Copper and Candles

Book 1 of the Michigan Brides series
Chapter One

Detroit, Michigan, April 1875
Near the business district

Felicity Chambers brushed sweat-soaked tendrils off Lucy Gibson's forehead. "Make sure you get some rest today, Mrs. Gibson. I don't want to return after work and find that you have overtaxed yourself."
The woman offered a weak smile, not even bothering to open her eyes. "I will."

The strain of a recent fever had taken its toll on the woman's frail body. Felicity's charity work involved delivering meals to the Gibson home, but when complications developed from Lucy's pregnancy at just four months and she was forced to quit work at the candle factory, how could Felicity turn a blind eye to the need?

To her left another girl a couple of years younger than her nineteen years managed to corral the youngest boy of five children and get him settled in his high chair for breakfast.

"Marianne," Felicity spoke over her shoulder, "Timothy has been told that if you should need anything at all today, you are to send him to the factory to find me." She smiled at the thought of Lucy's oldest, the scrappy, quick-witted lad who had secured a place in her heart at her first visit to this home.

"Yes, ma'am." The young girl bobbed her head, then turned her attention back to the toddler in her care.

Marianne lived two doors down and came to care for the home and children. With Lucy bedridden at the doctor's orders, Marianne was needed now more than ever. The other four children, ranging in age from three to eleven, scampered around the small house. Soft giggles and exclamations followed them. At least they showed respect for their mother's condition. Their shoes had holes and their clothes were a bit ragged, but they had a warm house and food in their bellies. With their mother unable to work, all of that would be taken away. Felicity couldn't let that happen.

On impulse she had sought employment at the factory and promised to give Lucy her wages. Felicity had grown tired of the constraints of her life of luxury. Working at the factory afforded her the chance at adventure without Mother dictating what charity work to do and overseeing her every move. For the first time in her life, she had a feeling of independence. She had chosen this work, and it felt good. It had seemed like the perfect solution. But now she wasn't so sure.

Grabbing her lunch pail and shawl for warmth against the cool spring morning, Felicity stepped outside and pulled the creaky, splintering door closed behind her. She smoothed a hand down the coarse fabric of her borrowed clothes. So different from the fine silks and linens she normally wore.

Am I ready for this?

Taking a deep breath and offering a silent prayer, Felicity stepped through the whitewashed gate with the chipped paint and hooked the latch. No sense prolonging the inevitable. And despite her reservations, she actually looked forward to this change of pace. Her charity work allowed her to see how the less fortunate and struggling individuals lived.

But this! Working in a factory as a commoner, side by side with other girls nearing twenty or younger? It was almost more than she could have ever imagined. She'd wanted a change of pace from the never-ending parade of teas, invitations to come calling, and other social functions. And now she had it.

As she walked east toward the business district, Felicity took note of her surroundings. Small homes, some on the brink of collapse, lined both sides of the street. They were so close together it was hard to imagine the residents having any privacy. She thought about her own town house on the northwest side of the city. Healthy, green lawns and impressive gardening at the front and rear accented the brick three-story house with black shutters. A wrought-iron railing flanked both sides of the seven marble steps leading to the front door. Quite a difference from the overgrown cement and sometimes dirt paths that led to the fronts of these homes.

Felicity left the residential area and entered the business district. Only this part of the district wasn't anything like where she'd been with her father on more than one occasion. She quickened her pace to a brisk walk. It wasn't the first time she'd been in areas similar to this, but she still needed to be on her guard.

Garbage littered the ground at almost every turn. The disgusting odor forced Felicity to breathe through her mouth instead of her nose. She would have held a handkerchief over her face, but she'd left it at the Gibsons' with her personal belongings.

Her eyes watered at the acrid stench of decay. If she wasn't overcome by the smell, she might make it far enough to escape this part of the city. Felicity averted a mangy cat that looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Barking dogs and the screech of another cat from a nearby alley, joined with the shouts of some of the street vendors hawking their wares.

"Customerrrr, come he-re!" called the singsong voice of a traveling vendor who walked beside his cart, laden with items of every shape and size imaginable.

Never in her life had Felicity seen so many different types of people clustered together in one place, nor so many faces reflecting despair and sad acceptance. Did her efforts even make a difference? She had so much, and they had so little, yet they seemed to work hard despite their circumstances. The sooner she moved past this area, the better. Felicity didn't know how much longer she could endure the cacophony of sounds and heartbreaking sights.

