A Good Work: Book Two of The Heart at Home Series

By Corah Dann

After one fateful choice, a young Scottish teen pursues a path he hopes will release the burden of the decision which spared his own life.

In this prequel to "Grounded", teenage George Kennard leaves his beloved Scotland in the late 1800s after tragedy strikes in his mining hometown. Once he sets his feet on the shores of Ameri

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798822915367

Corah Dann

Corah Dann studied journalism before enjoying a highly successful career in banking for thirty-eight years. She has been married for thirty-five years and has two children and one grandchild with another one on the way. A native Floridian, Corah, along with her husband, now spends her time between Florida and Arkansas. She enjoys the outdoors, fishing, camping, and is an avid hockey fan. Grounded is Corah's debut novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

T

he sun splashed a yellow orb against the late-May sky over Scotland and taunted William Kennard and his teenage son, George. William knew the opportunity to persuade his son to work at the colliery today had passed. Even though George used his sister’s fever from the night before as an excuse to stay home this morning, his father suspected the lad would walk to the River Avon to fish before the sun reached the noon sky.

As a father, William did his best to keep his son in school as long as he could before asking the then sixteen-year-old to join him in the coal mine. Each morning since the lad’s first descent into the depth of the coal pit, a struggle ensued between the two. Now, he feared his son’s ambitions resided in a world with crystal blue clouds. The workers at the colliery would miss how easily the big lad could swing a strong pick today and William would miss the day’s wages it would bring to the household.

The elder Scot pondered revisiting the matter the two had argued about the night before. At this hour, the other men in the mine would scoff at him when he arrived at work hours after the sun rose.

William turned his tall frame from the window of their modest home and found his son stirring his porridge mindlessly, his dark-haired head resting in his hand. When the two stood toe to toe the night before, he could not look squarely into his growing son’s blue eyes.

Elbow aff the table, lad! William immediately regretted the admonishing tone of his voice.

George obeyed without lifting his head to meet his father’s gaze.

William rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and tugged on his wool vest. He turned the chair opposite George around and sat down, crossing his forearms across the back of the chair. It’s been four years. Four years since yer mother, God rest her soul, passed. Jus’ look at this house. William swept his arm in a panoramic motion. It’s in desperate need of a woman’s touch. And ye and Maggie need a mother.

George narrowed his blue eyes and shot his father a dark glance. I do not need a mother.

Maybe so, but what about yer nine-year-old sister? Don’t ye think she needs a mother?

William waited patiently for a response, but George only returned to stirring his cold porridge.

Aren’t ye tired of eatin’ the same stew all the time? Wouldn’t a good cook be a welcome change? William switched tactics to persuade his son.

George’s disinterest in continuing their argument prevailed.

Ahh, say what ye will, but the Widow Findlay and I are getting married! Take the day to sit with that. I expect ye to be civil with her the next time ye see her! William stood and turned the chair back around, allowing it to drop to the floor. I have to git to the colliery.

William pulled on his coal dusted coat and grabbed his cap from the hook by the front door. He weighed his next words. I miss her too, lad. But it’s time for life to move on.

Move on? How do ye move on from losing someone ye love and replace her with someone else? George wondered. Out of respect for his father, he voiced no more questions or objections.

His sister, Maggie, emerged from her tiny bedroom at the sound of the front door slamming. Are ye home for the day? she asked as she crawled up into her brother’s lap.

Aye. George ran a callused hand through the brown ringlets in his sister’s hair. I thought ye said ye were too big to sit in my lap anymore now that ye turned nine years old?

I am. Just this one more time. I don’t like it when ye fight with father. Everyone in Hamilton could hear ye two last night.

George turned his head to look at his sister’s round face. Is that the cause of yer stomach ache this morning?

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and leaned her head back against her brother’s chest. I think the Widow Findlay is nice.

Oh, ye do now? Do ye think those twin boys of hers are nice, too?

She shrugged again. It might be nice to be older than someone in the house for once.

Ye might not think it so nice when ye have to help take care of those ruffians! George hoped his comments would discourage his sister, but he perceived his father was correct - Maggie needed a mother. The two men knew nothing of ribbons, bows, or even how to make a proper cake.

I’m hungry, Georgie. Maggie rubbed her stomach.

The porridge is cold. I’ll have to heat it up for ye. George rose and set his sister down in his now empty wooden chair. The pot of porridge rested on the side of the stove. He threw more wood into the stove for the reheating.

This will take a bit. How ‘bout a glass of milk while ye wait? George asked.

Yes, please.

