A Silken Thread Read online

  Langdon pushed aside his jacket flaps and slipped his fingers into his trouser pockets, lifting his chin slightly. “In conclusion, the Rochester factory is the only steam engine factory in the state of Georgia currently moving toward the manufacture of steam turbines. Thus, you can depend upon Rochester to meet today’s as well as tomorrow’s developing and advancing needs to power your equipment, locomotive or ship, or the electrical lights in your home or place of business.”

  He fell silent. Did a flicker of admiration glint in Father’s blue-gray irises? His lips twitched with the desire to grin, but he clenched his teeth and squelched it.

  Father rose from his leather chair and rounded the desk, his steps slow and measured, his eyes seemingly fixed on the glowing log in the fireplace. He stopped within two feet of Langdon and slowly raised his head. He held out his hand, and Langdon clasped it. Father gave a formal handshake. A tight smile lifted the corners of his mustache.

  “I told your mother you wouldn’t be able to pass muster, but I can’t fault a thing you said, nor can I add to it. You were accurate and complete. Perhaps you have been paying attention.”

  Langdon would never confess how many hours he’d spent quizzing his cousin Timothy and memorizing notes about steam engines. Several years’ worth of information crammed into less than two weeks. But he’d accomplished his goal. He’d impressed Harrison Faulk Rochester. Oh, Father hadn’t come straight out and expressed pride or approval, and for a moment Langdon’s spirits sagged, but what did he want most—Father’s spoken approval or the chance to attend the exposition? The truthful answer was something else he would never confess.

  He cleared his throat. “Will you allow me to represent Rochester Steam-Powered Engines at the Cotton States and International Exposition?”

  Father drew in a breath that expanded his vest. When his breath whooshed out, the cherry scent of his cigar tobacco filled Langdon’s nostrils. He nearly groaned. How he’d missed smoking cigars with his buddies these past days. But freedom waited. If only Father would grant it.

  “Yes.”

  Langdon jolted. “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He socked the air and whooped.

  Father pushed aside his jacket flaps and rested his hands on his hips. “You will attend with Girard Sanders, John Stevens, and Clyde Allday.”

  Another groan strained for release. All the men Father named were old—in their fifties already. He’d hoped his cousin might be assigned duty at the expo. Timothy would cover for Langdon whenever he wanted to sneak off for some fun. He couldn’t imagine Sanders, Stevens, or Allday giving him free rein. He doubted they’d give him even an inch of rein.

  Father guided Langdon to the pocket doors and slid the right one into its casing. He then turned a serious look on Langdon. “It’s wise that you’re taking my expectations about the business seriously. But I feel the need to remind you of your mother’s desire.”

  Langdon’s stomach knotted. “She wants grandchildren.”

  Father frowned. “She wants to see you settled into family life. That entails taking a—”

  “I know. A wife.”

  “First.”

  Father needn’t be so stern. Langdon wasn’t foolish enough to sire a child outside of wedlock. A couple of his college buddies had gotten trapped into matrimony that way, and another would be paying blackmail money for the rest of his life to keep his parents from finding out what he’d done. “Of course, Father.”

  Father rocked on his heels. “Any of the young women who attend our church and any of the daughters of our friends and acquaintances who are of marriageable age are possible prospects. Your mother would know better than I the names of girls upon whom you could call.”

  An idea seemed to fall from the ceiling and bop Langdon on the head. Another shout of elation built in his chest, but he stifled it. “It’s very likely I’ll meet young women at the exposition.” He pretended to adjust his cuff link, feigning nonchalance. “That is, if I’m given a chance to roam the grounds a bit each day, visit the other exhibits, and mingle with the attendees.” He flicked a glance at his father.

  Father chewed his mustache, his brows low. “I suppose it’s only fair to allow you to explore all options.”

  Langdon swallowed a chuckle. Maybe Father wasn’t so stodgy after all.

  “I will inform Stevens to give you the task of drumming up visitors to our booth. This should put you in contact with a number of families. Perhaps one of them will have a daughter who captures your attention.”

