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Authors: S. Dionne Moore

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BOOK: Promise of Tomorrow
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Fifteen

Taking Alaina out always filled Jack with great satisfaction. They visited the grocer, and he dipped into his hoarded fund of coins to purchase candy for the children and apples, cheese, and a bit of bread for everyone.

He watched how Alaina interacted with others they met along the walk to the hill, both strangers and friends, and never failed to find himself endeared to her all the more for her kindness and gentleness of spirit. He found himself wondering how Charlotte Morrison could raise a child with a temperament so contrary to her own. But he knew life's disappointments had dealt a blow to Charlotte that had shaped the person she'd become. Frank had been right. He must keep that in mind, though sometimes it was hard. Even harder to comprehend was the idea that Alaina might suffer a disappointment because of him. End up poor and miserable. He clenched his jaw. Not if he could help it.

When they settled the blanket on the ground, she spread out the meager meal, and Jack felt hot shame. There should be more food. More candy for the children. Alaina should have better clothes. . . .

She sent him a questioning look from her place next to young Missy, and Jack felt the sudden pressure of time being wasted. Perhaps he should go over his notes again. Though he'd turned his theory over to Mr. Fulton, he couldn't keep at bay the nagging fear that he'd forgotten something. By the slant of the sun, he knew he had little time left in the day to review his plans before his shift started. He swept to his feet, threw his apple core far out into the tall grass, and stretched.

Missy helped Alaina gather the remaining scraps of bread. She showed Missy how to tear the pieces into smaller bits and then scatter them for the birds. The child watched in wide-eyed wonder as a single cardinal floated down and hopped closer and closer, his bright little eyes on a good-sized crumb.

Jack couldn't help but smile at the child's delight.

Alaina sidled close and whispered, “I'm worried about Sam.”

The boy was nowhere to be seen. “Where'd he go?” Jack asked.

She pointed to the edge of the woods, where Jack caught a glimpse of Sam's dark head among a thicket of tall grass. “I think he's worried about his father.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. He could well understand the boy's concern and felt the claw of doubt scratch at his own mind when he considered Frank's condition. “I'll go talk to him, but I have to get back to town.” He caught Alaina's gaze. “I can't stop this feeling that I overlooked something in my notes.”

He held his breath, hoping for her understanding. A sharp chill shot through him when Alaina, instead, turned away, back ramrod straight. He reached out a hand to turn her toward him but let it drop back to his side when his tongue found no words to console.

He stepped around her and focused on retrieving Sam, but every footfall fanned the embers of his anger. Why couldn't she understand? Didn't his time with her this afternoon show how much he cared? The tender kiss and the smoky look in her eyes had seemed so full of promise for their future. Yet every time he mentioned the project, it seemed to build a wall between them.

When Jack reached the spot where he'd last seen Sam, he stopped and squinted into the tall grass. The boy sat far away from his original location, feet dangling just above the shorter grass under the fallen log upon which he had perched.

“Sam? It's time to go. We've got to head back to town.”

Sam didn't raise his face, though a curt nod of his head acknowledged he'd heard. He slipped off the log, feet dragging with every step.

When he got within reach, Jack pulled the boy close. He pressed the back of Sam's head against his side and swallowed hard over the knot of emotion swelling in his own throat. Under his hand, he felt the first shudder of the boy's narrow shoulders. He knelt in the tall grass to get eye level with Sam. “You're afraid for your father?”

A small, quiet sob shook the boy's chest. “Will he—” Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. “Will he go away like Momma?”

How much Jack wished he could give the boy solid reassurance, but he understood the extent of Frank's injuries and knew the days ahead would play heavily on whether or not Sam's father would recover. Yet Sam wanted someone to tell him no. To drive away the merciless bats of fear beating their wings against his fragile peace of mind.

Jack dragged in a deep breath and grasped the boy's heaving shoulders. “I don't know, Sam. I do know that your father is badly hurt but that he's strong and wants to live so he can take care of you and Missy.”

“He said Momma dying was for the best. Does God think taking him will be for the best, too?”

