When they pulled into Milton, John guided the horse down the crowed streets to the mill yard of Mr. Hawkins. His gaze searched the wide area for the foreman, Mr. Armstrong, but he didn't see him.
Soon, a workman approached.
"You here for a pick-up?" he barked.
"Yes, for Arnolds' Drapers."
"Right then, just be a moment."
The man sauntered off into the warehouse, and John pulled the wagon closer to the loading doors. Shouts filled the air, along with a white haze that drifted from the open windows of the mill - cotton.
The workman reappeared in the doorway of the warehouse, motioning for John and Henry to come along. They followed him down a row with bundles of cloth stacked nearly to the roof. When the reached the end, the man pointed out which stack was theirs, and hurried off.
"Do you have that?" John watched as Henry struggled to pick up one of the bundles. John had easily swung one up to his shoulder to carry.
"Go on, I'm fine," Henry grunted, limping after John with the weight.
After they positioned the bundles in the wagon, Henry started walking off to get the next load, but John halted him.
"Look at this," John said, pulling back some of the canvas covering. "This materiel is run with knots and loose ends. It's rubbish!"
"Maybe it's just this one," Henry shrugged, and then watched as John checked the other one.
"Just as bad," John shook his head with a scowl. "Where is Mr. Armstrong? He ought to be informed of this."
"What should I be informed of?"
The two young men looked up to see Mr. Armstrong coming across the yard. He was a tall, imposing man with auburn hair graying at the temples, but when John jumped down from the wagon, he could stand eye to eye with him.
"There's a problem with our order, sir."
"And who is this order for?" Mr. Armstrong asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Mr. Arnolds of Arnolds' Drapers."
"What is the problem?"
"Have a look yourself, sir, and tell us if this quality is usually accepted by your workers." John crossed his arms in front of him.
Mr. Armstrong gave him one last look before mounting wagon and pulling back the coverings.
He cursed, tossed the canvas back over and stepped back down to the ground. "What imbeciles produced that? Or what foreman passed it to go to the warehouse?"
Mr. Armstrong snapped at a passing worker and asked him to retrieve someone for him.
"If this is Burn's work again, Mr. Hawkins will have no excuse not to send him on his way. He won't like finding a new production foreman; Lord knows there isn't a soul here worth promoting to the position."
After his rant, he looked to John. "You're an apprentice to Mr. Arnolds?"
"No sir, I am his assistant."
"What wages do you make?"
"15 shillings a week."
Mr. Arnolds snorted, "Well, I guess that is decent earnings in a small town. What would you say to earning a pound a week as a production foreman here? I can see working as a draper has given you good knowledge of the product, and though you would be in need some teaching about the machines and such, I do not think I would have much trouble convincing Mr. Hawkins to give you Burn's job."
John was speechless for a moment. Was he really being offered a job at the mill? It would mean removing to Milton, but with higher wages, John was sure he could find Mother and Fanny a comfortable place to stay.
A slow, understanding smile spread across Mr. Armstrong's face. "No need to decide yet. When we get rid of Burn, however, I'll be speaking to you again, if you are interested."
"Yes, I…certainly," John stuttered, wincing inwardly at his broken composure. "I would indeed."
"Good," Mr. Armstrong nodded, shaking John's hand. "Now, let's get your order straightened out and send you on your way."
"I can't believe it," Henry said with a shake of his head as the outskirts of Milton fell behind them, and ahead lay the rolling hills of the countryside. "John, going off to the city again."
"It's not decided yet," John replied, keeping his eyes ahead on the road.
"And why not? You wouldn't turn down a job like that, would you?"
"No, but there's a chance nothing will happen if Mr. Hawkins doesn't fire Mr. Burn."
"Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll just have to be excited for you." Henry leaned back and rested his elbows on the top edge of the low seat back. "Of course we'll miss you and all. Mr. Arnolds will have to take the ladder down from the attic again, since you won't be around with your monstrous height to fetch things for us. And what will Miss Tystad- John! Watch out!"
They were just entering a crossroads, and a carriage from the other road came barreling towards them, veering around the corner. John yanked back the reigns, pulling the horse to the side of the road, nearly tilting the wagon over in the ditch as the carriage swerved to miss them.
"Those ruddy fools," Henry hissed, unclenching his hands from the side of the seat. "They could have killed us!"
John muttered a curse, jumping down from the wagon to survey the damage. The soft, muddy side of the road was beginning to envelope the left wheels, front and rear, sucking them down into the mire.
