To Dream Again (13 page)

As if she suddenly regretted speaking so frankly, she abruptly lifted her pendant watch to check the time. With a vexed exclamation, she rose to her feet. "I'd better go down. It's nearly ten."

He watched her head for the door. "Mara?"

She stopped and glanced back at him.

"Don't be afraid to ask for my help if you need it," he said quietly. "You can trust me. Think about that."

Mara thought about it. She thought about it a great deal the following morning as she stared at the brawny wall of Calvin Styles's chest. Just now, if Nathaniel were there, she'd ask for his help without hesitation. "I gave you an order, Mr. Styles," she said through clenched teeth.

The man folded his arms across his chest, unimpressed. "So?"

Mara lifted her gaze from the man's sweat-stained shirt to his face. She pointed in the direction of the crates stacked against the wall by the open door leading from the warehouse into the alley. "You will load these motors onto those delivery carts, and you will do it now."

"I don't take orders off no skirts."

Styles took a step forward, closing the short distance between them, and Mara swallowed hard. She could feel the eyes of the other men watching her. "Very well, then." She took a deep breath. "You're fired."

"You can't fire me," he sneered, lowering his head until his face was only inches from hers. "You're not the boss no more, Miss 'igh 'n' Mighty."

His hot breath fanned her cheek, and the smell of onions made her want to retch. She could see the hostility in his eyes, and she felt sudden danger. Fear danced along her spine, but she had never backed down to an insubordinate employee before, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Is there a problem here?"

She turned her head to see Nathaniel striding toward them, the crowd of men falling back to let him through. She felt Styles step away, and she nearly sagged with relief as Nathaniel reached her side.

He glanced at the man, then at her. "What is this about, Mrs. Elliot?"

"I gave Mr. Styles an order to load those crates onto the delivery carts, but he doesn't seem inclined to do it." She met Nathaniel's eyes. "He says he doesn't have to follow my orders anymore, so I fired him."

He glanced at the man again. "You fired him? But he's still here."

"He refuses to leave."

She held her breath, wondering if Nathaniel intended to countermand her decision. But he merely lifted his brows as if surprised. "You are the supervisor," he said, loud enough for all the men to hear his words clearly. "Doesn't he realize he has to follow your orders?"

Mara stared at him. "Apparently not," she murmured.

She watched him turn to Styles and jerk one thumb toward the door. "You heard Mrs. Elliot. Get out."

"What?" The man glanced from Mara to Nathaniel and back again. "I'm still supposed to take orders off this piece o' fluff?" He pointed at Mara, jabbing one finger into her shoulder and pushing her. She stumbled backward.

Nathaniel's fist slammed into the man's belly before Mara even regained her footing. Styles's body jerked in response, and Nathaniel's other fist caught him on the jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending him crashing to the floor.

He looked down at the man who rolled onto his back with a groan. "No, Mr. Styles," he said calmly. "You don't have to take orders from anyone here. You're fired. You can pick up your wages on Monday."

Styles struggled to his feet and lifted his clenched fist as if to strike back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nathaniel move ever so slightly as if preparing to defend himself against the blow. For a long, tense moment, everyone in the room remained silent and motionless, waiting to see if Styles would try to take a swing at the other man, but he didn't. He touched a hand to his swollen jaw and glared at Nathaniel. "You'll be sorry for that, mate."

With that, he staggered to the door and left.

Nathaniel placed his hands on his hips and turned his gaze to the other men who were watching the scene in silent amazement. "Is there any other man here who doesn't want to load these crates?"

***

Mara wrapped the rag more securely around the pieces of ice she'd chipped from the block in Mrs. O'Brien's icebox and climbed the last flight of stairs to Nathaniel's office. He hadn't shown any sign of pain after the blow he'd dealt Styles, but Mara had immediately gone for ice. She'd never hit anyone in her life, but she imagined it must hurt.

Once again she considered Nathaniel's suggestion to let Michael take over as supervisor. Part of her still rebelled at the idea of handing over control to someone else, but she didn't want a repetition of this morning's events. She had thought she'd gained the respect of the men and that it was Nathaniel who had taken it away, but perhaps she'd only been fooling herself.

When she entered the office, she saw him at the far end of the huge room, bent over a table littered with bits of metal, building some newfangled contraption. She glanced around the room. "I see Boggs has put on the first coat of paint."

Nathaniel looked up and watched her cross the room toward him. "This morning," he answered and gestured to the walls. "Be careful not to touch. Paint's still wet."

She halted beside him and looked down at the bits of tin and wood on the table. "What are you building? More railroad track?"

"This? I'm trying to design an even smoother track," he answered as he continued putting pieces together. "I'm not satisfied with the figure eight. I think it could be better. It's all a matter of geometry." He launched into an explanation of planes, angles, and curves. After a sentence or two she was lost, but she listened anyway, liking the sound of his voice.

She watched as he put the pieces of track together, studying his hands. She noticed people's hands, perhaps because she always kept her own hidden within the protection of gloves. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbow, and she could see the muscles of his forearms flex, could see how the brown hairs glinted gold in the light, could see the strength and sureness in his hands as he worked. She thought about that night in her office when they'd eaten sandwiches, when his fingers had brushed beneath her chin. A warmth hit her in the stomach and shimmered outward like the ripples on a pond, wider and wider.

"What's that?"

His question broke into her thoughts, making her realize he was no longer talking about geometry.

