Into the Whirlwind (37 page)

She dragged her attention back to the present, reaching out for Richard’s hand. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. He had been openly courting her since last winter, coming down to Chicago weekly to escort her to soirees such as tonight’s gathering. He had introduced her to his sister and brother-in-law, who had been generous in welcoming her into their home. Mollie had hoped that with time, her affection for Richard would grow to overtake the lingering memories of a man who frightened, challenged, and annoyed her.

For the most part, her plan was working, but sometimes she simply wanted to escape. The temptation to run away from Chicago and the 57th clawed at her. The 57th wasn’t a joy anymore, it was becoming a burden. One that woke her in the middle of the night with her mind twisted into knots. She was trying to swim, but there was an anchor tied around her leg dragging her down. And that anchor was the 57th Illinois Watch Company.

If the fire hadn’t happened, she could have sold her company to Hartman’s. With sixty thousand dollars she could have run away to the south of France, just as Zack had suggested. Now she was stuck with people who mistrusted her, debts that were growing by the day, and a contract for clocks she was not certain she could fulfill.

Another excruciating aria came to an end, followed by polite applause. Without conscious thought, Mollie rose to her feet and fled out the door.

Mollie couldn’t imagine what Richard’s sister must think of her abrupt departure, but she didn’t care. These were Richard’s people, not hers.

The cool evening air was scented with moss, and instead of the wailing of a soprano, the soothing chorus of crickets filled the air. Her slippers cut through the carpet of soft grass beneath her feet as she walked toward the wrought-iron gate that sheltered the Prairie Avenue estate. The muffled sound of the opera singer momentarily became louder as a door opened. Richard’s tall form was silhouetted in the doorway as he scanned the grounds, looking for her. She could tell when he spotted her, as he closed the door and cut across the lawn in long, confident strides.

“Feeling all right?” he asked as he drew closer.

She mustered a smile. “Better. I’ve never heard an opera singer at such close range. She is rather awe inspiring, isn’t she?”

“That is one term for it,” he said congenially as he scanned her face. “But you’ve been distracted all evening, even before the operatic assault. Tell me what is bothering you.”

Scanning the sky as stars began to emerge, she wondered if this was the right time to lay another round of burdens on Richard’s shoulders, but she needed his advice. She needed to unload her problems and have someone older and wiser tell her what to do.

She explained the troubles that had begun when Hartman’s burned to the ground. After scrambling, she had found two stores to carry her watches in New York and Philadelphia, but no one had heard of the 57th Illinois Watch Company in those cities, and establishing a reputation there was taking time. The watches commemorating the Chicago fire had sold well, but after the initial wave of orders, business had slowed, and she couldn’t ride that wave of sympathy forever. And in the long run, the competition from mechanized watches was going to make earning a reliable income even trickier. Household clocks had long been made by factory workers, but she had never imagined they would figure out a way to make machines handle the tiny components used in watches. Building public clocks was different. The massive size of a public clock made mechanization almost impossible. There would always be a need for skilled technicians to make monumental clocks, and the 57th had something to offer that other clockmakers did not. They had style and artistry. If she could make her mark in Chicago, she might even earn commissions in neighboring cities.

Unfortunately, Richard agreed with Oliver Wilkes. “I don’t understand how clocks are going to improve your cash flow.” He swooped down and plucked a strand of grass to twirl between his
fingers. “It strikes me that your problem is lack of mechanization. You can’t solve it by skirting the issue. If you need to compete with the East Coast watchmakers, then do it. Mechanize.”

Those words were like a stab in the chest. “I can’t
mechanize
,” she said. “I would have to let go of half my workers. And it would cost a fortune.”

“I’ve got a fortune.”

She drew a quick breath and looked away. Every time he suggested anything like this, it made her feel light-headed, and not in a good way. A firm hand on her arm turned her to face him.

“Mollie, perhaps it is time you funneled more responsibility to Oliver. Or Ulysses. If running the 57th brings you no joy, then leave. You have plenty of other options.”

“Oliver is too hidebound to understand how the industry is changing,” Mollie said. “And Ulysses has no head for business. I’m the only one there who can see what is ahead of us.”

Richard’s voice rose a notch. “Did you hear what I just said? If the company is bringing you no joy, then leave. Don’t tell me reasons you can’t. I can bring an infusion of cash to mechanize the company and hire an experienced man to run the operation. I’ll make certain every wounded veteran of the 57th has a job for as long as he wants it. Just say the word.”

Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t accept an infusion of cash like that without forever putting herself in his debt. Richard had made it clear in the past few months that he would welcome a marriage between them, but the prospect only brought Mollie anxiety.

How long had she been waiting for a rush of infatuation for this handsome man to overtake her? Last week, she had even dragged out a piece of paper and re-created her list of Richard’s sterling qualities as measured against Zack. Richard still won, but why couldn’t her heart accept that?

Zack wasn’t even an option for her anymore. He seemed quite taken with the lovely blond woman in the park, but the fact that Mollie was still trying to browbeat her heart into accepting Richard did not engender confidence in her.

