boy. As she’d matured, Dora became known as one of the most attractive and eligible women in New York. But apparently her father still had hopes that she would take more interest in his wealth and business affairs. However, she’d never dreamed that he would carry his aspirations for her to this level.

“Father, you can’t be serious! I don’t know anything about operating a textile mill. I’d bankrupt the place before a year was out. If you want this mill, surely there are qualified local men who could be the manager.”

“Yes, I’m searching for one. In the meantime, I’ve hired a local man to get the mill in the shape it needs to be. The mill has great possibilities, but the previous owner let the place run down. George Vanderbilt recommended Allen Bolden, a carpenter, who has done a lot of work at Biltmore. He’s also worked at the textile mill. He’s on good terms with the people who work in the plant. I went to his farm and talked with him today and asked him to become general manager. He absolutely refused, but he finally agreed to take care of the maintenance work on a six-month basis and that he would advise you if you had questions. I believe he has the know-how to get you started here. He’s a smart man and can teach you the ins and outs of this business. I don’t doubt that the two of you can work together and make this the best plant in the South.”

Although Dora was irritated at her father for forcing her into a situation without even asking her consent, she could think of worse things than to be associated in a business venture with Allen Bolden. The man had made a favorable impression on her—a situation she hadn’t experienced before. If she was forced into ownership of a textile mill, she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have working with her, but it was by far the most ridiculous idea her father had sprung on her yet. Besides, she had a feeling that Allen wouldn’t like having a woman for his boss. The possibility of seeing more of Allen intrigued her, but it still angered her that her father took her for granted.

“Father, do you think it’s fair that you made all these plans without even consulting me? I’ve lived in New York all my life, and you’re expecting me to pull up roots and spend the rest of my life here.”

As usual he didn’t try to justify his actions, but con-tinued talking as if she hadn’t spoken. “You don’t get ahead in this world by always being fair. This is a big opportunity for us. It will be April before I get control of the plant. That will give you several months to get used to the idea.”

Dora didn’t answer him. If she had a few months, she might convince her father that she wasn’t suited for the work. Since her father was leaving for New York today, she was glad now that she’d let Mrs. Vanderbilt persuade her to spend a few more weeks with them. She didn’t want her father to suspect her interest in Allen and that she was pleased to have more time with him.

Compared to men all over the world who’d tried to win her affection, she wondered why she favored Allen. She’d been pursued by some of the most eligible men without becoming interested in any of them. What was it about Allen that kept him constantly on her mind? Of medium height, he wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but his wide shoulders and rugged appearance contributed to the strength and vitality that seemed to emanate from him like bolts of lightning. Perhaps it was the ready smile that caused his deep-set brown eyes to sparkle when he was amused. She had a feeling, however, that when he was crossed, those same eyes could blaze with anger and determination. Being honest with herself, she had a feeling that she was drawn to him in part because he seemed oblivious to her charm and beauty, which most men raved about.

❧

In spite of being irritated because he’d fallen under the spell of Dora Porter, Allen couldn’t stop thinking of her. His sleep had been troubled with dreams about her, and the morning passed slowly as he waited until he could see her again. Soon after noon, he chose two of his thoroughbred horses from the stable of the small farm he owned on the outskirts of Fairfield. Riding his favorite mare and leading Dora’s mount, he rode through town.

Fairfield was much like a few other mill towns Allen had visited. Thomas McCallum, the first owner, had been concerned about the welfare of the mill people. He had provided attractive houses set off by lawns, hedges, and flowers. He maintained a community center and a farm that furnished villagers with fresh eggs, milk, chickens, and vegetables. However, the current owner of the textile mill had let working and housing conditions degrade. His ultimate concern for maximizing profits had led Fairfield from a clean, modest community to a run-down area in desperate need of improvement and repair.

A man with a deep Christian faith, Allen was pleased that a church had been established several years before the textile mill was built, when there were only a few residents in the area. Most of the newcomers were happy that the church provided a spiritual home for them and their families—it was one attribute that drew workers to the community.

The houses were mostly one-story cottages, although a few of the residents had two-story dwellings. He was somewhat surprised when he learned from George Vanderbilt that the new owner was intending to make many changes in the mill operation. He prayed that it would be a blessing to the employees rather than make their workload heavier.

The main road bypassed Fairfield and passed through the neighboring town of Asheville, which Allen followed and approached Biltmore from the south. A maid welcomed him to a porch on the rear of the mansion, where he waited until Dora joined him. He noticed a slight limp, but her face was animated, so he assumed that her injury wasn’t causing much trouble. At least riding a horse wouldn’t be difficult for her, and he wondered if she had looked forward to this afternoon as much as he had.

