He stopped long enough to turn and look her straight in the eye. His eyes were dark and bottomless and set her heart scurrying. It was that intimidation thing Nathan had mentioned, of course.
“I do take it seriously. Seriously enough that I know it’s only going to slow things down having a woman who doesn’t know anything about law or finance questioning every step we take. We want this to be as painless as possible for everybody, Mrs. Ratchford. Don’t make it any more complicated than it has to be.”
She felt short of breath, but she would not let him see it. “When do you meet with the lawyers again, Mr. Scoville?”
“I don’t think you’re listening to me, Mrs. Ratchford. It’s really none of your concern when I’m meeting with the company lawyers.”
“You’re the one who isn’t listening. I want an audience with you. And if you don’t play nice with us poor, dumb mill workers, you’ll find out we know how to play dirty.”
Joella had no idea what she meant by that, but it sounded good and she knew it was time to talk tough, despite her racing heart and wobbly knees. Besides, Nathan had already warned her that would be the only way to get Mr. High-and-Mighty’s attention.
“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Ratchford?” He turned and put his hands on his hips. He looked about as intimidating as anything Joella had ever seen and she figured she was melting a lot faster than the stuff in all his little cartons. “Threatening me, right here in plain view of half the town?”
With that, he waved his arms and Joella realized a fair-sized crowd of folks had rolled their grocery carts around for a better view of the ruckus.
“No,” Joella said, putting her hands on her hips and knowing full well her faded jeans and sweatshirt were no match, intimidation-wise, for his charcoal suit and red-striped tie. She sent up a silent prayer for courage and for a voice that wouldn’t wobble and give her away. “I wouldn’t dream of threatening one of the powerful Scovilles. All I’m doing is appealing to you as a gentleman. I know all the Scovilles are gentlemen. So, I’ll be in your office one hour before first shift starts tomorrow, to discuss how you’re going to include me in your planning from now on.”
Then she saw the frown crease his forehead and she smiled. “A fine gentleman like you wouldn’t dream of disappointing a lady, now, would you?”
He sighed and pulled out a money clip, passing on a stack of bills to the cashier. “Okay. How’s this, Mrs. Ratchford? I’ll keep you informed. In writing. Formal memos, every week.”
Joella’s heart pounded. He was negotiating. With her. “Every day.”
He took his change without glancing at it, shoved it into his pocket and hoisted two bags into his arms. “Tuesdays and Fridays,” he countered, walking away.
She followed. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“Good.” He dropped the bags into the front seat of his car and slid into the driver’s seat. He moved with a grace that men in pickup trucks didn’t seem to have. As if money somehow oiled his joints, smoothed the rough edges.
She put a hand on the car door before he could close it. “And you’ll talk to me before you make any major decisions.”
He looked exasperated. “Mrs. Ratchford—”
“If you’ll just agree to talk to us ahead of time, I’ll promise not to make a pest out of myself.”
She could tell right away that was her trump card and she’d played it just in time.
“We have a deal, Mrs. Ratchford.”
She took her hand off the door to shake on their deal, but he slammed the door instead and drove off before she could open her mouth.
But they had a deal and she couldn’t wait to tell Fred Roseforte that Jordan Scoville would be forwarding memos on the bankruptcy proceedings every Tuesday and Friday. With God’s help, she’d stood her ground. David against Goliath.
She had to remind herself that smugness wasn’t an admirable trait.
Joella looked once again at the too-brief memo in her lap, the one with Jordan Scoville’s bold signature across the bottom.
The signature was the only thing that really told her much. The signature said the author of the memo was self-assured and important and far too busy to waste much time on memos to the masses. All the memo said was that no decisions had been made about the future of Scoville Mill, although further discussions were planned.
Of course, Joella had done her best to make the memo sound more significant than it was, when she read it for the gathering in the church fellowship hall. No one had been fooled and the church was now empty, the grousing now only a disurbing memory. The only ones remaining were Hat Martin and Claire Denny, who was helping fold the chairs and stack them against the wall.
“I guess I’m no match for Jordan Scoville after all,” she said, stuffing the memo into her back jeans pocket.
“Let it be.” Claire picked up her coat as the last of the chairs found its place against the wall. “You’ve got enough to worry about. Let Fred Roseforte take on the Scovilles. He’ll enjoy the tussle.”
Joella was tempted, Her best friend, the only other single mother in Bethlehem, was right. Joella had her hands full just staying one step ahead of Nathan; how could she hope to keep up with Jordan Scoville, too? She looked at Hat Martin, who held out her corduroy parka so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. Her watch caught on the torn sleeve lining. She kept meaning to mend it, but there never seemed to be time. She supposed she’d have plenty of time soon.
She also supposed she’d look pretty shabby job-hunting in her old coat.
“Have you tried asking for help?” the minister asked as he switched off the lights and the three of them walked out into the nighttime chill. “A little assistance in softening Mr. Scoville’s heart?”
Claire chuckled. “That’s going to take more help than Joella’s going to find around here.”
Joella glanced at Hat, saw his gentle smile and knew exactly what he meant. Had she prayed about it, he wanted to know. Had she asked for a little help from above?
“I have to admit,” she said, “I’ve been thinking this is something I can do on my own.”
Hat nodded. “Ah. That so often gets me in trouble. I hope you have better luck than I when it comes to taking charge of things all by myself. I typically find myself woefully inadequate on my own.”
The three of them started down Main Street on foot. The street was quiet. The night was crisp and cool, the kind of perfect night that late autumn often brought to the South. The trees were already bare, the velvet blanket of the sky studded with stars. Joella left her parka open, let her bare hands swing at her side.
“It’s a shame everything can’t be as perfect as this night,” she said wistfully.
“Maybe it is,” Reverend Martin said. “Maybe God’s plan for us is as perfect as this beautiful night, but we just can’t see it as clearly.”
Joella tried to bite back the words that came to mind. But she’d known Hat Martin so long that she’d long ago given up keeping her thoughts to herself. “I know we’re supposed to have that kind of faith. But it sure would be easier if God could see fit to let me in on His plan.”
Claire rolled her eyes, but Hat Martin just chuckled.
“If it was all plain as day, Joella, they wouldn’t call it faith, now, would they?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe this is another opportunity for you