The Chapel Car Bride Page 3

  “Yes.” Hope stood. “Please go and greet her while I clear up the dishes. I don’t want to have them waiting for me after the meeting tonight.”

  When she finished the dishes and everything was back in its proper place, Hope retrieved her Sunday-school supplies from a box beneath her father’s desk along with several tarps, then stepped from their living quarters into the chapel portion of the car. Her father and Miss Stanley sat on one of the pews near the rear.

  “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m going to find a shady spot and set up for the children.”

  She was thankful for the grassy area along the far side of the spur where their car had been moved while they were in town. When she spied honeysuckle vines climbing a nearby tree, she inhaled a deep breath. As soon as her arms weren’t full, she’d pick one of the blooms and tuck it into the eyelet that trimmed her white high-collared blouse. The fragrant blossoms and the far-reaching tree branches provided a perfect place to spread the tarps. She couldn’t ask for a better spot to conduct the children’s class. After placing a stack of Sunday-school papers beneath her Bible, Hope plucked one of the blooms and tucked it into the eyelet. No doubt it would soon wither, but she could enjoy the scent as she sauntered back through the tall weeds and grasses. She swiped at the perspiration that trickled down the side of her face, thankful she’d left her suit jacket inside.

  Her breath caught when she returned. The platform outside the train depot was filled with folks waiting to be directed to the chapel services. The conductor was sending them across the expanse of tracks, his forehead creased with irritation.

  “Papa, are you still inside?” Hope glanced toward the rear platform of the train as she called to him.

  Her father and Miss Stanley appeared moments later. After one look at the depot platform, he loped down the steps and gestured to the rush of folks crossing the tracks. “Right this way!” He continued to wave them forward. “Children, remain with your parents or along the outside of the car until after the singing. Then you’ll go with Miss Hope for your own special meeting.”

  Miss Stanley remained on the rear platform, and Hope hurried up the steps to join her. Miss Stanley followed her inside while Hope retrieved her jacket and hat. For this first meeting with the townsfolk, she wanted to be properly attired when she sat at the organ. After she’d pinned her hat in place, Hope turned to Miss Stanley. “I hope your meeting with my father went well.”

  “Your father is most kind. He’s agreed to contact his supervisors in Pittsburgh to see if they can locate a preacher who might be willing to take over the church here in Brookfield.” Her lips curved in a generous smile. “And he’s going to come to the school tomorrow morning to see what he can do to help with repairs. He’s hopeful that one of the merchants will agree to donate the necessary supplies to complete the work.” She gave an approving nod when Hope pinned her hat in place. “The ribbon looks most attractive. I’m pleased to see you were able to repair it so quickly.”

  “The lovely bow is thanks to the owner of the millinery shop here. Wasn’t that kind of her?”

  “Indeed, it was.” Miss Stanley stooped to look out one of the train windows. “I better choose my seat. It looks like the pews will soon be filled.”

  Hope took her seat at the organ, which sat adjacent to her father’s pulpit at the front of the car. At each of their stops she’d enjoyed sitting on the small stool, watching the variety of people who poured through the car’s narrow doorway. The early arrivals had first choice of seats, but there were always those who preferred to sit near the back—and those who wanted the first row. The oak pews were the same, except that those along one side were wide enough for three and the ones along the other were wide enough for only two, causing the view from the front of the car to appear somewhat lopsided.

  From her vantage point, she could see a number of the older boys standing outside the car, but the younger children sat perched on the laps of their parents, anticipation etched on their faces. The youngsters had never before attended a church service inside a railroad car. Since the pews had filled, the remaining folks gathered on the train platform and along the outside where they could hear through the open windows.

  Once her father had entered the car and was making his way down the narrow aisle, Hope gestured to the crowd. “There are hymnbooks in the racks beneath your seats. We’ll begin with ‘Rock of Ages’ on page thirty-six.” Hope waited for a moment, struck the opening chords, and in a clear soprano voice led the group through each verse of the hymn.