Jack's eyes squeezed shut at the rawness of that question. He pulled Sam into his embrace and spread his hand on the boy's small back, while the memory of himself as a young boy being embraced by his father after a fall washed over him. Jack swallowed hard and, for the first time, let himself grieve for that part of his father that he'd loved and trusted.

Sam tugged on his sleeve. “Are you sad about Papa?”

Jack ran the back of his hand across the wetness on his cheeks. “Yes. Very. He is my friend, Sam. A very good friend.”

Sixteen

May 29, 1889

“Well, Jack-o, guess you'll have to get used to calling me ‘sir' now.” Robert Whitfield's triumphant expression came into sharp focus.

Jack's spine stiffened. Rage began a slow boil.

The promotion.

After all the grunt work he'd done for Fulton. . .all his plans and hopes dashed.

“No worries, though.” Robert bared his teeth. “I'll be a good shift manager. The boss has a lot of confidence in me. More than in others.”

Jack saw the bait dangled before him. Robert clamped a hand on Jack's shoulder, outwardly looking like a friendly gesture, but Jack felt the unnecessary pressure and schooled his features not to show any pain.

“I'll look forward to working as your boss. But I warn you now. . .I don't tolerate those who don't do their jobs.”

Jack clenched his fists, hoping his glare would stab a hole in Robert's cockiness. His thoughts splintered. How could he tell Alaina the news? He would never be able to afford marriage now. He would be forced to break their engagement. But how could he do that?

Robert took a step back. “Since I get off before you, I'll deliver the good news to Alaina. She'll want to know, right?”

Jack forced himself not to react as Robert gave his shoulder a pat and sauntered off. He had no doubt the man would be on Alaina's doorstep within an hour, gloating, and he could do nothing about it.

He worked fast and hard during his shift. Images of Robert arriving on Alaina's doorstep haunted him. He picked up his pace and shoveled harder. Faster.

“You're gonna kill yourself, Jack.”
He heard Frank's voice in his head.

Thoughts of his friend's condition, of his inability to care for his family, helped bring perspective to Jack's problems. At least he could still earn a wage. He was unharmed and strong, and he could still hope Mr. Fulton found his theory worthy.

When the greaser came along to oil the machinery, Jack breathed in relief and made his way through the room to the outside. Rain sprinkled down on his face, cooling his body.

More rain. Little Conemaugh bore none of a resemblance to its name now. It raged and slurped at the banks, barely containing its swelling girth. Jack considered what the constant rain was doing to the South Fork Dam. If the Little Conemaugh roared like this, the streams feeding into Lake Conemaugh would be swollen as well, in turn pushing the lake higher and higher toward the crest of the dam.

Only a handful of people seemed worried about the
structure. Too many years of crying wolf had cauterized most of Johnstown's population's ability to see the dam as a real threat.

But the knowledge he'd gleaned in his research for Mr. Fulton weighed on him. His already exhausted limbs stiffened with fear.
God, if that dam goes, we're all dead.

Losing Alaina would be devastating, whether losing her to Robert or to floodwaters. He couldn't let either happen.

When he opened the door to his room, a thin, steady stream of water cascaded from the roof. He emptied the smaller pot of its store of rainwater and placed a bigger pot underneath the growing hole in the roof.

What he needed most was a bath. He smiled at the absurdity of taking a bath when all he needed to do was stand outside with a bar of soap to get the job done. But mirth fizzled when Robert's leering grin popped into his head.

❧

“You'd be happier with him.”

Alaina pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. No matter what she did or said, her mother's words kept pecking at her love for Jack. Robert's visit, though short and to the point, hadn't helped matters, and her mother overhearing Robert's news that he'd received the promotion instead of Jack only added fuel to her argument.

“Robert is the kind of man that will do something with his life. If you're not careful, you'll lose him to Mary. You can bet she has her eyes on him.”

“Mary is my friend,” Alaina reminded her mother.

“Friend or not. . .”

Alaina felt the tension stretch along her nerves. She knew what her mother's next attack would be.

“At least go to Pittsburgh and look the college over. Give yourself some time away from here to clear your head.”

