Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (10 page)

She paused, her heart pounding. Miss Kesia’s comment about setting her sights on marriage had left her unsettled. She’d never wanted to be beholden to a man, and she’d never met a man who stirred her affections enough to consider breaking her lifelong resolve. Until now. If God honored her request,
might she be abandoning a relationship with the only man who possessed the ability to touch her heart? Such an opportunity shouldn’t be squandered. But what other choice did she have? She was here under false pretenses. No man, especially a man as caring and open as Ollie Moore, deserved to be duped.

Placing her pen against the page, she added,
I mean it, God. I want us kept as far apart as possible
. But even as she blew on the ink to dry it, she realized another lie had just been released.

Caroline, her leg muscles aching from yesterday’s long day on her feet, trotted awkwardly toward the loading table as the shift buzzer blared in her ears. The other two toters, Edith and Tessy—middle-aged women who’d worked together for almost a year and had exhibited no desire to draw Caroline into their tightly woven friendship—were already at the tables, reaching for trays. The night shift always left trays filled and waiting so the morning arrivals could immediately begin toting.

The pair exchanged snide looks as Caroline puffed to a halt next to the table. The taller one, Edith, sniffed. “We’ve already carted a full load each.”

Perspiration glistened on Tessy’s lined forehead. Her chin doubled as she lowered her head and glared at Caroline through thick eyebrows. “You came late yesterday, too.”

Yesterday the beggar had slowed her. Today she’d overslept after tossing and turning far into the night. Caroline lifted a stack and offered an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Carrie!”

At the intruding male voice, Edith and Tessy pursed their lips and ambled off, trays in their arms. Caroline inwardly groaned. Hadn’t she spent half the night begging God to separate her from this man? And here he came, pursuing her first thing. She ignored the shout and shuffled after Edith and Tessy.

Ollie fell into step beside her. “Carrie, I brought the sandwiches Kesia made for you.”

She should have known he would volunteer to play delivery boy for the affable Kesia.
God, weren’t You listening at all last night?
Aware of the disapproving glances being sent her way by the other toters, she ignored Ollie,
placed the trays on the transport cart, and then limped toward the loading tables, where more trays waited.

Ollie shoved the paper-wrapped packet at her. “Here. Take this to the lunchroom before you carry another load of candy.”

Her hands closed around the lumpy brown packet, and she stopped in surprise. “It’s cold!” She cradled the package against her middle. Although it was early fall, the vats of boiling chocolate and assorted fillings kept the factory as warm as the steamiest August day. “How can it be cold when it’s so hot in here?”

He grinned. “I have an icebox in my apartment. Keeps things nice and cool.”

She lifted the packet to her cheek. “Oh, it feels delightful.”

A low chuckle rolled from his chest. “Go put it in one of the lunchroom iceboxes. You can hug it again on your break.”

What was she doing? She must look like a ninny! She pushed it back at him. “I can’t take this. I left before paying for it.”

He held his palms up, rejecting the packet. “No worries. I dropped two dimes in the bucket for you.”

Carrie tucked the little bundle in the bend of her elbow and dug her coin purse from her pocket. “Then let me—”

“No need.” His wide, friendly grin set her heart flopping in her chest like a banked trout. “Twenty cents was a small price to pay to put Kesia’s mind at ease.” He tipped forward, assuming a conspiratorial air. “She’s worried you don’t eat right. Says she hopes to teach you to cook so you can fend for yourself better.”

Embarrassment washed away on a flood of discomfort. She took a backward step, and the packet of sandwiches fell to the floor. She started to bend down and retrieve it, but a catch in her back jolted her upright once more. Ollie bent over with ease and scooped it up, then extended it toward her. She clutched her little coin purse two-handed, her pulse scampering in frantic beats. The sweet smile in his eyes held her captive.

He held the packet out to her. “Here you are.”

“No.”

“You have to eat. Take it.”

Remembering the delicious meal she’d consumed yesterday evening, her stomach pinched at the thought of rejecting Kesia’s sandwiches. She would accept them on one condition. “Not unless you let me pay for them.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I cannot allow you to pay for my lunch.”

“It was only twenty cents!”

“Which is a significant portion of your pay as a janitor.”

He shook his head, a wry grin playing on the corners of his lips. “You’re a very stubborn woman, Miss Lang.” His lunge for the sandwiches had dislodged his cap, so it settled low on his forehead, giving him a rakish appearance. Oh, but he was irresistible. And he shouldn’t call her stubborn when he so thoroughly exemplified the word. A lesser man would have thrown up his hands in frustration and stormed away, but there he stood, trying to convince her to take those sandwiches so she wouldn’t miss her lunch.

She swallowed a nervous giggle. “I know.”

“Very well.” He shifted the packet to one hand and held his cupped palm to her. “Twenty cents, please.”

She removed two slim dimes from her purse and placed them in his hand. His fingers closed around the coins, brushing her flesh with his fingertips. She jerked back as if stung. “Th-thank you.”

One of the sorters with whom Caroline had sat at yesterday’s lunch break—Stella, as Caroline recalled—bustled by. She sent a stormy glare in their direction, reminding Caroline she’d spent too much time arguing over the sandwiches instead of working.

She snatched the packet from his hands. “I need to get back to work.” She moved to the long table as quickly as her stiff muscles would allow, placed the wrapped sandwiches underneath it, then lifted a stack of trays.