George poured his sister a glass of milk and turned back toward the stove. He glanced to his left and stared out the dingy window onto the street outside their row house. The sun filtered past the roof and cast a shadowy outline of the home onto the street. The mid-morning sky bore a crisp blue hue. By this hour of the day, his mother would have already washed the windows and worked in her garden. George lamented over the overgrown patch of vegetables that he and his father lacked the skill for cultivating.

The surviving Kennard family members had managed just fine over the last four years. Why shouldn’t the next four years be the same? George reasoned. With his pay from the mine, they might afford some nicer things for young Maggie and afford more fresh vegetables that someone else toiled over. They did not need the Widow Findlay to get along. But he understood his father’s loneliness.

He picked up the pan and scooped the heated porridge into a clean bowl for his sister. Do I need to apologize to father when he gets home? George asked.

Maggie looked up from her bowl. Her thick lashes veiled her blue eyes. She smiled and nodded. Thankfully for George, she voiced no words of condemnation.

Alright, then. George took the seat opposite his sister. I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets home. And if he wants to marry the Widow Findlay, so be it. But ye and those two little terrors all best be behaving, or I’ll have a say in it!

A distant blast disrupted Maggie’s giggles. The window panes reverberated, and the bowls rocked in place on the wooden table. The two sat motionless for a second.

What was that, Georgie? Maggie looked wide-eyed at her brother.

George’s heart sank as he recalled the miners’ stories and eyewitness accounts of the disaster at the Blantyre Colliery some ten years earlier in 1877. He rushed to the door, not bothering to gather his coat or cap.

Stay here! he commanded Maggie before he ran into the street.

As George ran up the cobblestone street toward the Colliery, others joined him in the street as they emerged from their homes. The teenager’s long legs carried him faster than everyone else, as he dodged in between the wives, mothers, and old men.

He vaulted over a stone wall and stopped in his tracks. A black dust cloud billowed from the mine entrance. The colliery management roped off an area in front of the entrance and shouted instructions to the arriving rescuers. They provided a promise for an update as soon as possible and a place to wait away from the entrance.

George searched frantically through the few mine workers he recognized as office workers. Dear God, please let my father be alright, he prayed. He stumbled forward as he felt a hand push against his back. He turned to see an old man, his face lined with winkles, and his eyes dim.

Ye look like ye have a strong back. If ye able, lend a hand. The man held out an ordinary garden shovel he had carried from his home to George.

George grasped the shovel and sprinted toward the mine. He spotted a man he knew to be a mine foreman. Where do ye need me? he asked.

The man turned and eyed George. Kennard? I would have thought ye were in the mine. There... He pointed. Take yer shovel and the wheelbarrow over yonder to the front of the mine. Do whatever yer asked to do.

George nodded, unable to speak. His defense of staying home with a sick sister was insignificant now. Once he reached the entrance, other rescuers directed him to inside the mine. He dug to remove the debris and rocks dislodged by the explosion at a feverish pace; a pace which tested his physical limits.

Men from the two neighboring collieries arrived within an hour of the explosion to join the town’s rescue efforts. George complied with every instruction given to him by the more experienced miners. Receiving direction from others freed him to work diligently, without dwelling on the unknown of his father’s fate.

By late afternoon, they evacuated men in two of the coal seams unaffected by the explosion. George’s father was not one of them. George bent over and rested his hands on his thighs, hoping a deeper breath would give him strength to continue.

Lad, get yerself a drink of water... and bandages for those hands. An older miner instructed him, nodding toward George’s hands.

George looked down to see his callouses open and bleeding. He felt nothing, but he obeyed the man’s orders and went to a nearby bucket to draw a ladle of water. The cool water helped calm the rawness of his dry throat. He sat down on a small stone wall as the chaos of the rescue efforts continued. They seemed no more organized, or quieter, than when he first arrived on the scene. His singular focus was on rescuing his father, but as he sat still now, he took an inventory of the missing miners he knew personally; a dozen names came to him, including his former schoolmate and friend, Andrew. He recalled the faces of lads, not yet teenagers, trapped in the mine.

George! George!

George turned toward the sound of the Widow Findlay’s voice.

Where is yer father? Have ye seen yer father yet? Widow Findlay grasped his arm as she balanced one of her six-year-old twins on her slim hip. Her brown eyes pleaded for an answer.

He shook his head. Seeing the toddler reminded him suddenly of his sister he left at home. Maggie! He exclaimed and turned back to look toward his home. She would be worried and hungry by now.

Don’t worry about Maggie. I fetched her from yer home and took her to mine. I knew ye would run to the front to volunteer with the rescue. I just could not wait any longer without knowing a thing!

Thank ye, George responded with a hoarse voice. His throat burned from the smoke from the mine.

