Promise of Tomorrow (7 page)

Eleven

May 21, 1889

“Don't pour!” Jack's scream rent the air seconds before the molten steel touched the water in the steel-mold.

An explosion rocked the men not already undercover back on their heels.

Jack skidded into a low crouch and shielded his face. A blast of strong, hot air choked him and scorched his skin. Chunks of metal shot around the room, and Jack heard the muffled groan of pain next to him that told him Big Frank had been hit.

When the air settled, the factory whistle screamed the news of another accident to all within listening distance. Shouts lifted above the sounds of machinery as other men went to the rescue of those downed by the explosion.

Jack jumped up and hustled over to where Frank lay within a few feet of the mold. Still. Silent.

“God, no. God, please, no.” He flipped Big Frank over. His heart plummeted at the sight of blood. Frank's shirt smoked where the heat had singed the material. “Frank? Frank!” He patted his friend's cheek, strangled with dread when Frank remained unresponsive. He lifted his head. “Help! Over here.”

Someone appeared at his side, and together they lifted the big man and carried him away from the heat of the open hearth furnaces.

❧

Hospital beds lined both walls of the long room. Frank lay, pale and bandaged, eyes closed, halfway down the long room.

Jack recognized other workers and waved a greeting to those who were awake.

One of the men, Sweeney, as everyone called him, returned Jack's greeting with a grim, “How many this time?”

“Three.” Jack stopped and ran a cautious eye over the man's bandaged arm and chest. “Three died. Five injured.”

Sweeney rubbed at the bandage on his arm, then grimaced. “Hurt's like fire, but it's a graze.”

“You were blessed not to have been killed.”

The man leaned back against his pillow and gave a nod.

Jack headed down the row toward Frank and stopped at the foot of his friend's bed. He bowed his head, grateful Frank's life had been spared.

He lifted his face to find Frank's glazed stare upon him. “Not dead, am I? Was thinkin' God had allowed some pretty ugly angels to mess up heaven.”

Jack's breath released in a relieved gust. He laughed and moved to the side of the bed. “Hey there. How're you feeling?”

“Like a piece of hot slag got me in the gut.”

“And the face.” Jack felt the burn of guilt. “If I hadn't left, it would have spared you from doing the pouring and getting hit.”

Frank blinked slowly. “God orders the day, son. Haven't you figured that out yet? No amount of guilt is going to change the way things happen.”

It took a minute for Jack to gain his voice. He gripped Frank's hand. “What about Missy and Sam?”

Frank seemed to drift off to a faraway place for a moment. Then his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I don't know. Mrs. Sanford can't keep them. Too old.”

“I'll do it. I'll take care of them for you, Frank. Alaina is home from the lake. She can watch them during the day and I'll help her in the evenings.”

“You've got work to do, boy. Riches to make. An invention to invent.”

Jack could hear the hopeful note behind Frank's playful words. “Then it's settled. Alaina won't mind, I know it. She loves Missy and Sam.”

“You've a good heart, Jack.”

“You concentrate on getting better.”

❧

After Sunday, then forgetting about Alaina the night before, Jack felt every bit the fool for arriving on her doorstep with two children in tow.

She opened the door immediately, and his anxiousness lifted at her look of pleased surprise.

“Why, Missy and Sam, what are you doing here?”

Missy promptly broke into tears, and Sam shushed her.

Alaina met Jack's gaze with a question.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

She gasped in dismay, then stooped to take first Missy's hand and then Sam's and led them inside.

Jack swept the room for any sign of Alaina's mother.

“She's not here. She's downstairs finishing up an order due tomorrow.” Alaina pulled young Missy onto her lap and wiped her tears. She cuddled the six-year-old close and smoothed her ruffled hair.

Jack placed his hand on Missy's head. “How about I go downstairs and get some candy?”

Alaina gave him a searching look.

He winked and crouched to whisper into Missy's ear. “I need someone to help me pick. Want to come?”

Missy's solemn, gray gaze stirred something in his heart. “Will my daddy die?”

Jack rasped a hand down his unshaven cheek. Other than his initial fear that Frank had been outright killed, he hadn't considered his friend might die from his injuries. Frank was older than most of the men, at thirty-three years, but his strength would be in his favor. But to offer the child hope and have things take a turn for the worse. . .

Jack picked up Missy's small hand and got eye level with her. “I can't answer that question. No one can. But we can pray and trust and ask God to help us as we wait. Would you like to do that with me?”

“And Sam and Miss Alaina?”

“Sure.”

Missy scrambled off Alaina's lap and dropped to her knees. Sam joined her. Jack and Alaina shared an amused look over the small heads. Missy tucked her hands together and looked at the ceiling. Jack got the feeling the child saw far beyond the stained plaster. Maybe even into the heart of God.

