Leaving Uncle Tom's Cabin (Burning Uncle Tom's Cabin Book 2) Page 12

  And if Jim and Mr. White were too blind to see such a thing, that would be their loss in the end. Certainly not George’s. He’d just have to find a way to build his own shop—that was the only answer. A place where he could work according to his own ideas, schedule, and principles. A place where he would be allowed to say which customers were allowed to stay and which had to go. A place where he would be allowed to say what was on his mind, without having to think about the other person’s opinion. After all, wasn’t that what owning a business should be? The ability and right to make your own way and decide who you would and wouldn’t do business with?

  In the back of his mind, a small voice reminded him of what Jim had said about needing to please customers and doing the work for them, rather than working against them, but George quickly shut that voice down as unhelpful, pushed himself out of bed, slipped into his pants and shirt, and walked out into the kitchen. Eliza wouldn’t like that he’d lost this job, he knew, but surely she would realize that there were other things he could be doing with his life.

  When he arrived in the kitchen, George saw Jim, Anita, Eliza, and Harry sitting around the table, each with a plate full of biscuits and gravy. A carafe full of coffee sat between them, and Eliza and Jim were both blowing on cups full of dark brew, waiting for it to cool enough to drink. Beyond them, he could see the sun rising over the horizon, its rays singing down the street as if they were leading him on to a new future. Roosters were crowing in the small barn Jim kept; the chickens were scratching at the door for their breakfast, and he could hear the cow crying to be milked.

  Yes, he thought, he wanted a home like this of his own. And the only way that would happen was if he opened his own shop. True, the job with the machinist had been the perfect match for him, and perhaps it would have helped him and Eliza to pay their way with Jim and Anita, but it would not have offered him the freedom he required to live his life. It would not have given his family the life they deserved. So he put away his sorrow over losing the job, told himself firmly that Jim would just have to deal with them a bit longer, and prepared to defend his actions against the likes of Eliza and Jim, who would assuredly question him over it.

  “Why, George, you certainly slept late,” Eliza said, looking up. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the machinist shop this morning for work?”

  “No,” George returned sharply. “That didn’t work out.”

  Jim gave him a long, intense look and finally said, “And what happened, George?”

  George paused, wondering how much he should tell them. If he told them the truth, he knew he would be judged for it. Unfairly judged, but judged nonetheless. But then he narrowed his eyes at the thought. Who was Jim to judge him for standing by his principles? Surely these people—his family, no less—would see that he’d done the right thing!

  “Had a woman come in yesterday that abused me terribly,” he answered. “Said I had no right to be in the shop by myself, treated me as if I was a criminal, there to do harm. I was merely tryin’ to tell her that Mr. White wasn’t in, and she took that as an opportunity to lecture me about my place.”

  “And you told her exactly what you thought of that,” Eliza said on a sigh, as if she could hardly bear to think about it.

  George straightened his shoulders, standing a bit taller. “Of course I did. This is a free country, Eliza, and that woman had no right to speak to me that way!”

  Jim shook his head. “George, we discussed this. When you’re in business, you must treat the customer as if they’re important. What they say or think can mean nothing to you. Your concern is what they’re buying from you, not their opinions! I expect this woman had a bad reaction to what you had to say.”

  George shrugged uncomfortably. What was it to him what Jim’s opinion was of business? He had the wrong of it, that was all! “Said she wouldn’t be coming back, but as far as I can see, I did Mr. White a favor. Why would he want to work for a woman such as that?”

  “Because he needs the business, George!” Eliza cut in. She rose and went to her husband, laying a hand on his arm. “Darling, can’t you see that, as a tradesman, he must have customers to pay for his goods? Surely you can see that he must please those customers if they’re to return to him. And that if they don’t, that will be the end of his business. And you lost him a good customer with your words. It’s no wonder things didn’t work out!”

  George stared at her, somewhat shocked to hear such words coming out of his wife’s mouth, for he’d never thought she had any mind for business. But here she was, giving him the same opinion Jim had, and giving better reasoning for it. He pressed his lips together, beginning to understand that this slip of a girl—the one he’d risked so much to save—might know more about the world than he’d given her credit for.

  And with that thought came another. She’d asked to go work for a dressmaker, and he’d refused her. Now he realized that it might be exactly the answer he’d been looking for. One of them needed to be making money, and if it was Eliza, that would mean he had time to figure out a new plan.

  “Eliza,” he said, taking her hand. “You remember the dressmaker you asked to work with? I think you should do it, darling. I think you should go and secure that position. I’ll stay home with Harry for the time being, until I have better prospects.”

  She stared at him, her mouth hanging open for several minutes, until Anita said, “I think he’s right, Eliza. You’ve a talent with needle and thread, and it makes sense to put it to use. In the meantime, George can sort out what he wants to do with his life.”

  Eliza turned her face from George to Anita, then back again, and George could see her eyes shining with excitement. “Really?” she gasped, squeezing his hands. “Do you mean it, George?”

  He nodded but could already see her face changing. She’d been excited at the prospect but had already decided against it. When she shook her head, he was not surprised.

