Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (31 page)

Annamarie lay her knitting in her lap and took both of Caroline’s hands in hers. “Noble thinks you feel something special for the man who works at the factory—Ollie Moore. Is he right?”

She wouldn’t lie to Annamarie. Very slowly she nodded.

A smile broke across Annamarie’s face. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“No, it isn’t.” Caroline stood and paced the room twice. “It’s foolhardy. And it’s distracting. And I have to stop thinking about him
right now
.”

“But why?” Annamarie patted the arm of her chair, inviting Caroline to sit. “Tell me about him. Is he a God-fearing man?”

Caroline sank onto the rolled arm, reflecting on Annamarie’s question. Ollie had agreed to pray for Mr. Holcomb, and he’d been in church this past Sunday. She nodded.

“Is he handsome?” Annamarie’s dark-brown eyes twinkled teasingly.

Immediately a picture of Ollie filled her mind—tall, with wide shoulders and a trim waist. Even in work dungarees and suspenders, he cut a dashing figure. Heat filled Caroline’s face. A self-conscious giggle escaped. “Annamarie, really …”

The woman grinned, arching one brow. “Are you afraid I’ll set my sights on him if you tell me? Remember, I’ve already captured the finest man God placed on the earth, so you needn’t worry I’ll chase Ollie Moore around the block.”

Caroline laughed out loud, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Annamarie looked so demure with her silver hair slicked back in a neat twist and her slender body attired in a dignified suit of sage green. Her teasing always took Caroline by surprise. She sighed, shaking her head in amusement. “Annamarie, you are a scamp, but I love you.”

The teasing faded from Annamarie’s eyes. “And we love you. So much so we want you to be happy. If this man could make you happy, then—”

Caroline bounced up. “He can’t.” She stepped to the fireplace and braced her hand on the mantel.

“Why not?”

“Because our entire relationship”—did they have a relationship?—“is built on half truths. I can’t tell him who I really am. And I know he’s holding back something from me.” Ollie’s cultured speech echoed in her mind. And then something else leaped from her memory.

When Ollie had shared Gordon Hightower’s worry about Caroline being one of Bratcher’s relatives and therefore seeking a reason to bring a
wrongful-death suit against the factory, he’d said “sue us.”
Us
. Not “him” or “the factory” or even “the owner.” At the time her weariness had kept her from fully comprehending the meaning of his statement. But now her heart pounded like a bass drum as questions—and suppositions—raced through her mind.

Annamarie’s dear face registered concern. “Caroline, what is it?”

“Nothing.” Caroline scurried to the hall tree near the door of the suite and removed her shawl. Seeing the deep furrows in Annamarie’s face, she forced a smile and returned to plant a kiss on Annamarie’s soft cheek. “Don’t worry. I just remembered something, and I … I need to take care of it before I go in to work tonight.”

Annamarie caught Caroline’s hand, holding her in place. “Are you sure you’re all right? Your face is ashen.”

With a grin Caroline pinched her cheeks. “Is that better?”

Annamarie’s expression didn’t change.

Caroline beamed a big smile and tossed her head, making the little coils that always escaped her bun bounce against her cheeks. “You needn’t look so distressed. I’m fine. Honestly.” She leaned down and embraced her friend. “I’ll come when I get off in the morning to walk the children to Kesia’s for breakfast and then to school. We can chat then, all right?”

“And you’ll tell me what important errand has you dashing out the door?”

Caroline wasn’t sure she’d have all the answers she was seeking by tomorrow morning, but she hoped to have uncovered at least one bit of information—the truth of who Ollie Moore was. She said, “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Please tell Noble and the children good night for me.” She headed for the door.

“Caroline?”

The worry in Annamarie’s voice brought Caroline to a halt, but she didn’t turn around.

“Please be careful. Don’t do anything rash. If you have feelings for this man, God can remove whatever barriers seem to be keeping you apart. Will you trust God and seek His guidance rather than relying on your own instincts?”

