Echoes of Mercy: A Novel Read online

  Praise for

  Echoes of Mercy

  “Kim Sawyer knows what her readers expect and delivers it in Echoes of Mercy, a story you won’t soon forget with characters who grab your heart and a plot that keeps the pages turning.”

  —MARTHA ROGERS, author of Love Stays True in The Homeward Journey series

  “Best-selling author Kim Vogel Sawyer pens an exceptional and utterly compelling story that shines a light on the appalling practices of child labor in the early 1900s. Her characters are richly drawn and heartbreakingly human. Echoes of Mercy is one of those novels readers won’t soon forget. I highly recommend it.”

  —NANCY MEHL, author of the Road to Kingdom series

  “In Echoes of Mercy, Kim Vogel Sawyer reveals the plight of working-class children and blends it with the perfect romance teeming with conflict and sprinkled with sweetness. As always with Ms. Sawyer’s work, the believable characters add reality to the strong, unique story line, and I found myself reluctant to put the book down. I was drawn in quickly and was held throughout the entire story. This is one I guarantee you’ll enjoy.”

  —MIRALEE FERRELL, award-winning author of the historical-romance series Love Blossoms in Oregon

  Praise for

  Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Award-winning author Sawyer continues to craft engaging historical love stories brimming with characters who are bold in their faith.”

  —Booklist

  “Sawyer treats readers to love stories that speak to the heart.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Winsome characters, an interesting premise, and a heavenly match made on earth … fans of inspirational romance novels will not be disappointed.”

  —HISTORICAL NOVEL REVIEW

  “Yet another entertaining novel that compels one page to turn as quickly as the one before.”

  —CBA Retailers + Resources

  ECHOES OF MERCY

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-307-73127-2

  eBook ISBN 978-0-307-73128-9

  Copyright © 2014 by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Cover design by Kelly L. Howard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sawyer, Kim Vogel

  Echoes of mercy : a novel / Kim Vogel Sawyer. — First edition.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-0-307-73127-2 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-307-73128-9 1. Child labor—

  Fiction. 2. Chocolate factories—Fiction. 3. Social reformers—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.A97E28 2014

  813′.6—dc23

  2013033559

  v3.1_r1

  For Bev and Bonnie,

  who help pray me through

  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

  —MATTHEW 11:28

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  Excerpt from Through the Deep Waters

  Late September 1904—Lincoln, Nebraska Caroline

  Caroline Lang slapped the thick packet of meticulously handwritten notes onto the center of Noble’s leather desk blotter and then flopped into the nearest chair. The spindled legs slid on the glossy oak floor, raising a high-pitched complaint. Instead of apologizing for the scratches her carelessness had surely created—Noble was the most persnickety perfectionist she’d ever known—she said, “There you are. A completed report on accommodations for the sugar beet harvesters. I earned my week’s leave with that one.” She grimaced at her purple-stained fingertips. “If I never see another beet, it will be too soon.”

  Noble had the gall to chuckle. “Oh, now, Caroline, you didn’t like beets before I sent you to Omaha. You’ve always said they stink when they’re cooking.”

  “They do.” She nodded emphatically, causing several escaping tendrils from her simple bun to bounce on her shoulders. “And they don’t have to be cooked to stink. You ought to smell them when they’re just sitting in a bin in the sun.” Wearily she pushed to her feet. “I intend to spend my week of leave sleeping. You know where to find me if you have any questions about the report, but I’m sure you’ll find it concise. I was trained by the best, after all.” She aimed a fond grin at her friend and mentor.

  Noble set the leather-bound packet aside without peeking in it. “You know I trust you, Caroline.”

  His simple comment warmed her, and she gave him another smile as she turned toward the door.

  “And since I trust you …”

  Something in his tone stilled her hand, which hovered midway to the polished brass doorknob. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him stroking his beard, his familiar sign of worry. She returned to the chair, seating herself carefully this time. “What is it?” Fear struck, making her mouth go dry. “Has something happened to Annamarie?” She prayed Noble’s sweet, frail wife hadn’t met with harm while she’d been away on an assignment. She loved Annamarie almost as much as Noble did.

  “Annamarie is fine.”

  Relief slumped Caroline’s shoulders. “Oh, thank heaven …”

  “But, unfortunately, I lost an investigator.” Noble’s face pinched into creases of sorrow. “A fine man—Harmon Bratcher. He leaves behind a wife and two sons.”

