Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (38 page)

Besides, he liked the way people turned to watch the barouche, pulled by the pair of steel-gray horses with bouncing black manes. When Gordon made the chocolate factory his own, he’d purchase a carriage and matching steeds. Or perhaps he’d choose one of the newfangled horseless carriages appearing on the streets in the most prestigious cities. Such a vehicle would certainly garner attention. He almost laughed, imagining it.

“Here we are, sir.”

The driver’s droll voice pulled Gordon from his daydreams. He clambered out of the carriage, placed a fifty-cent piece in the driver’s hand with a grand
flourish, and then turned to Dinsmore. “Shall we go in?” Dinsmore trailed Gordon, one step behind, his hat held in the crook of his arm and the tip of his cane tapping the floor as he went. Gordon enjoyed his lead position. He allowed his gaze to rove across the various workers, inwardly beaming at their industriousness while maintaining a stern facade. He led Dinsmore to the stairs and, when they reached the landing, gestured for him to precede him up the hallway.

Dinsmore strode through the open doorway of Gordon’s office and seated himself, resting his cane against the edge of his chair. He laid his hat, brim up, on the corner of Gordon’s desk, then removed his kidskin gloves and slipped them into his pocket. Crossing his legs, he sent Gordon an attentive look. “Now, what seems to be the trouble?”

Gordon frowned at the man’s take-charge attitude. To gain control again, he took his time closing the door, crossing to his observation window to latch the sound-muffling solid shutters, and then settling himself in his desk chair. Finally he angled his head and aimed what he hoped would be interpreted as a deeply concerned look at his boss.

“As you know, I’ve insisted on no fraternization between male and female workers.” Gordon linked his hands and rested them on the edge of the desk. “Trifling behavior leads to a lack of concentration on one’s task, which is detrimental to the overall operation of the factory. I have always presumed you agreed with my opinion concerning male-female associations. Was I incorrect?”

Dinsmore frowned. “No. I’ve supported your reasoning.”

“I apologize for questioning you, but I needed confirmation of your agreement before I addressed the deeply troubling issue brewing within the factory walls.” Gordon injected as much gloom as possible without sounding histrionic.

“What is this ‘deeply troubling issue’?”

Gordon paused to pull in a long, slow breath, as if gathering his thoughts. “I’ve received word from the night foreman that Carrie Lang, the young woman you commended on your previous visit, and Ollie Moore, the man you recommended for employ, have begun meeting clandestinely on a regular basis.”

Dinsmore’s brows descended.

Gordon waited for the man to say something—to ask for clarification or details—but he merely sat in silence with a stern frown on his face. Satisfied he’d captured Dinsmore’s full attention, Gordon cleared his throat and continued. “They’ve been seen entering the infirmary together, talking privately during breaks, and having a rather heated discussion in the middle of the crating station—a veritable series of tête-à-têtes. All during working hours.”

“Was Bratcher the topic of these exchanges?”

A delighted cackle built in Gordon’s chest. So Dinsmore recalled their previous conversation about Carrie Lang’s apparent interest in Bratcher’s demise. He sat forward a bit, eager to share all he knew.

“Yes. The two are in league, it appears, and I’m fearful they’ll stir up other workers, given time. At the very least they’re wasting work hours on topics unrelated to their assigned tasks.” Gordon straightened his shoulders and looked imperiously down his nose at Dinsmore. “I believe it is in the factory’s best interest to remove these two workers from the employ list immediately.”

Dinsmore held one palm upward. “Slow down now, Gordon. I agree, from what you’ve said, one could surmise Lang and Moore are combining efforts to create some sort of skirmish. But we could also surmise they’re simply discussing work and disagree about how certain things should be accomplished.”

He’d hoped for instant approval. Dinsmore’s failure to offer it left Gordon wordless.

Dinsmore went on. “After all, a man died. Isn’t it realistic to presume workers will hold some concern? Perhaps Lang and Moore, being diligent workers, are merely discussing ways to prevent another casualty. These tête-à-têtes, as you called them, could be completely harmless.”

Gordon snapped out, “If these discussions are so harmless, would they need to take place behind closed doors? They’ve been seen leaving the janitor closet after having sealed themselves inside for indeterminate lengths of time.” He curled his lip in a sneer. “Call me suspicious, Mr. Dinsmore, but when a man and a woman shut themselves in an enclosed space, they’re rarely engaging in something innocent.”

The man pinched his chin and stared outward. Gordon almost chuckled.
He’d finally gotten through. While Dinsmore was off balance, Gordon went in for the kill.

“I want to give them both immediate notice for discharge.” He yanked the prepared papers from his desk drawer and shoved them across the desk. “Will you sign?”

Dinsmore’s gaze dropped to the papers. For long seconds he sat motionless, staring. Then with an abrupt motion he rose, grabbing his hat and cane in one smooth sweep of his hand. “I need some time to contemplate the best course of action. Releasing workers without just cause goes against my conscience. Before I sign the discharge papers, I need to have a word with my … Moore.” He peered down at Gordon through narrowed eyes.

Gordon squirmed, feeling like a bug beneath a child’s magnifying glass.

“I’ll return before the end of the first shift. You’ll be waiting?”

Gordon nodded. What other choice did he have?

“Very well.” Dinsmore frowned. “I’ll gain an understanding of this situation, I can assure you.” He turned and strode from the room.