  “I can’t do it,” she said sadly. “Oh, I want to, something fierce, but you wouldn’t be happy sitting at home, George. You’d never be satisfied. You have a mind that wants to create. You’d be so bored staying here.”

  But he wouldn’t be bored, George thought. Being at home would give him the very opportunity he needed to think and create, so that he might have ideas for new machines when he went back out into the world. And now that he could see that, he was shocked that he hadn’t seen it before. This was the very thing he needed!

  “I will not be bored,” he retorted. “I’ll see to Harry’s schooling, as you suggested. High time the boy started learning his letters, and I’m the best one to teach him. Besides, he can help me with my drawings.”

  Eliza shook her head firmly. “No, George, it won’t work. And if you think about it for a moment, you’ll see that as well as I can. You’ll grow tired of sitting around with Harry, and before long you’ll be dissatisfied with life itself. And what’s worse, I’ll then be having to deal with working, the child, and you. I won’t have it.”

  He stared at her, trying to decide whether she was being serious, but soon he realized that she was. Not only was she serious, she was also decided on it. And when Eliza decided on something, she could not be swayed. George had never met a woman as stubborn as her in his entire life.

  It didn’t help his case when Jim offered his opinion. “I agree with Eliza, George,” he said firmly. “She’s meant to work at the dressmaker’s, and perhaps she will, but you cannot be sitting here in the house doing nothing all day. Your mind will get you into trouble. Besides, we can no longer afford for you to be out of work.”

  George turned and glared at his friend, who was doing quite the opposite of helping, but stopped, shocked, when he saw that Jim had stood up from the table.

  And was supporting himself on crutches.

  “What happened?” George gasped, rushing toward him. “Jim! Are you okay?”

  Jim brushed him off. “I’m fine, George, but I won’t be lifting any heavy pieces for the time being, and I’ll h
ave to cut down on my workload.”

  “But how did you …?” George gestured helplessly at the crutches and at Jim’s left leg, which he now saw was splinted and wrapped with linen.

  “Had to let my assistant go,” Jim replied shortly. “Don’t have the money to pay him right now. I was depending on the payment from the Smiths to keep him, and …” He gave George a long look, then shook his head. “But that’s in the past.” He looked grimly down at his leg and gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Was tryin’ to lift a heavy oak cabinet into the wagon by myself, seein’ as how there was no one else in the shop, and it fell on me.”

  Anita moved to his side, shaking her head. “Lucky it didn’t kill him,” she said softly. “Lucky it didn’t do any more than give him bruises and cuts. But you can see how you’ll need to carry the load now,” she said, glaring at George. “Jim won’t be able to work as much as he did. Can’t afford to have you out of work no more.”

  “There, you see?” Eliza said firmly. “We can all see that you’ll be better off out working than you would be here. And that you’re needed. I’m sorry, George, but it’s best for everyone if you go out and find a job.” She paused and cast her eyes toward the ground, then looked back up at him. “The position with the dressmaker will still be there when I ask again. I’m sure of it. But we must find something for you to do first.” She walked toward him and took his hand again. “After all, won’t it be easier to move to our own home—perhaps even have a little farm, with chickens to lay us eggs—if there are two money-earners rather than one? Anita can watch little Harry during the day, so that we might both work. And …” she paused, taking a deep breath.

  “Yes?” he asked gently, wondering what else she might possibly have to say. Wasn’t it enough that he’d offered her what she wanted, only to have her turn him down? Wasn’t it enough that he’d just been put in his place by everyone in the household? What more could there be?

  Eliza bit her lip and looked up at George, her eyes large and swimming with tears. “I can’t go work at the dressmaker’s right now, George, even if I wanted to. While you were at work yesterday, I went to see the midwife, and the truth is …”

  “The truth is what?” George asked, concerned. What would she have gone to the midwife for? What could be wrong?”

  “The truth is, I’m with child,” she said quietly. “And if this one is like the previous three, it’ll be a dangerous pregnancy, so I’m not to press myself too hard until we’re certain the child is safe.”

  “What?” he gasped, his eyes flying from her face to her midsection and then back again. With child? How could he not have known? He thought back quickly and realized that she’d been looking thinner than usual and that she hadn’t been eating very much. In fact, he remembered, she’d been sick almost every morning for the past two weeks.

  And he’d been too selfish and self-involved to notice it.

  He took her into his arms, unsure whether to laugh or cry, and held her tightly. “A baby?” he breathed. “Another child?”

  She pulled back and stared at him. “Yes. And George, you can see how we’ll need a place of our own. And enough money to support a second child. You can see how important it is that you find another job.”

  He nodded slowly and, without another word, turned and darted out the door, his mind already racing ahead of him to the shops where he might ask for employment. For if Eliza was with child . . . Yes, he realized. They would need money. Staying with Jim and Anita would no longer be an option; they would need a house of their own. He would have to find a way to keep his temper in check for the time being.

  His family was about to become even larger. And it was now his responsibility to see to Jim and Anita’s welfare as well, for it was his fault that Jim had been injured.

