Every clank, jangle of harnesses, or approaching footsteps had Flynn glancing up, only to be met with unwitting disappointment. Even customers offering coins for his meager coffer or the praise of his workmanship did little to raise the sinking of his spirits. June already. Over two weeks and no sign of Charlie or Esther. A clear and not so subtle answer to his offer of friendship.
He should have kept his tongue. For Charlie’s sake.
Flynn laid his frustration to the bellows. He had orders to catch up on now that the rifle barrels were delivered as agreed to the gunsmith. Payment would be forthcoming as soon as the finished weapons were delivered to the Confederate Army.
Flynn let out a breath at the memory of Esther’s anger. She’d convicted him for not being opposed to slavery.
Flames roared with renewed life. The heat from the forge singed his forehead, wetting it with perspiration. Of course he opposed the idea that one man could own another, but what could he do about it so long as his own fetters dug into his flesh? He’d been sold by his own father, compelled to work in this smithy until his twenty-first year. And then what? He’d had nowhere to go—but he should have escaped while he’d had the chance.
Sparks flew as cool iron met the scarlet coals with too much force.
The bell tinkled behind him, and he glanced over. Another customer.
Two weeks and his heart still paused, still hoped.
What a fool he was. He left the iron in the forge and stepped into his shop. “Can I help you, sir … Dr. Allerton?” He couldn’t remember the last time the doctor stepped under his roof. “What do you want?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem yourself, Flynn.”
“Just surprised to see you. Here.” Dr. Allerton always sent Eli to pick up Flynn’s payment and the ever-accumulating interest. “I’m a little short today. But in another week, I plan to—”
“I’m not here for money, man!” Dr. Allerton glanced away, brushing his palms across his trim black coat as though he could clean his hands of this whole interchange. “I have been informed by several that my daughter and her boy have made frequent calls here since their return. And not to make purchases.”
Flynn narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen neither in a fortnight.”
A laugh sounded with derision. “But they had been coming regularly.”
“Charlie enjoyed watching me work. I may have minded him a few times for your daughter while she ran her errands.” The words fell from him like a confession. How did any of this concern the man before him, who glanced out the window as though ensuring his presence went unnoticed?
“You will stay away from Esther. And her son. Being seen with—” His gaze flickered over Flynn. He shook his head. “You are damaging her reputation. As if that child hasn’t done enough harm. Now this.”
Flynn clenched his teeth against a retort. But what could he say? The man had the ability to do whatever he liked with this shop, with Flynn’s life.
“Do we have an understanding?”
He bit his tongue and forced a nod.
“Good.” The doctor pulled on his gloves and stepped back out onto the street.
Flynn stood in place for a long moment. Why should he be upset when obviously he needn’t worry about Esther and Charlie returning to his shop?
Yet, as Flynn laid his heated iron across the anvil, the last thing on his mind was creation. He pounded the surface, bleeding frustration and other feelings he didn’t dare explore. The iron bar became a sheet as thin as paper, ripping with holes. Breathing hard, he thrust it into a pail of water. It met with a hiss and spit. Destroyed. Repairing the damage he’d done might not even be possible.
Seemed fitting somehow.
Flynn pressed his arm over his forehead and wiped away the sweat. He had work to do.
The hours faded into one another with few interruptions. It wasn’t until midafternoon that the bell rang at the front of his shop.
Setting his work aside, Flynn met the matronly woman scanning his ready-made lanterns.
“Something you like? Or do you wish one made to your specifications?”
“Oh, these are fine.” She spared him a quick glance before turning her gaze back to the iron wrought with his own hands. “I’m just not sure which one I like the best.”
She was still making a thorough examination a few minutes later when Lyman Hastings and a larger man pushed into the shop.
“Mr. Flynn.”
“Yes?”
Instead of answering, the gunsmith nodded to the woman and motioned his friend to the opposite side of the small room to make a study of decorative hooks. Flynn tried to focus on the lady while she hemmed and hawed, but with his payment for the rifle barrels mere feet away …
“Maybe I should come back later and bring my niece. She’s much better at making decisions like this than I. She has an eye for such things.”
“Whatever you feel is best.”
“But I did so wish to make my purchase today.”
Flynn unhooked the nearest lantern from the wall. “Why not take one you like home, and if it doesn’t suit, bring it back tomorrow and trade for another.”
Her face brightened and a dimple appeared in one cheek, wiping away some of her wrinkles. “Wonderful. If my niece is not pleased with this one, she can bring it back and make the switch.”
“So long as you are happy with your purchase.” Flynn forced a smile and ushered her toward the door, hardly concerned over the two coins she slipped into his palm or that they were slightly less than the named price. “Good day, ma’am.”
“Thank you again, young man.”
He watched her leave before a woman up the street in a blue gown stole his attention. But there was no boy at her side, and now that he looked closer, her hair was a little too light. He turned back inside.
“Why don’t we step into the back to settle business?” Hastings asked, already moving through the door into the smithy.
Flynn stepped in and opened his hand to the small pouch the man extended.
“Costs ran higher than anticipated, and the army didn’t pay as well as they’d promised. This will have to do.”
Flynn emptied the coins into his palm and his insides clenched. “This is only—” He quickly tallied. “Ten dollars?” His face heated, and his muscles tightened. “Hardly a fraction of what we agreed.” Not nearly enough to compensate for the hours and sweat he had spent to form those rifle barrels. “I need more. You owe me more.” He’d barely meet his lease, never mind the payment to Dr. Allerton.
Hastings took a step back. “I supplied the iron and the contracts. Be grateful.”
“Grateful to be cheated?” Flynn clenched his fist and followed the man’s retreat.
“I don’t want no trouble.” Hastings held up his hands while his friend stepped in, cutting off Flynn’s advance. The rancid body of the second man drew Flynn’s attention to the sweat-stained clothes, scarred face, meaty fists. The gunsmith had brought a scrapper to keep Flynn in his place.
“Let it go, Flynn,” Hastings crooned.
Be cowered into giving up a just wage for his labor? Flynn had worked day and night for weeks, had given up other opportunities. He deserved—he needed—that money. Flynn sidestepped the larger man and gripped Hastings by the collar. “You will give me what we agreed upon or—”
An iron bar cracked down on his arms, breaking Flynn’s hold. Hot pain shot up his right arm, and he stumbled. The mangled iron Flynn had left to cool clanged to the floor. By the time he gained his balance, a meaty fist flew toward his head. He didn’t have time to even flinch, and the force knocked him into his anvil.
“Take the money.” Hastings toed the coins where they had dropped.
No! Flynn’s mind screamed the word, but it never breached his throat. He balled his fists to supply them with the answer, but agony momentarily darkened his vision, and he leaned into the unforgiving edge of the anvil. He stared at his right arm, willing the pain to ease. It had not been a fair fight. He could take the man if given the opportunity.
Instead, Flynn sank to the ground, unable to stop the tremble moving through his body. Blood dripped from his nose, splattering on his leather apron. The coins on the floor mocked him. He’d lose everything. Or dig his hole deeper. He’d not be able to swing his hammer with a broken arm.