What Once Was Lost (49 page)

BOOK: What Once Was Lost

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He pressed himself to the wall as the women passed him, giving them as much room as possible. At the end of the landing, as if choreographed, they
made the turn in unison. But then the older one jolted as if stung on the rump by a hornet, and she stumbled. One chocolate rolled to the edge of the top tray. The woman gasped and tipped the trays the opposite direction. Oliver started to call out a warning, but before the words could escape, a good half-dozen candies and twice as many rocks—apparently the source of the rattle he’d heard—spilled over the edge and clattered noisily against the wide-planked floor.

The second woman had managed the corner without mishap and continued on, but at the racket she stopped and looked back. Sympathetic dismay replaced the determination he’d seen earlier on her face. Oliver found it a strange reaction. Shouldn’t she gloat? She’d just won what was obviously some sort of ridiculous competition.

Gordon Hightower, the factory’s manager and self-assigned hiring agent, stormed past the younger woman to the older one, who stared at the scattered rocks and candy at her feet in utter despair. He waved his hands around. “Mrs. Brewer, what were you doing? Clumsy, clumsy! A toter must first and foremost exercise care. You didn’t manage to go thirty paces without spilling.”

Oliver frowned. Hightower didn’t need to berate the woman so. He enjoyed his position of power too much—something Oliver intended to rectify when he controlled the factory reins.

Tears streamed down the woman’s round, red cheeks, and her entire body quivered. If someone didn’t help her, the entire load would hit the floor. He darted out and took the trays. The unexpected weight of the burden stole his breath as well as the defensive comment poised on the tip of his tongue.

“Yelling at her isn’t going to help.” The younger woman spoke up. Indignation colored her tone and expression. “I’m sure she’s just nervous. Why not let her give it another go?”

Oliver shook his head, uncertain he’d heard correctly. Was she championing her competition? Surely she understood only one would be chosen.

Hightower snorted. “Another go might result in even more lost chocolates.”

“And it might prove her capable of handling the task,” the bold woman countered.

Oliver hid a smile. She had a full, dimpled face wreathed by springy brown curls, which had escaped her lopsided mobcap. Her blue-flowered dress was so rumpled it appeared she’d slept in it the night before. The messy hair and disheveled clothing gave her an almost childish appearance. But how bravely she faced Hightower. Amusement as well as admiration swelled within his chest. She was a corker! And since she’d spoken up, he could stay silent, which was probably wise, considering he’d “hired on” less than two months ago and couldn’t risk being given the ax. Not just yet.

Shifting her trays a bit higher, she fixed Hightower with a steady look. “But you won’t know unless you offer her the chance.”

Hightower rolled his gaze to the ceiling and huffed out a mighty breath. “Miss Lang, you—”

“Thank you, miss, for speakin’ up for me, but there’s no need for another chance.” Mrs. Brewer hung her head. Her shoulders drooped, and one strand of gray-threaded hair flopped across her tear-stained cheek. “I … I got a bad back. That’s why I left the laundry. Couldn’t plunge them sheets up and down anymore. Since toting didn’t necessarily mean bending, I was hoping I could do it. My arms, they’re plenty strong. But my back …”

Oliver knew he should pay attention to Mrs. Brewer, who had sadly bared her soul to Hightower, but he couldn’t stop staring at Miss Lang. She’d come in looking for a job. Now that Mrs. Brewer had confessed she couldn’t handle it, the job was hers by simple elimination. She should be smiling, celebrating, or at the very least looking relieved. Instead, she appeared regretful. But why? She’d done nothing wrong except possess a back strong enough to support a stack of trays.

Still balancing her load, Miss Lang approached Mrs. Brewer. “I’m sorry about your back, ma’am. But as willing as you are to work, you ought to be able to find employment somewhere. I will pray for you.”

Oliver shook his head in wonder. A corker … Miss Lang was indeed a corker.

Mrs. Brewer sniffled. “Thank you, miss. I’ll take them prayers. Still got three youngsters at home and no man to earn for us.”

Regret deepened to sorrow in Miss Lang’s gold-flecked brown eyes. “How old are your children, Mrs. Brewer?”

“The boys are fourteen and eleven, and my littlest one—my only girl—is ten.”

Hightower plunged his hands into his pockets and gave the woman a speculative look. “Your boys are plenty old enough to work. Maybe we could use one of them on the floor.”

Miss Lang released an indignant gasp. “Oh, but—”

“Huh-uh, not my boys.” Mrs. Brewer straightened, swiping the moisture from her full cheeks with chapped palms. She glowered at Hightower, her expression matching the look of disgust on Miss Lang’s face. “I’ve made it clear to every one of my youngsters, from Tad down to Bessie, they’re to take all the schooling they got coming to ’em. They won’t be working no full-time jobs until they got a twelfth grade letter in hand. And that’s that!”

Miss Lang beamed. “Good for you, Mrs. Brewer!” If her hands weren’t occupied with the trays, Oliver wagered she’d embrace the other woman. Tears winked in her eyes—tears of happiness. She intrigued him.

Hightower harrumphed. “If you change your mind, the floor spots open regularly. Feel free to send your boys over. I’ll remember the name Brewer and give them first dibs.”

Mrs. Brewer flicked her hands across the front of her skirt as if removing any vestige of the factory from her well-worn frock. “Your memory’ll need to hold that name for a good long while, sir. Four years at the least.” Shifting to face Miss Lang, she touched the younger woman’s hand. “Thank you for your kindness. I wish you well in this job.” She headed for the stairs without so much as another glance at Hightower.

He let out a soft snort and turned to Miss Lang. “You’ve proved you can handle the weight of the trays. Now walk them to the table and set them down. If you can do it without dumping anything, the job is yours.”

Her head held high, Miss Lang moved with grace to the table under the window at the far end of the landing. A few rocks jiggled, causing a gentle rattle, but none rolled free when she lowered the trays to the table. Oliver marveled at how easy she made it appear. His arms ached with the weight of the trays he held. She clasped her hands behind her back and sent Hightower a saucy grin. “So, am I hired?”

The man drew back with a start, and Oliver nearly bit his tongue in half, stifling a chortle. Her sass might not go over well with Hightower, but Oliver liked it. He liked it a lot. So refreshing compared to the staid, prissy women Father and Mother had pushed at him over the past few years. He could get attached to this one. With a niggle of remorse, he reined in the thought. His parents expected him to marry within his station. He might be seen as a mere worker by the other employees at the factory, but he knew better. When he’d completed his purpose here, he’d return to his home. To rule, as his father put it, the Dinsmore dynasty. Becoming attracted to a toter, no matter how appealing he found her, had to be avoided.

A
VAILABLE NOW!

In the wake of her husband’s death, Alice Deaton will do anything to hold her family together. But with life handing her challenge after challenge, will her faith crack under the strain? Or will a kind stranger be able to offer refuge that Alice and her two small children so desperately need?

Read an excerpt from this book and more
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C
OMING SOON!

Historical Christian Romance favorite Kim Vogel Sawyer brings to life the interworkings of a 1906 chocolate factory and one young crusader’s passionate vision to see child workers free of factory work. Will it put her at odds with her chance at true love?