  He could only pray that he would find more success in his search today than he had in the past.

  27

  George rushed down the street, torn between excitement and sorrow. Another child, and perhaps a boy! But then it could be a girl, and his heart swelled with the idea. A baby girl of his own—someone to dote on and spoil.

  As long as it all went well. His heart dropped at the memory of Eliza’s words and the idea that this pregnancy was dangerous. Eliza’d had trouble carrying children to term before, and the flight from Kentucky couldn’t have been good for her. True, she’d been safe, warm, and well-fed since they had arrived in Montreal, but the stress of the trip might have done damage to her body beyond what he could see.

  Yes, he realized, he would have to keep her safe. And keep from upsetting her with his behavior. And, above all else, he required a job. Something that would pay well enough to support not only Eliza and Harry, but the new baby as well. And Jim and Anita. It was a tall order, but he lectured himself that it was not an impossible task for a man such as himself. He was well-educated, smart, and a hard worker. Any shop would be lucky to have him. And, if fortune smiled on him, perhaps he’d find something that would give him time to work on his drawings.

  For the idea of owning his own shop hadn’t left his mind. That was his true future, he thought, and the way he would best provide for his now-growing family.

  He was bothered by the idea that his drawings were waiting for him back in his room, not yet completed, and with no hope of being completed if he wasn’t there to do it. He had admitted to himself some fear that working would, in fact, keep him from inventing, but he’d also assured himself that he would never allow that to happen, for he would not give up on his dreams. He knew that he was a man of talent. He had only to find a way to take advantage of that talent. And for the time being, that meant finding employment.

  He took one step forward, then another, and another, and soon he was running slowly down the street, running through the list of businesses he’d been into before and crossing them off his list as he walked. He’d inquired at only the shops on the main street, he realized, and hadn’t tried any of the shops on the neighboring streets. Therein lay his path, then. As he walked, he promised himself that he would not take a menial job, or one that he felt was below him. No, he would take only a job that promised to pay for his family and household to live and also allow him a certain measure of pride in his work. Something that gave him the opportunity to use his hands—building, if it was possible, or perhaps working with horses.

  And in the end, the job would be temporary. For he would be there only until Jim was back on his feet and could go back to work full time. And until George himself had enough money saved up to start his own machinist business.

  He got to the first intersection on the street and turned left, his step jaunty at the thought that he was walking toward his future. When he stopped into the first shop, though—and the second, and the third, and the fourth—he received the same answer he’d received on his previous attempts. No, the owners weren’t looking for help. No, he didn’t have the right qualifications. No, there would be no reason for him to stop by again later, as their situations weren’t likely to change.

  Before long, the bounce was gone from his step, and he’d begun to fear that he would end up back where he’d ended on that first day: at the chimney sweep’s shop, begging for the job he’d already won once and knew he did not want. This time, though, there were new stakes in the game, and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to turn the job down. His pride was no longer the deciding factor.

  Instead, he had to consider survival.

  The last building on the street was a combination pub and restaurant, and George walked toward it quickly, his eyes searching the establishment for the manager. He hadn’t had much experience in the kitchen back home, but surely such a business would need servers and bartenders, and those positions wouldn’t take much skill. Perhaps here he’d finally find an opportunity.

  But before he could enter, two white men stumbled out the door, one of them obviously holding on to the other, and both of them yelling. George took two quick steps back and darted around the next building,
not wanting to be associated with such a ruckus. Then he peered around the corner, the better to see what was going on.

  One man, in a smart striped suit and clean tie, was shoving and shouting at the second man, who wore dirty homespun and a ragged shirt. The well-dressed man also seemed well-educated, as his speech was both sharp and clear. The other man sounded as though he’d been up all night drinking.

  “What are you thinking, coming to my restaurant drunk?” the well-dressed man—the owner?—shouted. “You could cost me the customers, or worse, the restaurant itself, if you hurt anyone!”

  “Wasn’t drunk. Not drunk!” the other man retorted, slurring his words. Then, belying his statement, he staggered back several steps, nearly losing his balance and only righting himself when he came up against a tree.

  The well-dressed man snorted. “You’ve been drunk all week, Tom, and I don’t think you can deny that much. I don’t know what’s happened to you or why, but I won’t have it, do you hear? You’re fired, starting right now. I can find ten men who can do your job, and I’ll warrant most of them will have the respect to come to work sober!”

  “Bu-but—” the man named Tom stuttered. “Surely you can’t fire me, Mr. Roberts! I’ve been workin’ here a year! Built up my ’sperience, so’s I have!”

  But the so-named Mr. Roberts shook his head sharply. “It doesn’t matter, Tom. I can’t have you coming to work like this. It’s a liability. And that’s the end of it. Now, go.” And he whirled Tom around and shoved him in George’s direction, then turned to go back into his shop.

  George, seeing his opportunity, darted forward. He narrowly avoided Tom, who was now not only stumbling, but sobbing as well, and ran toward the restaurant with his hand out.

  “Sir! Sir! Mr. Roberts?” he cried out, praying that the man wouldn’t take the use of his name personally.