To Love Anew (2 page)

“I know you meant well, Ruby.” Hannah moved to the stove and lifted a kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I would at that. I’m all out at my house.”

Hannah poured two cups of the weak tea. After serving Ruby, she returned to her rocker. “I wish I had a sweet to offer.”

“Not to worry. These days, none of us have money enough for pleasures.”

Hannah stared into the pale golden drink. She wanted to cry, to let her tears spill freely and never stop. But then, she’d spent so many tears already, she wondered if she had any left. She looked at Ruby. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. The rent is owing, and Ada Templeton isn’t the first to withdraw an order.”

Ruby nodded her head in sympathy. “It’s not fair, none of it.”

“Mum often said, ‘Life isn’t supposed to be fair, but it can be good.’ I try to be thankful for the small things.” She took a sip of tea. “I need her so badly. She’s the one who kept me steady—always reminding me of God’s love and compassion. She believed he watched over and cared for all his children all the time.”

Hannah set her cup in its saucer. “I’m confused, Ruby. If he is such a merciful, caring God, why would he take my mother? She never asked for much, except to be able to work and to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. I never heard her speak an unkind word.”

“Caroline was the closest thing to a saint I’ve ever known.” Ruby smiled. “She was a good friend to me and my family.” Her eyes glistened.

“Of course, you miss her too. Here I’ve been complaining about my loss and I’ve forgotten how much you’ve lost.”

“Oh no. Not to worry ’bout me. Friends aren’t the same as family. I know that. I remember my own mum’s passing. I’ve not stopped missing her.”

Quiet settled over the room as each woman’s thoughts stayed with their loved ones. Hannah set her cup and saucer on a small table and walked to the tiny window at the front of the shop. She gazed outside at falling crystalline flakes. “Snow has started. I hope it doesn’t get too bad.”

“I’ll be glad to see spring.”

Hannah turned and looked at her friend. “What am I to do? There isn’t enough money for rent, and not only have I lost work, I’ve not had any new orders.”

“I wish I could take you in, luv. You know I would if I could. But with my daughter and her little ones and that brute of a husband . . .” She looked away and shook her head.

“Please don’t feel badly. I don’t expect to be taken in. I want to care for myself.” Hannah brushed a wisp of hair off her face. “I doubt I’ll ever marry. I need to find a way to be independent.”

“You’re a lovely girl,” Ruby said. “You’ll find a man.”

“I’m already past twenty-one. And I’ve had no proper suitors. I dare say, I’m not so fine-looking.”

“You’re quite comely. You’ve lovely hair and your brown eyes dance with light, child. The right one has just not come along yet. And it’s possible you’re just a bit too particular. I remember that one young man—the carpenter—he was quite taken with you.”

“That may be, but he was more taken with himself. I just couldn’t abide that.”

“Well, what about the smithy? He’s a fine gent.”

“Oh yes. But he has one flaw—too great a love for the spirits.”

“Someone will come along, and he’ll be just the one.” Ruby smiled and stood. “I heard of a gentleman named Charlton Walker. He’s a magistrate, I believe—a fine gentleman.”

“A magistrate? What are you thinking? He’d never be interested in someone like me.”

“No. No, deary. You didn’t let me finish. He’s in need of an upstairs maid. Might tide ye over for a bit. He has a wife and children who’ll need some mending done from time to time too, I might think.”

“Yes. I suppose.” The idea of being a housemaid raised no enthusiasm in Hannah. She didn’t want to work for someone else. She was a seamstress. She loved the way a piece of cloth came to life when it was matched with the right pattern and then clothed a fine figure. Even simple fabric could become something special. “I’ll think on it.”

“That’s fine, dear. Well, I’d best get myself home. My children and my husband are certain to be hungry.” She rested her hands on Hannah’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Let me know what I can do, eh?”

“I will.” Hannah offered Ruby a smile. “Thank you for your kindness.” She watched Ruby go and then closed the door and returned to the stove to add more coal. The outdoor chill had invaded the room.

Perhaps I should contact Mr. Walker
.
If things go on as they have, I’ll soon be put out of my home.

