CHAPTER
Twenty-Four

Douglas listened with amazement while his father explained how he’d begun learning to read and write. A lay minister named Mr. Johnstone had moved to Glasgow some months ago. He and his wife saw a great need among the working classes who, for various reasons, had never been able to attend school. They opened a free school with classes on Sundays and some evenings that were primarily aimed at helping adults improve literacy and arithmetic skills. They’d had success establishing a few schools for the miners in Newcastle and wanted to do the same in Glasgow.

“They give the lessons at the little meeting hall next to the church,” his father said. “There’s no charge, but they ask those who can afford to bring paper and pencil to do so. I used a bit of the money you so kindly sent us for that.”

“We didn’t think you’d mind,” his mother put in, giving Douglas a knowing smile.

“That is . . .” Douglas searched for the word. Astonishing? Unbelievable? He settled on “. . . admirable.”

“Your father wasn’t so easy to convince, though,” his mother said. “It took a little doing.”

Douglas wasn’t surprised. He knew from experience that it was tough to change his father’s mind about anything. “What finally won you over?”

“I wasn’t sure about this Mr. Johnstone at first, but I guess you could say he grew on me. He said a lot of things I hadn’t heard before, and he was reading it straight from the Bible. And I’ll be honest: as a man gets closer to his judgment day, he starts to care a little more keenly about what may happen at that particular event. I decided I didn’t want to take someone else’s word for it and find out too late that I was depending on the wrong information.”

“And how is your . . . er, research coming along?”

“Well, it’s slow going, as I said. I read from the church Bible that they keep at the school. There’s a lot o’ words in there! But Mrs. Johnstone helps me find verses that are easier to read. I’ve copied a few of them down for practice. Shall I read them to you?”

“I’d like that very much.”

Catching his wife’s eye, his father motioned toward the table. “Bring me those papers, will you, Jeannie?”

She quickly obliged.

Clearing his throat, his father looked down at the pages and began reading. “‘Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. . . . For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.’”

He read a mix of verses that seemed to come from both the Old and New Testaments. His pronunciation was halting at times, especially on longer words, but was always clear.

Hearing these words from his father’s lips, Douglas was unexpectedly moved. So many verses talked of the goodness and salvation of God. He’d never known his father to take much interest in religion, other than taking the paradoxical stances of railing against it while also accepting the precept that people were born into certain stations in life where they must remain, and that somehow God was responsible for that. Something had clearly changed.

His father continued reading. “‘Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust in uncertain riches . . .’”

Until this point, Douglas had been focusing on the worn carpet as his father read, afraid that if he watched, he might be too overcome with emotion. Now he jerked his head up. Money had always been a sensitive topic. Was his father reading this as a rebuke to Douglas’s pursuit of financial success? He took a deep breath, as he often did when about to go head-to-head with his father on something.

“‘. . . but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy,’” his father said, finishing the verse. He set down the papers, clearly done with his reading.

“That was wonderful, Richard!” his mother exclaimed, gazing proudly at her husband. She turned to Douglas for confirmation. “Wasn’t that wonderful?”

For the moment, agitation had overcome the pride Douglas had been feeling. “I was just wondering, Dad, why you picked that last verse.”

“I believe the point is pretty clear—that we are not to trust in riches, but in God.”

“I see.” This was an attack on him after all.

“However”—his father lifted the paper again, pointing to the verse—“it also says that God gives us richly all things to enjoy. Perhaps He doesn’t want His people to be destitute. Perhaps He does want us to take some enjoyment in life.”

Douglas thought of the distinction Carnegie had made between having wealth and serving it as an idol. It would seem his father was saying something similar. “Does this mean you’re no longer angry with me for fighting my way out of this place?”

His father shook his head. “I was too hard on you. I think I was angry at myself for not bein’ able to provide better for you.”

They were silent for a few moments to appreciate this newly forged understanding between them.

His mother was the next to speak. “Richard, you’ve told him your main reason for learning to read. But it’s not the only reason, now, is it?”

His father looked flustered. “It’s the only one that matters.”

She said gently, “Quit bein’ so hardheaded.” She tilted her head toward Douglas. “Tell him why you did it.”