Alaina let her hands fall to the table. “Meaning, away from Jack.”

Charlotte's lips tightened into a firm line, and she squinted harder at the needle poking through the hem of the gown she had been working on all evening. “Away from Jack is not a bad place to be.”

“Why do you hate Jack so much?” There, she'd asked the question that had nagged at her for so long.

Charlotte set aside her sewing, her expression stricken. “It's not that I hate him, Alaina. Jack's a nice young man. But why can't you wait a while to marry? Consider going to college. If he wants to marry you, won't he wait? Doesn't he want what's best for you?”

Missy appeared at Alaina's elbow, hair mussed and tears welling in her eyes. “Sam pulled my hair.”

Welcoming the intrusion, Alaina went to where Sam sat on the floor rolling an empty spool back and forth between his hands. She sank to the floor, her skirt billowing out around her, and slipped an arm across Sam's shoulders. “Why did you pull Missy's hair?”

She felt the rise and fall of Sam's shoulders as he released a sigh. Missy sniffed.

“Sam?”

His voice came to her sounding small and scared. “I want my pa.”

Alaina pulled the boy closer just as Missy burst into tears. The creak of the boards let her know Charlotte was coming to offer some assistance. They shared a look over the little girl's head. Alaina's mother touched Missy's shoulder. The child spun around and flung herself into Charlotte's arms, rocking the older woman off balance. Regaining her position, Charlotte pulled the child close and stroked her hair.

Alaina couldn't deny the children their need to see their father. If Jack showed up on the doorstep in the next few minutes, he could come along, but waiting for him, never knowing if he would forget or not, was not an option with Sam and Missy so obviously upset.

Alaina stood tall and stabbed a glance out the window. At least the rain had let up. She hated the idea of wading through the water standing in the streets from the constant downpours, but she had no choice. “Missy, Sam, let's get you bundled up and over to see your father.”

Missy rubbed at her eyes and straightened in Charlotte's arms. “Really?”

Sam jumped to his feet. It was as if a great load had lifted from the boy's shoulders. “Will Jack come, too?”

“I don't know.” Would this be what it was like to be married to Jack? He wouldn't come home to his family, always placing work above her? She might be able to endure the slights, as she had in the past, but for her to knowingly subject any children they might have together to the same thing seemed irresponsible. Or maybe she wasn't being fair to him. She hugged herself, not knowing what to think or feel. A shiver quaked through her.

“Alaina? Are you catching a chill?”

It had been easy to discount her mother's worries. Perhaps too easy. Her mother's expression was pinched with concern. For her.

“I'm fine, just. . .” She pressed her lips together as they began to form the words she knew would put sunshine on her mother's face. Words she was afraid to say because it meant part of a dream was dying. She drew in a slow breath. “When we get back, I'll help you with that dress. Then I'll cut out a new one—”

Her voice faltered the slightest bit. She braced herself mentally and met her mother's direct gaze. “Maybe I can have it done before I make the trip to Pittsburgh.”

Seventeen

Something sour churned Jack's gut at the dark windows and silence that met his many knocks on the door of Alaina's home. He feared Robert had already arrived to sweep Alaina away to some theater show and dinner, regaling her with stories of his new promotion and—

Jack heaved a sigh and shook his head. Alaina loved him. He loved her. Still, he had hoped to tell her the news himself, to wrest from her the promise that she would wait and to hear the words he so needed to believe—
I love you.

Instead he turned and slogged his way back through the flooded streets. Water funneled and poured, his already wet shoes becoming saturated. He stopped long enough to stare up at the spire of the Presbyterian church, its stone face cold yet solid.

With nothing left to do but wander the streets, an idea that did not appeal to him in the least, Jack meandered back toward Cambria City. The evening stretched before him, long and dark. Robert's face, a smirk on his lips, loomed in Jack's mind. Taunting.