The thought of ending up on the streets of London sent a chill through Hannah. The city was congested with disreputable sorts who would have no conscience about taking advantage of a solitary woman. She doubted she’d make it through even one night.

2

Hands clasped behind his back, John Bradshaw walked between rows of workbenches. Occasionally he’d catch the eye of a craftsman. He’d nod and move on.

One young apprentice smiled broadly and said, “Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you.” John stopped and looked at the planer the man was constructing. “Fine work, lad.”

“Thank ye.” The young man bobbed his head and turned back to his task.

John continued on. The boy had apprenticed at the factory only a few months, but already he demonstrated a high level of aptitude for machinery work. He would do well, and most likely serve out his days happily constructing and assembling tools.

Years of tedium stretched out before John as he imagined his life overseeing the business his father had built. He knew he ought to be thankful for his prosperity, but adventure was more what he wanted. With a sigh he tightened the bow holding back his dark, shoulder-length hair and then smoothed his waistcoat.

Noticing a new apprentice who appeared to be having difficulty, John approached him. “Can I be of service, young man?”

The worker brushed thick red hair off his face and turned to look at John. He held up a partially assembled hammer. “I am havin’ a bit of trouble, sir. Not sure how this joint ought to fit.”

John’s mind carried him back to his early years in the shop. It had been just him and his father. He’d struggled to learn the business of toolmaking; it wasn’t something he truly enjoyed, but he had liked working with his father. Those had been good days.

He took the hammer and examined it. “You’ve got it just about right. Might I suggest . . .” He pushed the head forward a bit. “Ah, there. It just needed to be tilted a bit more up front.” He handed the tool back to the lad. “You’ll get it. No need to worry.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Right, sir.”

John moved on, briefly examining each employee’s work.

The air was heavy with dust and the smell of cooking metals. His eyes rested for a moment on the founder as he poured a mix of melted lead and copper into a mold. Another man worked furiously at the bellows, keeping the blaze blistering hot.

In spite of the fire, the shop felt chilled. John glanced at an ice-encrusted window.
If only winter would pass. I’ve enough of the cold.
He tried to envision spring’s revival and could almost smell the aroma of damp, green grasses. He craved the outdoors and places beyond London. The machinery business no longer suited him, nor did the city.

John stared out the window, but it was so dirty he could barely see across the street. All the windows were in the same condition.
No wonder it’s gloomy in here,
he thought.
I’ll see that they’re cleaned.

The idea of managing one more trivial task railed at him. He wished his father had created a business of importance, something more challenging to the mind. Building tools seemed of little significance. Surely the Lord had something more noteworthy for him to do.

The familiar pull to explore the world and establish a legacy nagged at him.
Enough
. He’d been down this road before. It always ended up back here. He glanced about the shop.
It’s better than nothing. The business is thriving. I’m able to provide well for myself and for Margaret.
His mind momentarily settled on his wife. From time to time, she could be a bit demanding, but most generally she was kindhearted and loving.
I’ve reason to be thankful.

How many times had his father tried to convince him of the value of what they did? “This is a good, solid business, son. Where would people be without tools? And we provide jobs for fellow citizens.” He’d smile and pat John on the back. “One day it will be yours.”

His father had known that John’s untamed spirit wanted more. But he’d understood the importance of stability and had striven to teach his son the value found in steadiness. Some of what he taught did catch on, and though John stopped complaining, the desire for daring endeavors never ceased to tantalize him. When he was only twenty, both of his parents were taken by the sweating sickness and the business became his.

A sudden urge to get away swept over John; he needed to be outside. No matter how cold it was outdoors, it would be better than one more minute inside this shop.

“Sir.” The man who’d been working on the hammer approached. “Is this more to your liking?” He held up the tool.

John examined it. Ran his thumb over the handle, and then rested it on the joint where the metal head met the wood. “Much better.” He smiled and returned the tool.

Wearing a pleased expression, the apprentice hurried back to his place at the bench. Watching him, John let out a slow breath. He felt weary. Perhaps a walk along the Thames would help.

