Noah gave Joe a nod. “I'll check the roads and make decisions.”
“You can't mean to close early, can you, sir? Not after the last time when your brother—”
“I choose our workers’ safety over my brother's wrath.” Noah offered a tight smile. “I've survived it many times before.”
Though his brother's harshness had only grown worse since their father's death two years before, when George inherited not only the mill but a substantial portion of their family's money.
The discrepancy between George's inheritance and Noah's came as no surprise to anyone inside the family. George had always been his father's favorite, but instead of him having a sense of appreciation for his status as one of the richest men in The Hollows, George took to the new position like a tightfisted miser determined to prove even more ruthless than his sire.
As soon as Noah opened the front door, an icy blast of wind charged into him, bringing daggers of snow. No, more than snow. Snow didn't slice with such sting. Ice laced those flakes and—his attention moved to the horizon—as the quick dark of winter-dusk approached, temperatures would prove more dangerous.
Most of the workers lived only a mile or two from the mill, but not all.
And there were the children to consider.
Noah pushed the door closed behind him and walked past the machines, taking the narrow stairway up to the office. The hum and noisome clacking of the motors rose with him, the sounds of a business attempting to stretch beyond its current growing pains.
But, much like Noah's mother, Lewis Mills had never fully recovered from Noah's father's death. It needed more workers. More business.
With a pull of a rope nearby, a loud horn echoed through the space, drawing attention from all corners of the room and bringing in a few people from the adjoining smaller ones. The machines slowly came to a stop.
“Everyone, the weather has taken a turn and, I fear, will only grow more dangerous as the afternoon continues. I advise everyone to turn off your machines and start toward home before things become worse.”
A mumble rolled over the crowd.
“I know that some of you live several miles out of town. If you need a ride home, please meet me at the front doors once all the equipment has been shut down. Mr. Camden and I will try to help folks get home as safely as possible.”
People darted in all directions, each to their tasks in closing up the mill for the night. Noah set to work on his own responsibilities, gathering up paperwork to finish at home. He had always struggled with numbers, so his brother usually kept the books and gave Noah the responsibility of keeping up communication with their employees and purchasers. Sometimes, if George needed an extra hand, Noah would step in, though the work usually took him twice the time it took his brother. But he'd always been good at encouraging and supporting people, so Father had placed Noah in a supervisory role years ago.
And Father had always stressed that employers were responsible for treating their employees with as much respect as was expected in return. Which included doing what they could to keep them safe.
Almost an hour later, the building stood nearly vacant, and the storm continued its wintry assault on everything outside. A handful of people stood by the front door, waiting for assistance, if Noah guessed from the collection of folks. Mr. and Mrs. Dudley, two of the oldest workers in the mill, Jamie Cross with his severe limp, and the three Mitchell girls, who lived two miles outside of town.
“The Dudleys are out your way, Joe.” Noah pulled on his coat as he approached the group. “Take them and then get on home to Amy before things get worse.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Lewis? I can drop Jamie off too.”
Noah shook his head, tying his scarf and sending the others a brief smile. “Jamie is out of your way, and besides, he can play escort.” The last thing Noah needed was another reason for George to doubt his professionalism. Driving three young women home by himself, two of them single, wouldn't set the best precedent for professionalism or appearance.
“We don't want to cause no fuss, Mr. Lewis,” Emmeline Mitchell said. “Maria's a married gal. Surely she can act as escort, if you're worried ’bout folks.”
“Thank you, Emmeline.” He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I appreciate that, but I would still like to take Jamie. I'd rather assure all my workers get home.” The next words caught, but he pushed through. “And Mr. Camden has a family relying on his safe return.”
“I'll be fine, Mr. Lewis.” Joe leaned in, lowering his voice. “If you take Jamie too, it won't get you back home till after nightfall.”
“It's all right.” His grin spread, though his chest tightened a little. The country roads offered a few treacherous passages in dry daylight, let alone a wet snowstorm. “My mares are hearty ladies, and I have faith in their ability to make quick work of the ride. We'll take the carriage so you ladies can stay dry as long as possible too.” He looked back at the group. “Let's be off, everyone. And take care.”
The weather proved more piercing than before, and blinding, so Noah stopped by his home, just up the road from the mill, to collect his driving goggles and bring Marty, his stable hand, with him. Thankfully, he was able to stay out of the house. He was afraid his mother would attempt to talk him out of driving and offer to keep all four of the guests in the large Victorian they called home.
At a much slower pace than he'd anticipated, the carriage kept its course. At their insistence, Noah dropped the women off at the end of their drive with their assurance they could make the quarter-mile walk without any trouble. At least, at that point, daylight still offered some assistance, however minimal. Already, just in the last half hour, four new inches of snow covered the ground, and once he'd dropped off Jamie and backtracked toward town, his carriage tracks were invisible.
The acetylene lamp glowed in the blistery white, offering little help in seeing more than ten feet in front of them. Hopefully, his horses’ eyes viewed the way with more clarity than his.
Marty sat at his side, cap low, attempting to protect himself from the projectile ice.
“I'll bring the horses to a stop so you can get in the protection of the carriage,” Noah called above the wind, pulling back on the reins a little.
“No, sir.” The young man, a few years Noah's junior, gave his head a severe shake. “I'll be another set of eyes for you.”