“Do you want to pray, Missy?”

She shook her head and pointed to him.

The words came easily to Jack. When he said, “Amen,” he took the little girl into his arms, where her confidence failed her and she sobbed.

Sam stood nearby, tears trailing a silver streak down his pudgy face. Alaina settled a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Will Mrs. Sanford watch us until Daddy is better?” Missy's words muffled against his shirt.

Jack swallowed hard. “I was hoping Miss Alaina might spend some time with you while your father recovers.” His eyes pleaded with Alaina. “Your father said Mrs. Sanford was too old to watch you both full time.”

He hesitated under Alaina's steady gaze, ashamed to be asking her for a favor when so much still stood between them.
I'm sorry
, he mouthed to her.

She didn't smile, but her eyes traced along Missy's back then over Sam's head and down to his shoes. Her expression softened. “We can make a place for you two on the floor in my room.”

Sam hugged her legs, and Missy smiled shyly up at her.

Jack got to his feet. “Why don't the two of you head down to the store and check out that candy display.”

“You want to kiss her?” Missy wanted to know. Her nose wrinkled as if the thought disgusted her.

Jack laughed. “You think that's so bad?”

“Daddy kissed Mommy a whole lot,” she continued. “He loved her.” With that, she turned and headed down the steps.

“Hold on to the railing,” Alaina called after them.

He caught her gaze. “Maybe a better question is, would Miss Alaina even allow me to kiss her?”

Twelve

The weight of Jack's question caused her to hesitate. Always she was so quick to forgive him for breaking his word to her. What had it earned her? “I don't know, Jack.” She couldn't bear to return his stare or to see the hurt in his eyes and stared down after Missy and Sam instead. “We'd better go after the children.”

“Alaina, wait.” His hand encased her wrist, but she refused to turn. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, his words placating. “I got another idea for the converter and began work on it. I lost track of the time. I'm sorry.”

She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

“I thought you would understand.”

Her throat grew thick, and she stared at him as tears collected in her eyes. “Why don't you try to understand how
I
feel for a change? How it feels to be forgotten by the man who says he loves you and wants to marry you. Not once, Jack. Not twice—” The tears rolled, and her voice caught. “Try ten times. Maybe twenty. You always say it's for us, for
me
. But I don't care about money, don't you see? It's you, Jack. Money is
your
issue, not mine. I'm
happy
being poor.
People
are more important than things. And then, when I want to help you, to reach out to the man I love and share what is obviously troubling him, I'm turned away.”

His hands slid down her arms then released her.

Unable to stand it any longer, she hurried down the steps, drying her eyes as she went, not wanting her mother to have further reason to be upset with Jack. As she stepped through the back door of the store, her mother glanced up.

Charlotte set her sewing aside and rubbed her eyes. “I saw the children come in from the back door. Is Big Frank visiting?”

“You should stop for the night, Mother. It's not good for your eyes to work such long hours.”

Charlotte waved a hand in dismissal of her concern. “I'm paid well to have these gowns done quickly. The money is worth the long hours.” She stretched her neck from side to side, her eyes flicking toward the entrance that led to the front of the store. “Now how did those two come to be here?”

“Jack brought them over.” Her mother's lips curved down into a frown, and Alaina hastened to continue. “Cambria had an accident today. Frank's in the hospital.”

Charlotte's face drained of color. “Oh no.”

“The children need a place to stay, so Jack thought I could watch them during the day while he's at work.”

Her mother's mouth tightened. “Did he think to
ask
first?”

“It happened so suddenly—”

Charlotte's eyes flashed. “Stop it, Alaina. Stop defending him. I can't stand to see you hurt by him.”

The door behind Alaina creaked open, and she knew without looking that it was Jack.

“Good evening, Mrs. Morrison.”

Charlotte tilted her head in acknowledgment of Jack's greeting, but her lips remained pressed into a grim line.

Alaina nodded toward the front of the store. “Why don't you check on the children, Jack?”

Charlotte resumed her seat and repositioned the material around her legs. “I've got to get this dress finished.”

Jack remained glued to the spot. “Since I have to work, I wanted to know if it would be all right for Sam and Missy to spend the day with Alaina. There was a bad accident today. Frank got hit real bad.”

Charlotte jammed her needle into the material and pulled through the other side. “So Alaina tells me. But it's not my decision. It's up to Alaina.”

“Mother, Jack's trying to be polite.”

“I would consider it polite if he didn't bother me with questions that don't need my answer.”

Jack flinched. “I don't know what I've done to deserve your hostility, Mrs. Morrison, but whatever it is, I'm sorry.”

Charlotte's head shot up. “Just like you're sorry for all those times you haven't shown up to take Alaina on a picnic, or roller-skating, or for a stroll? That kind of sorry is a word with no meaning.”

