Into the Whirlwind (26 page)

Winter was coming on fast, and it was her enemy. Mortar could not be laid in the frigid months when the temperature dropped below freezing. Normally, all construction in Chicago
stopped by November, but this year was different. Desperate to get the city rebuilt, builders were stretching the season by keeping braziers burning alongside the vats of mortar as it was mixed and laid. Torches were set up along newly laid walls so the mortar could properly cure without cooling too quickly. Those additional few degrees were enough to keep the mortar and her building rising.

Every night, she prayed for the weather to hold.

Mollie did not know what to expect from Sophie Durant on her first day of work, but true to form, the girl arrived at the East Street site in a closed town carriage and escorted by a liveried footman.

“Do you have anything more suitable to wear?” Mollie asked. “Play clothes or something not so costly?” Sophie’s tartan plaid dress looked new, as did her matching plaid beret and dark velvet overcoat with ivory buttons. Only her large canvas work gloves gave any indication Sophie or her parents understood what she was going to do.

“These are the only kinds of clothes I have,” Sophie said. Her gaze flitted over the worksite and her mouth worked nervously. Even beneath the tailored coat, Mollie could see the girl was cringing. Perhaps she thought she would be working alongside the people she had known from the church. Most of the wounded veterans of the 57th were making watches at the brewery, and the men slinging mortar and hauling gravel were strangers to Sophie.

The poor girl was afraid. Dressed like one of her porcelain dolls, Sophie looked ridiculous on a worksite swarming with brawny, sweating men whose faces were streaked with grime and sweat. A train came roaring down the nearby tracks, tons
of metal and coal-fueled steam barreling past them in a barrage of noise and clattering vibration. Sophie covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She was completely out of her element, and she clearly knew it. After the train passed, Mollie squatted down to meet Sophie’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? It will be messy work, and no one will think less of you if it isn’t what you expected.”

Sophie opened her eyes, glanced back at the uniformed servant waiting at the carriage, then at the two men shoveling gravel into a wheelbarrow. She swallowed hard and met Mollie’s gaze. “I want to do it,” she said. “I want to do something hard. Even if it is scary.”

“All right, then. Let me see if I can find Declan, and he can show you how to help with the mortar.”

“Declan is here?” The prospect of a familiar face brought a slight easing to Sophie’s shoulders.

Declan arrived with the bricklayer, who showed Sophie how to get started. With the temperature getting colder by the day, they mixed only small batches of mortar so it would be easier to keep warm. Declan showed Sophie how to fill sacks with the right amount of lime and sand, then haul it to the mixing vats. The sight of the little girl clad in velvet laboring alongside the brawny workers was so strange that people on the neighboring construction sites stopped to stare.

Declan planted a mixing stick in Sophie’s hands, then glanced up to see Mollie watching from behind Sophie’s carriage. “You can go on back to the brewery,” he said. “I’ll look after Miss Sophie.”

Mollie didn’t leave until Declan shooed her away.

When Mollie arrived at the brewery attic worksite, there was another note from Zack awaiting her.

Apparently you misunderstood the meeting time and place for our walk by the river. Please join my family for dinner tonight and we can discuss it.

Would he never give up? Mollie had never been blind to the tough, bare-knuckled world that ruled Chicago politics and business, but Zack had been so charming when he’d strong-armed her she’d never even known he was doing it until she had signed, sealed, and delivered to him exactly what he’d wanted.

How long would it be before she could think of Zack without this weight on her chest? Throwing herself into work ought to have solved the problem, but it seemed everywhere she looked brought a fresh round of memories. The coverage in the newspapers of the White Stockings made Mollie wonder what Zack would think of his favorite team’s flagging record as they struggled against East Coast rivals on the road. The scent of fresh pierogis in the deli made her remember evenings around the brazier with him. Heaven help her, when she watched construction workers hauling granite stone to building sites, it reminded her of Zack’s powerful build. She went back to her table and tried to assemble watches but was unsuccessful in banishing Zack from her thoughts.

A full-bodied horn from the stockyard train signaled it was time for Mollie to go check on Sophie. Was two hours enough to make the girl want to flee back to her world of porcelain dolls and handmade lace?

The first thing Mollie saw as she approached the East Street property was the grand maroon carriage, so Sophie must still be there. Mollie sidled up alongside the carriage to watch Sophie’s progress from a distance. The girl’s dark coat was smeared with lime dust, but she was still working, lugging a canvas sack of sand to the mixing area. The sack was heavy, and Sophie had
to set it down every few steps while she panted from exertion, but she eventually delivered it to Declan at the mixing station. Declan gave her an approving nod, and Sophie beamed.

Mollie paused. It was the first time she had ever seen a smile on Sophie’s face, and it had come after two hours of gritty manual labor most girls her age would have run from. Other than Declan, Sophie still appeared intimidated by the men who were working at the site, but the girl watched in fascination as Grady O’Manion wielded his trowel like a maestro conducting an orchestra, slathering on mortar and setting a row of bricks with precision.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Mollie startled. “Colonel Lowe.” How long had he been standing there? He had one booted foot braced on a workbench and a framing square dangling from his hands, but it was his tender, curious smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“I wonder if I could persuade you to call me Richard,” he said. “We have only been acquainted a few weeks, but I feel I have known you far longer. Your father used to brag about his clever daughter, how she could attach a winding stem to a watch with her eyes closed.”