After a moment, his father met his gaze with a sheepish expression Douglas had never seen before. “I thought, well, seein’ as how you’re advancin’ into the better classes, I wouldn’t want to be an embarrassment to you.”

Douglas was so stunned that it took a moment to find a reply. Surely it could not have been easy for his father to make such a confession. He would have had to swallow the tiny bit of pride he’d clung to all these years. It gave Douglas a newfound respect for the man he’d so often felt ashamed of. He had to clear the knot in his throat before he could answer. “You’re not an embarrassment to me, Dad.”

His words seemed to lift a great load from his father’s shoulders. He straightened in his chair, the lines in his forehead relaxing as he offered a tentative smile. The wariness that always kept Douglas tense around his father seemed to ease. He supposed his father felt the same way.

“Perhaps you’d like to see the school?” his mother suggested. “I know the Johnstones would love to meet you.”

“I’d like that very much,” Douglas said. A germ of an idea was planting itself in his mind.

Things had been busy while Douglas was away. The usual barrage of messages over the wires had contained the good news of his successful meeting in Liverpool. Alice couldn’t wait until he returned so she could get all the details. At first, the atmosphere of the whole office had seemed brighter. She even saw Archie smiling to himself. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, but since he also sent fewer caustic remarks her way, she decided to accept this as a positive thing.

However, within a few days, Alice began to get the impression that something was amiss. The pace of the messages, both going and coming, reached a fever pitch. There was so much traffic on the wires that Alice was unable to piece together the content of the messages with any understanding. The bookkeepers were constantly in Mr. Henley’s office, many times behind closed doors. Given that the men kept sending Mavis to the filing room to locate more documents, Alice surmised that something had gone wrong with one of their contracts. A few times she heard Mr. Henley exclaim, “Of all the times for Shaw to be on holiday!”

The day before Douglas was scheduled to return, Alice was just getting back from lunch when she was met at the door by Mr. Henley.

“There you are!” he said, as though she’d done something wrong by taking her normal break. He glowered at her with a red face. “Miss McNeil, come to my office, please. There is something we need to discuss.”

“Certainly, sir.” Alice threw a glance at Archie, wondering if he had some idea what this was about. But he was calmly tapping out a message on the telegraph. In fact, he seemed pointedly uninterested in what was transpiring just a few feet away from him. For some reason, this set Alice even further on edge.

When she followed Mr. Henley into his office, she was surprised to see his wife there. She was seated in a chair, frowning, and she met Alice with a cold stare.

Alice sensed she was in serious trouble, although she could not guess why. She looked questioningly at Mr. Henley. “Yes, sir?” she prompted. Whatever was going on, she wanted to get it out in the open as quickly as possible.

Mr. Henley picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “This is the message I wrote up on Thursday last to be sent to our agent in New York.” He put it into Alice’s hands. “Do you recognize it?”

Alice scanned the message. It was a modest-sized order for cotton from one of their suppliers in Mississippi. It contained details regarding price and transport. She handled dozens of such orders every week—sometimes more. She looked up. “I can’t say that I remember this particular one. Was there some mistake in the transmission?”

“Mistake!” Mrs. Henley burst out with a shrill voice that caused Alice to jump. “I daresay it was no mistake!”

“Dolores, hold your tongue!” Mr. Henley said in exasperation.

She huffed and said no more but continued to stare daggers at Alice.

“Tell me, Miss McNeil, how should this message be coded?” Mr. Henley demanded, jabbing a finger at the paper.

Alice didn’t need to refer to the codebook to answer. This was the kind of thing they did so often that she knew the code words by heart. She took a moment to make the full translation in her head before speaking it out loud.

Her response, which she knew was correct, only seemed to make Mr. Henley angrier. He snatched a second paper from his desk and thrust it into her hands. “Then will you kindly tell me why you sent this instead?”

Alice was surprised to read the second note. When decoded, the order was for a shipment four times greater and at a much higher price. She looked up at Mr. Henley. “This message is so different! And that price is unusually high.”

“It is devastatingly high!” Mr. Henley barked.

“She admits to it!” Mrs. Henley screeched, rising from her chair and pointing a finger at Alice. “You deliberately tried to sabotage our business! You want to bring Henley and Company to ruin!”