I’d best let Henry know I’ll be gone
, he thought and headed for the office. Opening the door, John stepped into a small room crowded with desks, cabinets, and bookcases. His twenty-two-year-old cousin, Henry Hodgsson, looked up from a registry he’d been working on. “You look a bit tight.”

“I am feeling worn down. I was thinking a walk might help.”

“A pint would do you more good.” Henry kept his quill close to the paper. As always, he held his shoulders rigid.

“It’s a bit early for that, wouldn’t you say?”

“Never too early to imbibe in the benefits of the vine.” Henry smiled. “What do you say to tipping up a pint together?”

“I think not.”

“Ease up, man,” Henry said, his blue eyes glinting.

Henry could be amiable when it suited him, but more often than not he was obnoxious and secretive. John tried not to spend more time with him than was required. On more than one occasion he’d regretted bringing Henry into the family business, but when the young man had come seeking employment, John couldn’t turn him away. They’d worked together for two years now, and although Henry had a good mind for figures, he possessed few scruples. John seemed to be forever getting him out of some scrape or other.

“Give me a moment; I’m nearly finished here,” Henry said. He turned back to his work. “We’ve done well this month. There’ll be sufficient funds to pay the workers and still add a good deal to the coffers.” He dipped the pen into a bottle of ink.

“I’ve work to do here. I ought to stay,” John said, preferring to keep his associations with his cousin to business.

Henry looked at John, mischief on his face. “No more work for you today. Time for a respite.” After setting the pen on the desk, he snapped the ink bottle shut. He dusted the ledger with sand, sifted it over the page, and tossed the remaining powder into a trash bin.

“I suppose one short drink won’t hurt,” John said, walking to the coatrack. He picked up Henry’s hat and coat and tossed them to him. “Suppose I’ve seen enough of this place for one day.” He grabbed his tricorne hat and pushed it down on his head, then pulled on a knee-length coat.

“I’ve a real thirst,” Henry said with a wicked grin.

John opened the door and stood aside while Henry strode out, still settling his hat on his head. Pulling the door closed, he followed the younger man down the steps and onto a congested London street. The cold air felt invigorating. He walked quickly, his long legs carrying him farther and faster than Henry’s short, stocky ones.

“I’m not about to run to keep up with you,” Henry said with irritation.

John looked behind him. “Oh. Sorry.” He slowed to a stroll and studied the partially frozen Thames. A ship moved down the unfrozen channel in the middle of the river. “Have you ever considered what you might do if you had a different life, something exciting and meaningful?”

“No. I’m content.” Henry eyed John closely. “You thinking of stepping away from the business?”

“No. Course not.” His eyes lighted on a martin and he wondered why the bird had not flown away before winter had arrived. Using its beak, it groomed its deep blue feathers, trying to clean away soot that had settled on them, just as it had on everything else in the city. It was a hopeless task. The bird would never triumph. Even if it cleaned its feathers today, they’d be coated with the city’s grime tomorrow.

Henry cupped his hands and blew into them. “What is it you’d do if you did walk away?”

John pried his eyes away from the pathetic bird. “Don’t know exactly. There’s a lot I haven’t seen. And the years are passing.” He glanced at Henry. “I’m not so young anymore.”

“You’re only twenty-six. You sound like an old man.”

John smiled slightly and gazed down the street. “Time passes quickly. I don’t want to wait until it’s too late.”

“Too late for what, man? You live first-rate. You have a charming wife, a grand home . . . a lucrative business. What more do you want?”

John didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t really know what he craved—only that it was something other than what he had. He moved swiftly down the street.

Henry hurried to keep up. “Where is it you’d want to go?” He spread his arms wide. “This is the center of the world. What could be better than living in London?”

John glanced around, taking in the ocean of businesses and cottages crammed together in an untidy hodgepodge. A filthy street separated the muddle. Pedestrians, carts, and animals plowed through or stepped over a virulent stream washing down one side of the lane. A mongrel of a dog lifted its leg on the front door of a cottage while a woman tossed some sort of waste from a second-story window. A persistent brown fog encased the putrid-smelling city.