Into the Whirlwind (27 page)

“Is that all?” Alice asked with a pointed look.

Was that all? Given that Zack Kazmarek had been in and out of her brain every three minutes like a mosquito she could not bat away, Richard Lowe’s distraction was a blessing.

“Can you imagine what my father’s reaction would have been if he knew Colonel Lowe had an interest in me?”

Alice crossed her arms across her front. “Silas Knox would
rise from the grave and walk across town to give you away at the wedding. But I hope you aren’t buying new dresses to please your father’s ghost.”

She wanted new dresses so she could feel normal again. So she could pretend, even if only for a few minutes, that her life had resumed its ordered, clean, tidy routine. And so she could appeal to Richard Lowe and extinguish the inconvenient memory of Zack once and for all.

Which was hard to do when he kept having those notes delivered to the workshop. Sometimes they rudely implied she was to blame for the falling-out between them; others tried to cajole her into forgiving him and rushing back to fling herself into his arms. He even had the gall to suggest they elope. Mollie had carefully disposed of each of the notes in the company kiln and set them on fire.

Did he feel as bad as she about the way it all had ended? Never in her life had Mollie been as deliberately cruel as she had been that afternoon on the sidewalk outside the bank. “Jumped-up longshoreman,” she had called him. Zack was covered with a shell as rugged as battle armor, but that barb had slipped through where it could do the most damage. The way he’d flinched, a flash of hurt mingled with embarrassment, had been real. How quickly he had masked it, but she knew her arrow had found its mark and he remembered it.

She knew because his last note had suggested they get dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town where she could “savor the way the jumped-up rich people ate.” When she told Alice what she had said, her friend had been reproving. “Aren’t we all a little jumped-up?” she’d asked. For a girl who’d grown up pulling blackened lumps of potatoes from the Irish soil, Alice Adair had come a long way. Even Mollie and her father had pandered to the new rich of Chicago, hadn’t they?

Standing before the mirror in the shop, Mollie adjusted the soft cambric of the embroidered blouse into the waistband of the bronze skirt. Aside from the overlong hem, the outfit would need no tailoring to fit perfectly to her frame. How badly she wanted to be polished, poised, and in control of her world once again.

And for that to happen, there was no room for Zack. He was a wild force of uncertainty, mistrust, and emotions that would snap and flail like a wire that had been pulled too tight. Colonel Richard Lowe was a much safer choice.

Zack strode down Waubansia Avenue, whistling a perfect imitation of Lizzie’s morning chirp. The cold air made whistling easy, and he was in a good mood. For the first time, Mollie had responded to one of his notes. True, it had been only two lines in which she’d ordered him to quit pestering her, but he wasn’t discouraged. Mollie’s preferred style of argument was retreating behind her fortress of ice, so this note was exactly what he’d expected. He also knew that her logical, business-oriented brain would eventually come around to understand the situation about the land deed correctly. Her feelings had been hurt, but it was a business transaction.

Besides, he had the perfect gift in his pocket. Dr. Buchanan had let him know of the one thing Mollie lacked to get her operation back in full working order, and Zack intended to supply it.

Dr. Buchanan’s fascination with his mother’s cooking meant that Zack had a constant source of information on exactly what Mollie was up to. It was a rare evening when the dentist did not stop at their house for dinner. At first it was because Dr. Buchanan craved a decent meal and his mother would never turn
a hungry man away. Then the relationship had deepened. When Dr. Buchanan noticed Zack’s father working a piece of leather in preparation for making a hand-sewn wallet in the style of his Polish ancestors, the dentist had been intrigued. Jozef Kazmarek gladly showed Dr. Buchanan how to use a glover’s needle to bend and fashion the leather into shape. Zack had never had much interest in Polish handicrafts, but Dr. Buchanan had lapped up Jozef’s instructions like a calf seeking mother’s milk. Now every night after dinner, Dr. Buchanan and his father sat by the light of the fire as they each worked a piece of leather. After a little practice, Dr. Buchanan began making a leather pouch for his dental instruments.

Dr. Buchanan’s regular visits meant Zack knew exactly what was happening with the 57th. “She’s got that attic workshop in full operation,” the dentist said. “All except the metal polishing. There is no diamond powder to be had in the city. Her supplier got burned out and is nowhere to be found. If she can’t get more diamond powder, that means no polished metal, and pretty soon all the other operations are going to come to a grinding halt.”

Dr. Buchanan went on to tell of Mollie’s need to meet the Christmas order for a store in New York. Zack was pleased she’d landed such an impressive contract. Not that he’d doubted for a second she would. Her bold, outlandish idea to sell watches commemorating the Chicago fire was just the sort of daring plan that was going to keep her company afloat through this disaster.

Zack grinned as he hopped over the railroad tracks leading to the industrial mills. He was good at solving problems, and Mollie’s need for diamond powder was tailor-made for him to slide in and start making himself indispensable to her. A more conventional man would try softening her up with flowers or
jewelry, but Zack knew what made Mollie’s practical little heart beat faster, and that was having her supply pantry fully stocked. Zack had visited three jewelers to buy scrap diamond chips. They were knocking against his leg where they were stored in one of his father’s handmade leather pouches.

Magruder’s Industrial Mill on the northwest side of town specialized in producing the kind of high-end industrial equipment that was fueling the growth of the city. Master machinist Caleb Magruder built the hydraulic lifts for the elevator that had graced Hartman’s, and Zack had already contracted with him to build another elevator in their new building.