  Given the organizers’ expectation of a million visitors, chances were good he’d find one young woman in the place who appealed to him. He ambled through the hallway and up the winding staircase leading to his suite, the plan solidifying in his mind. He’d choose a girl who was pretty enough to make his buddies jealous, maternal enough to win Mother’s favor, and naive enough to believe he wanted to settle down.

  Laurel

  Sunday morning Laurel held the front window curtains aside and watched the street for Eugene’s arrival. She and Mama didn’t mind walking four blocks to church, but Eugene insisted on driving them. First, though, he had to deliver his employer’s family to their church on the other side of Atlanta. Consequently, depending on how quickly Mr. and Mrs. Salisbury and their children readied themselves in the morning, they could never predict when Eugene would arrive. So Laurel stood sentry. She and Mama didn’t want to keep Eugene waiting—especially when he was running late. How she disliked entering the church service after it had already begun.

  “Is he here yet?”

  Laurel glanced over her shoulder. Mama entered the parlor, adjusting her Sunday earrings. Laurel had asked to wear them once, and Mama had granted permission with a stern caution not to lose them. So Laurel twisted the little clamp an extra turn to keep them snug. Within an hour, her earlobes throbbed so badly she had no desire to ever wear them again. Yet Mama put on the little drop pearls every Sunday, and if her ears hurt, she never complained. Probably because the earrings had been a gift from Papa, and Mama cherished everything from Papa. The earrings, the hand-painted lamp, and the books. With every return from a sales trip, Papa had brought Mama a new book because he’d known how much she loved them.

  How Laurel wanted to marry someone who would love her as much as Papa had loved Mama, someone she could love as deeply as Mama still loved Papa.

  Laurel swallowed. “Not yet.”

  Mama tugged at her collar. “Then I’m going to change this. I must have used too much starch. It’s scratching me this morning.” She turned and hurried up the hallway toward the bedrooms.

  Laurel fixed her attention on the street again. Only a few seconds later, Mr. Salisbury’s sorrel horse came around the corner. Laurel darted for the hall tree and took down her wrap. “Mama! Eugene is here.”

  Mama bustled across the parlor. “I didn’t have time to fasten a new collar, so I’ll have to do without.”

  “Your dress looks fine without it.” Laurel handed Mama her wrap.

  “It isn’t for the dress that I wear a collar.” Mama fussed with her wrap, shifting it on her shoulders. “It helps hide my double chin.”

  “I’ve never noticed your double chin.”

  “Because I usually wear a collar.”

  Laurel stifled a giggle. “You always look beautiful, Mama.”

  Mama released a little huff, but she smiled as she opened the front door and gave the screen door a push. A piece of paper fluttered to the porch floor. Mama stepped over the threshold and sent a puzzled look toward the small folded page. “What…”

  Laurel picked it up and handed it to Mama. “What is it?”

  Mama unfolded the paper, and her eyes widened. “Laurel!”

  “What?”

  “You are hired.”

  “Hired?” Understanding dawned. Joy exploded through her chest. “For the exposition?” She grabbed the pape
r and read the short missive. She captured Mama in a hug, crushing the notice. “I’m hired!”

  Mama rocked Laurel back and forth. “You must have been making too much noise with the treadle to hear the messenger at the door. I’m so glad we found the notice before wind carried it away or you never would have known to report to the fairgrounds.”

  “Mama? Laurel?” Eugene hollered from the carriage. “We need to go.” A chorus of “come ons” and “hurry ups” came from inside the coach—Eugene’s wife, Ethel, and their children voicing their impatience.

  Laurel and Mama pulled back, smiled at each other, then embraced again, laughing through tears.

  “Mama.” Eugene strode to the edge of the porch, hands on his hips. “What are you doin’?”

  Mama released Laurel and aimed a saucy grin at Eugene. “Celebrating.”

  He shook his head. “Can you do it later? Church will start in—”

  The tower began its call-to-worship tolls.

  Eugene groaned. “It’s startin’ now.”