"What?" Blankly, she looked up and watched him nod to the bundle in her hand. "Oh. Ice," she answered and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling foolish, realizing she'd forgotten all about it. "I thought perhaps...umm...your hand might hurt."

She thrust it toward him. "Take it. My fingers are becoming numb."

He laughed and accepted the melting gift.

"How is your hand?" she asked.

He clenched and unclenched his right fist. "A bit sore," he admitted, pressing the ice over his knuckles. "This will help. Thank you."

She cleared her throat and lifted her head, but she still did not look at him. "I thought you said you never lose your temper."

"You think I lost my temper with Styles?"

"You did hit him."

"I didn't think he was in the mood to discuss the situation amicably, and I felt a punch or two would do him a world of good. I was angry, yes, but if I'd really lost my temper, I'd have thrown him through the window."

"You didn't throw me through the window."

He grinned. "No, but the thought did occur to me."

Suddenly, both of them were laughing. He looked at her, startled by her smile and the way it softened her features, blurring the hard edges until only the beauty remained. He realized he'd never heard her truly laugh before. Slowly, their laughter faded into silence.

"I'm sorry Styles pushed you," he said quietly.

"Yes, well, these things happen." She made a restless

movement, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and her black skirt swayed with the motion. "I should be on my way. I have work to do."

Despite her words, she made no move to leave, and Nathaniel sensed there was something else she wanted to say. He waited.

She drew a deep breath. "Mr. Chase, you were right," she finally said. "It makes much better sense for Michael to be the supervisor."

The admission had been a difficult one for her to make, but Nathaniel felt no sense of triumph. "Mara, that man did what he did because he thought he could get by with it, a conclusion he probably came to after that incident with the handkerchief. What happened this morning was my fault."

"This isn't the first time something like this has happened. I try to maintain an air of authority, but it can be difficult." She clasped her hands behind her back and ducked her head, looking suddenly shy. "Thank you for coming to my aid. And thank you for supporting me in front of them."

He knew she hadn't expected his help, and he knew she would never have asked for it. "Mara, we're partners. I'll always back you up in front of others, even when I don't agree with you. All I ask is that you do the same for me. That's what a partnership is all about."

"I wouldn't know. I've never had a partner."

Nathaniel had, and he knew what a misery partnership could be. Voices invaded his mind, furious raised voices from long ago.

“
This would never have happened if you d...didn't work them so hard. Children, for God's sake!"
He could see himself at twenty-two years of age, standing in Adrian's office, leaning over the desk, shaking with fury.
"Fourteen, sixteen hours a d...day, doing things you c...couldn't pay a g...grown man to do. No wonder they fell."

His brother had been so logical, so callous.
"Their families need the money. If their mothers don't care, why should I?"

He'd shouted, he'd raged, but to no avail. Adrian hadn't given a damn.
"I remind you, little brother, that I'm in charge here."

True enough. Adrian had been in charge, and two eleven-year-old boys had paid the price. One had stumbled on a scaffold, too tired at the end of a sixteen-hour day to watch his step, and the other had tried to catch him. Both of them had fallen sixty feet and died. His brother had coldly suggested that if Nathaniel didn't like the way things were run, he could always sell his share and leave. Nathaniel had, and had caught the first boat to America, leaving Adrian to slowly destroy the Chase Toys empire alone, leaving Mai Lin behind when she refused to accompany him, leaving behind everything he'd ever wanted.

"Does the ice help?"

He heard Mara's voice and the memory shattered. "Yes," he answered and tossed the sodden rag onto a chair. "How is that cost analysis coming?"

She bit her lip and turned away, walking across the room to study the train on the table. "I haven't started it yet. I've been busy."

He stared at her rigid back, feeling her resistance coming up again. He knew she was stalling, hoping to change his mind about the trains. "Mara, I've had a partner before, and I can tell you from experience that trust and faith is required for any partnership to succeed."

"Trust?" She choked out the question. "You use words like trust and faith and partnership, but that's all they are. Words."

"No." He strode over to stand beside her. "They're more than that."

"Are they?" she asked, staring down at the train set. "I told you that I didn't want to make trains, that I didn't want to take that kind of risk, and what was your answer?" Before he could respond, she went on, "You basically said that's a shame, but we're making trains anyway." She gave a humorless laugh. "So much for partnership."

She started to turn away, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Mara, if I hadn't come along, you would have certainly lost the business."

"Perhaps, but that isn't the point." She shook off the hand on her shoulder. "When I signed that agreement, I didn't know what you intended to do. You could have told me, but you didn't. You waited until after I'd signed the papers. You knew I would never agree to your plans if I'd known."

He felt a flash of guilt. That was true. He hadn't told her the whole truth because he'd seen the doubts in her eyes. He'd been certain that he could banish her doubts later, but now he wasn't so certain. "I know if I'd told you, you might have refused," he admitted, "but what would that have accomplished? You would still have lost the business."

She lifted her chin. "It seems I've lost it anyway."

She brushed past him and ran for the door. He didn't try to stop her. He could see the fear in her, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could not stop now. This time, he would fight for what he wanted. He was determined that nothing would stand in the way of his dream, not even the sad gray eyes of Mara Elliot. This time, he intended to win.

"You haven't lost anything, Mara," he told the empty doorway. "We shall succeed. I know it, and before I'm finished, you'll know it, too."

***

The following afternoon, Nathaniel began his campaign to convince Mara Elliot that making trains was a good idea. He found her in her office, working, of course. "Good afternoon," he said, pausing in the doorway.