“You know as well as I, George, how easily a small spark from one of the machines can cause what happened. I examined the damage myself after dropping off Dr. Palmer, and from what I can tell, the fire came from the machine.”
“From whatyoucan tell?”
“So I will make plans to ensure we clean them more regularly than what the manufacturers suggested.” Noah pushed forward, refusing to bend beneath his brother's penetrating stare. George spent far more time managing the books than actually navigating the equipment. “The damage was small, and no lives were lost. Two things for which we should be grateful.”
“Grateful?” He white-knuckled his grip on the chair. “We lost half a day of production, some needed fabric, and a knitting machine. How do you expect me to be grateful?”
“With a great deal of self-control,” Mother interjected, her gentle smile in contrast to the steel in her eyes. “You are a business owner, George. You are not only responsible for production but for the lives of those who work for you. One thing can be replaced. The other cannot.”
“Then those workers of mine better be grateful that I sold a bulk shipment to two new department stores in Mount Airy.” He pushed back from the table and settled his attention on Noah. “Father entrusted the ownership of Lewis Mills to me, which means you are my employee too, Brother. If you can't keep the business going as it ought, then perhaps I'll need to find someone else.”
“George!” Mother protested. “How dare you even consider such a thing? You know it was your father's direct desire that you two run the mill together.”
“Desires change.” George's gaze never left Noah's.
“Perhaps you ought to nurture the desire to spend time in your mill then, so you can examine the machinery yourself, since you have such little faith in my abilities.” Noah stood, their matching heights a boon to his confidence. “Or would that put a damper on the time you need to cultivate your inflated reputation?”
“How dare you?”
“Does your fiancée know the shape the mill is in? That you refuse to raise our workers’ wages and so we're losing them by the month? That profits are becoming smaller?”
“Don't you dare speak to me—”
“Don't complain about the mill's earnings or losses if you're not willing to curb some of your own spending for the better good.” Noah edged closer, pulling from his own frustration. Since losing Father and Elinor, his patience with his brother's selfishness continued to shrink. “Actions speak louder than words.”
Noah should have seen the fist coming.
Should have expected it.
But the impact still took him by surprise.
He stumbled back for only a second, and then launched forward, catching his brother with a fist to his mouth and sending him slamming against the nearest wall.
“Boys! Stop this at once.” Mother rushed forward and placed herself between them as she had the day before.
Noah's chest pumped with his breath. George's too. Noah tasted blood. George's upper lip was busted, a stray strand of dark hair falling over his forehead.
“You both would make more progress if you had a civil conversation instead of a brawl.” Mother lowered her arms, looking between the two of them, her attention finally landing on George. “No matter what Beatrice Malone wants, George, you cannot give her what you do not have. If the mill fails, there will be no money for you or Noah. No funds for the latest suits and the detailed archways in a house too large for your income.”
George's gaze flickered to his mother. “We came here nearly penniless. I will not have us return to being laughed at and scorned as outsiders when we are seen as important as the Camdens or Jacksons or any of the others.”
“Then work together,” Mother pled.
George straightened and smoothed back his hair, his attention never leaving Noah's face. “I've given you fair warning, Brother. Get in my way and, blood or not, I'll see you out of a job. Then there will be no one to protect your precious outcasts.”
Chapter 17
GAYLE ENCOURAGEDKIZZIE TO ATTENDher church with her, one of the three on Main Street. Kizzie had never stepped foot in such a large building, with a steeple so tall it towered up into the pale sky. Light brick with nearly twenty steps rising to the double front doors. She made sure to wear one of her nicer dresses, since the size of the building carried with it a certain air of importance.
She'd never heard an organ in all her born days and nearly jumped to her feet when the first chords played through the massive space. Gayle proved no help at all. She chuckled so loudly, several folks in neighboring seats paid notice. Charlie behaved as good as gold until the last little bit of the service when the preacher really got wound up. Then, whether he thought the man was singing or asking for comments, Charlie started calling right back to him with such volume it echoed through the church.
Kizzie drew him up in her arms and skedaddled right outside so as not to cause any further commotion, and wouldn't you know it? As soon as the church doors closed behind them, Charlie grew as quiet as a church mouse.
Kizzie paused on the expression.
She'd dealt with too many mice in her day, and all of them were loud, scratching at walls and eating through almost everything.
So where did the expression “as quiet as a church mouse” come from?