  After the final verse had been sung, Hope stood and looked out over the crowd. “Children should file out the back of the car and join me outdoors for their lesson.” She waited while the youngsters scooted from their parents’ laps or off the wooden pews and made their way to the rear door.

  After leading the children to the tarps spread beneath the nearby tree, Hope chose one young boy and one girl to hand out Sunday-school papers. “If you look at the back side of the paper, you’ll see there’s a story. Those of you who can read might want to follow along.” Hope smiled at a group of younger children. “And those of you who haven’t yet learned to read can listen with both ears.” She touched her index finger first to her left ear and then the right.

  “I promise I’ll listen with both ears, too.”

  Hope jerked around toward the menacing voice. Her breathing turned shallow when she caught sight of the men who’d been hiding in the pawpaw grove. Please, Lord, make them go away.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Luke Hughes glanced at the hand-painted sign hanging over the front door of the store. Black-and-gold stenciled letters declared the business to be the Brookfield Department Store, a highfalutin name for what had been Waverly’s General Store until just a few years ago. When a wealthy investor from Charleston purchased the place, he’d changed the name and hung the flashy new sign. Back then folks thought they’d soon see an expansion of the business and a greater offering of goods, but their expectations soon faded. The new manager, a fancy cash register, and a slight increase in prices had been the only changes. None had been welcome.

  Truth be told, the locals now laughed at the pretentious name. While bustling cities boasted large department stores with sparkling displays and a bounty of merchandise, the goods for sale in the Brookfield store sat on newspaper-lined shelves or tumbled from wooden bins shoved into every nook and cranny. Luke yanked his hat from his head, raked his fingers through a thatch of light brown hair, and squinted his bottle-green eyes. Had the sign been an inch lower, Luke would have had to duck his head to get inside the store without injury.

  A lanky man with a pair of spectacles perched on the tip of his nose came from behind the counter and greeted Luke. “Need help finding something in particular?”

  Luke nodded. The store might not be what folks had hoped for in Brookfield, but it offered far more than the company store run by the mining company in Finch. Over his twenty-two years, he’d been in this store only a handful of times.

  Working and living in a coal-mining town meant using their credit and purchasing their goods at the company store. Seldom did any of the mining families have cash. Instead, the men’s wages were allocated to pay the rent for their company-owned homes and toward their credit at the company store in Finch. Choices were limited and needed goods frequently unavailable, a fact the miners and their wives were forced to accept without complaint. But Luke wasn’t willing to let his mother suffer simply because Finch didn’t have what his sister needed to make a birthday gift, so he’d made the long train trip to Brookfield.

  “I need a needle for my ma’s sewing machine. It’s a Success machine, if that matters,” Luke added.

  The man shook his head. “They’re all pretty much the same.” He crossed the store and picked up a tiny red packet with black print and waved it toward Luke. “They come two to a package. Can’t break ’em up. Fifteen cents.”

  The man waited beside the shelf, apparently unwilling to carry
the envelope back to the counter unless he was sure Luke was going to buy them.

  “If you got nothing cheaper than fifteen cents, I’ll take them.”

  The man frowned and strode back across the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his black thick-soled shoes. “If I had anything cheaper, I would have said so.” He slapped the packet onto the counter. “Anything else?”

  “Fabric. For a dress.” Luke turned to the bolts of cloth to his right. “My sister said to be sure it’s material that can be washed and won’t fade or shrink. If you have a rose color, she said that would be good. If not, maybe lavender or blue.”

  The man’s smile was so tight, his lips nearly disappeared. He gestured for Luke to follow him. “I’m guessing you want the cheapest instead of the best quality?” A note of disdain tinged the question.

  If he hadn’t promised Nellie he would purchase the needles and fabric, he would have promptly marched out of the store. “If I wanted the best quality and highest prices, I’d go to Charleston, now wouldn’t I?”

