Chapter 7

"You look tired," Alta remarked the next morning when Sadie stepped into the factory. "But cleaner."

"Amazing what a bath will do," she said, allowing the sarcastic lilt to frost her words. Sleep had evaded her, despite the

fact she'd slept in an actual bed. She'd been too preoccupied trying to piece together the mystery of Otis Taylor. The town

believed him a famed musician. Women swooned at the thought of his return. But the man she'd met didn't fit the gossip. He'd

been awkward and short with her, but there had been moments of wittiness, and as to his looks, she'd been unable to properly

deduce, but he did not carry himself like a man who was believed to be a fine specimen. Nonetheless, he'd hired her when he

could have thrown her out, and that was a mark in his favor.

In short the man was a conundrum—there was no understanding him.

"Let's hope you don't wait so long before the next one." Alta's smile wasn't convincing. "Next thing we know you'll be at

the socials, trying to draw the attention of all the men."

"Do you think it possible? I don't have much experience with men." She would have to go to bed earlier tonight. Biting her tongue proved more difficult when she was tired. "I had a late night. I don't plan to seek attention from anyone."

"Shush." Alta grabbed Sadie's arm and pulled her toward the center of the main floor. "Look, Mr.Hoag's gathering everyone

together."

Sadie quickened her pace. Soon the nearly forty employees were all standing shoulder to shoulder, squeezed in the center of

the large workroom. Mr.Hoag spoke quickly, reminding everyone of production goals and congratulating them on their hard work.

"I'm pleased to tell you all that the orders are still coming in as strong as ever. We're shipping all over the world to cities

as large as London and as small as Azure Springs, Iowa.

"We produce more feather dusters than anyone else in the world. We can't shirk, not with so much demand. Not only are the

orders coming in, but there is also high demand for the dyed dusters and custom orders. Another lathe is going to be added

to the main floor and perhaps another winding machine." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "Just

today a Mrs.Lorraine Morris, the mayor of Blackwell's wife, has put in a custom order. She wrote to me directly, asking that

we make her a duster different from all others."

Sadie had come to appreciate the production of dusters, but all this talk of shipping and numbers had little consequence on

her job as a sorter when she had already committed herself to working as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Movement to her left drew her attention. She looked away from Mr.Hoag, then flinched when she saw Leon and Mildred enter

the factory. "Excuse me," Leon said, nodding at the crowd. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I can wait outside until your meeting

is over."

"No need. What can I do for you?" Mr. Hoag stopped giving details on the custom duster. All eyes and full attention were on the guests.

"I'm looking for one of your employees. I require only a moment of her time."

"Of course. Who are you looking for?"

"A MissSadie West."

Alta grabbed Sadie's arm and leaned in. "Mr. and Mrs.Dawson work at the Taylor mansion. How do you know them?"

"I-I..." she stammered.

"Go see what he wants. When you come back, tell me what's going on."

Sadie stumbled from the depths of the crowd, emerging in front of the Dawsons, who smiled and motioned for her to follow.

They stepped out of the factory building but did not go far.

"We were passing through town, fetching supplies for the house, when we realized you hadn't taken anything to eat." Mildred

smiled, making her glasses rise and fall with her cheeks. She held out a tin. "We brought this for you."

"I'm grateful," Sadie said, taking the offered gift. "But what am I to tell everyone when they ask how I know you?"

"Tell them..." Mildred looked at Leon, who shrugged. "Tell them you are taking an order for a duster from us."

"Do you need a duster?"

Mildred nodded. "A house that big ought to have a duster for each floor, don't you think?"

"But why ask me? If it's custom, Mr.Hoag will take the order himself."

"Because we met you recently and thought you had an honest face," Leon said. "You do have an honest face."

"I aim to be honest. But keeping Otis's secret and working here might make it difficult to remain completely honest. The women in there are all convinced that Otis will return one day and sweep them off their feet."

"Oh dear," Mildred said. "We didn't mean to cause a problem."

Leon leaned against the wall of the Hoag factory. "We have another reason for coming. Otis has asked us to apologize for his

behavior yesterday."

"He was out of sorts," Mildred said.

