Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (32 page)

To Caroline’s surprise, her indignation melted, and in its stead came an envy unlike any she’d experienced before. Ollie so clearly loved his father. Admired and revered him even. To have a father so deserving of loyalty must have
been a delight beyond all others. To her chagrin, tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked them away, praying Ollie wouldn’t notice.

“Carrie?” He took a step toward her, true regret coloring his tone and softening his stern features. “I’ve wounded you with my harshness.”

He hadn’t, but she wouldn’t correct him. She had no desire to share the real reason for her emotional reaction.

He went on kindly. “I meant to speak my mind—I
needed
to speak my mind—but I allowed jealousy to overcome chivalry. I assure you I was taught better by both of my parents. Please forgive me.”

She sniffed, frowning. “Why would you be jealous?”

He grimaced. “Never mind. Will you accept my apology?”

She wanted to stay angry. To be indignant at having been duped into believing he was only another worker. Even to resent him for his affluent upbringing. But looking into his sincere, remorseful face, she couldn’t find it within herself to refuse. She nodded.

A small smile—one holding warmth—curved his lips. “Thank you, Carrie.” The smile faltered. “But my apology doesn’t erase my expectations. I still insist you cease trying to blame my father for Bratcher’s death.”

Caroline forced a cavalier shrug. “I’ve already eliminated him as a possible suspect. Noble and I—” Had she really intended to divulge Noble’s suspicion? She’d told Annamarie she was a good investigator, but she’d become far too lax on this particular job. And the reason for her lack of focus stood before her in tan dungarees, a blue shirt, and brown-and-yellow-striped suspenders, with a flat-billed cap sitting rakishly upon his head.

She started to move past him. “The foreman is going to be looking for me if I don’t get to work.” She paused, worry making her mouth dry. “You … you won’t turn me in as an infiltrator, will you?”

“It’s to my advantage to learn the truth. So, no, I’ll keep your purpose here a secret.”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she moved toward the door.

“Will you keep mine?”

She angled her head, puzzled.

“I must remain Ollie Moore to the others. You see, I joined the ranks as an employee to gather information about the inner workings of the factory from the viewpoint of a common laborer. My findings will enable me to make changes that benefit each person in my employ. But if they know I’m the boss’s son.” He held out his palms, offering a shrug.

“I understand.” His desire to make things better for the workers touched her more deeply than she cared to admit. “You’ll remain Ollie Moore.” She turned again to leave.

“Wait. There’s something else I want to tell you.”

She shifted in place, eager to escape the closet, the man, and the odd feelings he conjured within her.

“I want to know what really happened the night Bratcher died, too. Yes, it was deemed accidental, but I’m not sure all the facts were placed in evidence before the determination was made.”

He had her attention. She gazed at him, her breath trapped in her lungs.

“We need to fully examine the elevator, and we—”

“We?” Caroline shook her head. “This isn’t your investigation, Ollie. It’s mine.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No.”

“You were willing to accept my help before. Why not now?”

Before he was Ollie Moore, a fellow employee. But now he was Ollie Dinsmore, son of Fulton Dinsmore, owner of Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory. But how ridiculous it would sound to speak the reason aloud. She scowled. “Because.”

He rolled his eyes.

“And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

He did it again.

Caroline huffed. “Will you let me pass before I’m given another write-up? One more and Hightower will let me go.”

Ollie smirked. “Not without my father’s approval, and my father won’t approve it without my agreeing. So you see, Carrie,”—he leaned close, his eyes
sparkling—“you need me as an ally. But we won’t be able to investigate during operation hours. We need to come when everything is closed and there are no watchful eyes.”

He was right. Someone had been reporting to Hightower, or he wouldn’t have made threats against her. Even so, she wasn’t convinced she should continue joining forces with Ollie. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but before she could push the door open, Ollie placed his hand over hers.

“Meet me at the back door at seven o’clock Sunday morning. We can set aside any snooping until then to avoid attracting attention. But on Sunday we’ll be able to explore at our leisure without worry.” His warm fingers slid across the back of her hand, sending tremors of awareness up her arm. “Yes?”

She’d probably regret the decision for the rest of her life, but she opened her mouth and blurted a simple reply. “Yes.”

Chill air whisked across the plains and lifted the collar of Letta’s coat. She smacked it back into place with a grunt of annoyance. Beside her, Lank tripped on a railroad tie and nearly went down. She reached for him, but he caught himself in time, sent her a sour look as if she’d caused his toe to catch, then hunkered into his jacket and kept moving ahead without a word.

She glanced back at Lesley, who plodded along, dragging his heels. For most of the first hour of their journey, he’d walked on the shiny rail, hands extended like a tightrope walker. He and Lank had thrown rocks into the thick grass alongside the tracks, chased rabbits startled by the rocks, and dashed back to her, all smiles from their adventure. They’d even considered it a game to hide in the thick brush when a train came, covering their ears against the clamorous
chug, chug
and rattle of the passing cars.

But as morning slipped away, the wind picked up, and the novelty of walking the railroad tracks wore off. Both boys had become grouchy. She was feeling grumbly, too. They’d ditched all their books behind the school’s outhouse except her Bible—she couldn’t bear to leave the only gift she’d ever received. The Bible’s weight in her pocket pulled at her shoulder, and the handle of the lunchpail Miss Kesia had packed for them that morning cut into her fingers, making them ache something fierce. Her shoulder hurt, and her fingers hurt, and her feet hurt. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to keep moving ahead.

