CHAPTER
3

Luke Hughes glanced at the hand-painted sign hanging over the front door of the store. Black-and-gold stenciled letters declared the business to be the Brookfield Department Store, a highfalutin name for what had been Waverly’s General Store until just a few years ago. When a wealthy investor from Charleston purchased the place, he’d changed the name and hung the flashy new sign. Back then folks thought they’d soon see an expansion of the business and a greater offering of goods, but their expectations soon faded. The new manager, a fancy cash register, and a slight increase in prices had been the only changes. None had been welcome.

Truth be told, the locals now laughed at the pretentious name. While bustling cities boasted large department stores with sparkling displays and a bounty of merchandise, the goods for sale in the Brookfield store sat on newspaper-lined shelves or tumbled from wooden bins shoved into every nook and cranny. Luke yanked his hat from his head, raked his fingers through a thatch of light brown hair, and squinted his bottle-green eyes. Had the sign been an inch lower, Luke would have had to duck his head to get inside the store without injury.

A lanky man with a pair of spectacles perched on the tip of his nose came from behind the counter and greeted Luke. “Need help finding something in particular?”

Luke nodded. The store might not be what folks had hoped for in Brookfield, but it offered far more than the company store run by the mining company in Finch. Over his twenty-two years, he’d been in this store only a handful of times.

Working and living in a coal-mining town meant using their credit and purchasing their goods at the company store. Seldom did any of the mining families have cash. Instead, the men’s wages were allocated to pay the rent for their company-owned homes and toward their credit at the company store in Finch. Choices were limited and needed goods frequently unavailable, a fact the miners and their wives were forced to accept without complaint. But Luke wasn’t willing to let his mother suffer simply because Finch didn’t have what his sister needed to make a birthday gift, so he’d made the long train trip to Brookfield.

“I need a needle for my ma’s sewing machine. It’s a Success machine, if that matters,” Luke added.

The man shook his head. “They’re all pretty much the same.” He crossed the store and picked up a tiny red packet with black print and waved it toward Luke. “They come two to a package. Can’t break ’em up. Fifteen cents.”

The man waited beside the shelf, apparently unwilling to carry the envelope back to the counter unless he was sure Luke was going to buy them.

“If you got nothing cheaper than fifteen cents, I’ll take them.”

The man frowned and strode back across the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his black thick-soled shoes. “If I had anything cheaper, I would have said so.” He slapped the packet onto the counter. “Anything else?”

“Fabric. For a dress.” Luke turned to the bolts of cloth to his right. “My sister said to be sure it’s material that can be washed and won’t fade or shrink. If you have a rose color, she said that would be good. If not, maybe lavender or blue.”

The man’s smile was so tight, his lips nearly disappeared. He gestured for Luke to follow him. “I’m guessing you want the cheapest instead of the best quality?” A note of disdain tinged the question.

If he hadn’t promised Nellie he would purchase the needles and fabric, he would have promptly marched out of the store. “If I wanted the best quality and highest prices, I’d go to Charleston, now wouldn’t I?”

The man glared at Luke, who immediately regretted his rude response. He wasn’t a man given to impolite behavior, but he’d met with one problem after another since arriving in Brookfield, and the merchant’s comments had cut to the quick. The store owners in Brookfield made it clear they believed themselves better than the miners who worked in the local mining camps. And they could afford to be rude to the miners and their families. Little of their business depended on the loyalty of miners, who were required to purchase most of their necessities at the stores owned by the mining companies rather than at privately owned businesses.

The merchant stepped to an array of fabrics and nodded. “I’ll leave you to make your decision.”

Luke stared at the stacks of material. His knowledge of fabric was nonexistent. He was going to need help choosing what would be appropriate for a dress. He shouldn’t have angered the merchant. He sighed as a woman about his mother’s age drew near. She touched a piece of patterned fabric and smiled up at him. “Looking for something special?”

“It’s a surprise for my mother’s birthday.” He glanced toward the merchant, who was busy helping another customer. “A fabric that can be easily cared for, in a rose or lavender shade.”

The woman traced her hand down the stack of yard goods and tugged a piece from one of the piles. “These are end pieces from the bolt. They’re always a few cents cheaper, so it’s where I look first. How many yards do you need?”

He shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to the woman. Holding the end of the fabric in her right hand, she moved the fingers of her left hand further up the cloth, touched it to her nose, and stretched her right arm to full length. Luke frowned, uncertain why she would stretch and smell the fabric.

The woman had obviously noted his confusion and grinned at him. “The length from the tip of my nose to the end of my outstretched arm is one yard.”

Luke had never heard of such a thing. “Is that a fact?” His tone was more skeptical than he’d intended, but the concept was somewhat difficult to believe.

