I'll Burn With You (MXM)

Chapter 23 : To Mill Creek

Running the number through his head and counting the storeroom's inventory, Ben's stomach grew more and more unsettled. The previous day's deliveries had restocked everything wonderfully, shelves full up to the brim of items and articles for selling. The general store needed nothing to survive the next few days.

November sixth lingered just hours away.

Ben whined at the thought. He had hoped orders would be delayed, stuck on frozen-over mud roads or trapped in boxcars caught in standstills, so his father would ask him to travel to Mill Creek again. Something needing to be reordered. Emergency deliveries. Yet Durmont's weather had been the picture of autumnal perfection, not even a hard thunderstorm or threats of the encroaching winters. No ice, no snow, no sleet. The bitter winds were soft, uncharacteristic. Everything had run perfectly from the moment J. Byrd had sent that letter back confirming their meeting point. Even the pall that had clouded the house when he had first returned from Mill Creek had cleared, Mr. and Mrs. Price settling back into their marriage of apparent, yet mutual, annoyed ambivalence, going as far as to share the same bed again.

He kept counting, hoping to find something that would need immediate restocking. Anything to get him money in hand for a train from Durmont. Even inquiries for suppliers.

The storeroom was, in fact, overstocked.

Ben groaned and clutched the ledger, his nails digging into the leather cover.

The November sunshine bled through the storefront's windows, carts and wagons rolling up and down Broad Street. The shop hummed with the quiet perusing of guests, Theodore and Mr. Price's voices mixing comfortably with the noise. Jar tops unlatched and replaced, goods poured and cut, shuffling across the wooden countertop. The ring of the cash register. The front door opening and closing.

Ben's hands tightened. He wanted to extinguish the frustration building in him.

"Benjamin," called Mr. Price. "Put the ledger away. Go t' the post office," he called.

He scoffed under his breath, tossing it back into the space behind the counters. Glancing back once more into the calm, his fingernails digging into his palms, Ben trotted out the back door, his shoes crunching over the dried mud down the alley towards the Inn.

"...and here are my annotated questions and responses on the present financial projections for 1895," Jack sighed, handing his father a packet of papers. "I outlined in red, and they should be straightforward." He folded his hands behind his back.

Mr. Byrd Sr. 's eyes moved over the first page, gaze narrowing for a moment. He hummed before placing the papers down before him. "The notes I gave you on our residential expansion, you will have those notes back later tonight."

"Yes, sir. I have my own questions on that, as well."

His father stood. "Have you had the chance to look over some of the new advertisements for the coming year?"

"Not yet," Jack replied, his eyes glossed over. He had, in honestly, been meaning to stop into the art department at the factory to see how it all worked. "I will glance them over later."

"We have reopened talks of exporting our fabrics to Europe, but we are in the preliminary stages since we are starting from scratch. A representative will be in next week, and I would like you there."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any questions, concerns about it?"

"Yes, sir."

"...Jack?"

He blinked. "Sorry...what?"

"Unfocused, are we?" the older man asked.