Alice was so shocked by this accusation that she could only stare at her employer’s wife, her mouth agape.

“Ha!” said Mrs. Henley, interpreting Alice’s silence as an admission of guilt.

Somehow Alice regained her voice. “Why would I want to ruin the very company that is my livelihood?”

Mrs. Henley smirked. “Common sense generally flies to the wind when jealousy is involved. As they say, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”

“Scorned?” Alice repeated, unable to fathom the lady’s meaning.

“It would appear you have developed an attachment for Mr. Shaw. Don’t try to deny it! You saw his star rising and thought catching him was the perfect way to raise yourself.”

“You think I’m some sort of social climber? I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth!” Alice couldn’t figure out how Mrs. Henley would even know about this. Not unless Archie had been spreading rumors and they had somehow reached her.

“Do you deny that you and Mr. Shaw have been spending time together outside of work hours?” Mrs. Henley pressed.

What could Alice say? She lifted her chin in defiance. “I was not aware that was against company policy.”

Mrs. Henley whirled toward her husband. “You see, Mr. H., this is exactly why I warned you against hiring women. They begin fraternizing with the men, and then the relationship goes south, and the next thing you know, the company suffers the consequences.”

Alice could hardly believe she was hearing these degrading remarks from another woman. It was infuriating to the point that her anger nearly overcame her distress at being falsely accused of sabotage. She fought to contain her frustration and calmly addressed her employer. “Are you quite sure this is an accurate transcription of what I sent, sir?”

He gave a curt nod. “Our Liverpool office has confirmed this is what they received, and that your signature was on it.”

The message had followed the usual protocol of being sent to their Liverpool office and from there over the transatlantic cable to New York. Still, something had to be amiss. Alice could never have made such a serious mistake—not even when things were busy and she was sending out telegrams as fast as humanly possible.

She boldly met Mr. Henley’s gaze. “With all due respect, I can’t believe I would have done such a thing.”

His face reddened. “Are you contradicting me?”

“No, sir, but—”

“I have received a complete written report of what happened. This is the exact transcription of the telegram you sent.”

“Perhaps it was mistakenly transcribed by the receiver. Have we checked the confirmation?” Messages like these were always confirmed—that is, repeated back to the sender to ensure accuracy. Those were kept on file as well.

“There is no record of confirmation on our end. Miss Waller has thoroughly gone through all of our files to confirm this.”

“It must have gotten lost somehow. Or misfiled—”

“Or deliberately destroyed!” Mrs. Henley finished. “Hiding the evidence.”

“Can the order be rectified?” Alice persevered, ignoring Mrs. Henley’s outburst. “Surely we can explain there was an error—”

“We’ve been working nonstop for the past three days to attempt to salvage things. It’s going to take time. We lost a damaging amount of money. Even selling at a loss will be ruinous, because the market has completely bottomed out.” He paused to let the weight of his words sink in. “So, Miss McNeil, are you going to continue to insist that you know nothing about how this happened?”

“You had better come clean, girl!” Mrs. Henley added.

“I have told you the truth!” Alice insisted. “I cannot believe I sent that erroneous message.”

“Well, then. There is no need for further discussion.” Henley spoke with cool detachment. “These events have shown that we can no longer trust you to work competently at your position. Nor have we confidence that you are working to promote Henley and Company’s best interests.”

His words sent a chill into Alice’s soul. “Are you . . . dismissing me?”

Mr. Henley nodded grimly, while his wife stood by, smiling in smug satisfaction. “You are to take whatever personal belongings you have here and leave immediately.”

Numb from shock and confusion, Alice left his office. She made her way back to her desk. Archie barely glanced at her as she collected her few personal items. He was pretending to be busy with paperwork, but there was a smarmy hint of a smile on his lips. It was clear he had already known exactly what was going to transpire in Mr. Henley’s office.

“You seem quite content to have twice as much work to do now,” Alice charged angrily. “And I was so sure you were a lazy lump of a man who never lifted a finger if he could help it.”

His infuriating grin only widened. “Well, isn’t that interesting? It appears none of us are who we first appeared to be.”