"Give the horse's reigns a snap, and see if he can get us out. Otherwise…" John trailed off, shaking his head.
All the straining the horse did at his harness resulted in nothing. They were stuck. John got in behind the wagon and tried pushing as the horse pulled, but to no avail. He looked over his shoulder to see that the carriage had pulled to a stop down the road. A young man burst from the side door and jogged towards them, his face obviously distressed.
He was well dressed, but at first glance, John could see his clothes were not expensive, nor were they tailored very well. The young man was painfully thin, with a gaunt white face and pale hair emerging from under his top hat, which he clutched to his head as he approached.
"I must beg your forgiveness for my reckless carriage driver. I don't understand how he thought he could take that corner so rapidly or-" he halted mid sentence and stared a John.
John stared back, then looked down at himself; half covered in mud, and then returned his gaze to the man.
"You can't say you don't recognize me, John Thornton, or I shall be very miserable indeed," the young man said,
"Who is this bloke, John?" Henry interjected when John did not immediately respond.
"Curtis Tallby," John said slowly, uncertainly, yet the name felt familiar on his tongue.
"So you do remember! Why, I thought we would never see each other again. Imagine meeting like this!" Curtis pumped John's hand in his excitement, oblivious to the mud.
"Curtis," John repeated, a grin beginning first in his eyes, and then spreading to his lips. "What are you doing here?"
"My sister and I are coming from London to visit some relatives in Milton." Curtis explained, motioning back the carriage where another pale face peered from the window. "We don't have money for a carriage of our own, and Marie doesn't much care for train travel. We have found, however, that we will not be hiring this particular driver again."
"Well, do you dare trust him with your lives the rest of the way?" John laughed, only half in jest.
"Oh, we're almost there, aren't we? I do wish there was some way to help you, since it is partly my fault that put you in this dilemma."
"Well," John started to run a hand through his hair, then quickly withdrew it when he remembered how dirty it was. "Maybe you could hold the reigns while Henry and I push. If that doesn't do it, that driver of yours will have to lend a hand as well."
"All right," Curtis brightened at the chance to give assistance.
He and Henry switched places, and John stepped deeper into the mud so that Henry could take the right side.
"On the count of three, you bring the reigns down hard on the horse's back, and Henry and I will push," John said, taking his position against the wagon.
"One, two, three!"
Teeth clenched and boots digging into the ground, Henry and John shoved with all their strength. They could hear Curtis urging the horse on, and finally, with slurp of the mud releasing it's hold on the wheels, the wagon lurched forward.
Henry cheered, tossing his cap in the air, and Curtis jumped down to join them.
"Thank you for your help," John said, turning to Curtis.
"Anytime, old friend. I apologize that our meeting caused this, but in a way, I'm rather glad. After you left…when you left Glenwood, that is, it wasn't until nearly a week later that we boys found out what happened. I wrote you a letter, but it came back because you must have left Milton."
"Yes, my mother and I live over in a little town east of Milton now."
"But maybe not for much longer," Henry butted in.
"What's this?" Curtis's brows rose.
"Nothing, yet," John glared. "I work as a draper's assistant now, and I might have chance at a position in a mill in Milton."
"Listen to all that false modestly," Henry laughed, "You should have seen him beam when Mr. Armstrong of Hawkins' mill asked if he would be willing to take on the job of production foreman. And that's no small offer."
"That's wonderful, John."
They talked for a bit longer, until Curtis thought his sister might be growing anxious to continue. They promised to keep in touch; reluctant to part again after such a length of time had passed.
"Mr. Arnolds may worry we toppled into the ditch and ruined the whole order," Henry said, once they were on their way again. "Won't we have some news to tell him though?"
"Yes," John replied absentmindedly. His thoughts were far away, pondering over memories, painful and glad, of the hope filled present, and the future ahead. What lay in store for him? Where would this new position lead him? Slowly, but surely he was making something of himself, rebuilding what his father had razed to the ground. How pleased his mother would be to hear of this opportunity. She was his constant encourager, urging him on when he saw no prospects, and giving him strength when he had none. All that he had endured was surely nothing compared to what she had withstood, and yet she was strong; ever devoted to the life she knew her son could have one day. It was a zealous, fierce devotion, and he loved her deeply for it.
Note from the author: This is all I have written currently, and all I was planning to write, but if I get more requests to continue, I will see what I can do. Thank you all for the encouraging feedback.