They headed northwest from the Biltmore Estate, riding single file until the trail widened. Surprised that he had become so quickly attuned to her moods, Allen sensed a difference in Dora. She wasn’t the vivacious woman he’d met a few days ago. Was she sorry she’d agreed to go riding with him? Probably not, since she had greeted him warmly and smiled at him when he’d helped her into the saddle. Still, her expression seemed strained.

When the trail widened and they could ride side by side, he halted his horse until she caught up with him. Then he followed a trail that would take them closer to the mountains.

Dora rode in silence beside him for a few miles before she sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not very good company today.”

Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, but I don’t usually offer advice.” He paused. “Unless I’m asked for it,” he added with a slight smile.

Dora still seemed lost in her personal thoughts. “I should be used to it by now,” she said bitterly, “but my father dominates my life. I’m almost twenty-eight years old, and at times he treats me like a child. Do you know that he’s bought the Fairfield Textile Mill?”

“Yes, of course. I do their carpentry work, and I was there repairing some stair steps this morning. That’s all anyone could talk about.”

“Well, in a few months, they’re going to have a new boss.”

Surprised, he asked, “Who?”

“You’re looking at her!”

Momentarily speechless, Allen couldn’t imagine why Dora would be distressed by her father’s gift. He couldn’t think of any business he would rather own than the local textile mill. “And you don’t want the mill?”

“Of course not! I’ve lived in New York all my life. And while I consider this a wonderful area for a vacation, I don’t want to live here. If he’d just given me a choice in the matter, I might have agreed, but he makes decisions for me as if I’m a child. Right now I can’t think of anything I’d like less than to own a textile mill.”

They had reached an open place with a vivid view of purple-hued mountains to the west, and he halted his horse. “Shall we stop for a while? We can talk some more.”

“Yes, please,” she said. “I’m too upset to be handling a horse anyway.”

Allen helped her dismount and tied the horses in a small patch of vegetation where they could graze. She sat on a rock outcropping, and he reclined on the ground beside her.

Hesitantly, he said, “I think it’s only fair to tell you that you won’t be the only one upset.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean many people who work at the mill might be superstitious about having a woman as their boss.”

“Including you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “If the boss is you, I probably wouldn’t mind, but it would take some getting used to.”

Even knowing how inferior his circumstances were to the way she’d lived all of her life, he was already attracted to her. It wouldn’t be pleasant for him to have her as his employer. He’d thought that she would soon return to New York, and he wouldn’t see her again—that he’d eventually forget her, which would be best for him. It would be disastrous for him to have her living in the area where he would see her often. Already he was attracted to her more than any woman he’d ever met. He didn’t believe that he was in love with her—he hadn’t known her long enough for that—but he didn’t trust his emotions if he saw her often.

“You surely don’t think I’d want to boss a bunch of men!”

She spat the words out as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Amused in spite of himself, and wondering why she disliked men, he said, “There are women as well as men who work in the mill, and I’ve known you long enough to believe that you can do anything you want to do. But you don’t have to do what he says, do you?”

“No, but he hinted that he’d disinherit me if I refused his offer.”

When they’d met at Biltmore, he had learned that she was an only child. “I doubt he’d treat you that way. With the money he apparently has, I wouldn’t think you’d want his riches to go elsewhere.”

Dora shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. He has a nephew, Blake Porter, who has tried for years to ingratiate himself into Father’s business affairs. Father has always resented that I wasn’t a boy. In a fit of anger, he might very well disinherit me and give his estate to Blake. That isn’t as bad as it sounds because my maternal grandmother provided for me in her will, so I wouldn’t be destitute. Being disinherited doesn’t bother me that much—I’ve had proposals from some of the richest men in the country, so if all else failed, I could get married. I don’t know what to do.”

Allen couldn’t understand why she hadn’t married long ago. He considered the best way to advise her. “When I have a difficult decision to make, I turn to a higher power. Have you prayed about the situation?”

Dora stared at him. “Prayed!”

“Sure. I start every day asking God to guide my decisions and all else that I do. Isn’t prayer a part of your life, too?”

She laughed. “Gracious, no! My father has endowed a church in New York City with money through the years, but that’s the extent of our connection with religion. He contributes money to large churches with influential members because he thinks it will benefit him in the long run. But we never go to worship services.” With
a sinking heart, Allen said, “Then you don’t believe
in God?”

Dora gazed at the spectacular mountains in the distance. “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t believe that all of this beauty just happened, but I don’t know which god was responsible for it.”