The woman tsked and shook her head. “When Mr. Jennings measures the fabric on that yardstick nailed to his counter, you’ll see I’m right.” After six quick movements, she gave a nod. “There’s a little over six yards in this one. He won’t cut the end pieces so you’ll have to pay for the extra, but it’s still less expensive than paying full price for some of these. And the color is lovely.” She held the cloth close to her face. “It will bring out the roses in your mother’s cheeks.”

Luke was certain it would take more than a bright pink dress to put color in his mother’s cheeks, but perhaps the gift would momentarily erase the deep creases caused by years of worry and hard work. He hoped so.

He reached for the material and gathered it into his arm. “Thank you for your help.”

He heard the woman’s footfalls behind him as he walked to the counter and turned to look down at her when she moved alongside him. “I want to be here when you see that I’m correct about the measurements.”

For the first time that day, Luke laughed aloud and placed the fabric on the sleek oak countertop. The two of them were still smiling when Mr. Jennings returned to the counter. Before Luke could speak, the woman placed her palm on the fabric. “Please measure this. It’s from the stack of end pieces.”

Mr. Jennings flashed the woman an annoyed look. “I know it’s from the end pieces, Mrs. Goodson.” He plied his hand through the material until he located the end of the piece and then carefully measured the fabric against the worn yardstick. “Six and seven-eighths yards. I don’t cut end pieces. Seven cents a yard. Six cents for the seventh-eighths of a yard. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it. And the needles.” Luke pointed to the red packet sitting near the cash register.

Mr. Jennings heaved a long sigh. “I know you want the needles.”

Mrs. Goodson nudged Luke. “Those are sewing-machine needles. Did you want regular sewing needles or needles for a machine?”

Mr. Jennings glared at Mrs. Goodson. “Are you hoping to take over as manager of the store?”

The woman straightened her shoulders until they were as stiff as a starched shirt. “Indeed I am not, but since I didn’t see you offer this young man any assistance with the fabric, I doubted you’d helped him with anything else.”

Mr. Jennings punched the cash register keys and pulled down the lever. “That’ll be seventy-five cents. Sixty cents for the fabric and fifteen cents for the needles.”

Luke dug in his pocket, retrieved the necessary coins, and placed them on the counter.

“They were only twelve cents the last time I purchased them.” Mrs. Goodson reached across the counter, picked up the packet, and pointed to a spot that had been scratched out and replaced with a new figure. “See here? They’ve raised the price. Everything in this store has gone up in price since the new owner took over. It’s a sin the way they take advantage of poor folks.”

Mr. Jennings wrapped the fabric and needle packet in brown paper and tied it with a piece of string before looking up. “If there’s nothing else, please excuse me. I must go and find my Bible. I want to see if I can locate any passages that refer to my sinful nature.”

Luke met the man’s harsh look. “If you begin by reading Proverbs 29:7 or Proverbs 22:22, you’ll discover only two of many verses that rebuke mistreatment of the poor.” He turned and thanked Mrs. Goodson for her help, picked up the bundle, and rushed from the store.

If he hurried, he wouldn’t miss the train. At least that was his silent prayer as he ran toward the depot. The tracks were close enough to the main street that he should have heard a whistle or rumbling of a train, and he’d not heard either. Missing the train would mean he’d be stuck in Brookfield for at least two days since the trains to Finch were limited. The railroad was willing to come in and hitch up the coal cars, but they didn’t worry about keeping a regular schedule for passengers. Just like everything else in the coal camps, folks had to adjust—whether they liked it or not.

He yanked open the depot door and dashed across the room and out the far door to the platform. A trainman stood leaning against a metal post. “If you’re lookin’ for the train to Finch, there’s no need to hurry. It’s running late. You’ve got at least a half hour.” The trainman nodded toward a spur on the other side of the tracks. “Probably got enough time to hear most of the preacher’s sermon over at the chapel car if you’ve a mind to get some Bible teachin’.” The man waved his hand toward the car. “They got so many folks over there, they can’t fit ’em all inside.”

Luke peered across the tracks, his eyes landing on the shiny black railroad car. A group of men and women packed the rear platform, and others had gathered outside near the open windows of the railcar. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the black car. He tented one hand above his eyes. Herald of Hope had been painted on the side of the car in fancy gold letters. Luke dropped his hand to his side and turned to the trainman. “Never heard tell of a chapel car.”

