Love's Violet Sunrise

  Love’s Violet Sunrise

  By Naomi Rawlings

  Want to be notified when my next novel is releasing?

  Sign up for my Author Newsletter!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Chapter One - Love’s Unfading Light Sample

  Thank You

  Other Novels by Naomi Rawlings

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Milwaukee, Wisconsin; August, 1853

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, but the contract is binding for another year.” Hiram Cummings handed the paper back to the man standing in his small, stuffy office at the Vandergriff Industries headquarters in Milwaukee.

  “Ich wusste nicht!” The farmer exploded in a fit of German. “Ich wusste nicht!”

  “I don’t speak German, Mr. Miller.” Though it might benefit him to learn, since it was far from the first time this summer a farmer had yelled at him in German. “You’re going to have to try explaining in English.”

  “Vhat is this fife years? I know nothing of it. No one efer told me that vhen I bought the property.”

  How did Mr. Vandergriff manage to keep anyone employed in this position? After two months of being yelled at for something he didn’t do, he was ready to quit. Never mind that his father had tried warning him before he’d taken the job.

  The other clerks at Vandergriff Industries didn’t have to handle these types of complaints, just him, the one with two years of law school behind him and trying to earn money for two more years so he could finish. The one who had enough legal knowledge to answer the farmers’ questions so that the three lawyers who worked here didn’t waste time dealing with such complaints.

  Hopefully once he got his law degree, he wouldn’t have to handle anymore complaints like this.

  Hiram ran a finger around the collar of his shirt, damp from the perspiration that came from being stuck in a tiny, windowless office during the summer. “I’m sorry if you didn’t understand everything at the time you bought your property, but this is your mark, isn’t it? That means you have to sell your flour to one of Mr. Vandergriff’s mills this year and next. In 1855, you’ll be free to sell your wheat to whatever mill gives you the best price.”

  “How am I supposed to know that? This is English, not German!” The man shook the paper in his aging hand, his white mustache hanging down to hide the edges of the snarl on his lips. “Mr. Vandergriff wants to gife me sefenty percent of vhat De Valt will gife, and that’s half vhat Schroder gafe my neighbor last year.”

  He could hardly blame the man for the despair in his voice when mentioning the Schroder Mill and Flour Company. The German owner had been known for paying immigrants handsomely for their wheat, but that was before last week’s fire. With the Schroder mill gone, that left the De Walt mill and the three Vandergriff mills. Mr. De Walt wasn’t as generous as Mr. Schroder, but he still gave farmers a fair price. Mr. Vandergriff, however…

  “I refuse to sell to Vandergriff anymore.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll forfeit the property.” Hiram pointed to the line that explained the harsh condition.

  “This is outrageous.” The German didn’t bother to look at where he pointed. “America vas supposed to be different, but vhat’s the difference between farming for a lord in Germany or farming for Mr. Vandergriff here? He owns as much as a German lord.”

  Hiram settled a hand on Mr. Miller’s shoulder and stared down into faded blue eyes, eyes that belonged to a man far too old to leave his home country and start again in a new one. “I truly am sorry I can’t help you more. Please understand that you were the one who signed the contract to purchase your property at a ten percent discount on the condition you would sell whatever crops your farm produced to Mr. Vandergriff for five years. You’re legally responsible for what that contract says, which means the year after next, you’ll be free to sell your wheat to whatever mill gives you the best price, but not before then.”

  The old German put his hat on his head and surveyed Hiram. “Vish it was you I’d been dealing vith vhen I bought the property. Then I might have understood.”

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t explained better.” The lawyer who had handled these land transactions had moved back east last year. He now worked out of the Vandergriff Industries main office in New York City and wasn’t around to ask whether he’d fully explained the contract to the immigrants.

  “Good day, then.” The farmer ambled for the door.

  “Good day.” Hiram sank down into the chair behind his desk. If only he could do more for the man—for all the men, really—who’d agreed to Mr. Vandergriff’s proposal to take money off the price of their farm in exchange for five years of crops.

  He grabbed a copy of the contract from the corner of his desk and read it for what was probably the tenth time that week, but he still couldn’t see any way for the farmers to sell their crops to someone other than the Vandergriffs without forfeiting the land they’d purchased. The lawyer who’d written the contract had certainly known what he was doing. The question was, why hadn’t he explained the terms better to the farmers? Why hadn’t he had it translated into German so they could understand?

  A brisk knock sounded and the door to his office opened.

  Will Poplins, the clerk who sat at the desk outside his office, stuck his head into the room, then wiped his forehead. “It’s sweltering in here. I don’t know how you stand it.”

  Neither did he.

  “Did you know they used this as a storage room before they hired you?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, the backs of his legs damp with perspiration from the short time he’d been sitting. “I’m not sure whether to be glad Mr. Vandergriff gave me my own office or take offence.”

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t take offence. I mean, he hired you, and you’re not even a lawyer yet.”

