Promise of Tomorrow (5 page)

She raised her face, and he saw the despair in her expression. “She said you were no longer welcome in our home.”

He pressed her close and willed himself to breathe as the next logical question begged to be asked. “How?”

Her shoulders quaked. “Mary. It's my fault, Jack.”

His anger flared hot but cooled quickly. He couldn't expect Alaina not to share with her friend. She had to talk to someone, and Mary was the logical choice. He just wished the meddling girl would learn to keep a secret.

Alaina became silent in his arms. Her hair was silk under his stroking hand. “What do you want to do?”

“I don't want her to think I'm being obstinate. If I don't do as she asks, she'll accuse me of being an ungrateful daughter.”

“You aren't. You know that, don't you?”

She nodded against his chest.

Recalling Big Frank's admonition, some great truth swelled in his heart. “Your mother is just hurt over your father leaving all those years ago. You can't blame her for that.” He pulled back from her and tilted her chin upward. “You can't blame her for being afraid for you.”

“She thinks you're like my father. Every time I told her you had forgotten a date. . .well, I finally stopped telling her because she would always say you were just like
him
.”

“Meaning your daddy.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I wish I remembered him.”

Jack pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.
And I wish I could forget mine.

Seven

May 17, 1889

Jack's report on the South Fork Dam took longer than he thought. The crinkled, yellow edges of the
Tribune
, dated 1881, reported that two of Johnstown's own men had inspected the dam and felt it stable enough to withstand the pressure of extra water. Those with doubts felt that even if it broke, the water had plenty of room to spread out before it hit Johnstown.

He laid the paper down on the rough tabletop in his small room and steepled his fingers under his chin. Exhaustion filtered through every muscle in his back.

The short, steep train ride up to South Fork after his long shift had given him time to study the terrain in detail and expanded on his own personal worry. The valley from Johnstown to South Fork was narrow, meaning the water would be like a huge, tall wall, barreling down the fourteen-foot drop to Johnstown like water in a sluice. Johnstown would be the dumping ground for every drop that came down the mountain. He ran the scenario of such a wall of water over in his mind, and every time he came up with the same answer—it would be devastating.

Jack rubbed at a spot above his eye where a dull throb had begun. He pulled over a stack of letters Fulton had given to him to examine. Correspondence between Morrell and B. F. Ruff, president of the club, read like the chronicles of two men used to having their own way, Morrell at least possessing the kinder tone of the two. Jack made a mental note of Morrell's suggestion that Ruff put in a drainage pipe and his offer to help finance the reconstruction of the dam. He searched through the stack for Ruff's response and didn't find one.

Another newspaper article in the stack reported on Daniel Morrell's acceptance into the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. An interesting fact that caused Jack to wonder if the membership had been a bribe on the part of the club. On the other hand, Daniel Morrell might have wanted to get an inside view of the club's doings. Could be that he was fully satisfied the club was doing all within its power to insure the safety of the dam and he simply wanted to be a part of such an organization. They would never know for sure, due to Morrell's death almost four years earlier.

Jack turned over his own ideas of the dam's issues and
wrote his concerns on paper. To his eye, the dam buckled
in the middle, the very place it needed to be strongest and highest. The drainage pipe was still a concern, and now with the heavy spring rains, if that earthen mound became soaked through. . .Jack wrote on paper his gut instinct—the dam remained unsafe.

He stretched, blew out the lantern, and uncurled from his chair. The dull throb in his head had become a steady ache. As he stripped off his clothes and lay his head down, his thoughts turned to Alaina. Longing swelled his heart. Her tears tore at him, and her mother's constant disapproval of him chipped away at his patience.

He flipped onto his back and lay with his arm across his eyes. Charlotte Morrison had no way of understanding Jack's drive. He sometimes wondered if Alaina understood or just endured. Sleep didn't fold him into its velvety arms as he'd hoped. Drafts floated in from the cracks in the walls and made him shiver. He pulled the blanket tighter around his chin and opened his eyes to the dark, hollow
ping
of rain against the roof.

With a grunt, he swept back the covers, crossed to the old kitchen cabinet hung on one wall, and retrieved a tin can. Even in the dark, he could see the water stain on the wood floor. His toes curled at the cold wood as he set the can beneath the spot where the leak always occurred. He squinted up to where the dull whitewashed ceiling sported a ragged gold ring. The first drop of water hit him on the forehead. Jack moved aside and tugged the can closer to the spot where he had been standing.