  Mama looped arms with Laurel and propelled her across the yard. They climbed into the carriage, and Eugene prodded the horse, but the preacher had already given the opening prayer and parishioners were singing a hymn of praise when Laurel trailed Mama, Eugene, and his family into the sanctuary. Mama led them all to the Millard family pew, and Nell scowled at them as they filed in. But for the first time Laurel didn’t care at all that they arrived late.

  She’d been hired! God hadn’t said no after all. Surely that meant she’d meet someone at the exposition who would make her heart sing, the way Papa had stirred Mama’s heart. She could hardly wait.

  Willie

  “ ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.’ ” Willie gave a little jolt. The preacher read on, but the second verse from Galatians 6 seemed to bounce off the wood-planked walls and echo in Willie’s mind. He glanced at Pa, who slumped sideways in the chair at the end of the bench. Willie was grateful for the chair. Pa couldn’t support himself good enough to sit on one of the backless benches, and Willie’d been plenty burdened about leaving Pa at home on Sunday mornings. So Preacher Estel Hines had brought the chair from his own dining room table. He’d told Willie, “We’ll do whatever we can for Otto. You just let me know what he needs.”

  Willie zinged his attention to the kind-faced preacher who stood at the front of the sanctuary with his open Bible draped on his wide palm. “We’ll do whatever we can for Otto.” Willie believed Preacher Hines meant it. So why hadn’t Willie ever asked for the preacher’s help? Because Willie didn’t like asking for help. Pa was his responsibility, the same way Willie’d always been Pa’s responsibility. They took care of each other. Even after Ma died, they’d managed on their own.

  Oh, they didn’t eat as good as they had when Ma did the cooking. And their clothes weren’t ironed as neat. The house wasn’t as clean, either. But Willie did his best, and even before the attack of apoplexy, Pa never complained. They’d always been content. But this burden—finding somebody responsible to stay with Pa all day—was one Willie couldn’t carry on his own.

  The sermon couldn’t have come at a better time. He’d spent hours yesterday evening praying to find a way for him to take the exposition job. And there stood Preacher Hines, delivering a sermon about Christian brothers and sisters doing God’s will when they took care of one another. He sat in a chapel full of people. One of them might be able to help carry his burden. He only needed to ask.

  At the end of the service, as he always did, Preacher Hines stepped off the raised platform and stood on the floor at the front. “Before we go our separate ways, let’s share our praises and petitions.”

  A lady near the front shot from her seat. “My sister over in Winder had her baby boy last Thursday, and the baby’s as healthy as can be. My sister’s doin’ good, too. My whole family’s praisin’ God for the safe arrival of little Jimmy.” Folks called out congratulations and amens, and the woman sent a smile across the congregation before she sat.

  Willie raised his hand, but so did the man sitting in front of him. Preacher Hines called on the other fellow.

  “We need prayer for our middle girl. She’s been sick now three days runnin’. The elixir the doc gave her doesn’t seem to help much. She’s needin’ a touch from the Lord.”

  Preacher Hines gave a solemn nod. “We’ll ask for that touch, Brother Gaines.” He angled his head and caught Willie’s eye. “Willie, did you have a request?”

  “Yes, sir.” Willie stood. “I need—” His mouth went dry. Everybody was looking at him. Men, women, even the children. If he said out loud how he needed a babysitter for Pa, would any of the kids laugh? If they did, they’d strip away what was left of Pa’s pride. He swallowed his planned request. “I need to talk to you after the service.”

  The preacher nodded. “All right, Willie.”

  A few more folks asked for prayer, and then Preacher Hines prayed. After his amen, people got up and filed out, talking, laughing. Willie missed the days when he and Pa would talk and laugh with others on the way out of church. He stayed on the bench and waited until Preacher Hines told everybody goodbye. When they’d all gone, the preacher strode up the side aisle and stopped next to Pa’s chair. He grabbed hold of Pa’s limp hand and shook it, smiling into his face.

  “So good to have you here with us, Otto.”

  “He likes being here.” Willie didn’t much like talking for Pa, but he knew Pa was happy to be in church. Was happy to get out of the house now and then. “The sermon was real good. Spoke to me where I needed it.”

