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Edward Saunders entered his home exhausted. He set his bag on the hall floor and Myra, his father's maid, appeared as if from nowhere. She curtsied to him.
"Good morning, sir. How was your trip?"
"Uneventful, which is all one can hope for when inspecting a factory."
In truth, he always found his trips dull. Small towns were a large part of the business he shared with his father, but he had little use for them otherwise. The only cities that ever interested him were large ones. Had he spent the last fortnight traveling throughout New York City or even Jefferson City, he was certain he'd have returned in a better mood.
Myra nodded. She was a short but slender woman in her late forties and had been putting up with his father for nearly two decades. Though formally she worked for both Edward and Charles Saunders, it was his father who had hired her, and it was his father who utilized so much of her time.
"Mr. Saunders was not expecting you back so soon, I think. He'll be pleased to see you." She reached for his bag.
Edward waved her off.
"I've got it, Myra, thank you. You have enough to do without taking my bags up for me." He had been eight when Myra had come to live with them, shortly after his mother's death, and he'd grown up thinking of her as more of a mother than a housekeeper.
She hesitated, then nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I am running a bit behind this morning." She looked around, as if checking to make sure they were alone, then whispered, "Your father's been cheating on his diet again, I'm afraid."
Edward groaned. "How bad is he?"
She shook her head, making soft clicking noises with her tongue. "I can't say, sir. He moans a lot and stays in his room when he can, but then you know how he sometimes likes to make a fuss." She licked her lips. "I've tried to stop him from his indulgences, sir, so has the cook, but I can't watch him when he's at the factory, after all. When he's home, I only serve him according to Dr. Shannon's prescribed diet."
"It's all right, Myra. I don't blame you. I know my father can be hard to manage, especially when it comes to food."
"He does have a deeper desire for fatty meats and creams than others I've known," Myra said.
Edward sighed. "If only he'd developed something other than a gastric ulcer, he might not have to be so limited in his diet. I'm sure he would much rather have problems with his liver or spleen. I'm certain those things could be fixed without amending his diet so very much."
"Is Dr. Shannon certain nothing more can be done?"
"Yes. My father has his pills, but Dr. Shannon has told him time and again that it is his diet that causes the problems. Pills can only do so much."
Just then a moan came from an upstairs bedroom. Edward and Myra looked toward it.
Myra asked, "Shall I bring him something, sir? I've offered tea, but he insists only on coffee and whiskey, and those I've refused. "
Edward fought a smile. He was certain only Myra could get away with refusing his father anything. "No, go on with your housework. I'll tend to him."
Myra nodded, and Edward went upstairs. His father's bedroom was dark. He drew back a curtain, and Charles Saunders reacted by holding his hand over his eyes and crying out.
"Are you trying to end me?" Charles shouted, his voice strained. "The sunlight does more harm than good at times like these."
"That's nonsense and you know it," Edward said, unsympathetic. He was tired of dealing with his father's gastric ulcer. This was the third time he'd returned home from inspecting one of their factories to find his father ill, and it was all his own doing. Knowing that only stirred Edward's frustrations that much more.
"I'm not well," his father said.
"Of that, there is no doubt. For no man who was with sufficient sense would stuff his face with fats and creams and then blame everyone and everything other than himself for his illness."
Charles Saunders sat up in his bed and brought his hand away from his eyes, which had narrowed considerably. "Are you saying I'm ill in the head?" he demanded.
"I'm not saying anything other than that you and your foolishness are beyond my comprehension. Whether that makes you ill in the head, I cannot say, as I am not a doctor, though I suspect Dr. Shannon might prove quite knowledgeable on the subject should you choose to appeal to him."
His father huffed and pulled the sheets up to his shoulders. "I have a chill," he declared.
Edward said nothing. He went to the bed, pulled the sheets back, and when he saw his father still in his bedclothes, he let out an obvious sigh.
"It is already eight in the morning and you have not even dressed for the day. What of the factory? We have several meetings coming up, including the one with Mr. Waterson. You know how much money we stand to gain from that if all goes well. Is this how you wish to present yourself to him when he arrives?"