He stretched and scratched his chest. The clouds let loose with a tirade, and he waited for the inevitable. A sloppy
ping
let him know the can still lay out of line with the leak. He groaned and gave in, lit the lantern, and brought it back to the dark splotch of water, centering the can directly over the spot.

His landlady, Widow Sanford, had just had a bathroom installed in her home, along with a phone and steam heat, but the small shack Jack rented remained without those amenities. His relief at being left out of the so-called
improvements
was great. The last thing he needed was a rent hike.

He eyed the report on the table and allowed himself to dream about the benefits getting the promotion would give him. He had allowed Alaina to see the outside of his place only once and vowed then and there that he would not marry her unless he could provide better than the one-room shack.

The rhythmic
ping
of the water stripped him of his exhaustion. He went down on his knees beside his narrow cot and pulled out a box. Its top, carved with flowers and hearts, sketched in his mind a vision of his mother's long fingers tracing the same design, a sad smile on her face. He removed the lid and plunged his hand into the box to lift out the Bible.
Her
Bible, now his.

At the table he pulled the lantern close and opened the fine-tooled leather cover. Little notes in the margins, as familiar to him as the scar on the back of his hand, made him feel closer to his mother and, in turn, he felt closer to God. He turned to his favorite verse and read it, his mind automatically taking on his mother's voice as he repeated the words to himself.

“Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.”

Psalm 16:11. How many times had he heard his mother quote the scripture to him in his years growing up, even in those gray days after his father's death?

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenched tight. He saw Alaina's longing eyes as she expressed her desire to remember her father. Heard the flat sound of his mother's voice after that terrible night when she sat him on her knee and told him the news. Only later did he understand the shame that she had endured when the truth was made known.

Jack swallowed hard. He shut the Bible and noticed an edge of paper sticking out. Thinking to uncrease a bent corner, he traced the place with his finger and discovered a folded paper behind a loose cover flap. Jack tugged at the corner. It caught where the glued edge of the cover flap held it in place. With his finger, he pulled the flap away and tugged out the folded pages. He recognized the handwriting immediately as that of his father. He scanned the contents, realizing his mother must have kept the letter for a very good reason.

Dear Olivia,

You don't deserve this. Maybe your mother was right all along, you should have married Frederick Thomas. I don't know. I do know that you will be better off without me, as will Jack. I haven't touched a drop in over a month, just as I promised you, but another type of failure greeted me this afternoon while you were out—our bank failed. We've lost everything. It's too much for me. You're strong, Livey, much stronger than I. You'll survive and make a better home for Jack alone than you ever would with me in the picture.

I do love you. Please believe me, and when the time is right, tell Jack I love him, too.

Yours,

Don

Jack let the letter flutter from his hands to the floor. He leaned forward as if punched in the gut and pressed his thumbs against his eyes. Flashes from the past sliced through him, the last one from the day he watched his mother lowered into the ground. If not for his remembrance of her favorite verse, he might have been overwhelmed by his grief. Jack sucked in a deep breath and held it.

God, give me strength to forget. To forgive.

He released his breath and felt the tendrils of exhaustion weaving through his body.

Eight

May 18, 1889

Alaina woke from a deep sleep to the touch of her mother's hand on her arm.

“I thought I'd better wake you before I left,” her mother said.

She scooted up in bed, fully expecting her mother to turn and leave, surprised when she stayed.

Charlotte stood still, her eyes on the far wall.

Alarmed, Alaina scooted up in bed and noted her mother's puffy, red eyes and pale complexion.

“Mama, are you ill?”

Charlotte's gaze snapped to hers. “I'll be fine.” But she still didn't move.

Alaina grasped her mother's arms. “Mother, please, what's the matter?”

Charlotte's eyes filled with tears. Her mother pressed a hand to Alaina's cheek, then spun and left the room.

Alaina skittered on the edge of concern all morning, not at all sure what to make of her mother's unusual behavior. After she dressed, she decided a quick visit to the store after chores might help alleviate her fears. If her mother was truly ill, she needed to know.

Laundry took all day, and it wasn't until early evening that she got the chance to escape to the store. If Jack kept his promise, he would be here this evening. If only she could get her mother to talk to her first.

Through the back door of the store, Alaina could see Charlotte sitting in the corner, stitching on a long gown of tweed brown and gold. Surrounded by needles, pins, and spools of Clark's O.N.T., her mother appeared relaxed and serene, though her eyes still showed tinges of puffiness.

“Miss Morrison.”

Alaina's attention flew to the young man coming toward her. Charlotte Morrison raised her head. Young Victor Heiser, the storekeeper's son, grinned at her with a mixture of shyness and longing.

“Good day to you, Victor. How are you?”