  “I’m glad to know that.” Pastor Hines’s warm smile reminded Willie of how Pa used to smile before the apoplexy sagged his face. He hitched his black pant legs and sat facing Willie, then fixed Willie with another one of his warm smiles. “Now, what is it you needed to talk to me about?”

  Willie put his hand on Pa’s knee. It seemed the right thing to do. A way of making Pa part of the conversation even if he couldn’t talk. Willie told the preacher about the exposition job, about Mr. Rochester giving him permission to apply for it, and how he wanted to use the extra money. He explained about Mrs. Blaricum needing to see to her daughter and grandson. Then, choosing his words careful—he didn’t want to humiliate Pa—he admitted that he couldn’t leave Pa by himself.

  “So,” Willie said, his breath whooshing out with the word, “I can’t go to work tomorrow, not at the exposition or even at the factory, unless I find somebody real quick to spend the days with Pa. I…” His chest ached. “I need help.”

  Preacher Hines hadn’t said a word the whole time Willie talked, but he’d nodded every so often, crunched his eyebrows or pinched his lips, like he was thinking deep. Now he leaned forward and put one hand over Willie’s on Pa’s knee. “I’m glad you told me about this, Willie.” He turned and looked straight at Pa. “I’ve been prayin’ for you to get better, an’ stayin’ at the convalescent hospital could do you a lot of good, Otto. You need more help than Willie can give you.”

  Willie appreciated Preacher Hines talking to Pa. Most people talked about him right in front of him.

  Preacher Hines turned to Willie again. “If workin’ at the exposition will give you the money you need to pay for the convalescent hospital, then you’ve got to be at the fairgrounds tomorrow mornin’. I don’t believe God would give you the job if He didn’t mean for you to take it.”

  He stood. “I’d like to talk some more, but my family’s probably sittin’ around the table waitin’ for me. Why don’t you an’ your pa come home with me, have dinner with Faye, our children, an’ me? Faye put a fat goose in the oven early this mornin’, more’n enough for all of us.”

  Willie’s mouth watered, but he shook his head. He wouldn’t make Pa eat in front of other folks. Especially not kids. They were the preacher’s kids, who’d been taught right from wrong, so they probably wouldn’t poke fun at Pa�
�s napkin around his neck or the way he dropped food from his fork, but they would stare. They wouldn’t be able to help it. And Willie wouldn’t put Pa on display.

  He stood and helped Pa to his feet. “Thank you, Preacher, but I’ve got dinner waitin’ for us.” Beans with fatback and onion.

  “Then can I call on you later today? After I’ve had a chance to pray an’ talk with my wife?”

  Willie nodded. “You’re welcome to come by anytime you want. An’ thank you for prayin’.”

  Willie guided Pa toward the front door. In the quiet room, the drag of Pa’s right foot across the wood floor sounded loud. Sad. Pa’d been so strong, so able. Willie hated all the things the sickness had taken from his father. But hope followed him out the door of the chapel. Surely God would tell Preacher Hines who could stay with Pa, and God would answer a preacher right quick.

  When they reached their house—only a three-block walk from the chapel—half an hour later, Quincy was sitting on the front stoop with a napkin-covered basket in his lap. Quincy settled the basket in the crook of his elbow and stood.

  “Hey, Mr. Sharp, Willie. Been waitin’ on ya.”

  The breeze carried a good smell across the yard, and Willie suspected the smell came from what was in Quincy’s basket. Quincy’s ma, Zenia, made some of the best fried chicken in Atlanta. One time Willie’d told her she should open a little café, but she said she had enough mouths around her table—why would she want to be feeding strangers, too? He was awfully glad she didn’t consider him a stranger.

  He grinned at Quincy. “Did you bring us some fried chicken?”

  “An’ biscuits.” Quincy moved to the other side of Pa. He grabbed Pa’s right arm, and he and Willie hefted him up onto the stoop. Quincy kept hold while Willie unlocked the door. “Church musta run long today, huh?”

  Willie opened the door and helped Pa over the threshold. “Nah. Me an’ Pa stayed behind an’ talked to the preacher.” He took Pa to the kitchen and helped him into his chair.