The wives... Widow Findlay paused, unsure of George’s reaction to describing herself as a wife. Several women are praying together in the church. I am taking Maggie there. Let me know as soon as ye hear any news about yer father. Please!

Recent tears streamed a path through the soot on the Widow’s face. Her voice reflected both compassion and fear. Despite his objections to their marriage, he recognized her love for his father. He prayed the opportunity to tell his father he was wrong about the Widow had not passed.

I will tell ye as soon as I have any news. George wrapped his arm around her shoulder above her free hip. She held onto him for a moment and then turned back up the street.

He dipped another ladle of cold water from the bucket and emptied it over his head. He returned to the rescue efforts in time to see searchers returning with the bodies of men on stretchers. An anxious line of family members waited to identify the fallen, but the bodies were burned beyond recognition. As more and more bodies emerged, the hope of his father being alive faded.

He offered a last plea to God. Please God, if he is alive, let someone find him soon. He grappled with his last appeal. And if he not be alive, don’t let him have burned up.

When night fell, the work continued by lantern light. The workers now took shifts working while others dozed on the ground on makeshift beds. George found a spot and folded his body under a wool blanket to warm himself against the cool night air. The shouts of men asking for help woke him suddenly.

Groggy, he stood and went to the edge of the mine opening. What’s happening? he asked a middle-aged miner directing the labor.

They’ve found a group of men in one seam and are bringing them up now.

Alive? Are they alive? George asked.

The man turned to look directly at George’s face. No, lad. God rest their souls.

George looked away and fought back tears. He would reserve his tears for the knowing, and not for what might be. When he turned back, he took a step forward, as he glimpsed a body belonging to a big man, covered by a blanket, emerging from the mine. At a jostle of the stretcher, the man’s arm fell from the side of the stretcher, revealing a tattered edge of a coat sleeve, missing the center of the three buttons. George’s father had lost the center button on his coat the day his mother died, and William refused to have it replaced.

When the older miner witnessed George’s countenance fall at the sight of the stretcher, he directed the two men to lower the stretcher to the ground. With a shaky hand, George dragged the blanket back from the lifeless body. The familiar coal-smudged face of his father confirmed his worse fears.

George dropped to his knees and pressed his fists against his face. His body, racked with the pain of his labors, now shook with inconsolable tears.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a welcomed familiar voice.

It’s time to let him go, George. There are more who are waiting for their loved ones.

Andrew! George looked over his shoulder at his friend, who had emerged from the depths of the mine.

Blackened from head to toe with soot, Andrew’s red hair clung to his forehead from the sweat. Aye. I was far away from the blast. It just took time for rescuers to reach me. I’ve been looking for ye since they brought me up.

I just wanted the chance to tell him I was sorry. And tell him I loved him one more time, George whispered.

George stood and motioned the two men carrying his father’s stretcher away. All of his efforts to rescue his father were in vain. He failed his father. He failed the other miners. The two young friends embraced as their tears fell.

Chapter Two

T

he full recovery efforts at the Udston Colliery took over forty hours. Funerals for the seventy-three men and boys who died took place over the next several days. George Kennard cared about only one funeral on this rainy Saturday morning.

His father loved Scotland, and even though he seldom traveled outside the central lowlands, he often said he could not imagine a more beautiful land on earth. Now, his father’s body would lie beneath the lush green grass of his homeland.

As the brother and sister prepared for the funeral, George struggled with buttoning the tiny jacket he wrapped around Maggie. His hands were too large and unskilled for the simple task

I don’t need a coat. Maggie objected to George’s awkward efforts. If I wanted a coat, I would button it up myself!

Ye will wish ye had a coat when ye feel the wet Scottish spring seeping through yer cotton dress. Besides, after church, we’ll be outside by the... George looked away. The word graveside did not leave his lips. Trust me, ye will want for a coat later.

Maggie placed her small hands on either side of her brother’s face and turned his face toward hers. Are ye very sad, Georgie?

Aye, wee one. I am very sad.

Mother said when Christians die, our tears are always for ourselves. Do ye believe she was right?

George wiped a single tear from his sister’s pink cheek with his thumb as he fought back his own tears. Aye. I do.

Well, when we’re done feeling sorry for ourselves, we will be just fine then. We have each other, Maggie said.

His sister bore the likeness of their mother in the way her eyes danced and the hue of her brown hair. Now, as he heard his sister voicing his mother’s words of comfort, he experienced the weight of his mother’s absence, too.

It’s a good thing I have such a wise lassie to take care of me! he said, rallying all his strength for his sister.