"I hold no grudge. Though, I confess, I spent much of last night trying to understand the man. He seemed very changeable."

"May I be frank with you?" Leon asked slowly.

"Please." She looked back at the factory, duty insisting she hurry.

"Otis hasn't been home in a long time. You would think that coming home would be— Well, tell me, how would you feel if you

walked into your parents' home?"

"I would smell my mama's cooking, and my sisters would be there, and we'd sneak off to the barn so we could tell one another

secrets." The familiar ache formed in her chest. "It would be wonderful."

"Coming home for Otis is not the same," Mildred said.

"Oh." She bit her bottom lip. Even leading a sheltered life, she knew that not all homes were welcoming and happy like hers,

or as complete. "I should have known that he was hurting, grieving his brother. His house must feel very lonely."

"It's complicated, but he is lonely," Leon said. "You're right in thinking he has a lot to grieve. Still, I don't excuse him—he

was rude to leave so abruptly."

"I expect in a home so large, we will hardly ever see each other. I'll make myself scarce."

"Nonsense. We hope your presence will remind him that companionship is a good thing."

She'd not been able to get her Marvin Bennett, with whom she was well acquainted, to make promises. There was no way she could

get a man like Otis Taylor to face his grief and come out of obscurity. "No, I don't think that's wise." Sadie took a step

backward, as though she feared the man himself would come to greet her if she didn't flee. "He seemed adamant that he prefers

his privacy."

"He doesn't know what's good for him." Mildred patted her shoulder. "We best be going. Order a duster for us and hurry back

tonight. We're eager to get to know you better."

"I will." Their kindness seemed to know no bounds. She narrowed her eyes, suddenly skeptical. "You don't know me. Why have

you been so kind? What if I am a thief and... and I steal... a desk?" She laughed, despite her honest question. "Or

something smaller that I could actually carry away."

Leon's face was creased with gentleness and mischief. "Are you in need of a desk?"

"No," she replied, her head spinning. "I don't understand, that's all. Why be kind to me?"

"Since Reginald died the place has been lonely." Mildred sighed. "You are in need and so are we. We've no other motive."

Sadie nodded, choosing to accept their words. She thanked them again and bid them farewell for the day before going back inside,

where she had to give vague answers to make it through the day without divulging secrets that were not hers to share.

***

... The mansion is so large, it makes me feel very small....

Sadie sighed as she continued writing. Talking to her sisters in their presence would have been so much more satisfying.

She soon finished the letter and left her small staff room to walk the halls, admiring once again the portraits and photographs.

Following one picture and then the next, she gave no thought to where she was in the house until a sound from deep in the

belly of the home drifted through the air, dancing down the hall to where she stood. Fear of intruding where she was not invited

kept her from drawing closer. She pressed her back to the wall and listened to the notes of the piano.

A sad song, beautiful in its hollow, desperate way, set her heart aching. The melody captured the homesickness that welled

inside her. The worry for her father. Her fear that the bank would stop accepting her meager payments or that new doctor bills

would come. A touch of sadness over the loveless letters Marvin sent. She put a hand to her heart. The storm of feelings twirled

with the notes in the air.

The captivating song ended abruptly, and she snapped back to reality. Those notes hadn't felt like the end of a song. Where

was the rest? A clatter rang out—something had been thrown, broken, and shattered—and then she heard a heart-wrenching cry,

deep and agonizing.

***

Otis had always turned to music when life became too heavy to carry. Into the notes he played his sorrow, hope, and even his

dreams. Like a prayer, he communed with God, wrestling with him as he tried to make sense of his place and his purpose.

Tonight the notes failed to soothe him. He played with passion and deep feelings, pouring everything straight from his heart to the keys, but his feelings only grew and grew, bringing with them harrowing memories.

He recalled his father looming above him, pouring hot oils onto his scalp, burning his skin despite his anguished cries.

"Hold still." His father's hand gripped his shoulder tightly. Tears ran down Otis's face as he fought, unable to free himself.

Overcome by the memory, Otis rose from the piano bench, grabbed the framed photo of his father off the wall, and threw it

against the floor.