  “Oh no.” As an investigator for the Labor Commission, Caroline knew they could meet danger. Sometimes entering workplaces to openly explore, other times posing as workers to observe the business practices on the sly, their presence was rarely welcomed and occasionally threatened. Even the required travel held various hazards. Each t
ime she set out, Noble prayed over her for her safety. She depended on him and Annamarie praying her through the investigations. So far she’d always come back unscathed. Tired, yes, but unscathed. Her heart ached for poor Mr. Bratcher, for his family, and for Noble, who felt accountable for his agents.

  Caroline rounded the desk and bent down to wrap her arms around Noble’s shoulders and press her cheek to his. His thick white beard tickled her jaw, but she didn’t pull away. He needed the comfort, and she needed to offer it.

  He patted her wrists in a silent thank-you. “It has been difficult, I confess. I considered him a good friend.”

  Although Caroline couldn’t claim Bratcher as a friend, she’d met him and admired his strong stance on changing the laws concerning the age of workers in the United States. The coalition to end child labor had lost a strong proponent with his untimely passing. She shifted to perch on the edge of Noble’s desk, leaving one hand on his broad shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “What happened?”

  “According to the ruling from law enforcement officials, he broke his neck when he fell into an elevator shaft.”

  Such a horrific way to end one’s life. But mixed with the horror, she experienced a niggle of wariness. “You don’t believe the ruling, do you?”

  Noble pinned her with a steady look. “I suppose it could be true. Accidents happen, especially in factories. But the week before he fell, I received a telegram from Harmon saying he intended to sneak into the factory on Sunday—the only day no workers were on duty—to retrieve questionable bookkeeping records he’d glimpsed the week before. But he died before he could submit any other information. There were no documents on his body. So I can only surmise he fell into the shaft before he laid claim to the records, or—”

  “Or someone took them from him,” she finished.

  Noble nodded somberly. He caught her hand. “Caroline, I know you just returned from an investigation. You’re tired and have rightfully earned your week of rest. But there’s an opening at the factory where Harmon died.”

  Caroline stiffened, anticipating his next request.

  “The opening is for a toter, a job generally given to women.” His fingers tightened on her hand. “You’re my only female agent. Would you go to Sinclair, apply for the position, and use it to look into Harmon’s death? I’d need to send you out on this evening’s train.”

  The entire journey home she’d anticipated a lengthy soak in a hot bath followed by days of lying on her comfortable feather mattress in a state of languor. The thought of departing that evening without even a few hours of rest made her want to groan. But how could she deny Noble when he’d done so much for her?

  Noble went on. “Of course, we can’t make investigating Harmon’s death your official reason for being there. We’d be overstepping our bounds with the local authorities. So, as far as the commission is concerned, you’d be there to finish Harmon’s report on the factory’s safety features … or the lack thereof. Harmon sent several messages about his findings. He was especially concerned about the number of underage workers at the factory, but he died before submitting a full report.”

  Caroline gave a start, her pulse speeding into a gallop. “Underage workers?”

  Noble’s lips formed a grim line. “According to Harmon, this factory seems to have a disproportionate number of child workers.”

  Her tiredness melted in light of this new information. The opportunity to further her personal battle to end child labor and to put Noble’s worries to rest concerning Bratcher’s death proved too tempting to resist. “I’ll go.”

  The relief in Noble’s face compensated for the loss of her hot bath and days of lazy recuperation. “Bless you, Caroline. There’s no one else I would trust with this mission.”

  His confidence in her both touched and terrified her. After all, one investigator had already died in the factory. Go with me, dear Lord. She drew in a deep breath and vowed, “I won’t let you down, Noble. I promise.”

  Sinclair, Kansas Caroline

  If he didn’t choose her, she might stamp her foot and wail. The overnight train trip from Lincoln to Sinclair and then her frantic dash from the train station to Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory had left her wilted, exhausted, and more than a little grouchy. Weariness momentarily sagged her shoulders, but Caroline resolutely straightened her spine and held her chin high while the hiring agent walked slowly along the line of six hopeful women, scraping each of them from head to toe with an unsmiling gaze.

  His boot heels thudded against the polished wood floor of the stuffy office, carrying over the muffled clanks and wheezes seeping into the room from the factory below. Each resounding thump was a nail pounding into the lid of a coffin. He would bury the hopes of five of the women who’d answered the advertisement for a new toter.

  The man came to a halt before the timid-looking girl on Caroline’s right. His charcoal pinstriped suit and crimson silk ascot beneath his goatee gave him a dapper appearance, but his furrowed brow and piercing eyes ruined the effect. He’d introduced himself as Gordon Hightower, and befitting his name, he seemed to peer down his nose at all of them. The man was as intimidating as an army sergeant making an inspection.