Maggie shrugged and unbuttoned the top two buttons on her coat to free her neck from its tight grip. It’s a good thing I have a tall brother to get things off the top shelves.

George allowed a laugh to escape his lips. She had their father’s dry wit.

He handed one of his mother’s scarves to Maggie and instructed her to wrap it around her head. He took his cap from a hook beside the door and stepped into the rain with his sister by his side.

Before the service began, the Widow Findlay and her twin boys slid into the wooden pew behind the two Kennard children. George twisted in the first pew and motioned her to sit beside Maggie. His father considered her to be family. He would honor his memory by doing the same. After the Widow took her new seat, she pulled a plain linen handkerchief from her purse and whispered last instructions to the boys to remain still.

George squeezed his sister’s hand throughout the church service, more so for his comfort than his sister’s. When she leaned into his side, he draped his arm over her slight shoulders.

The minister’s words of encouragement from the pulpit meant little to George. William and his children had rarely attended church since his wife’s death. His father gave the excuse his work in the mine kept him from church whenever the minister would inquire at their home. But his father struggled to return to the church his wife loved. He heard his father wonder aloud why God had taken his beautiful bride away from him on more than one occasion.

With both his mother and father gone, George sensed nothing but a void between himself and the Savior he committed himself to when he was Maggie’s age. Today, the promise of Heaven when a Christian died seemed insignificant.

How could an all-powerful God not save his only parent from death? God had protected the life of Andrew. Why not his father also? Why not all the men and boys in the mine that day?

Outside the small masonry church, George escorted his sister to their place beside the casket. Across from the two siblings, the Widow Findlay looked on, with her twin sons clinging to her skirt. William Kennard had taken a place in the young boys’ hearts. He would play with the lads and toss each up into the air until his strength gave out. With the death of his father, the two boys lost two men they called father in a brief span of their lives.

After they said the last goodbyes at the graveside, the persistent rain subsided. All the attendees, except the Widow and her sons, turned away to their respective homes.

A man in a dark suit who waited at the edge of the funeral party approached George. He recognized his face from the Colliery.

Mr. Kennard, may I have a word with ye in private? the man asked.

George studied the stern face for a moment before he knelt beside Maggie. Go see Widow Findlay for a few minutes while I talk with this gentleman.

Maggie looked up at the lanky man and nodded her agreement before she ran away to the Widow Findlay’s side.

The man came closer and lowered his black umbrella. Mr. Kennard, my name is Thomson. First, let me express my sincerest condolences at yer loss. I did not know yer father personally, but I heard he was a man of character and a hard worker.

George responded with a nod to acknowledge the man’s words. The man would hardly care his father’s hard work took his life.

There will be some compensation for yer family coming from the colliery. But I wanted to speak to ye about another matter. The man waited until he had George’s full attention. As ye may know, the home ye live in is owned by the colliery. The condition to live there is, of course, based on an occupant working in the mine.

The man bent his head upward to meet George’s stare. George straightened his back and braced himself against the man’s words.

I work at the mine too, Mr. Thomson. I was home that, that day with my sick sister. George did not hide his contempt.

Yes, of course. How fortunate for yer sister ye and yer father were not both lost. My intent is to ensure ye are aware yer work in the mine will need to continue if ye wish to remain in the home.

I understand, George said through clenched teeth.

Thomson looked past George to his sister, who was playing with the Findlay twins. I can imagine ye may feel uncomfortable returning. He paused and turned back to George. But without ye to support her, I believe yer sister would go to an orphanage. Ye wouldn’t want that, would ye?

George turned his upper body toward his sister, who giggled as the three children played tag. He perceived Thomson’s words as a threat - a threat to their livelihood. He had no choice but to return to work in the same mine where his father died. From this day forward, life held nothing more for him than the dark recesses of the mine. He turned back to Thomson and took a step closer. I have every intention of taking care of my sister, Mr. Thomson. No matter the cost.

Good. The pit will be closed until the work is complete to make it safe again. But once it is done, I trust we will see ye there. Thomson tipped his hat at George and navigated down the green grassy slope to the nearby road.

Did ye get the ‘someone needs to work at the mine to keep yer home’ warning? The minister’s voice came from behind George.

George turned around. The weight of the recent tragedy etched deep lines in the minister’s forehead. His generous smile and the usual brightness to his eyes were both absent. George pondered if this man of God ever doubted God during times like this, as he noticed the minister’s serious expression.

Aye. How did ye know? George asked.

He’s delivered that same ultimatum to several families in the last few days. And always at the graveside. At the cruelest place and time. The minister shook his head in disapproval.

George scowled. Perhaps because he does not know who any of the family are and has to capture them at the graveside.