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Fall 1907
OVER THE NEXT YEARS, Joy became Grant’s partner in business as well as in life. Grant owned a tool store on the growing edge of Omaha’s downtown district and had funneled all his ingenuity and industry into making it a success.
While still specializing in tools, before long he was able to expand into general hardware and farm implements. The sign above the store declared in gold-edged letters, Michaels’ Tools, Hardware, and Farm Implements.
Joy was enthralled with their business and loved every part of the store—the heavy, oversized entrance doors with their brass hardware and beautifully lettered glass; the distinctive hollow thud of footsteps on the rough, wood-planked floors; the warm smell of oiled leather; and aisles lined with bins chock-full of nails, tacks, screws, washers, nuts, hinges, knobs, and bolts.
She loved the worn-smooth wooden countertops where their customers did their business, and she loved the cheery oil stove in the center of the store where people gathered during the winter to warm their hands on mugs of coffee and swap news and stories.
Blackie, who befriended every customer, padded among the aisles, nudging willing hands. Grant kept a basket for Blackie near the stove and here he warmed his aging bones during the cold season.
“Good old dog,” Grant would murmur, rubbing Blackie’s ears with affection. “Good old dog.”
Joy loved doing the store’s books and prided herself on keeping the ledgers and balancing them every day. Most of all, she loved the life of their store, how she and Grant and their employees served so many people’s needs and how Michaels’ was a needed and appreciated part of their community.
However, after five years of marriage, a void remained in their union. For some reason, children had not arrived. Joy suffered no miscarriages, and her cycle was regular. Grant and Joy prayed, but their family did not increase. Joy watched and wondered as their friends’ families bloomed and grew.
Joy recognized that if she allowed herself to dwell on their lack of children, she could become despondent. Her parents had taught her that self-pity was not of God, so she focused her time and energy on what she and Grant were building.
They loved and served the Lord together, they had a contented home, and they worked side by side, expanding their business and reputation little by little. Instead of buying a house, they chose to make a comfortable home over the store and offices so that they could grow without debt. And they grew in their love.
“My dear, I shall miss my train!” Grant laughed as Joy caught him and kissed him again at the door. “And you know full well that Arnie and Petter are waiting outside to take me to the station.”
“I do not care! Must you go?” Joy responded, half-teasing, while clasping his jacket with her fingers. “Six weeks is such a long time! And it might be longer if the crossing is difficult.”
She was not pouting. Well, not exactly anyway. And she did not mind shouldering Grant’s responsibilities in his absence. It was that her heart would not be whole as long as he was away.
Grant knew. He always knew what bothered her and felt separation from Joy as keenly as she did.
“I shall not be gone one day or one moment longer than I must, my darling,” he whispered into her ear. He cupped her chin to look into her deep blue eyes. “We agreed, did we not, on this venture?”
“Well, yes . . .” Joy’s answer was reluctant.
Because of their frugal living, they had managed to save enough to buy the building next to their store. Opening a second store, one specializing in fine household goods, would diversify their line of business. The new store was to be Joy’s special domain.
“We know the need is there,” she admitted. “You must go to Boston and on to England to select our inventory and establish our suppliers. But I do so wish I were going with you.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Grant smiled. “But who would we leave in charge while we were gone? Mr. Wheatley? Mr. Taub? Billy?”
They both laughed. Mr. Wheatley was near seventy years old and, although always proper, projected a frenzied demeanor, no doubt aided by a head of wispy, perpetually on-end hair. In reality he was as reliable as the sunrise and served their customers well. Mr. Wheatley also had no head for accounts and began yawning each day at 4 p.m.
Mr. Taub, who managed their farm implements, was efficient but could be a bit imperious, even with the store’s clientele. Billy Evans, their youngest employee, wore an infectious grin and tore through his duties with the indefatigable energy of youth.
Although Billy was just past twenty years old, he was already head and shoulders above most grown men. But like a young bull, he sometimes bowled over or scattered customers in his wake.
No, it was clear to both of them that Joy must remain and manage while Grant was gone.
“All right, darling, I will let you go before you miss your train.” Joy released his jacket, smoothing it as she did. “Do you have the list? You will pay special attention to the few notes I made?”
Grant laughed. “My dear, I would not dream of misplacing this ‘list,’ although a list of eight detailed pages qualifies as a treatise rather than ‘a few notes,’ does it not?”
“Do not tease me, Grant Michaels,” Joy retorted. “Sending a man to select fine linens, china, and quality furnishings requires the detailed guidance of a woman with discriminating style.” She added with mock hauteur, “You must thoroughly acquaint yourself with my notes so that our store is stocked suitably and with taste.”
She gripped him again. “Come home soon, my love. The Lord bless you in all you do while you are gone.”
Grant held her close and prayed for both of them, “Father, we thank you for this new opportunity. We thank you for your grace and mercy every day. Your grace is sufficient for us, Lord. Thank you for watching over us. Thank you for comforting my beloved while I am gone. In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Joy echoed.
—
JOY RECEIVED AN ENTHUSIASTIC letter from Grant eleven days later. He had spent five days in Boston searching the stores and warehouses for goods and was satisfied with his contacts and orders.
I embark on the Richmond the day after tomorrow. The Richmond, while not the newest steamer on the seas, will make excellent time, and should dock in Liverpool after no more than ten days.
When I return to Boston in four weeks or thereabouts, I will take the earliest train home to you. Be advised that I shall not allow you out of my sight or my arms for a week.