When he arrived at his house, he emptied the tin mug of its collection of water and set it back in place. At the small table, he glanced over the notes he'd made while writing his report on the dam and the theory he'd turned in to Fulton. They seemed nothing more than dry, cold facts. Sadness gripped Jack. For all the work he had put into his theory and the report on the dam, in trying to prove himself a good worker to Fulton, success meant nothing if he did not have Alaina by his side.

❧

To Alaina's way of thinking, Frank looked worse than the previous day. He appeared unfocused and acknowledged the children with wan joy. If Sam and Missy noticed their pa's decline, they didn't express their dismay.

Worry nibbled at the edges of Alaina's mind. What if Frank didn't live? She could hardly leave the children in an orphanage. Jack would know Frank's wishes and whether he had relatives or not, but gazing upon the sweet faces as they clung to their father's hands, she knew her own heart would struggle at the idea of saying good-bye.

“When are you coming home?” Missy asked.

Frank turned his head on the pillow, his face flushed.

Alaina worried the fever was ravaging his body faster than the wound.

“They had me up just before you got here, Missy. Wore me out. But I'm gettin' stronger.”

His words brought a measure of relief. If he'd walked around, that explained his flushed face and the exhaustion. Alaina caught her mother's gesture and followed the flick of her hand that indicated a cane leaning against the wall. “What a beautiful cane, Frank. Did you make it?”

He blinked his eyes, and a slow smile curved his mouth. “One of the fellas carved it for himself when he got in an accident. He gave it to me yesterday before he left.”

Missy grabbed up the cane and began to swing it around. Charlotte shook her head, and Missy set it back against the wall.

“You're feeling stronger then?” Alaina asked.

“Still have a bit of fever, but doctor says the wounds are healing well.”

Missy resumed her post next to her father as he admonished them to be good and motioned the children, one by one, to lean in for a kiss.

Alaina made feeble attempts to converse with the children on the way home. Water in the streets made it necessary for her to carry Missy, while Sam clung to her mother's hand. The children appeared relieved by their visit and happier in spirit, splashing in puddles and laughing.

Though they grimaced at having to change out of their wet clothes, Alaina's promise of something hot to drink motivated them. Charlotte helped Sam peel off his sodden trousers as Alaina knelt to help Missy undress and pull a nightgown over her head, then ran a towel over her saturated locks to absorb excess water.

“Of all the times not to have hot cocoa,” Charlotte fretted.

“Can I have tea?” Missy chirped. “And honey?”

Sam slipped onto the bench and swung his legs. Missy scampered over to her brother, damp hair already forming ringlets that framed her face.

Alaina pulled on the drenched fabric of her skirt to loosen her legs so she could stand. “I'll get the honey.”

“Regular little angels.” Charlotte smiled at the children. “You go change, Alaina. I'll get them their tea.”

Grateful to be free of the saturated dress, Alaina pulled on a dry winter gown of worn brown wool to stave off further chill and hung her wet clothes over a metal tub to drip dry. She paused to stare out her window, unable to see much for the rain and darkening skies but well aware that her heart felt as dark and heavy as the fabric she'd just hung up. Having made the decision to sew a new dress locked her into going to Pittsburgh. Her mother would not let her back down from her promise now.

When she returned to the small kitchen, the first things she noticed were the drooping heads of both Sam and Missy.

She shared a smile with her mother, who mouthed, “
Bedtime
.”

Alaina pressed a hand against Missy's back. “Why don't I tuck you two in for the night?”

“Are you going to read us a story?” Missy asked.

“Not tonight. I don't think you could stay awake to hear it all.”

Missy pooched her lip but said no more.

Sam slid off his chair and followed without protest. It took very little time to settle the two into the makeshift bed and say prayers. Missy dropped off sometime during Sam's prayer for their father and that the rains would stop, and then he stretched out beside his sister.

“I love you, Alaina,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I love you, too, Sam. Sleep well.”

Missy stirred, sighed, and curled closer to her brother's side. Their heads were close together.

Alaina pulled the blanket up around their shoulders and cast another glance outside, her mind suddenly full of the many times she'd heard the rumor of the Lake Conemaugh Dam bursting open. Her mother never seemed bothered by the prospect, but Alaina knew if it did happen things would be bad for Johnstown. It nibbled at her that she couldn't leave her mother here, alone, with that threat looming large. Only the knowledge that her mother would discount the notion of the dam bursting flushed the idea from her mind.

