The growing glow of the fire reflected on Jack's spellbound face, the flames moving ever nearer to his little body. Noah dashed the contents of the sand bucket toward the flames and turned to scoop the little boy into his arms, the acrid smell of burning fabric filling his nostrils as he moved.
Noah's actions broke the spell on the boy, and he looked up at Noah as a shudder trembled through his body. “No worries, little one,” Noah cooed, stepping back away from the flames. “It's all right.”
As if his words gave the child permission, Jack's bottom lip trembled a warning before he burst into a wail.
Amy Lawson ran toward him, arms outstretched, but then her attention shifted to Noah's waist. “Sir, your jacket!”
Her alert sounded at the same time a stinging sensation hit Noah's lower back. He jerked his head around to look. Flames licked at the hem of his jacket, hungrily devouring the material.
“Sand!” Noah shouted again. He shoved the little boy into his mother's arms, jerked off his jacket, and tossed it to the floor, stamping a foot down on the flame. “Hurry. Everyone!”
His cry set more folks into motion. In concert, men and women came from all directions, bringing sand buckets and fire blankets, each worker as aware of the dangers of a spark in a cotton mill as Noah. Too many headlines told of lives lost and jobs destroyed by one flicker in the middle of a cotton mill.
Breathing heavily, Noah bent forward, resting his palms on his thighs as more buckets of sand blotted out the last of the fire. Stretching to a stand, he looked at the people who'd gathered around, a few coated in ash like he was.
“I appreciate your quick actions, everyone.” He raised his voice over the sound of the continuing noise of the machines. “Quick work kept the fire from becoming worse, and that's a benefit for all of us.” His gaze landed on Amy holding Jack. “And, thank God, no one was hurt.”
The young woman smiled despite the tearstains on her face.
“Mr. Camden and I will look for a cause, but everyone else, return to work.”
A murmur spread through the crowd as a few men nodded toward Noah in some silent solidarity. Thank God indeed that no one was hurt and—Noah's gaze rose to the office—that his brother, George, was out of town in Mount Airy today. Otherwise, Noah feared several unsuspecting workers would have lost their jobs, just so George could have held someone responsible.
People dispersed in various directions, several of the younger women tugging their children closer. His eyes pinched closed at the flash of what might have been for Jack. How could he continue to employ these women and protect their children? He'd succeeded in fencing off a portion of one corner for the younger ones to play, but too often a child would escape, looking for their mother.
Lewis Mills needed workers. Mothers with young children were not their first choice, but even with them, there weren't enough to run the machines at an optimal pace. These women, most of them, either had sickly husbands or no husbands at all. As a result, they frequently had to leave work to tend to ill children, cutting even deeper into the company's bottom line.
“What do you think happened, sir?”
Noah turned to find Joe Camden, the mill engineer, at his side.
“I'm not sure, Joe, but it could be a number of things, both human means and mechanical.”
“You don't think Peabody took up smoking inside again, do you?”
Noah's attention shot across the room to an elderly man near one of the weaving looms. By all accounts, Peabody hadn't deserved a second chance at his job when Noah had caught him smoking inside the building, a habit which had started a small fire in one of the back rooms four months ago. But the man's penitence paired with the needs of his large family proved too much for Noah's doubts. He'd given the man his job back under strict warning that if Noah so much as smelled the smoke of a cigarette, Peabody would be gone.
Noah's gaze returned to the office space at the far end of the floor, upraised for a full view of the workings of the mill. If Noah's brother had caught Peabody, not only would the man have been out of a job, but he would have beaten him within an inch of his life.
“I'll let the findings speak for themselves.” Noah scanned the charred remains of smoking fabric and a wooden chair. “For now, I'm only grateful things weren't worse.” He looked at Jack, who rested his head on his mother's shoulder.
Because they could have been much worse.
“True that, Mr. Noah.” The man sighed and raked a hand through his brown hair. “True that.”
Noah settled his palms on his hips and surveyed the damage again. A spark from the machine? With the trajectory of the fire, it seemed most likely, but conjectures failed to fix problems.
“Joe, would you gather up a couple more men, maybe Lars and Jacobs, and have them help inspect everything?” Noah looked back at the scorched and melted pieces, now covered in sand. “See if the fire started from the friction of one of the machines.” He waved toward the scorched knitter. “We can have more frequent maintenance and attempt to keep as much scrap cloth away from the equipment as possible.”
“I can do that, sir.”
“Good. I'll take a round to look at the other machines.”
Joe hesitated, drawing Noah's attention back to the man's face. “Was there some other concern?”
“Not about the machines, sir.” Joe shrugged a shoulder. “But it's started snowing again.” He gestured to one of the nearby windows. “From the looks of things, it ain't gonna go easy on us neither.”
Again? The snow from four days ago still lay on the ground, packed and slick, but the scene outside the window confirmed Joe's assessment. Not only did a new blanket of white cover the ground, a larger problem arose with the way the snow pelted in sheets. In fact, the wind blew with such force, the flakes poured down as if a waterfall of white, which didn't bode well for workers getting home.