He seemed abashed that she answered him and lowered his head. “I'm doing well.”

“And is Miss Powers doing well with the Sunday school?”

He peeked at her. “Yes, ma'am. Though you were the best teacher.”

Alaina smiled her gratitude. “How kind of you. Give Miss Powers a chance, and I'm sure everyone will love her as much.”

“I suppose.” Victor's ears reddened and he shrugged. “Your mother asked me if I still remembered my scripture verses. I do. I repeated them all for her. All forty-two.”

Alaina felt the edge of surprise that her mother would inquire. In the six months Alaina taught Sunday school, she had endeavored to commit two verses a week to memory and challenged her pupils to do the same. Friday and Saturday nights during the fall and winter, she had repeated them aloud as she went about her chores. Her mother had never shown the least interest. “You are to be commended, Victor. I don't know that I could do such a thing without first brushing up a bit.”

“Oh, you could, Miss Alaina. I'm sure of it!”

She laughed at his enthusiasm. “Maybe I should pop into your class this Sunday. We could have a contest.”

Mathilde Heiser, Victor's mother, appeared from the front of the store, her expression harried. “Victor, stop dawdling. Your father needs you.” Mathilde gestured to the boy and then rolled her eyes over at Alaina. “How that boy does go on about you. I think you've stolen his heart and most of his head. I keep reminding him that he's no competition to Jack.”

Alaina tilted her head and laughed. “I'm sure Jack won't feel threatened, Mrs. Heiser. How is your husband doing?”

“Very well. Your mother's skill has really been a draw for the womenfolk. She is very good.”

Alaina smiled over at her mother. “Yes, she is.”

Charlotte held up the dress she had been working on and shook it out, but Alaina saw the trace of a pleased smile on her lips. “You've both been very kind to me, Mrs. Heiser. Mr. Springer never seemed to appreciate a woman's need for a fine gown.” She paused, her eyes lifting to Alaina. “I think it's about time for my daughter to have some new gowns, too. I wouldn't want the ladies to see the daughter of their seamstress in anything less than the best.”

Victor rushed over to his mother and tugged on her sleeve. “Father needs us both.”

Mrs. Heiser lifted her hand. “Whatever your mother does for you will be lovely.”

Unconsciously, Alaina fingered the material of her blue dress. It used to be her best, but after months of wear, it had lost the luster of newness. She wanted to tell her mother not to worry about making her a new gown, but something about the offer stopped her. How long had it been since her mother last made such an offer? Alaina usually made her own gowns during the winter months. Her mother knew that. Something about Charlotte's offer seemed gentle and kind. Different.

Charlotte stuck a pin in her mouth and nodded. “What brought you down here?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

The pin in her mother's mouth seemed to tremble, and Alaina thought she detected a sheen of tears in her eyes.

Her conscience pricked, and she whispered the next words. “I'm supposed to meet Jack this evening.” Alaina expected to feel the singe of her mother's anger at the mention of Jack.

Instead, Charlotte merely sat down and reorganized the yards of material. “On your way out, tell Victor to come back when he gets the chance. I want to hear him recite those verses again.”

Alaina pleaded with her eyes. “Jack will want to say hello.”

Her mother's mouth drooped. “Tell him hello for me.” Charlotte returned her attention to the material, her needle sliding in and out in impossibly small stitches.

Alaina headed to the front of the store. She stopped in the middle of the room and took in the bright display of candy and soap powder, medicines, and washboards. Unshed tears made everything a blur. She had so wanted to hear her mother acquiesce and welcome the opportunity of seeing Jack.

A hand appeared in front of her face, with a licorice whip dangling from long, calloused fingers. Her heart leaped and almost turned into the embrace of Jack's arms, but conscious of where they were, she took a step back and plucked the licorice from his hand.

“My, my, greedy, aren't we?”

“You tempt me with my favorite candy and you don't expect me to take the bait?”

Jack's expression held mischief. “I wish you were that excited to see me.”

Alaina returned his smile. “Don't be silly.”

He twined his fingers through hers and pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “One piece for you. I thought I'd make a peace offering with the rest.”

“Jack.” She shook her head and kept her voice low so other patrons wouldn't hear. “Mama told me to tell you hello. I don't think it's a good idea for us to push too hard right now.” Though she loved him the more for wanting to try and make peace.

Jack glanced toward the back of the store and then at the bag of licorice in his free hand. He handed it over to her. “Then I'll surrender them to you for delivery. But you have to promise not to eat them all on your way back.”

Alaina accepted the bag and gave him a rueful grin. “I'll try not to.”

