21
Arthur

SOUTH ASHEVILLE
FEBRUARY 1922

Angus was leaning against the door, pipe smoke curling around his ears, when Arthur arrived to open the shop.

“Running late, ain’t ye?” he asked.

Arthur grunted. “I’d say you’re running early.”

“If you paid me, I’d ask fer extry, but since you’re a charity case, I’ll let it go.” Angus hobbled up the steps behind Arthur. “A fine pair we are, all stove up and gimpy.”

“Remind me why I keep you around?” Arthur asked with a grin.

“’Cause that Donnie feller you were training up and left ye.” Angus settled in his usual chair in the back room with a sigh. “Plus your customers like my yarns almost as much as your furniture.”

“Right you are,” Arthur agreed. “Got any new tales this morning?”

“Not a tale exactly, but I did hear something that might be of interest.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Arthur paid little attention as he readied the shop for the day’s business.

“That Lorna lass is causing a stir up at the Grove Park Inn.” Arthur’s head jerked around. He saw a sly smile on Angus’s lips much to his dismay. “Thought that might do it.”

“Do what?” Arthur said before he could catch the sullen-sounding words.

“Spark ye. Ain’t seen a spark since that other one up and left ye.”

Arthur threw his hands in the air. “Have you been sent to torment me? Nothing but gossip and bad memories. Can we talk about something else?”

“She’s done up some new cloth that’s got the fashionable ladies all atwitter.” Angus kept speaking as though Arthur hadn’t.

Arthur plopped down on his own stool. “Fine, Angus, what is it about this cloth?”

“Can’t say as I understand much about fashion and all that, but I guess it’s the designs that are extry special. The way she wove ’em sets ’em apart. Word is, Mrs. Vanderbilt is having a dress made that’s gonna be all the rage.” He drew on his pipe and exhaled slowly. “Whatever that means.”

“And you thought this would be of interest to me because?”

“’Cause you’re still sweet on the girl. Might be a good time to write her a letter or go see her. While she’s flying high, you might say.”

Arthur shook his head. “You are a meddlesome fellow.”

“Keeps me occupied.”

The bell jangled above the front door. “How about you stop meddling and go see if you can charm whoever that is? I’ve got an order that needs to be delivered today and listening to you isn’t getting my work done.”

Angus winked and stood from his chair, straightening his back by degrees. “There,” he said. “Takes me a minute to get upright, but I can go all day once I’m up.”

Arthur watched the old man head into the showroom, where he immediately struck up a conversation with a matronly woman who was looking for a picture frame for a photo of her first grandchild. Angus could more than handle that order. Arthur, on the other hand, wasn’t at all certain that he could handle the idea of trying again with Lorna. He wanted to. Seeing her at Cornelia’s birthday party had reminded him of all the reasons he cared for her. She’d been warmer toward him that day, and when she thanked him for saving her from the flood . . . A lump rose in his throat. He wanted her in his life, in whatever way she’d allow. And now he had a reason—an opportunity—to reach out with his congratulations. What did he have to lose? “Other than my pride and self-respect,” he mumbled to himself. And those weren’t worth much.

He glanced into the showroom to confirm that Angus was well occupied. Then he found a pen and pulled out a piece of the letterhead he’d had printed specially for his business. He should probably just use regular stationery, but he figured reminding Lorna that he was a legitimate businessman wouldn’t hurt his chances. He groaned softly. As if he had a chance.

One more peek into the front room and he began writing.

Dear Lorna,

Congratulations on your recent success. I have long found you to be a truly gifted weaver, and I am pleased to see you receiving praise for your skill. I look forward to seeing the cloth you have recently woven. And perhaps I will have an opportunity to see you, as well.

He tapped his pen against his bottom lip. Was that last line too much? Or not enough? He started to crumple the page, then stopped himself. Again, what did he have to lose?

Before he could change his mind, he added With affection, Arthur, quickly folded the page, and slipped it in an envelope. He stood from the table where he’d scrawled the note. As he turned, he yelped upon finding Angus standing just a few feet away.

“Want me to deliver that?” the old man asked.

Arthur looked at the envelope in his hand as though surprised to find it there. “I, uh, I suppose . . . Yes.” If he was going to be a fool, he’d own it. “Yes. Please deliver this to Lorna Blankenship at Biltmore Industries.”

Angus grinned and saluted him. “Yes, Cap’n. Will there be anything else?”

“You might try to stop meddling,” Arthur mumbled, but his friend was already halfway to the door.

No response. Arthur heaved a sigh and tidied his workbench at the end of a successful day. It had been a week since he had sent his note to Lorna and . . . nothing. Would he never learn? Well, he’d had enough of rejection—from Lorna and from Clara. He should continue focusing elsewhere. His business was doing well. Angus had become like family. And he was respected in the community. Shouldn’t that be enough?