Gordon flopped into his chair. Just who was this Ollie Moore? And why did Dinsmore hold him in such high regard? There was something fishy about the boss’s interest in that cocky janitor. Could there be a triangle of troublemakers infiltrating Gordon’s domain? He thumped his desk twice and then cradled his aching fist. Perhaps Moore and Lang weren’t his only worries.

Rubbing his eyes, Oliver tried to bring himself to full wakefulness. He’d been asleep maybe an hour—probably less—and had it not been Father at the door, he would have demanded to be left alone. But he couldn’t send his own father away. So he sat on the edge of his lumpy sofa in his nightshirt, bare feet planted wide on the faded carpet, and stifled a mighty yawn.

“I’m sorry to disturb your slumber.” Father’s voice held regret, but he sat ramrod straight on the single chair in the room rather than offering to leave so Oliver could sleep.

“It’s all right. I don’t imagine you’d visit unexpectedly if it weren’t important.” Now that Oliver was coming awake, worry nibbled at the back of his mind. “Is something wrong at home? Mother?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He rose and paced the circumference of the room, seeming to examine every detail from the cracked plaster walls to the stained lace curtains hanging limp from their rods. He stopped and released a short huff. “How do you live here?”

Oliver coughed a short laugh. The apartment was quite different from his third-floor suite in his family’s yellow-brick home in Wichita. But how could he maintain his facade as a mere factory worker if he chose anything other than a simple abode? Although at first he’d found the dwelling dismal and unsatisfactory, he’d adjusted to it. Especially after seeing how the Holcomb children lived. “It isn’t so bad.”

Father shot him an odd look but didn’t argue. He crossed back to the chair and sat stiffly on its edge. “I was summoned to town by Hightower. His concerns about Miss Lang have not diminished. Instead, they’ve intensified.”

Oliver blew out a breath. “Father, haven’t my reports offered you any assurance that Miss Lang isn’t interested in filing a suit against us?” He’d deliberately painted Carrie in a favorable light. Why would Father believe Hightower over him?

“Your reports seemed to withhold certain details.”

Oliver leaned into the lumpy sofa back. My, but he was tired. “What details?”

“Your trysts with her in the janitor’s closet, for one.”

Oliver leaped to his feet. “I’ve had no trysts with Carrie!”

Father raised one eyebrow. “You deny meeting alone with her?”

He couldn’t deny meeting her alone. But he could deny the purpose. Their consultations were never of a personal nature. Heat exploded in his chest and expanded outward, setting his entire frame on fire as he faced a secret truth. When he’d been alone with Carrie in the private, quiet room, he’d desired to steal a kiss. The day he’d held her—to offer comfort—he’d relished the feel of her soft form resting lightly against him. She’d fit so neatly in his arms, as if she was meant to be there.

“Oliver?”

Oliver ran his hand over his disheveled hair. He sank back onto the sofa. “We did meet. Alone. But it wasn’t what Hightower thinks. Carrie isn’t that kind of girl.” He met his father’s steadfast gaze. “Carrie suspects—and I’m prone to agree, given some information I’ve uncovered—that Harmon Bratcher may have met with foul play. She’s only interested in either proving or disproving her theory. Nothing more.”

“Is she a relative of Bratcher’s?”

“No.”

“Then why her interest?”

Oliver swallowed. He’d made a promise to Carrie. Although he’d never kept anything from his father, he’d honor it. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I gave my word.”

Father paused, his brow furrowing. “But you’re certain she isn’t seeking to bring a suit against the factory?”

“Yes, sir.”

Father leaned back in the chair, pinched his chin between his thumb and fingers, and peered for several long minutes at Oliver. He remained still beneath his father’s intense perusal, although sitting there in his nightshirt with his hairy legs sticking out left him feeling much less than confident.

Finally Father gave a firm nod. “Very well, Oliver. If you believe this young woman’s intentions are honorable, I will trust your instincts.”

Oliver hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until his lungs emptied in a whoosh. “Thank you, Father.”

“But I do have another question.”

Oliver tipped his head, waiting.

“What are your intentions concerning Carrie Lang?”

“In—” Oliver gulped. “Intentions?”

Father removed his jacket, tossed it over the arm of the chair, then propped his elbows on his knees. The sternness in his eyes faded, but his gently furrowed brow gave evidence of concern. Concern for his son. Oliver didn’t want to displease this man.

“You seem quite determined to defend the woman. Even protect her. You’re an honorable man, Oliver. I know this because I raised you to be an honorable man, and you’ve never once in all your growing-up years given me reason to hang my head in disgrace. But I’ll be honest with you. Right now I’m questioning whether I should sign the papers Gordon laid out for your discharge and take you back to Wichita with me.”

Oliver’s mouth dropped open. “He wishes to dismiss me?”

“You and Miss Lang.” Father shook his head as if puzzling over something. “Gordon’s a driven man and also a dependable man. I’ve watched him grow up, taking on more and more responsibility, eventually proving himself capable of handling the operation of the factory. He’s always done exactly as I’ve asked, and because I trust his judgment, I’ve never denied his requests. Maybe I shouldn’t deny this one.”

“But why? Carrie’s an excellent worker.” Even though she was there under false pretenses, she never shirked her duties. She performed as well as and perhaps even better than her coworkers. “And I complete my tasks as I’ve been instructed, always to the best of my ability.” Although, admittedly, his best efforts were often lacking.

“But you both broke one of Gordon’s most stringent rules by consorting
with each other.” Father jabbed his finger at Oliver. “By your own admission you and Miss Lang have spent time together during work hours. He has grounds to discharge both of you.”