  The man glared at Luke, who immediately regretted his rude response. He wasn’t a man given to impolite behavior, but he’d met with one problem after another since arriving in Brookfield, and the merchant’s comments had cut to the quick. The store owners in Brookfield made it clear they believed themselves better than the miners who worked in the local mining camps. And they could afford to be rude to the miners and their families. Little of their business depended on the loyalty of miners, who were required to purchase most of their necessities at the stores owned by the mining companies rather than at privately owned businesses.

  The merchant stepped to an array of fabrics and nodded. “I’ll leave you to make your decision.”

  Luke stared at the stacks of material. His knowledge of fabric was nonexistent. He was going to need help choosing what would be appropriate for a dress. He shouldn’t have angered the merchant. He sighed as a woman about his mother’s age drew near. She touched a piece of patterned fabric and smiled up at him. “Looking for something special?”

  “It’s a surprise for my mother’s birthday.” He glanced toward the merchant, who was busy helping another customer. “A fabric that can be easily cared for, in a rose or lavender shade.”

  The woman traced her hand down the stack of yard goods and tugged a piece from one of the piles. “These are end pieces from the bolt. They’re always a few cents cheaper, so it’s where I look first. How many yards do you need?”

  He shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to the woman. Holding the end of the fabric in her right hand, she moved the fingers of her left hand further up the cloth, touched it to her nose, and stretched her right arm to full length. Luke frowned, uncertain why she would stretch and smell the fabric.

  The woman had obviously noted his confusion and grinned at him. “The length from the tip of my nose to the end of my outstretched arm is one yard.”

  Luke had never heard of such a thing. “Is that a fact?” His tone was more skeptical than he’d intended, but the concept was somewhat difficult to believe.

  The woman tsked and shook her head. “When Mr. Jennings measures the fabric on that yardstick nailed to his counter, you’ll see I’m right.” After six quick movements, she gave a nod. “There’s a little over six yards in this one. He won’t cut the end pieces so you’ll have to pay for the extra, but it’s still less expensive than paying full price for some of these. And the color is lovely.” She held the cloth close to her face. “It will bring out the roses in your mother’s cheeks.”

  Luke was certain it would take more than a bright pink dress to put color in his mother’s cheeks, but perhaps the gift would momentarily erase the deep creases caused by years of worry and hard work. He hoped so.

  He reached for the material and gathered it into his arm. “Thank you for your help.”

  He heard the woman’s footfalls behind him as he walked to the counter and turned to look down at her when she moved alongside him. “I want to be here when you see that I’m correct about the measurements.”

  For the first time that day, Luke laughed aloud and placed the fabric on the sleek oak countertop. The two of them were still smiling when Mr. Jennings returned to the counter. Before Luke could speak, the woman placed her palm on the fabric. “Please measure this. It’s from the stack of end pieces.”

  Mr. Jennings flashed the woman an annoyed look. “I know it’s from the end pieces, Mrs. Goodson.” He plied his hand through the material until he located the end of the piece and then carefully measured the fabric against the worn yardstick. “Six and seven-eighths yards. I don’t cut end pieces. Seven cents a yard. Six cents for the seventh-eighths of a yard. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it. And the needles.” Luke pointed to the red packet sitting near the cash register.

  Mr. Jennings heaved a long sigh. “I know you want the needles.”

  Mrs. Goodson nudged Luke. “Those are sewing-machine needles. Did you want regular sewing needles or needles for a machine?”

  Mr. Jennings glared at Mrs. Goodson. “Are you hoping to take over as manager of the store?”

  The woman straightened her shoulders until they were as stiff as a starched shirt. “Indeed I am not, but since I didn’t see you offer this young man any assistance with the fabric, I doubted you’d helped him with anything else.”

  Mr. Jennings punched the cash register keys and pulled down the lever. “That’ll be seventy-five cents. Sixty cents for the fabric and fifteen cents for the needles.”

  Luke dug in his pocket, retrieved the necessary coins, and placed them on the counter.