  No, and with the cost of law school being so high, it might be another decade before he was.

  He pulled at the collar of his shirt, tugging in and out as he tried to get a bit of air between his clothing and his skin. “Was there something you needed?

  “There’s a woman waiting to see you.”

  Hiram nearly groaned. Wasn’t it time for the office to close for the day? He took out the timepiece clipped to his shirt and peeked at it. Fifteen minutes left. “Is she German?”

  Will peeked over his shoulder before turning back. “I believe so. Do you want me to tell her we’re closing and send her away?”

  It was tempting, but who knew where the woman was from. Mr. Miller had travelled ten miles, and the woman might have done the same. “No, send her in.”

  He stood and walked out from behind his desk. What were the chances he could answer all her questions in fifteen minutes? Would she even know enough English to have a conversation?

  The door to his office opened again, and in stepped a…

  Well, she was definitely a woman, but the not the middle-aged, heavy-set farmer’s wife he’d been expecting. Like most of the German immigrants, her hair was the shade of wheat, her skin the color of fresh cream, and her eyes, well, they weren’t blue like most Germans’ were. No, hers were more of a gray color, like the shade of the sky over Lake Michigan just before dawn.

  He blinked, clearing all images of the sky at sunrise from his mind. “What can I do for you, Mrs….?”

  “Miss. It’s Miss Krau
se.”

  Her name was certainly German, but she spoke with only the barest trace of an accent.

  She stood there for a moment, her chest rising and falling beneath her simple but comely dress while she twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hand.

  He took a step away from her—maybe she’d be more willing to talk if he gave her some room—and gestured to the small wooden chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat, Miss Krause. Take a moment to rest, if you need to.”

  “I don’t need to rest. I need a lawyer to represent my brother.” She held out a sheet of paper for him.

  He took it and scanned the charges filed against a Mr. Dietrich Krause. “Your brother burned down the Schroder mill?”

  Color stained the creamy skin of her cheeks. “He didn’t do it. That’s why I need a lawyer.”

  Yes, she most certainly needed a lawyer, and a good one at that. Since Mr. Schroder paid nearly double what Mr. Vandergriff paid farmers, every person who owned a farm within fifty miles of Milwaukee was upset about the fire. And to make matters worse, the German mill owner had died in the fire last week, along with his wife and children. Hiram hadn’t known the Schroders personally, but a knot lodged in his throat whenever he thought of the man, woman, and two little girls perishing in the blaze.

  If this lady’s brother had been charged with setting the fire, then good luck to them both. It was sure to be a messy case. “Would you like a recommendation? I know of several criminal attorneys in the—”

  “No. I want you.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a newspaper clipping, stained and faded. “You’re the Hiram Cummings in this article, are you not?”

  He didn’t need to see it to know the article she referenced. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m not a lawyer. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. I’m only half finished with my schooling.”

  “This article says you didn’t have any schooling at all when you stopped Moses Pullman from going to prison.”

  No, he hadn’t even spent a minute in a law classroom when he’d represented Moses, and he thanked the Good Lord every day that he’d won the case, because Moses didn’t deserve to be sitting in prison for a murder he didn’t commit.

  But that didn’t mean he would take a case for Miss Krause. And if his hunch was right, she expected him to not just take her brother’s case, but to do so free of charge, just like he had with Moses. “That was a special situation. Moses Pullman was a family friend, and I had proof that he hadn’t committed the murder.”

  “You’re friends with a former slave?”

  “I never said he was a slave.” His words cut abruptly through the sweltering room, as they should. A few years ago it didn’t matter where a Negro had come from or why, so long as he was in a free state. But with the Fugitive Slave Act being passed, slave owners could now hunt down escaped slaves on free soil, and local law enforcement was required to help track them down.

  Miss Krause’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, forgive me.”

  He gave a jerky nod of his head. Accusing someone of being a former slave would only lead to trouble these days, though Miss Krause wasn’t likely to understand all the details. Not having slavery in Germany, the immigrants were generally horrified by the notion.

  “And now it’s my turn to apologize, because you’ll have to go elsewhere for help.”

  She licked her lips. “But I have nowhere else to go.”

  He averted his eyes so he didn’t see the sadness in her serene gray ones. “As I said, I can give you a list of lawyers to contact. Even if I were already a lawyer, I wouldn’t be able to take cases while working for Mr. Vandergriff. He keeps me far too busy.”

  “My brother and his friends didn’t burn down that mill,” she whispered into the thick air surrounding them.

  So there was more than just her brother involved? No. He wasn’t going to start asking questions or he’d wind up in the middle of the case. “Then I’m sure the jury will acquit.”

  “Not if I don’t get help. Aren’t you listening to me? Dietrich didn’t kill Mr. Schroder and his family.” Her chin quivered, and her eyelids fluttered up and down, up and down.