She sighed. A dull headache gathered strength behind her eyes, and she rubbed the spot to ease the pressure.

“Alaina?” She turned to see the outline of her mother in the doorway. “There's got to be an inch of mud in the store, so I promised Mr. Heiser I'd clean it up this evening.”

She nodded and swiped her hands down the skirt of her dress. “Why don't you let me do it?”

“If we work together, it'll go faster.” Her mother's gaze slipped to the window behind Alaina. “Seems this rain will never stop.”

“I was just thinking of that dam.”

“It makes me glad we're not on the ground floor,” Charlotte responded. She took a step closer to the doorway and paused. “Alaina, there's something I need to say to you.”

The words glued Alaina to the spot. She braced for a verbal assault.

But her mother's expression softened. “I want you to understand why I'm so”—Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut—“so hard on you.”

“You don't have to explain.”

“I just don't want you to have to struggle. To have your heart broken by a man who can't keep his promises. Jack is so like your father.”

“Why didn't you go West, too?” The question slipped out before Alaina gave it thought. In all the years since her father had left, she'd never ventured to ask, afraid of the response. She opened her mouth to apologize and take back the words.

Charlotte flinched but recovered quickly. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Alaina reached to offer some measure of comfort. When her mother turned and left the room, she followed, as if drawn by an invisible cord.

Her mother sat at the kitchen table and gestured for her to sit as well. “It's good that you ask, though the telling isn't easy.” She pressed her lips together as great tears welled.

“Momma, you don't have—”

Charlotte gave her head a firm shake. “No. It's a question that needs answering. One that God has Himself been asking me. You see, your father did ask me.” She clamped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn't want to go. It was hard for me to think of leaving Johnstown. He wouldn't budge either and told me he'd go ahead and send for us when he got settled.”

“So he didn't abandon us?” Shock rolled over Alaina.

Her mother didn't respond for a long time as she sobbed into her hands.

The part of Alaina that wanted to comfort her mother dried up and blew away. Anger reared its ugly head. “How could you let me believe all these years that he left without ever looking back? He wanted us to go with him.”

Charlotte nodded and smeared back the tears with the back of her hand. “I didn't realize you thought that. When he wrote letters, he never asked me again. I guess I took that as his way of saying he didn't want us.”

That statement cut through Alaina's anger. She could under
stand her mother's reasoning. “Why did he stop writing?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I wish I knew. Between him not asking for us to join him and not writing, I've allowed myself to become”—she stared at the scarred tabletop—“bitter.”

It made sense now. Her mother going back to church. The softening. Her reactions to Jack. Her bitterness. “But one thing you must understand, Momma, is that Jack is not Father. He wants to provide for me and make sure we're well taken care of.”

“But that's no excuse for the way he forgets you.”

Alaina nodded. “Yes, I know, but you've got to see him apart from Father. He's his own man.”

Her mother stared at her for several minutes. “Yes, you're right. I've known that. Deep down inside, I've known that, but I still say you should be cautious. No man should treat you as Jack has.” Charlotte reached out and laid a hand on Alaina's arm. “I have a surprise for you. I've been sewing dresses for you from scraps and leftover yardage my customers didn't care about.”

“You have?”

“I saw the way you looked at him. At Jack. And I knew you would want to marry. I didn't want you to start out in rags. And I always hoped you might change your mind and go to college. To Pittsburgh. So I've got two dresses for you in my room.”

Alaina understood the pleading in her mother's eyes and knew that she was being asked a question. She swallowed. “I'll try them on.”

“Good, we can get you on the train west tomorrow morning.” With that her mother left the room.

Alaina's head whirled with the generosity and suddenness of the gift, but something else, too—for the opportunity to see a side of her mother that she'd never seen before and for the knowledge that her father had not abandoned them. That was the most important of all the gifts she'd received.

BOOK: Promise of Tomorrow
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