The bell over the door jangled. He slipped his jacket back on and went to see if he might make one more sale today. But instead of a customer, it was Reverend Swope, who began looking over the wares.

“Rodney. Good to see you. Checking up on me?”

“Not at all,” Rodney said with a laugh. “I have an altar guild to do that for me.”

Arthur chuckled along with his mentor, but he had a bad feeling. This visit was decidedly unusual.

“Have a seat,” Arthur said, waving to a pair of comfortable chairs near the window. Clara said the chairs would be welcoming for guests, and he had to admit she’d been right. “Is everything alright?” he asked, not willing to make small talk with the man who was as close to a father as he’d ever known.

Rodney blew out a breath. “I’m afraid not. You always did have a remarkable sense for what other people were feeling.” The reverend removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “The problem is, I don’t know how you’ll feel about this news.” He opened his eyes. “Your parents are dead, Arthur.”

Arthur stared for a moment. His parents? The people he’d had no contact with since leaving West Virginia with Reverend Swope, what, twenty-four years ago? He finally found his tongue. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He wet his lips, wanting to be careful about what he said next. “I suppose I may ultimately feel some loss, but they’ve been lost to me for so long now, I’ll confess this news may not be as hard for me as you’re expecting.”

“Fever,” Rodney continued as if Arthur hadn’t spoken. “Took them both. I doubt either of them had particularly strong constitutions.”

“No, I suppose their lives didn’t get markedly easier after they . . .” Arthur couldn’t find the right word for what they’d done with him. “After they apprenticed me to the church.”

Rodney bowed his head and kneaded his hands. For a moment, Arthur wondered if the reverend was praying. Then he lifted his head suddenly. “The thing is, Arthur, there’s a child. A young man, really.”

Arthur frowned in confusion. What in the world was he talking about?

“You have a brother who is now without a family.”

“I have a . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought. “But I had several brothers. And sisters. We were all scattered.” He shrugged. “I used to think that it might be nice to find some of them, but the timing never seemed right. Surely we’re all old enough to take care of ourselves without the help of . . . of such parents.”

Rodney grimaced. “It would seem your mother had a child late in life. Boyd is fifteen years old. And from what I’ve been told, he has some challenging issues.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Well, what about my other siblings? Are any of them still around to help?”

“Apparently not. Or if they are, they aren’t offering. The current rector of Saint Matthews wrote to let me know, thinking that perhaps I would take in another Wescott child.”

Arthur felt a stab of, what was it, anger? Fear? Petty jealousy? He couldn’t think of any response to all of this.

Rodney leaned forward and looked deeply into Arthur’s eyes. “You have been a son to Mary and me. You have been among God’s greatest blessings to us.” He sat back. “But we are no longer of an age when welcoming a child into our home seems reasonable.” He paused. “But if you would like to take him in, you will have our fullest possible support in ensuring this young man has all the advantages he has formerly been deprived of.”

“Take him in?” For some reason, Arthur hadn’t realized this was an option. “I could take him in?”

Rodney nodded. “Yes, the arrangements could be made quite easily. Persuading the young man to come to Asheville might be the only difficulty. The rector says he goes around with a bad crowd there in Wheeling. It’s part of why they hoped he might be able to move elsewhere.”

“I’ll go fetch him.” Arthur was on his feet, calculating what would be required to take him to Wheeling, West Virginia, and back.

“Not so fast, Arthur. You need to think about this carefully. Taking in a teenage boy who’s lived the life he has will surely be a challenge. Take some time. Consider all the angles, my boy.”

Arthur remembered his own childhood with forgetful, overburdened parents who had little use for the progeny they kept bringing into the world. This boy, his brother, had suffered more years than he had under their care—or lack of it. Arthur had taken refuge in working with wood. Had his brother found something similar? Or would he be little more than a wild creature who had to learn to fend—and fight—for himself?

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “He’s my brother, and I can’t abandon him now that I know he needs me. I’m going to do whatever I can. I have to.”

Rodney laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m thankful you’ve decided to take this path. I think it will make a world of difference to Boyd Wescott. And you’ll have all the help Mary and I can give you.” He smiled. “And God will help you, too, of course. He has a soft spot for orphans. I’ll send a telegram asking for details and will let you know when you can make the trip north.”

Arthur laughed, his heart light and filled with joy. He was going to fetch his brother. They would be a family. They would belong to each other in a way Arthur had never belonged to another person. He slapped his palms together. “We’re going to be quite the pair. The Wescott boys are about to show Asheville something great!”