"The meeting with Waterson is not for another week or two. If we need to postpone it, we can. Just send him one of those telegraphs you enjoy so much."
"I would rather keep the meeting."
"And so we shall. I'll be fine in another few days. Besides, I went into the office yesterday despite my gastric ulcer burning my insides."
"And today?"
His father paused and looked at him. "You go."
Edward's shoulders tensed. "I've just gotten back. I've been traveling for fifteen days and inspected no less than six factories in that time. I thought I would take a rest." He did not mention that his throat felt scratchy and his head ached. Admitting that meant admitting he was becoming ill himself, and he had no time for illness.
"Certainly, you may, but first do me this favor. Go down to Saunders Factory and check in with the girls. It does them well to see someone of authority there, especially after that fiasco with Silas Tucker."
Edward's nerves rattled at the mention of the man who'd stolen from them and harassed their female workers for months, all under their noses. He thanked God the man was now in prison, where he belonged.
"I'll go," Edward said, "but when I return, we shall go over your diet."
"I know my diet very well," his father retorted.
"Not well enough, clearly. Anytime I leave, you stray from it. It seems I must hire someone to watch you twenty-four hours a day. I'll be glad when I install the company's first telephone next month. Then I'll be able to check in with you more easily on my trips."
"Oh, nonsense," his father said. "I'm a grown man and can care for myself. Anyway, I don't see the point in spending perfectly good money on this telephone contraption you keep talking about when telegraphs work just as well, if not better. I don't know anyone else in town who has one." He rolled over on his side and let out a huff.
"You may be a grown man, Father, but sometimes you act like a child." With that, Edward left rather huffily himself.
Saunders Factory, located on the outskirts of Blisspeak, Missouri, a dull town without much going for it other than the fact it was the site of the first factory his father had ever built, loomed ahead of him like a wart on a fingertip. He was tired and wished for nothing more than a soft bed and some sleep.
"Good morning, Mr. Saunders," Della Garrison called as he walked in.
Della had become his father's right-hand man, so to speak, after Caroline Shannon retired from the place to raise her child. Edward knew his father still harbored hopes Caroline might return after the child was old enough, but such fanciful ideas did no good for anyone. It was absurd to think of a woman leaving her home and child to work in a factory, even if the position did pay well. Dr. Shannon made more than enough money to cover the necessities of his household, plus quite a bit extra.
Edward was pleased with Della and felt she had done well in the role, though he still thought a man might fare better. After all, men were simply better inclined toward business than women, though he would never tell Della that. She had a tone that could scare the feathers off a bird, and he was certain any hint of disparagement against women would earn him a good lecture using the very tone he wished to avoid.
Still, at some point, he intended to find a man to take over for Della. She could continue to assist his father, but only a man would ever be able to make the truly tough decisions required of a general manager. Despite the confidence he knew his father placed in Della, her title remained that of a secretary. That was the role he intended for her to maintain.
He had nothing against women in business, per se, it was only that he could not name one woman in all of Missouri, indeed in the whole country, who owned a factory. There was the occasional dress shop, which was always run by women, but that was a different sort of business altogether. Women understood dresses. Men understood work.
"Good morning, Della," he replied after a minute when he realized he'd said nothing by way of response.
"Didn't expect to see you in here this morning," she said. "Did you have a nice trip?"
He sighed. Today was bound to be as repetitive as the last fortnight had been.
"Yes, thank you," he said and left it at that.
He made the trek to his office, passing through the main factory floor where women hustled to and fro. One woman, in particular, caught his eye. Even pulled back in a tight bun, her red hair stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of blondes and brunettes. She pushed a rebellious strand out of her eyes and back behind her ears, then looked up. Her green eyes fell on him.
Lily hesitated, then set down the box she was holding and walked over to him. "Hello, Edward," she said, smiling.
Her voice was delicate, nearly breathless. There was a light in her eyes that only heightened her beauty, despite the marks on her face. The remnants of a bruise, faded to a dark golden color speckled with purple, circled her eye. Edward's heart hammered. One day, he would give that husband of hers a taste of his own medicine.
He started to smile, then remembered he was angry with her and the smile dropped away from his face.
"Hello, Mrs. Dickinson," he said and went on his way.
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