“I think we should rejoin the others,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. She’d rather have a tooth pulled than return to the opera singer, but she would do it for Richard. He and his sister had been so good to her, and they didn’t deserve to have her sulking through their party. She just wished she felt like she belonged there.

“Mother, no,” Zack said. “Absolutely not.”

Joanna Kazmarek was skilled at ignoring him when she wished. Pushing the bottle of vodka into his hands, she tried to shoo him out the door. “Go on with you,” she said with a sunny smile. “Give that bottle to Mr. Jablonski with our compliments.”

Zack eyed the bottle of vodka, suspicion crawling through every vein in his body. “What does the red ribbon mean?” Polish people were some of the most superstitious, tradition-laden people on the face of the earth. Every color, flower, food, or name had some hidden meaning veiled in centuries of tradition, and he knew his mother was up to something.

“Why should a ribbon mean anything?” his mother asked, her voice steeped in innocence.

He knew his mother well and could take an educated guess what a bottle of vodka tied with a red ribbon meant. “It’s a token a man gives when he wants to court someone’s daughter, isn’t it?”

His mother didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. She pinched his cheek and smiled up at him. “So clever, my son! And where is the harm in that? Anka Jablonski is a lovely girl.”

She certainly was, and he had enjoyed every moment he’d spent in Anka’s presence. With long blond hair and intelligent blue eyes, she looked like an alpine goddess. She was also bright, had a laugh that sounded like music, and baked Polish makowiec bread better than any he had ever tasted. She also didn’t speak a word of English, which had made his courtship somewhat problematic.

Not that it had discouraged his parents. The Jablonskis were regular visitors to his house ever since they had emigrated from Poland five months ago, and his parents had happily provided translation services. Besides, Anka was working on her English. Every word that came out of her mouth was charming. Her accent was usually too thick for him to make much sense of whatever she was trying to say, but he didn’t care. He was spellbound. He could listen to Anka mangle the English language for hours and not grow bored.

That didn’t mean he was going to give her father a bottle of vodka tied with a red ribbon. Anka was certain to know what it meant, and he had too much respect for her to set up false expectations. He liked Anka but was nowhere near to being ready to offer for her.

He handed the bottle back to his mother. “I am running late for a meeting and won’t have time to stop by the Jablonskis.”

“More of that insurance business?” his mother asked, disapproval obvious in her voice. Zack said nothing, just grabbed his overcoat, as it would be dark and possibly chilly by the time the meeting ended. Lately, these meetings had run well past midnight.

“It’s important, Mama. Maybe the most important work I’ve ever done.”

As far as his parents were concerned, Louis Hartman walked on water and could do no wrong, and whatever time Zack
devoted to getting Hartman’s rebuilt and running was time well spent. They thought the exact opposite of anything that linked Zack closer to the mayor, the city council, or the burgeoning insurance reform movement.

Chicago was a big, unwieldy city, ruled by aldermen and a municipal ward system, which made reform difficult, but if this city had a prayer of surviving another catastrophe like the fire, the laws governing insurance needed to be changed. No one had ever imagined a fire could wipe out so much of a city’s expensive business district. Because most of those businesses were insured by local companies, it was impossible for the fire’s victims to collect. To date, less than one-third of the money owed by insurance companies had been paid, and it was unlikely any more funding would emerge. There were heroic stories of insurance agents who’d sold off their own property in an attempt to make good on the money they owed, but company after company had failed.

The only way to stop a repetition of the catastrophe was to change the way the insurance laws worked. It was going to be a tough balancing act to push these reforms through, but it was the sort of hard-hitting, high-stakes game that ignited Zack’s blood. He thrived on tackling big problems and finding solutions to solve them.

His stride was brisk as he walked through the neighborhood, scanning the shop fronts and the apartments on the upper floors. The city was more crowded than ever, with people flooding in from the East Coast in search of work. Anyone with a trade, a skill, or a strong back could get work in Chicago, although finding decent shelter was more difficult. At least the tents that had sprouted up throughout the city were mostly gone. And Mollie Knox had finally found a decent home.

Not that he let himself think about Mollie much anymore,
but he was always eager to hear news of her when Dr. Buchanan came for dinner. It seemed she was now building clocks, which was a good thing, since Hartman’s would no longer carry her watches.

A large stone building loomed on the corner of Hubbard and Wabash Avenue. Ever since the fire, the mayor and city council had been meeting here until they could find more permanent quarters. A long night awaited him, the air thick with the smoke of cigars and the weight of rampant mistrust. There would be more than a few frayed tempers as they worked toward a new way of regulating business, entirely unknown in the United States. Or anywhere in the world. They were figuring things out as they went, but if they succeeded, no city that endured a massive catastrophe would be faced with the collapse of the local insurance industry again. It took brains, brawn, and a will of steel to shove this sort of reform through the system.

Zack had all three.

Zack nodded to a pair of aldermen as they filed into the building. This was an unusual coalition of insurance agents, elected officials, lawyers, and union leaders. It was going to be a long night, but this was the kind of work he loved best. He followed the others inside and closed the door.

27

M
ollie cupped her hands tightly over her ears, but the roaring noise of the metal grinders leaked through. She had thought last evening’s soprano was bad, but it could not compare to the shrieks of an industrial mill in full operation.