  “They were only twelve cents the last time I purchased them.” Mrs. Goodson reached across the counter, picked up the packet, and pointed to a spot that had been scratched out and replaced with a new figure. “See here? They’ve raised the price. Everything in this store has gone up in price since the new owner took over. It’s a sin the way they take advantage of poor folks.”

  Mr. Jennings wrapped the fabric and needle packet in brown paper and tied it with a piece of string before looking up. “If there’s nothing else, please excuse me. I must go and find my Bible. I want to see if I can locate any passages that refer to my sinful nature.”

  Luke met the man’s harsh look. “If you begin by reading Proverbs 29:7 or Proverbs 22:22, you’ll discover only two of many verses that rebuke mistreatment of the poor.” He turned and thanked Mrs. Goodson for her help, picked up the bundle, and rushed from the store.

  If he hurried, he wouldn’t miss the train. At least that was his silent prayer as he ran toward the depot. The tracks were close enough to the main street that he should have heard a whistle or rumbling of a train, and he’d not heard either. Missing the train would mean he’d be stuck in Brookfield for at least two days since the trains to Finch were limited. The railroad was willing to come in and hitch up the coal cars, but they didn’t worry about keeping a regular schedule for passengers. Just like everything else in the coal camps, folks had to adjust—whether they liked it or not.

  He yanked open the depot door and dashed across the room and out the far door to the platform. A trainman stood leaning against a metal post. “If you’re lookin’ for the train to Finch, there’s no need to hurry. It’s running late. You’ve got at least a half hour.” The trainman nodded toward a spur on the other side of the tracks. “Probably got enough time to hear most of the preacher’s sermon over at the chapel car if you’ve a mind to get some Bible teachin’.” The man waved his hand toward the car. “They got so many folks over there, they can’t fit ’em all inside.”

  Luke peered across the tracks, his eyes landing on the shiny black railroad car. A group of men and women packed the rear platform, and others had gathered outside near the open windows of the railcar. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the black car. He tented one hand above his eyes. Herald of Hope had been painted on the side of the car in fancy gold letters. Luke dropped his h
and to his side and turned to the trainman. “Never heard tell of a chapel car.”

  The trainman spit a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the track bed and hiked a shoulder. “Me neither. Not until today. I ain’t been over there, but one of the conductors told me it’s a traveling church. He says a small part is set up as living quarters, and the larger end is like a church with pews and even an organ. I didn’t believe him, but I heard the organ music a little while ago.” He pushed his cap back on his head. “They’re holding a late-night meeting for us railroaders who work the second shift. Think I’ll go over and take a listen.” He nudged Luke’s arm. “You should go over. Might never get to see such a thing again. You’ll be able to hear your train coming long before it gets here.”

  Luke stared across the expanse a moment longer and then nodded. “Think I’ll take your advice.” He stepped down onto the track bed and picked his way across the tracks. He shortened his long strides when he neared the car and looked for a space where he might draw close enough to see inside. He wanted to hear what the preacher had to say, but his curiosity to see pews and an organ inside a railroad car caused him to perch on his toes to gain a better view.

  A hawk-nosed man peered down at him from the open window, and Luke took a backward step and moved to the rear of the car. He had hoped there might be a little space so he could get a look inside, but even the iron rail surrounding the rear platform had become makeshift seats for several men. He circled to the other side of the car and located a spot where he could hear the preacher, though he couldn’t see inside. He’d not been there very long when the sound of children’s laughter drifted from a grove of nearby trees.

  A young woman wearing a ruffled white shirtwaist, deep maroon skirt, and matching hat moved among the group of children, her face alight with amusement. His breath caught. Though she appeared strangely out of place, wading through the overgrown grass and weeds in her fancy hat, her loveliness was unexpected. Was this the wife of the preacher? She didn’t appear much more than eighteen or nineteen, perhaps younger. But the pastor might be a young man, as well. From his earlier vantage points alongside the chapel car, Luke hadn’t gained a view of the preacher.