Her gaze skittered away. She had not missed the way he had been watching her whenever she came to the worksite, but she had not seriously entertained the notion that Colonel Lowe could be interested in her. After all, he had a legendary reputation among the veterans of the 57th. With his blond hair ruffling in the breeze and face flushed with the chill of the autumn day, Colonel Lowe looked even younger than his thirty-five years. Her father would be walking on air at the prospect of a romance between her and the colonel.

She cleared her throat. “Colonel Lowe—”

“Richard. At the very least, you should stop calling me a
colonel. The war has been over almost seven years, and I am simply Mr. Richard Lowe now.”

There was nothing simple about a man who could race across the state, round up eighteen able-bodied men, get her land cleared, a basement dug and framed, a foundation laid, and bricklaying underway in less than three weeks. At this rate, she’d have a workshop by Thanksgiving. She grinned. “Richard, then.”

She joined him on the bench and listened to him speak of his life in Waukegan, a small town north of Chicago, where he designed bridges and helped renovate the aging railroad beds. How easy it was to talk to this man! Even though her business was very different from his, they used precisely the same variable costing system for tracking operations. They liked the same novels and drank the same blend of oolong tea. Mollie was surprised when the uniformed footman interrupted them.

“It is time to deliver Miss Sophie home,” the footman said.

“Of course,” she said. Mollie fetched Sophie from where she was helping stir the mortar to keep it pliable in the chilly air. Sophie looked a mess with lime dust smeared down the front of that beautiful velvet coat. Mollie tried to swipe away the white dust, but it was hopeless.

“How do you feel after your first day on a construction site?” Richard asked Sophie.

The girl shrugged, reluctant to meet Richard’s gaze. “Okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” Richard said with mock indignation. He grasped the girl’s shoulders and turned her around. “Look at that wall! It was less than a foot high when you arrived this morning, and now it is taller than you. Someday you can bring your children to this site, point to that wall, and tell them that you built it.”

“All I did was help make the mortar.” Sophie looked a little wounded, as though Colonel Lowe was making fun of her.

“Don’t fool yourself, Miss Durant,” Richard said. “Very few things in this world are done in isolation. It takes an entire crew of people to make a building rise, and you were part of that crew today. We could not have laid those bricks if the mortar was not properly mixed and kept at the correct temperature. That wall will forever be something you can be proud of. When you and I are both old and gray, that wall will still be standing there.”

Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Really,” Richard affirmed. “Are you coming back tomorrow to help finish out the corners?”

Sophie looked to Mollie for permission. “Can I?”

What a transformation had come over this girl. It confirmed everything Frank had ever said about the value of work and having a purpose in life. “Yes, Sophie. I hope you will.”

19

T
here was a fine ladies’ store on Jefferson Street just across the river, and Mollie longed to wear something that had not been pulled from the donation bin. Six weeks of mismatched, ill-fitting, and threadbare clothing was enough to test even her tolerance. After paying her debts and setting enough aside for three months of operating expenses, she still had enough money to fund a shopping excursion for Alice and herself.

The shop was fronted with two large glass display cases filled with ready-made dresses, dainty hats, and bolts of fabric spilling forth in a lavish display of silk, brocade, taffeta, and velvet. A little bell tinkled as she pulled open the door and stepped inside the lavender-scented shop. Glass cases displayed kid leather gloves, hand-painted buttons, and silk scarves in saffron, peach, and indigo. Spools of ribbons were lined up atop the display cases like a colorful waterfall, but most tempting were the gowns.

“Look at all those dresses.” Mollie gawked at the display of a dozen choices of gowns. She needed a sturdy calico that would be comfortable enough to wear at the workshop, but was tempted by a stunning gown of peacock blue with a skirt that pulled
away to reveal an ivory satin underskirt. It would be impossible to think of ashes and smoke stains while wearing a gown like that. She wanted silk against her skin! Drawers and knickers and petticoats made of superfine cotton and scented with lavender.

Never had Mollie been so excited to purchase new clothing as at this very moment. She reached out to finger a fancy overskirt of blue silk supported by tiers of interior bustling to lend it a delightfully feminine silhouette.

She leaned over to whisper in Alice’s ear. “I’ll take one of everything,” she teased.

“Such restraint! I want the whole shop!”

The feel of silk and velvet triggered memories of what life was like before the fire, and she craved it. Mollie stepped behind a screen and tried on a ready-made skirt of bronze taffeta.

Alice’s look of approval made Mollie certain she needed to own this skirt. “Help me pick a few blouses to pair with it,” she said. With her flair for color and style, Alice could dress a potato and make it look presentable. Mollie leaned over to examine the hem and determine how much it would need to be raised to fit her stature.

“I don’t suppose this sudden urge to make yourself look fetching has anything to do with a certain Colonel Lowe, now, would it?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. This was
entirely
about Colonel Lowe, and she’d be a fool to try to deny it in front of her oldest friend. “He helps me get my mind off Zack,” she confessed.