Mavis, however, was as surprised and horrified as Alice was. “You can’t leave!” she protested after Alice told her in a few brief sentences what had happened.

“I’m afraid I have no choice,” Alice said.

Worried that if she saw Mavis begin crying, she’d end up doing the same, Alice gave her a swift hug good-bye and left the office.

Moments later she was on the street, walking away from the best job she’d ever had.

It was quite an experience to stand in the back of the simple classroom, watching a room full of older men with their heads bent over pen and paper, carefully scratching out simple sentences. A sprinkling of women were there, too, including his mother. Douglas remembered how angry he’d been at having to give up school so young; he hadn’t given a thought to the fact that his father had never even had a taste of that privilege.

Mrs. Johnstone led the class from the front of the room. The bulk of the lesson had centered on words and phrases they encountered most often in everyday life. Now she was having them copy a verse from Psalms that was written in large, clear letters on a board at the front of the room.

Douglas saw his father lean toward the man next to him, who seemed to be puzzling over a word, trying to pronounce it. “It’s ‘light,’ Bill. ‘Thy word is a light unto my path.’”

The other man scratched his grizzled chin. “Seems an awful lot of letters.”

His father smiled in response. In it, Douglas saw the understanding of a man who had successfully surmounted the same obstacle. It made him proud. He’d visited the school every day during his stay in Glasgow, and he’d noticed that his father generally tried to help others around him, eager to share his knowledge.

“As you can see, the purpose of our school is twofold,” said Mr. Johnstone, who’d been observing the class with Douglas. “It’s self-evident that gaining literacy will vastly improve the students’ minds and better their everyday lives, but we want it to enhance their spiritual lives as well.”

Douglas was impressed with the work the Johnstones were doing. He liked them, too. They genuinely cared about the people they were helping, often visiting their homes and offering help and guidance wherever they could.

“Over the years, I have found that it’s one thing to hear a sermon where Scripture is quoted, but it’s quite another to read for yourself what is written,” Mr. Johnstone said. “It can have a profound impact on people. Your father is one such person.”

“So I’ve seen,” Douglas replied. “I still can’t believe the change in him.” At the school, his father was as happy as a child in a candy shop. The world of words was unfolding before him, and he clearly relished it.

Even more startling to Douglas was discovering that his father was not the only person whose family relationships had changed since starting at the Johnstones’ school. Although several of his father’s friends had obstinately refused to have anything to do with the school, being too set in their ways, many others had come from around the poorer parts of Glasgow. After speaking with them and seeing their interactions with the Johnstones, Douglas had the clear impression that most felt they’d been given a new lease on life.

Their joy had opened Douglas’s eyes. Carnegie was right about the soul’s benefit in giving to others. Because of this, Douglas had decided he was going to help sponsor the school. He could provide only modest help, but he could see it would have an impact. He was also going to search for benefactors who could supply the materials needed to enlarge the school building. He could already think of several prospects among the people he did business with.

“My father even admonished me to spend more time reading,” Douglas said, chuckling.

“It’s good counsel!” Mr. Johnstone replied. “I hope you’ll follow it.”

They laughed over the irony of it. By now, Mr. Johnstone knew all about Douglas’s background and accomplishments. They had discussed many things over these past few days.

“I’ve no doubt you are well read on many topics, Mr. Shaw. Might I recommend that you spend more time reading the Bible? You will find it explains a lot about why the world is the way it is. And how God would have us live in it. As it says in the Psalms, ‘Thy testimonies also are my delight and my counselors.’”

Douglas thought back to something he’d once told Alice—that he liked reading books that explained how the world worked. He’d never put the Scriptures into that category. He’d dismissed their message, or so he had thought. He now began to wonder if many of his assumptions about them had been incorrect.

He couldn’t wait to talk about all these things with Alice, and not only because he thought she’d understand his new interest in philanthropy. It went deeper than that. This trip had changed his life in so many ways, and she had been the catalyst for making it happen. It was astounding how much she had impacted his life in the short time he’d known her. She had taken a firm hold of his heart.

Yes, there were a lot of things he wanted to discuss with Alice. When he got back to London, that was going to be his first order of business.