“Are you hungry?”

She held up the bag. “I won't be.”

Jack touched the tip of her nose. “Let's go before I storm the back room and demand to marry you on the spot, with or without her blessing.”

The lightness being in Jack's presence had brought faded as she retraced her steps back to her mother's corner of the store. Charlotte didn't look up from her sewing.

“Mama?” The bag crinkled in Alaina's hand as she slipped it onto the low table by her mother's stool.

Charlotte glanced at the parcel. “What's this?”

Her throat thickened and she swallowed. “Jack's peace offering.” Before she broke into tears, she hurried back to the front of the store. With one glance, Jack must have understood her need, for he offered his arm and led her to the entrance, giving Victor Heiser, his eyes wide upon them, a slap on the back. He whispered something in the young man's ear, then turned and winked at Alaina.

Once outside, she demanded to know what he'd said to the boy.

“I told him the truth. You're too old for him.” He leaned in so close she could feel his breath against her face. “Unless, of course, you prefer younger men.”

The way he said it, his closeness, it made her heart beat madly. “No, there's only one for me.”

His playful expression became serious. His gaze swept her face and caused her stomach to twist. Beneath the luminescent light in his blue eyes, heat rose in her cheeks.

“Well, then”—he took a deliberate step back and returned her hand to his arm—“if you won't marry me tonight, then we could go for a walk or roller-skating.”

She laughed but sobered at the thought of her mother's scowl of disapproval upon learning they had married without her knowledge or blessing. Still. . . “Wouldn't it be wonderful to get married and—”

“Until we reached my place and I carried you over the threshold.” He gazed at the darkening sky of lead gray. “We could take turns emptying the mug of water from my leaky roof.” The smile he sent her didn't reach his eyes. “Not what I want for you. For us.”

“Then let's walk around and see the sights. We could go to the park and walk until dark.”

Jack winced. “I can't stay too long. I need to finish my report to Mr. Fulton.” He placed his hand over hers, where it lay nestled against his arm. “I also need to spend some time this evening working on my plans since church is tomorrow. I think I'm close, Alaina.”

He must have sensed her disappointment because he kept talking, giving assurances, reminding her he did it for them, but she scarcely heard him. All the doubts tumbled around in her head and welled in her chest. His invention always seemed first priority, and she couldn't quite shake off the sincerity of her mother's many warnings against Jack.

“He is always chasing after his dream of money. Marry a man who will put you first.”

And then there was the one her mother never directly spoke but Alaina felt in every line of sadness on her mother's face.

Your father
chased after the dream of money and never returned.

She knew Jack wanted to earn a good living, but how far would he go to do that? Was his need driven by something in his past? Maybe his parents were rich and he had been disinherited.

Alaina slipped a glance over at Jack as he talked. They were engaged. Surely he could tell her about his mother and father. He knew all about hers. She had a right to know. Maybe it would help her understand him better.

She waited for a lull in his words. “Jack, tell me about your parents.”

“My parents?”

The sudden shift in topics had taken him off guard. Something like panic seeped into his eyes.

“Yes. You always avoid the subject. I want to know about them. Shouldn't I meet them before we marry? Don't you want to include them in our plans?”

Jack's face set like chiseled stone. She felt the wall of his anger rise with every second, brick by angry brick. “I'm an adult. I don't need their permission.”

“Surely your mother would—”

He released her abruptly, his gaze full of pain. “She's dead, Alaina. My mother is dead. She won't care about a thing.”

“What? How did it happen? I mean, when?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “A long time ago. Before I moved here.”

“What about your father?”

His gaze went white-hot. He turned away, fists clenched at his sides. “It's a topic for another time.”

She touched his arm and felt the taut bunch of his muscles. “Please, Jack.”

He bowed his head and knotted fists rubbed his eyes.

Alaina felt his pain without understanding the reason for it. Shame washed over her at her insistence. “I'm sorry.” She ran her hand down his upper arm to his wrist and then lifted his hand to gently uncurl his fingers, all the while silently begging him to look at her.
Please, Lord, take this hurt away.
She wanted so much to erase the entire conversation.

On another level, his reaction to the simple question chilled her. What did it mean? What was in his past that proved so painful it rendered him speechless?

Finally, she felt the tension leave him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and regarded her with a look of profound exhaustion, as if he had fought many demons in the last few minutes. “I've got to go,” his voice scraped out.

“I understand.”

“I'll walk you back.”

“No.” She forced a smile. “I'll be fine.”

“Alaina. . .” He paused. “I need some time. It's not a topic I—”

“Then I'll wait.”