Free Promise of Tomorrow by S. Dionne Moore Page A

muscles ache. He bypassed eating and did only as much as necessary to prepare for the next morning, when he would arrive earlier than necessary so he could work on this new angle.
    Satisfied, he stretched out on his cot and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. As he lay there, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness, Jack remembered Alaina. Her smile, her concern, her anger. . .his promise to see her.
    For a minute he hung in a semiconscious state, disgusted at how he could forget so easily. Again. But his weary mind and body pulled him down into a black oblivion he had no strength to fight.
    Alaina will understand.

Eleven
    May 21, 1889
    â€œDon’t pour!” Jack’s scream rent the air seconds before the molten steel touched the water in the steel-mold.
    An explosion rocked the men not already undercover back on their heels.
    Jack skidded into a low crouch and shielded his face. A blast of strong, hot air choked him and scorched his skin. Chunks of metal shot around the room, and Jack heard the muffled groan of pain next to him that told him Big Frank had been hit.
    When the air settled, the factory whistle screamed the news of another accident to all within listening distance. Shouts lifted above the sounds of machinery as other men went to the rescue of those downed by the explosion.
    Jack jumped up and hustled over to where Frank lay within a few feet of the mold. Still. Silent.
    â€œGod, no. God, please, no.” He flipped Big Frank over. His heart plummeted at the sight of blood. Frank’s shirt smoked where the heat had singed the material. “Frank? Frank!” He patted his friend’s cheek, strangled with dread when Frank remained unresponsive. He lifted his head. “Help! Over here.”
    Someone appeared at his side, and together they lifted the big man and carried him away from the heat of the open hearth furnaces.
    â§
    Hospital beds lined both walls of the long room. Frank lay, pale and bandaged, eyes closed, halfway down the long room.
    Jack recognized other workers and waved a greeting to those who were awake.
    One of the men, Sweeney, as everyone called him, returned Jack’s greeting with a grim, “How many this time?”
    â€œThree.” Jack stopped and ran a cautious eye over the man’s bandaged arm and chest. “Three died. Five injured.”
    Sweeney rubbed at the bandage on his arm, then grimaced. “Hurt’s like fire, but it’s a graze.”
    â€œYou were blessed not to have been killed.”
    The man leaned back against his pillow and gave a nod.
    Jack headed down the row toward Frank and stopped at the foot of his friend’s bed. He bowed his head, grateful Frank’s life had been spared.
    He lifted his face to find Frank’s glazed stare upon him. “Not dead, am I? Was thinkin’ God had allowed some pretty ugly angels to mess up heaven.”
    Jack’s breath released in a relieved gust. He laughed and moved to the side of the bed. “Hey there. How’re you feeling?”
    â€œLike a piece of hot slag got me in the gut.”
    â€œAnd the face.” Jack felt the burn of guilt. “If I hadn’t left, it would have spared you from doing the pouring and getting hit.”
    Frank blinked slowly. “God orders the day, son. Haven’t you figured that out yet? No amount of guilt is going to change the way things happen.”
    It took a minute for Jack to gain his voice. He gripped Frank’s hand. “What about Missy and Sam?”
    Frank seemed to drift off to a faraway place for a moment. Then his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. Mrs. Sanford can’t keep them. Too old.”
    â€œI’ll do it. I’ll take care of them for you, Frank. Alaina is home from the lake. She can watch them during the day and I’ll help her in the evenings.”
    â€œYou’ve got work to do, boy. Riches to make. An invention to invent.”
    Jack could hear