Slowly Caroline turned to face Annamarie. She forced her lips to form a smile while inwardly she quivered. “I’ll try.”

Annamarie nodded, apparently satisfied. “Very well. Good night, Caroline.”

She stepped into the hallway and then leaned against the wall, allowing her head to sag. Had she just lied to Annamarie? From the first time she met Ollie Moore, she’d felt a tug toward him. Yet the more time she spent with him, the more confused she became. She started to go back in and ask Annamarie if God would prompt her to engage in such a puzzling, uncertain, frustrating relationship. But, fearful of Annamarie’s answer, she crossed the tails of her shawl over her waist and headed for the factory instead.

“Luh-Luh-Letta?”

Letta snuffled and rolled over on her cot to face the bed where her brothers lay under a fluffy blanket. Although the cot was more comfortable than anything she’d slept on before, she wondered what it would be like to sleep in the big feather bed. “Hush, Lank. Mr. Noble told us to go to sleep now.” She liked the big man well enough to mind him.

“I know, buh-buh-buh-but gotta ask you suh-suh-somethin’.”

Lank rarely used words, and over the years Letta had learned to read his gestures. But with the room all dark, she couldn’t see well enough to understand. Listening to him talk hurt her heart and made her impatient, both at the same time. “What’cha want?”

“Cuh-cuh-cuh—”

Lesley sat bolt upright. “We’re wantin’ to stay here instead o’ goin’ back to our house. Can we, Letta?”

She tossed aside her covers and hopped out of the bed. The cot let out a mighty squeak, and she cringed. Would Mr. Noble or Mrs. Annamarie hear her moving around? She paused, ear turned toward the door, but when no footsteps approached, she tiptoed across the thickly carpeted floor and sat on the edge of the boys’ bed. She scowled at the pair. “That’s a stu—” She stopped herself from using the word Pa had thrown at his children. “That idea won’t work, Lesley.”

Lesley’s long eyelashes swept up and down once. “Why? We like it here.”

Letta liked it here, too. She liked the big, clean rooms and the nice furniture. She liked the indoor plumbing where all she had to do was turn a couple of knobs, and hot water came right out of the pipes. And everybody got fresh
water for their bath. She liked how a maid came in every day and cleaned up after them. And mostly, she liked Mr. Noble and Mrs. Annamarie. But they still couldn’t stay. “Don’t matter. This is a hotel. Costs a heap of money to stay in hotels.”

“But Mr. Noble’s payin’ for it.”

Lesley had an answer for everything. Letta huffed in aggravation. “Sure he is, but he don’t live here. He’s just stayin’ here for a little while. He an’ Mrs. Annamarie’ll be goin’ back to their own house soon. Don’tcha remember them tellin’ us they’re leavin’ come the end of the week?”

Lesley folded his arms over his skinny chest and poked out his lip. “Then I wanna go with ’em. I like ’em, Letta. I like ’em a lot. An’ so does Lank. Mr. Noble, he never tells Lank he’s a imbecile. An’ Mrs. Annamarie talks real nice an’ smells real good. So can we go live with ’em?”

Letta understood why Lesley wanted to live with the Dempseys. She liked them, too. Down deep, she’d started wishing they were her pa and ma. Or maybe her grandpa and grandma since they were white haired already. But she knew it was all pretend. Nice as they were, they’d never said anything about keeping Letta and the boys.

“No, we can’t.” Her whisper came out on a harsh note, but she did nothing to temper her voice, knowing Lesley wouldn’t listen to reason otherwise. “Remember that telegram Mr. Noble sent to Aunt Gertrude? He read it to us first so we’d know what he was doin’. What did it say?”

Lesley lowered his head. “He told Aunt Gertrude to come get us.”