A muscle jumped in Jack's jaw. “I can understand how you must feel that way, but I assure you, Mrs. Morrison, that I work very hard only in hopes of providing for Alaina in a way befitting to the woman I hope to marry.” He turned toward Alaina, as if seeking some measure of support.

It was there on her tongue to assure her mother that she understood and didn't hold it against Jack, but it struck her that putting voice to such sentiments would be a lie. A lie she had perpetrated to give Jack peace, all the while allowing her own to slip away.

“You want to believe that, Jack Kelly. But I've been where Alaina is now. You cannot blame me for instilling in her a need for caution against marrying you, when you mistreat her as much as you do.”

Jack's face flushed, and Alaina, afraid of drawing attention to themselves should Jack choose to continue the argument, grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let's leave. Now.”

To her relief, Jack acknowledged her request with a stiff nod but turned once more toward her mother. “I know you are right in many ways, but I have seen the other side of poverty and know the strain it puts on a person's mind. I want to avoid putting that kind of strain on my wife.”

Charlotte did not respond, though the quick stab at the material let Alaina know her mother had indeed heard.

❧

Jack called to Missy and Sam as he followed Alaina to the front of the store. The children bolted toward him and held up the candy sticks. Peppermint for both Missy and Sam. He smiled and feigned interest in their chatter, not hearing much more than the ring of first Alaina's and then Charlotte's verbal attacks.

The children sucked happily as they went up the big steps.

Jack held back. “I'll wait here.”

Alaina followed the children upstairs. “I'll settle them and be back down.”

Beside the big maple tree, Jack rehearsed what he would tell Alaina. It would cheer her to learn that he'd be turning in his final papers to Mr. Fulton soon, freeing him to spend more time with her and the children. It would put her fears to rest. And Charlotte's.

The streetlamps flickered in the dark, and drops of rain forced Jack to take shelter under the maple's spreading branches. No matter what he did, it never seemed right.

“Jack?”

When he faced her, she stood in the shadow of the branches. He captured her hand and turned her until the lamplight highlighted her expression. Strain and worry marked the areas around her eyes and mouth.

Shame washed over him, and his heart twisted for the pain Alaina's eyes reflected. “I've made a mess of things.”

Alaina stayed silent, and her silence put a weight in his stomach. “I should have told your mother that I'd be turning in the papers to Mr. Fulton in only a few days. Then I'll be done.”

“That is good news.” Her voice lacked conviction.

“It'll mean we can spend more time together. It's only that I've been so distracted by everything. You know how much it means to me to take good care of you, Alaina.”

“Jack. . .”

He barely heard her as the feeling that she was slipping away from him grew. Panic surged and he clasped her hand tighter, begging with his words as much as his heart for her to understand.

She pulled her hand away. “What happens when something else ‘distracts' you? Is this why you're so angry with your father? Did he do this to you?”

“He was an inventor, yes. But we can talk about him some other time.”

“No. No, Jack. I want you to tell me about your father.”

The gentle command slashed through his fears and stabbed coldness into his heart, and Jack understood, in that moment, both the depth of his bitterness toward Don Kelly and how much he needed to forgive his father. He gulped air. “He's dead.”

Alaina flattened her hand against his until their palms met. He watched as she traced the outline of his knuckles with her fingers.

The motion soothed him. Seconds stretched into minutes and Jack grew calmer, more clearheaded.

When she finally met his gaze, her smile was beatific and gentle. “He hurt you.”

He closed his eyes as the emotion welled up again, threatening to drown him.

“Tell me, Jack.”

With a hard exhale, he made up his mind. Riding the crest of his anger and frustration, grief and sorrow, he told Alaina about his father. And his mother. The farm. The drinking. The lack of money. His father's death. . .

“He was sick?” she asked.

Jack pressed his lips together to stop the trembling.

“Jack?” She moved in close to him and peered up into his face.

He could not look away from those eyes. Didn't want to.

“How did your father die?”

He struggled to draw air into his lungs. “Mama found him.” He closed his eyes against the image that greeted them that morning in the barn. His mother had been out before him, then had come racing back to get him, eyes wild. Hair mussed. Out of breath.

Jack took a step away from Alaina. Then another. Until his back touched the tall maple tree.

“Oh, Jack,” he heard Alaina's words through a haze of pain and anguish.

In his mind he saw again the flash of light against the blade of the knife as it winked before he cut through the rope that held the weight of his father's body.

God, help me.

Jack's legs went weak, and he felt himself plunging downward, his shirt catching on the rough bark of the maple.

And Alaina was there beside him. Holding him tight.

“He hung himself, Lainey. He. . .”

Her hand stroked his head as the tears streamed down his face.