She turned right at the next intersection, relieved she had almost reached the area near the factories, when raised and heated voices just ahead of her drew her attention. Stopping in her tracks, she took note of five men facing off in the middle of the street. Three of them stood face-to-face against the other two, and by the looks on their faces, the words they spoke were anything but friendly.

An inner voice told her to keep moving, but the prospect of a possible fight drew her like a child reaching out to touch a hot stove. She'd heard of brawls from her older brother, but she'd never witnessed one firsthand. And the thrill of danger was too tempting to ignore.

"I said I'd teach you a lesson with my fists if I caught you on my turf again."

This came from the shortest of the five men, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in bravado.
"And I told you we wasn't on your turf. Your man here," the one on the defense pointed at a brawny man beside the first one who spoke, "he told you we was. But he should get his eyes checked."

The big man referenced swore loudly and took a step forward, but the shorter one held him back. Felicity gasped at the profanity.

"It's my word against yours," the first man countered. "And I say you was on my turf."

"I say we settle this right here and now."

More expletives came from both sides. Felicity had only heard of these words. She'd never been present to hear them spoken. No wonder Mother kept her sheltered.

Felicity held her breath. She looked around to see only a handful of kids and a few spectators who had gathered. Everyone else went about their business as usual. Why didn't someone stop this? Did they not care? But instead of stepping away, she edged closer, drawn into the small crowd.

No sooner had she settled in place than the shortest man threw the first punch with a sickening thud. Felicity gasped and covered her mouth. It was three on two, unfair odds in her estimation, but the two seemed to handle themselves fairly well. The crack of fist on flesh and bone made her cringe and close her eyes. She peered through one eye and then the other, almost not wanting to know how the fight progressed.

As one man tackled another and rammed them both into the ground, Felicity jumped back. The violence had begun in a small area, and it now expanded as the men swung at and dodged each other. Well-placed blows knocked them down and widened the circle of their dispute.

All right. She had seen enough. Why any man would lower himself and engage in this type of atrocious, animalistic behavior was beyond her. Felicity stepped back and turned away from the ghastly sight. She had almost made it to a vacant lot when the thump of one body hitting another caused her to look over her shoulder—just in time to see a man flying in her direction.

* * * * *

Brandt Lawson ran down the garbage-littered street, the thud of his scuffed leather shoes on dirt keeping time with the frantic beat of his heart. He'd be late if he didn't hurry. He turned the corner only to have the wind knocked out of him as his forward motion suddenly changed direction. His lunch pail flew from his grasp. Sailing through the air for what felt like an eternity, Brandt hit the ground—hard.

It took him a few moments to catch his breath and clear his head. Vague awareness filtered through his mind as the shock wore off. Movement on top of him made him open his eyes. He propped himself on his elbows. Pain shot through his shoulder. As he tried to inch backward, he saw the mass of dark tresses splayed out on his chest, some pinned in a haphazard fashion on top of the woman's head while others tumbled free from their confinement.

"Mmmm."

The mumble came from somewhere within the tangle of hair, and the female form on top of him shifted. His senses took over, and he placed his hands around her as he attempted to move into a sitting position. Unable to do so with the weight of the other person, Brandt instead slid out from under her and kneeled beside her.

The young woman's head rolled to the left and right, but she didn't open her eyes. At least she looked all right. Then again, Brandt had absorbed the majority of the impact. He glanced around to see what had caused her fall and saw the unruly bunch of men fighting not ten yards from where he and the young woman now rested.

Great. Just what he didn't need. He was already running late for his meeting before work, and now he had to be interrupted by a street fight. All attention from the crowd was focused on the men. Except for one young boy. The lad stood halfway between them and the group of spectators, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Brandt turned his attention again to the young woman and smoothed back the hair from her face.
"Miss?" He patted her cheek a few times. "Miss, are you hurt?"

She stirred beneath his touch. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She blinked several times, as if trying to gauge her surroundings. As soon as she focused on him, she sat up with a start and placed one hand on her chest.

"Dear me! I must apologize. Are you the person who broke my fall?"

Brandt opened his mouth to reply, but the lyrical, polished sound of her voice left him speechless. It stood in direct opposition to the fashion of clothing she wore. The young woman didn't seem to notice, though, as she continued with her ramble.

"It happened so suddenly." She swept one arm outward in an arc around her body. "One moment I was minding my own business and walking to work. The next I stopped to observe a shocking display of immature behavior." Her gaze stretched toward the ongoing fight. "Before I knew it, one of the men came flying toward me. I tried to escape, but to no avail." She looked back at him, her hazel eyes soft and apologetic. "If it hadn't been for your opportune presence, I might have suffered a more serious injury."