“That’s right.” Letta gave her little brother a push that sent him against his pillow. “So no more talk about wantin’ to live with ’em. You neither, Lank. They don’t want us.” Sadness washed over her. She finished on a sigh. “No sense in wishin’ they do.” She rose. “Now both o’ you go to sleep.”

She lay down on her squeaky cot and covered up with the soft blanket. Then she stared, wide awake, at the ceiling. Neither Lank nor Lesley spoke again, but every now and then she heard one of them sniffle. Probably Lesley. Lank wasn’t given to tears any more than Letta was. But she reckoned his heart was aching just as bad as hers.

Ma hadn’t wanted them. Pa hadn’t wanted them. And now Mr. Noble and
Mrs. Annamarie were ready to hand them off to an aunt who didn’t want them, either. Letta’s lower lip quivered, and she clamped her jaw hard. So nobody wanted them. So what? They didn’t need anybody anyway. And come tomorrow, soon as Miss Carrie dropped them off at school, she’d take her brothers by the hands and find someplace for them to live where nobody’d find them or bother them again. They wouldn’t stick around where they weren’t wanted.

Caroline headed for her work station, tool belt dangling from her hand. Her gaze turned in every direction, her pulse thrumming in apprehension. Or was it anticipation? When Ollie Moore was involved, she couldn’t be certain of anything anymore. She only knew that when she saw him, the questions lingering on her tongue would spill forth. And she wouldn’t relent until he’d given satisfactory answers.

She rounded the corner to her work station and came to such a sudden stop her feet slid on the concrete floor. Ollie was standing beside the low cart of filled boxes awaiting their lids. His unsmiling gaze met hers, and all the questions she’d intended to spew dissipated. In their place a desire rose to see him open his arms in silent invitation, an invitation she would accept without a moment’s hesitation.

Apparently she hadn’t gotten enough sleep earlier that day.

Giving herself a shake to cast off the odd longing, she set her feet in motion and marched directly to the cart. She hooked the tool belt around her waist, set her feet wide, and gave him what she hoped would be interpreted as an imperious look. “I would have a word with you.”

“That suits me.” He stepped around the cart, caught her by the elbow, and began propelling her across the floor.

She let out a squawk of dismay and smacked at his hand. “Release me!”

His lips set in a grim line, he kept a grip until he’d guided her inside the janitor’s closet and closed the door behind them. The bulb hanging overhead
was already on when they entered, letting her know he’d planned this clandestine meeting. She darted to the opposite side of the little room and stood glowering at him. Had Gordon Hightower forced her inside a closet with him, she’d have been frightened out of her mind. But the only emotion coursing through her as she faced Ollie was anger.

“What are you doing? We’re on duty—we can’t be holed up in here together. What will people think?”

He gave her a snide look. “Odd that you’d be concerned about what people think, considering …”

She pinched her brows together. “Considering what?”

“Never mind. It isn’t important.” He took a forward step, his expression hard. “I need to get something straight with you. Whatever information you’re seeking about Harmon Bratcher’s death, you’re wasting your time trying to blame Fulton Dinsmore. I will not allow you to sully his good name, and should you choose to persist in this … this
witch hunt
, I shall be forced to act with all due haste and have you removed from employ at this factory.” His articulate speech poured out effortlessly as he staunchly defended the owner of the factory.

Us
. He’d said
us
when speaking of the factory. Understanding dawned. She jabbed her finger at him and found her voice. “Ollie Moore? Or is it
Dins
more?”

He lifted his chin. Neither the factory worker attire nor the purplish and yellow marks on his face could hide his proud carriage. He patted his palms together in subdued applause, a sarcastic grin on his face. “Well done, Miss Lang. You’ve discovered one small truth.” Then his expression hardened. “And now that you know who I am, you know I can make good on my promise to send you packing. My father is well respected, his reputation as a fair, philanthropic man reaching far beyond the bounds of Kansas. Your accusations, even though unfounded and unsubstantiated, could cast a permanent shadow on his character. So I must insist they end here and now.”