The trainman spit a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the track bed and hiked a shoulder. “Me neither. Not until today. I ain’t been over there, but one of the conductors told me it’s a traveling church. He says a small part is set up as living quarters, and the larger end is like a church with pews and even an organ. I didn’t believe him, but I heard the organ music a little while ago.” He pushed his cap back on his head. “They’re holding a late-night meeting for us railroaders who work the second shift. Think I’ll go over and take a listen.” He nudged Luke’s arm. “You should go over. Might never get to see such a thing again. You’ll be able to hear your train coming long before it gets here.”

Luke stared across the expanse a moment longer and then nodded. “Think I’ll take your advice.” He stepped down onto the track bed and picked his way across the tracks. He shortened his long strides when he neared the car and looked for a space where he might draw close enough to see inside. He wanted to hear what the preacher had to say, but his curiosity to see pews and an organ inside a railroad car caused him to perch on his toes to gain a better view.

A hawk-nosed man peered down at him from the open window, and Luke took a backward step and moved to the rear of the car. He had hoped there might be a little space so he could get a look inside, but even the iron rail surrounding the rear platform had become makeshift seats for several men. He circled to the other side of the car and located a spot where he could hear the preacher, though he couldn’t see inside. He’d not been there very long when the sound of children’s laughter drifted from a grove of nearby trees.

A young woman wearing a ruffled white shirtwaist, deep maroon skirt, and matching hat moved among the group of children, her face alight with amusement. His breath caught. Though she appeared strangely out of place, wading through the overgrown grass and weeds in her fancy hat, her loveliness was unexpected. Was this the wife of the preacher? She didn’t appear much more than eighteen or nineteen, perhaps younger. But the pastor might be a young man, as well. From his earlier vantage points alongside the chapel car, Luke hadn’t gained a view of the preacher.

He strained forward, hoping to hear what she was teaching the children, but decided against moving any closer. He didn’t want to cause a disturbance now that the children had ceased laughing and were listening to her every word. Maybe if he backed away, he could return to the chapel car and hear a little more of the preacher’s sermon. Besides, he’d like to get a look at the man fortunate enough to win the hand of such a beautiful young bride.

He’d taken only a few backward steps when two men poked their heads above a stand of elderberry bushes. The young woman gasped, then frowned deeply.

The two men came around the bush, and the taller man moved closer. “I see you got your hat all fixed up real fine. My friend thought he’d like to try it on for size.”

The other man guffawed, yanked off a dirty cap, and ran his fingers through matted brown hair. “I always did think I’d look purty in a nice red hat.”

The men started toward the young woman. She straightened her shoulders and pointed at them. “Stay right where you are.”

The taller of the two took another menacing step in her direction, and one of the boys cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted toward the train. “Hey, Pa, Samuel Fields and his brother are out here. Come and take them inside the train. I think they’re lookin’ to find Jesus.”

The boy’s effort was valiant, but his small voice went unheeded across the distance. The shorter of the two turned his gaze toward the boy. “We ain’t lookin’ to find Jesus, Johnny Wilson, so shut your trap afore I shut it for ya.”

The young woman appeared to bristle at the man’s remark, and she took a step toward the men. “How dare you speak to a youngster in such a mean-spirited manner.”

Luke grimaced. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to be within arm’s distance of the men. He could see that she needed more help than a group of young children could offer.

He rushed forward. His pulse pounded in his temples. What would he do if the men didn’t take off running? “Get out of here!” His voice boomed across the short expanse.

Startled, the two men backed up, but then stopped and eyed Luke. The shorter one grinned. “What you gonna do if we don’t? There’s two of us. You think you can handle us both?”

Luke strode past the teacher and group of children. He should have thought this out before he made his move, but he couldn’t back down now. He took several long strides toward the men, then shoved his right hand beneath his jacket and let it rest there. Eyes narrowed, he tightened his jaw and hoped he looked more forbidding than he felt.

When he was close enough for the men to hear him speak in a low voice, he nodded toward his right hand. “I don’t want to pull this gun in front of the children. I’d hate to shoot one of you with these youngsters looking on. It might scar them for life.” He arched his brows. “’Course it would do more than scar you.”

The taller man glowered. “You can’t shoot us both afore we take ya down.”

“Trouble is, you don’t know which one of you I plan to shoot. At this distance, I might even be able to get both of you before we’re done.” Luke kept his eyes fastened on the men. “I think both of you need to turn around, go home, and sober up before someone gets hurt real bad.” They hesitated and glanced at each other. Luke gave another nod toward his right hand. “Go on now, before the church service ends and those men inside discover what you’re up to out here.”

The two of them mumbled, turned, and ambled away. Luke sighed and let his hand drop from beneath his jacket. What would he have done if they had called his bluff?

A train hooted in the distance, and Luke glanced over his shoulder at the young woman. “Your husband should keep a better lookout for you, ma’am.”

Before she could reply, he loped through the field and crossed the tracks toward the depot.