  The poor girl in front of him squirmed, pressing her chin to one hunched shoulder and grinding the toe of her worn brown shoe against the floor. Sympathy twined through Caroline’s heart for the girl, who was surely no more than fourteen years of age. For one brief moment Caroline found herself hoping the girl would be chosen. Judging by her tattered frock, scuffed shoes, and filthy knuckles, she needed the job. But Caroline pushed aside the fleeting thought with steely determination. She must be the single new hire invited inside that factory. How else would she uncover the details of Harmon Bratcher’s death?

  Quick as a lightning strike, Hightower thrust his hand forward and grabbed the girl’s upper arm. A startled yelp emerged from her, and her eyes flew wide open. Caroline nearly intervened—he had no right to terrorize the poor child so—but fear of being sent out the door held her silent.

  Hightower gave the girl’s arm several quick squeezes, and then he released her, his lips pursed in disgust. “You haven’t got enough meat on your bones to tote a broom, let alone carry trays of confections.” His derisive tone snapped out like a lash, and the girl cringed beneath the words. “We asked for a toter. Qualifications are strong arms and able legs. Didn’t you read the notice?”

  Up and down the line, the women flicked glances at the others’ forearms. The one on the far end clenched her fists. Caroline stared at the firm muscles displayed beneath the taut fabric of the woman’s faded blue sleeves. If strong arms were a qualifier, the hiring agent would certainly choose that woman over all the others. Caroline’s determination to be an employee of Dinsmore’s factory wavered.

  The girl released a helpless whimper. “I … I dunno how to read, sir.”

  Caroline closed her eyes, a familiar frustration filling her breast. What had kept this child from attending school? Other jobs? A mother who needed extra hands at home to help with younger siblings? No matter the reason, the girl’s inability to read or cipher destined her to a life of poverty.

  “I can’t use you.” The man flipped his wrist, the dismissive gesture showing no hint of empathy.

  Tears welled in the child’s wide blue eyes. “But I gotta get hired on, sir. Already been turned away at three other places. My pa he said he’d beat me senseless if I didn’t get this job.”

  Hightower folded his arms over his chest and scowled at the girl. “You can’t be a toter. Toting takes strength. You haven’t got strength.”

  “But I do!” The girl clasped her hands beneath her chin, her expression pleading. “I’m stronger’n I look. Honest, I am. Can’tcha just gimme a chance?”

  The agent leaned in, his nose mere inches from the cowering child. “Those trays hold up to fifteen pounds each. Toters haul three trays at a time. You drop one load, and a good five dollars’ worth of candy is wasted. That’s
too much to risk.” He caught her arm again and gave her a little push toward the door. “Now get. Tell your pa to pay better attention to the qualifications next time he sends you out.”

  With sobs heaving her skinny shoulders, the girl scuttled out the door, but the sound of her distress drifted from the hallway and flayed Caroline’s soul. She gazed at the open doorway, sending up a silent prayer for the girl. A tiny seed of hope wiggled its way into her heart. If the girl couldn’t secure a job, maybe her parents would send her to school instead. She’d learn to read, to write, and to figure sums. Then in a few years when she was full grown, she could find a decent job. Not all parents were as heartless as her own. This girl might have a chance to—

  “You!”

  The barked command ended Caroline’s musings. She jerked upright, blinking several times. Hightower stood before her, his frown fierce. She licked her dry lips. “Yes, sir?”

  “How old are you?”

  Caroline hesitated. She knew what she was supposed to say, and she knew the man would accept it. Her round face and smooth skin gave the appearance of someone much younger than her true age of twenty-seven. The Labor Commission had given her stern instructions to carve five or six years from her age when asked. The fabrication helped hide her real identity. Even so, lies didn’t slip easily from her tongue. She lifted her chin in a flirtatious manner and tiptoed around the question. “Does it matter?”

  “It might.”

  She offered a coy shrug. “The qualifications didn’t include a specific age.”

  He grunted—a very ungentlemanly sound that contrasted with his refined attire. He cleared his throat and moved down the line, snapping out questions and summarily sending the next three hopefuls out the door by turn.

  With the final slam of the door, Caroline and the thick-armed woman remained as the only contenders for the single position as toter. Caroline quickly examined her competition, noting the woman eyed her with equal interest. Dislike gleamed in the woman’s beady gaze. Clearly, she intended to secure the position no matter the cost. But Caroline’s need was too great for her to concede defeat. She might be tired, rumpled, and less muscular than the other woman, but she would win. With God’s help, she amended, she would win. Noble expected it. And the future of Kansas children depended on it.