She shifted the pail to her opposite hand again and searched the landscape in both directions. The sun wouldn’t go down for several hours yet, but she and the boys would need shelter when dark fell. She’d expected to reach another town by now. According to their teacher, Wichita was only fifteen miles south,
and the train went right through it. She didn’t have a watch to know the time, but the sun was high overhead—past noon, for sure. They’d been walking for more than four hours already. How much farther could Wichita be?

“I’m hungry, Letta.” Lesley’s whining voice carried over the endless whistle of the wind.

Lank nodded his agreement.

Letta chewed her lip. She’d hoped to hold the boys off ’til midafternoon at least. They wouldn’t be getting any supper unless she found a farmer’s root cellar she could rob. She started to tell them to wait, but her stomach rumbled, too. She sighed. Might as well have a little something.

She turned and sat on the silver rail, placing the bucket between her feet and rustling through it. Both boys sat opposite her, their eyes on the bucket. She announced, “We got sandwiches, cookies, apples, an’ my biscuits from breakfast.” She’d deliberately tucked them in with the lunch items, thinking ahead.

Lesley stuck out his hands. “I want a sandwich, my apple, an’ a cookie.”

Letta shook her head. “Huh-uh. Can’t have it all. Only one thing right now.”

Lank scowled. “Wuh-wuh-why?”

“Gotta save some for later.” Letta turned a stern look on the pair. “You’ll thank me when you’re hungry again and there’s still somethin’ in the bucket to eat.”

The two fussed, but when Letta didn’t give in, Lesley settled for an apple, and Lank took a sandwich. Letta ate her leftover biscuits, which were dry and tasteless but at least helped fill her stomach. As they were finishing, the familiar rumble of an approaching train vibrated the ground beneath them.

“Let’s go!” She snatched up the bucket, took Lesley by the hand, and with Lank on her heels, raced to a stand of scrub trees growing alongside the tracks. They crouched behind the sheltering brush and watched the train whoosh by. The ground trembled, making Letta’s skin tingle all the way to her scalp. She’d always wanted to ride on a train, but after having her hair tossed and her body rattled by its force, now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to climb on board one. They’d probably be louder and rattle even more from the inside.

The locomotive rounded a bend, and Letta led her brothers from their hiding spot. Lesley’s mouth stretched into a wide yawn. He grabbed Letta’s hand and pulled. “Do we gotta keep goin’? My feet’re tired. I wanna rest.”

“Muh-muh-me, too,” Lank said.

Letta hooked the bucket handle over her arm and scowled as fierce as she could even though she wanted to sit and rest awhile as much as they did. “We gotta get to Wichita.”

“What’s in Wichita?”

“Our new home, that’s what! But we won’t ever get there if we keep stoppin’ to rest.”

Lesley poked out his lips. “We ain’t stopped but this one time.”

“I know, but like I said, we gotta keep movin’.” She dropped her grumpy act and tried another tack. “C’mere, Lank. Let’s you an’ me play hopscotch on the ties. You find a rock to toss ahead. Betcha we can hop farther’n Lesley.”

Lesley folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t care if you can hop farther. My feet’re tired, an’ I wanna rest.”

Letta stifled a groan. He was getting too smart to fall for her tricks. She grabbed his arm and yanked him onto the tracks. “Walk or hop—I don’t care. But just keep goin’. We gotta get to Wichita so I can find us a place to stay. Out here in the middle of the fields, there ain’t no hotels where we can sleep tonight.”

Lank turned a curious look in her direction. “Huh-huh-hotels cost muh-muh-money.”

“Yeah,” Lesley said, wrinkling his nose. “How you gonna pay for a hotel, Letta? You got money?”

She did. Two five-dollar pieces and some smaller coins. It had stung her something fierce to take that money from Mr. Noble’s coin purse when he was busy trimming his beard that morning. But how else would she take care of her brothers until she found a job? Someday, when she’d managed to work enough to set some money aside, she’d pay Mr. Noble back. Thinking of the money as a loan helped ease her conscience. Even so, she wouldn’t admit what she’d done.

“Why don’t you stop askin’ questions an’ just walk?” She double-stepped,
putting herself several strides ahead of the boys. Flicking a glance over her shoulder, she taunted, “You two’re just a couple o’ slowpokes. Can’t even keep up with a
girl
.”

This time her challenge worked. They galloped past her and kept a brisk pace, occasionally throwing triumphant grins over their shoulders. Letta pretended to be put out with them, but inwardly she smiled. If the boys kept their feet moving that fast, they’d reach Wichita in no time.

Lesley’s question echoed in her mind—
“What’s in Wichita?”
She wished she could have said, “Somebody who wants us.” But wishing didn’t change anything. Nobody waited for them in Wichita. Because nobody’d ever wanted them, and nobody ever would. But she’d spend her last breath making sure neither Lank nor Lesley ever figured out she was the only one who wanted them around. Somehow she’d make sure she was more than enough.

Someone banged on Caroline’s door. She awoke with a start and blinked into the sunlit room. Her gaze fell on the alarm clock on the little table beside her bed. Two forty-five. She didn’t need to get up for another forty-five minutes in order to collect Letta, Lank, and Lesley from school. She pulled the pillow over her head, determined to ignore whoever stood in the hallway.

Bang, bang, bang!
“Carrie? Carrie, are you in there?”