Joy smiled and warmed at the thought of Grant’s arms around her.
—
GRANT LEANED FAR OUT over the rail of the Richmond as space grew between the ship and the Boston docks on that brisk fall morning. He watched with fascination the water churning under the hull of the ship far below. The rails of the many-decked liner, both above and below his level, were lined with passengers waving to loved ones on the crowded pier. The tugs alongside of them eased them away from the docks and out into the open water.
It would be an hour before the ship cleared the congested shipping lanes of Massachusetts Bay and began to steam at full speed. Their route would take them north and east, skirting Nova Scotia before arcing across the great expanse of the Atlantic to the British Isles. They would dock at Liverpool, England’s great industrial port on her west coast, north of Wales and across the Irish Sea from Dublin.
The captain had cautioned that they would be dashing through a light storm as they neared midafternoon, but he expected the ship to pass through it in short order. Grant, after meeting his cabin mate and settling his luggage, set out to explore the vessel from stem to stern, intrigued with all he saw.
Richmond was a modest passenger liner just past her prime. She had been well maintained and had crossed the Atlantic countless times in her twenty-some years at sea. Grant noted some wear and weathering, but he also saw evidence of the care of Richmond’s masters.
The first mate observed Grant’s curiosity and offered a cordial reflection. “She’s an aging lady, sir, but a grand one. Do not worry about her! She’ll be plying the sea for another twenty years, I wager.” The mate touched his hat in respect and resumed his watch.
At noon Grant ate a light lunch and afterwards took a brisk walk on the promenade. Toward midday the sky began to darken to their south and the seas began to pick up, so Grant retired to his cabin to read. Before long, however, his cabin mate took to his bed, suffering from sea sickness.
The steady ship forged through the rough waters, but Grant soon found it impossible to be indoors while the ship battled the growing wind and waves. His cabin mate groaned again on his cot and retched.
Grant’s stomach tossed a little too, and his cabin mate’s distress was not helping. Craving fresh air to set him right, he donned a hooded slicker and went out of the cabin. He made his way down the hall to the closed hatch that led to their level’s covered passage on the port side of the ship. He pulled it open and stepped outside.
Aside from a few scurrying crew members, he was alone. The sky, a sickly shade of yellow, hung down upon the ship in a thick mist. The sea pitched, and the Richmond alternately rose and dropped in an erratic manner.
The “light storm” the captain had predicted seemed to be something much more. Grant set out to find and ask someone about it. He grasped the rail as a blast of wind sheared down the side of the ship, staggering him.
A sailor in full oilskins, holding the rail and crabbing down the walkway toward him, hollered above the keening wind, “Eh! Another like that one’ll put ya over the side if’n you don’t have a care, sir! Best to be inside, I’m thinkin’.”
Grant agreed and acknowledged the sailor’s concern but shouted back, “I thought the captain said this was to be a light storm!”
“Aye,” the man called into the wind. “But ’tis blowin’ a nor’easter. Turribly unpredictable they are. No tellin’ how long or bad she’ll be.”
As though to punctuate the storm’s unpredictability, stinging rain began to pummel the ship. The sailor hustled away. Grant followed the man’s example and pulled himself down the deck, grasping the rail hand-over-hand.
Then the sea did not pitch—it simply opened before the ship. He stared over the side as they swooped down into the great gulf the ocean presented to them.
“Dear God!” he exclaimed in horror, unable to look away.
As large as the liner was, the hole was larger. Somehow the Richmond nosed back up, but the wind veered freakishly again, hammering them from the side. The ship lurched over to starboard and—for a long moment—wallowed. Grant lost his grip on the rail and slammed up against the ship’s wall. He quickly regained his feet and the rail. He continued to haul himself down the railing until he came to the closed hatch that led back into the shelter of the cabins.
A crack of thunder right atop them stunned him. Then he threw himself at the hatch and grasped the handle—it would not turn! He pounded and pushed against the hatch to no avail. Grant felt the ship leap into the air again as the wild ocean rose—and then dropped from under them.
Realizing how precarious his situation was, Grant again threw himself on the rail. To his right was a round life preserver tied off to the railing. He looped his arm through the ropes that secured the preserver and hunkered down on the deck, wrapping his legs about a railing post. Through the white bars of the railing, he saw the sea open again to suck them down.
They were dropping . . . and overhead the shadow of a mammoth wave grew.
As the wall of water slammed into them from above, Grant clung for his life to the rail, grateful of the ropes securing him. His legs washed out from under him, but he held on, choking on the frothing salt water.
He dropped to the deck with a bone-jarring thud.
Safe! Oh, thanks be to God!
The howling wind dropped off. The surface of the sea smoothed. Grant prayed the worst was over. After several moments he began to hope.
But it was not to be.
The ocean rose again, higher and higher, and a scream of agony ripped the air, the shriek, not of wind, but of rending iron and steel. The Richmond stood atop the sea, her bow hanging over an abyss. Down the length of the ship Grant saw it all—the bow end of the Richmond bending and tearing itself from the remainder of the ship, then with a screeching rend of metal . . . twisting and falling away.
There would be no surviving this storm.
As the rest of the ship began to tilt forward, Grant whispered, “Lord God, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
Through the pounding rain Grant saw furnishings, machinery, debris, and people dropping from the broken ship into the chasm. And then the remainder of the ship lurched over and followed.
~~**~~