  She wasn’t going to cry, was she? With four sisters and one mother, he should know what to do with female tears by now. But they somehow always made him feel as helpless as a toddler wanting a plate off the top shelf of the cupboard.

  Hiram held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’m not saying your brother started any fires or killed anyone, but I suggest you hire someone that specializes in criminal law. They’ll be able to help far more than I.”

  “I can’t afford to hire anyone, and that article said you represented Mr. Pullman for nothing.” She sniffled and swiped at her cheek with the palm of her hand.

  Confound it. Her tears were nearly making him change his mind. Maybe one day he could help people like Miss Krause and her brother, but he needed to get that law degree first, and taking time off to work on a charity case wouldn’t get his tuition paid.

  He handed the legal complaint against her brother back to her. “I’m sorry, but you still need to find someone else.”

  “Pl-please, can’t you do something? Anything?”

  He headed for the door, giving her a moment to compose herself while letting the slightly less hot air from the outer office inside. “I’ll write down a list of criminal lawyers for you, if that would help. I’ll leave the list with Mr. Poplins and you can get it tomorrow.”

  She wiped another tear from her cheek and plodded toward him. “I already told you, I can’t afford—”

  “Some of the lawyers might be willing to take a charity case.” At least he hoped they would, but then, no one had wanted to take on Moses’s case for free three years ago. “Or maybe someone will take the case with the understanding that if your brother is acquitted he’ll make payments in the future. I’m sorry to have to turn you away, but I simply don’t have time to look into things, and if your brother is innocent as you claim, then you want a lawyer to represent him, not a legal clerk like me.”

  “But the article—”

  “No more about the article. That was a special situation.” So special of a situation that it had given him the desire to leave his father’s fishing business and go to law school. Because while he might have to turn Miss Krause away now, there would be a day when he’d be able to help her, whether free of charge or for pay.

  He just needed to get to that day first.

  Rather than walk through the door he held, she continued looking up at him, her soft eyes pleading.

  He simply shook his head and stepped back, waiting for her to walk out of his life—and for his heart to untwist itself from the knot she’d created there.

  Chapter Two

  “Miss Krause.” The clerk that had shown her into Hiram Cummings’s office two days ago got up from behind his desk. “What can I do for you today?”

  Mabel approached him, trying to hide the way her hands insisted on trembling. “I need to see Mr. Cummings, please.”

  The clerk frowned at her. “You had an audience with him once this week already.”

  “I need another today.”

  “I’ll see if he has time.” The clerk walked briskly to Mr. Cummings’s door and knocked twice before opening it. He spoke softly, and it was all she could do not to inch forward in hopes of catching their conversation.

  Dear God, please let him see me again. Please let him listen this time.

  Considering Mr. Cummings’s tiny door was located in a wall that ran through the middle of the building when there were two larger, more prominent doors farther down the hall on either side, it was almost as though Mr. Cummings had been given a broom closet for an office. She dabbed at the bits of perspiration already forming along the back of her neck. Hopefully the air inside the cramped little room was cooler in the morning than in the afternoon.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her, and a group of men about Dietrich’s age appeared
at the top.

  “The man downstairs told us we need to see Mr. Cummings,” one of them stated.

  The clerk speaking with Mr. Cummings looked over his shoulder and surveyed the men before turning back to exchange a few more words with the all-too-popular legal clerk. A moment later, the man pushed the door open wider. “He’ll see you now, Miss Krause.”

  The trembling in her hands worsened, but she drew in a deep breath, puffed out her chest, and strode inside. She couldn’t fail this time. She absolutely couldn’t.

  Mr. Cummings stood in front of his desk, waiting for her much like he had two days ago. Despite the stifling heat of his office, his shirt was buttoned all the way up to his neck, and he wore both a waistcoat and suitcoat. The lines of his suit were still crisp at this time of the morning, but they would certainly wilt within the next hour or two.

  “Miss Krause, how can I help you this morning?” His deep voice filled the office, not impatient or unkind like she’d half expected.

  She handed him two pieces of paper filled with her own writing, detailing everything she could think of about her brother and the night the Schroder mill burned. “First, you could look at these, then go to the jail to meet my brother. He appears in court a week from today.”

  Silence filled the office while his green eyes assessed her. “Was something I said during our last meeting not clear? I can’t help your brother.” He almost seemed sorry to be declining her. “The men on the list I gave you can.”

  “Where do you think I was yesterday? I’m back because no one would help.”

  “I said no.”

  “I can pay.” She reached into her pocket and took out her change purse. It wasn’t much, only what was left from the last week she’d worked at the Schroder mill before it burned down, but at least it was something.

  “Miss Krause.” He sighed, his shoulders rising and deflating with the action. “You fail to understand.”

  She blinked back the tears that burned behind her eyes. Was Ula wrong about him? Moses’s mother had sworn up and down that Hiram Cummings would help her the same way he’d helped Moses. But Mr. Cummings didn’t even seem willing to try.