Dark clouds pumped from the smokestacks and a wave of hot air enveloped him as he stepped inside the mill. A wall of noise from the Bessemer furnace and huge grinding wheels was an assault on the ears, but it was the heat that caught Zack by surprise. He winced at the lungful of hot air but pushed the unwelcome sensation away. Memories of the fire still reared up at the most inconvenient times. He’d probably hate the feeling of hot air in his lungs for the rest of his life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t walk across the floor of a mill and get what he needed for Mollie.

Every square foot of the floor was in operation. The mill had been operating around the clock to replace the metalwork destroyed in the fire, but luckily he only needed Caleb Magruder’s equipment for less than an hour. He found the master mechanic standing beside a huge ring of metal at least eight feet wide and three inches thick. Wearing a leather apron and holding tongs to steady the metal ring, Caleb was in the process of installing a series of petal-shaped blades along the ring’s perimeter.

“A new water turbine,” Caleb shouted over the noise of the forge. “Installing them all over the city. Better control of water pressure.”

“I’ve got a quick job for you,” Zack shouted. Caleb nodded to a sweaty-faced worker to take over and motioned for Zack to follow him to an office in the rear of the mill. When the door closed and the racket dimmed to a dull roar, Zack tossed the sack of diamond chips to the mill owner.

Caleb snatched it out of the air. “What’s this?”

“You can grind diamond powder, can’t you?”

Caleb peeked inside the pouch. “Nothing to it, but get in line. I’ve got work stacked up into the next decade.” He pulled the strings of the pouch tight and tossed it back to Zack.

It was the answer Zack had expected. There wasn’t a factory or forge in the city that was not swamped with work. The temporary swell of goodwill following the fire had encouraged merchants to keep their prices fair, but as exhaustion set in, people were raising their prices to what the market would bear.

Zack was ready to play ball. “One hour at the wheel of your grinding station, and I’ll make arrangements for you to share shipping space with Hartman’s on our next train.”

“Not good enough,” the master mechanic said. “My grinder is making silica for glass. I’ll need to clean the grinder before and after the diamonds. If you want that diamond powder today, I’ll need a shot at your shipping space, plus a 5 percent price hike on the elevator I’m building for the new Hartman’s store.”

“No deal,” Zack said. He could bend the rules at Hartman’s, but he wouldn’t break them. One of the advantages of growing up on the south-side docks was that Zack had connections with every union leader, alderman, and politician in the city. Caleb Magruder could use those connections, and when Zack offered to invite the mechanic to the December rally for the mayor, it was a tempting offer. Caleb rubbed his jaw, pretending great reluctance before caving to the deal, as Zack knew he would.
“I’ll do it this one time,” he growled as he snatched the pouch from Zack, “but don’t expect any other favors. I’ve got a business to run.”

Two hours later, Zack had ten ounces of diamond powder. By this time tomorrow, Mollie would be eating out of his hand.

Zack was exhausted when he finally stepped off the streetcar to walk the final three blocks home. The afternoon’s diversion to get the diamond powder had made for a late night. A delivery of hardware from Cincinnati was short five casks of metal door hinges, and contracts with the city for jacking up the foundations on Columbus Street had hit a snarl. By the time he untangled the mess the sun had long since set, it was after eight o’clock, the air was freezing, and it had begun to sleet. Last week the gas lines had finally been repaired, so a glow from the streetlamps made it easy to see the sleet coming down sideways. He pulled the collar of his jacket up higher and darted toward home.

Inside, the house smelled delicious. His parents were sitting with Dr. Buchanan by the light of the fire. “Zachariasz!” his mother exclaimed as she shot to her feet. “We were about to give up on you. It is Andrew’s patron saint day, and we are celebrating.”

Zack grinned, knowing exactly what was coming. In Poland, the celebration of a saint’s day was far more important than birthdays, and his mother always loved a good celebration. Ever since she had taken Dr. Buchanan under her wing, she had been foisting these little traditions on him. On saints’ days his mother always made
makowiec
, a loaf of sweetbread with layers of minced almonds and poppy seeds, and drizzled with a honey glaze. It was Zack’s favorite dessert, and his mouth watered at the scent that permeated the house.

Dr. Buchanan stood, his face flushed but pleased. “I didn’t realize celebrating a saint’s day was a Polish custom. My birthday is in June, but I am game for a celebration in November.”

When Zack went back to the kitchen to help his mother set tiny candles into the makowiec loaf, she murmured to him, “No one has celebrated a saint’s day or a birthday for that man since he was ten years old and lost his parents. That ends today.”

Zack had seen the signs coming. His parents had always wanted more than one child, and when they recognized a lost soul like Dr. Andrew Buchanan, they embraced him with both arms. Dr. Buchanan had been invited to spend Christmas with them, and he had already become a permanent fixture in their house for dinner.

His mother’s face was illuminated by the candles as she carried the cake into the parlor. She sliced the cake and distributed plates, and his father raised his glass in a toast. “Good luck, good cheer; may you live a hundred years!”

Dr. Buchanan looked pleased enough to levitate. “As soon as my dental practice is back in business, no Kazmarek will ever pay for tooth work as long as they live.”

Zack stretched his legs out. “And how is the rebuilding going?” He had heard about the influx of volunteers from the able-bodied survivors of the 57th. Once or twice he had even passed by the construction site, glad to see Mollie’s new building taking shape so quickly. Large windows were on each of the walls, as Mollie had told him how important light was in the watchmaker’s craft. Last week, roofing materials had been delivered to the site.