Ollie traipsed along beside her as she headed for the carts. “Tell you what … Since I have an icebox at my apartment and the cheese on those sandwiches should be kept cool—Kesia said so—I’ll store your lunch at my place every night and bring it in the morning for you.”

Caroline knew she should say no. Deliberately meet Ollie every morning?
How would she manage to stay focused on her investigation if she started each day gazing into his green-gold eyes? She blew out a huff of aggravation and said, “All right.”

His grin lit the room. Walking backward, he gave a wave. “Great! Bye now, Carrie.”

Caroline plopped the trays onto the cart. Chocolates jiggled, losing a few of their nutmeat sprinkles.

Tessy, who’d just placed her stack of trays on the opposite side of the cart, gasped. “Be careful! If their tops aren’t completely covered, the sorters’ll set them aside. Too much waste, an’ it comes out of our pay!”

“I’m sorry,” Caroline said as the two women shuffled toward the loading tables side by side. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“See that you are,” the woman snapped, her dark eyes flashing fire.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Caroline often thought about her promise to be careful. She exercised great care in lifting, carrying, and lowering trays, despite her perpetually aching muscles. None of the chocolates suffered damage due to careless handling. She only wished she could say the same about her heart.

No matter what time she entered Durham’s Café for her supper—early if Letta didn’t have a great deal of homework, later if she did—Ollie was sure to amble in only a few minutes behind her. She began to suspect he hid around the corner, watching for her arrival. She considered taking her meals elsewhere, but she couldn’t bear to abandon Kesia, and she truly enjoyed visiting with her at the end of the day. So she didn’t argue when Kesia gave Ollie two lunches each evening, even though she knew she’d have to meet him in the morning to retrieve one. Those brief minutes each morning were torture as her prayer for God to keep her away from Ollie went unanswered.

At least she was able to begin gathering information for Noble. At lunch—the only time employees had an opportunity to visit without fear of reprimand—she asked dozens of questions. By maintaining a casual air even when the answers stirred anger or frustration, she drew out the other workers’ concerns and complaints. She began purchasing bags of licorice whips, which she
distributed to the youngest workers, and with the candor of children, they eagerly responded to her queries while munching on the treats.

But no matter whom she asked—child or adult—about the investigator who’d fallen down the elevator shaft, no one would say more than “That was a dreadful accident.” Caroline had learned to read beneath answers. If people blinked too rapidly, refused to meet her gaze, or fidgeted while answering a question, she presumed they were hiding something. She’d observed none of those suspicious gestures from any of the people who’d spoken about Harmon Bratcher, and she began to wonder if Noble’s concerns were baseless. Perhaps Bratcher’s death was, just as the workers claimed, a dreadful accident.

She said as much to Noble when she made her Saturday night call, and his sigh of disappointment carried clearly through the line.

“Caroline, I wouldn’t have sent you to Sinclair if there weren’t sound reasons for suspecting something more sinister. You know how vocal Harmon had been about changing the entry age for workers. That kind of talk always stirs up trouble in factories, especially ones with a high number of child laborers. I looked over the notes he sent during his time at Dinsmore’s. More than thirty percent of the workers are ages ten to sixteen.”

Caroline had counted the number of children on the floor during her hours but hadn’t realized the percentage was so high. She ached anew at children spending their tender years toiling. “But in the two weeks I’ve been here, I haven’t uncovered one inkling of evidence that his fall down the shaft wasn’t accidental.”

“Because you’re going by hearsay.” Noble’s fatherly tone turned stiffly professional. “Caroline, you’ve been trained better than that. Asking questions is only part of an investigation. What else have you done to determine the likelihood of an accident?”

To Caroline’s chagrin, she couldn’t offer a reply. Because she’d done nothing. She stood ramrod straight in the little cubby with the receiver to her ear, fully expecting a well-deserved lecture. Instead, she heard Noble’s soft intake of breath, a sign he was thinking.

“Perhaps you’re on the wrong shift. According to the notes Harmon sent, he spent the majority of his time overseeing the night shift. It’s possible you
simply need to connect with the right people to determine whether or not the death was the result of faulty equipment or something much less innocent. Find out if there’s a night-shift opening, and take it if there is.”

“What if there isn’t a suitable opening?”

“You may have to stay put until one becomes available.”

Caroline’s emotions seesawed between elation and angst. Oh, to enjoy more time with Letta, Kesia, and—she sucked in a breath, unable to deny it—Ollie. But more time meant greater expense for the commission and more toiling under Hightower’s supervision. Something about the man set her teeth on edge. She pushed aside thoughts of Hightower and focused on Noble’s voice crackling through the lines.

“Of course, if you manage to unearth evidence that precludes the necessity of lengthening your stay, we’ll bring you back at once. But we need facts. And make sure you gather lots of notes about the working conditions as well, to complete Harmon’s assignment.”

“Yes, Noble.”

“Caroline,”—his tone changed again, losing its impersonal edge and becoming paternal—“Annamarie and I miss you around here. We’ll be happy to see this issue solved so you can come home.”

Caroline melted into the wooden chair pressed against the wall. “I miss you, too, Noble.” For the hundredth time she pondered the twist of fate that had allowed her parents to birth seven children—none of whom received half the care and attention Kesia offered an alley cat—while Noble and Annamarie were barren. When Noble had carried her, racked with fever and so weak from lack of nourishment she couldn’t even walk, from her roach-infested cellar room to his home where Annamarie nursed her back to health, she’d finally been given a glimpse of what it meant to be loved. She owed this couple her very life.