Opportune? Brandt wasn't sure he'd call it that. In fact, it couldn't have happened at a more inopportune time. He would have told her that if it hadn't been for the way her head tilted to one side as she regarded him. A dimple in her cheek appeared just to the right of her mouth, and she scrunched her eyebrows together in a most appealing manner. With a glance downward, Brandt realized she still sat in a heap on the ground. He silently scolded himself as he stood and extended both hands to her.

"Forgive me for neglecting my manners. Can I help you up?"

One corner of her mouth tugged upward, and amusement danced in her eyes. She offered her hand to him and accepted his assistance. When they were both on their feet facing each other, Brandt almost took a step back. Her head fell a few inches shy of his own. He stood just over six feet. He'd never encountered a young woman only four inches shorter than him.

But as much as he would have liked to stay and get to know more about her, duty called.

"I'm sorry to rush off, but I was already late when we ran into each other. And now unless I run I have no hope of getting to my meeting on time."

"There is no need for an apology. It's my fault for choosing you as my cushion instead of the street." She glanced again to the group of men who were the real cause of the delay and grimaced. "If it hadn't been for my curiosity, neither of us would be in this predicament."

And what a predicament it was. Under other circumstances, Brandt might have been more upset. But he didn't mind such a charming young woman being the additional reason for his tardiness.

He regarded her with a curious eye. "Well, as long as you're all right."

She dusted off her skirts, tugged down the edge of her blouse, and reached up a hand to touch her hair. A grimace crossed her delicate features followed by a resigned shrug as she no doubt realized the tangled mess was a lost cause.

"I'm fine. I assure you. Now, off with you before the number of minutes you're late is beyond excuse."

Brandt bent to retrieve his cap from the street and slapped it on his head. When he turned, he kicked the pail at his feet. How could he forget his lunch? He grasped the handle and looked up. The young lad who had been watching them raised his arm, another bucket dangling from the boy's fingers. Thrusting the one he held toward the young woman, Brandt nodded his thanks to the boy and took the other pail.

As he started to dash off, he turned his head and called over his shoulder. "I hope your day ends up being better than it started."

The echo of her giggle reached his ears and made Brandt smile for the first time that morning. When he left the house after breakfast, his father had reminded him for what felt like the thousandth time that he was expected to do his best at the refinery. He had dismissed the admonition with an absentminded wave, but he'd obey his father's demands. Like he always did.

As he ran toward the grouping of factories along the river, Brandt reflected on his life. Focusing on that kept his mind off the reprimand he was bound to receive when he arrived late. He would soon assume his father's place and take charge of the family investments. But first he had to learn what it was like to work at all levels, not just in management. Despite the inconvenience, the edict was a sound one. How else could he truly understand those who worked for him when he had never been where they were?

Brandt slowed as he reached the outer gate. Once past the entrance, he jogged toward the refinery, eager to begin his day and hoping the bumpy start this morning wasn't a sign of things to come.

His father's foresight in setting up this meeting and seeing to every aspect necessary continued to impress him. He hoped he'd be able to fill those shoes well when the time came. Approaching the manager's entrance to the refinery, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Brandt was supposed to meet with one of the supervisors this morning before work to go over some of the details of his new job. He had a difficult balance to strike ahead of him. While performing as an average refinery worker, he also had to continue increasing his knowledge about the management end. He needed to make a good impression on both counts. And now he was fifteen minutes late.

If only he hadn't stopped by that music shop on his way to work. He might have been able to get the young woman's name or at least find out where she was headed. But then again, if he had taken the original path he'd planned, he wouldn't have been at that corner at that precise moment. And they never would have met.

The chords of the guitar mixed with the tonal sounds of the accordion had called to him. He couldn't ignore it. His love of music had made him take the detour. But he could only stop for a few moments. So he had taken the calling card of the shop and decided to return again when he wasn't so pressed for time.

After two flights of stairs, he reached the supervisor's office and knocked. At least he still had the card to remind him where the shop was located. As the door to the office opened, Brandt reached into his lunch pail for the card and found someone else's lunch.

"Brandt," his new supervisor greeted. "How nice of you to be on time."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Brandt, but he had bigger problems than his punctuality. He was holding someone else's lunch! There had been only two interruptions to his walk to work that morning. The pail he held had to belong to the young woman who had knocked him down.

He stepped inside the office and tried to focus on the immediate details of his job. But it was no use. Visions of a dark-haired angel filled his mind. How was he going to return the pail to her? He didn't even know her name.

Back to Books