Virginia withdrew her hand, yet she remained by Mrs. Curtis’s chair. “Tell me the whole story,” she begged. “I must know. I have the right to know.”
Even through her own grief, the anxiety and unhappiness of the girl touched the older woman. She raised her brimming eyes. Her temper had died away and she spoke rapidly, almost in a monotone, broken by sob hiccoughs. “At my husband’s death every thing that he left me was invested in our mill. It was a good business and should have given me and my boys the comforts and even the luxuries of life. Before his death, he had borrowed money to make improvements, giving notes secured by a mortgage upon the plant.
“After he had gone, I took charge of the mill and tried to run it myself. I was not a very good business woman. I had a hard time to pay the interest on our indebtedness. When the notes came due, I asked for a renewal but my request was refused. I was thunderstruck. I learned that your father had bought the notes, and wherever I tried to raise money I was refused because of his influence as a rival manufacturer. So I lost my mill and had to meet life, a widow with a baby and a young boy, a little money, and this old farm.”
A flash of her anger returned and she pointed at Obadiah. “My boys are raised in poverty while he stands there in the pride of his wealth. When he got the mill he never used it. He closed it, throwing good people who had worked for us for years out of employment. They had to move away and sacrifice their little homes. It brought sorrow to them as well as to me. He, Obadiah Dale, is to blame for all of this.”
Aunt Kate wiped a tear from her eye.
“Daddy,” Virginia said softly, “did you know the harm that you were doing to all of these people?” Her eyes searched his, as if to discover his answer before he could utter it, and her tones beseeched him to justify her love at the altar of her heart.
Obadiah stiffened. He held up his head and returned the look of his daughter squarely. He knew that he was giving battle for her love, aye, even for her respect. The old man was a fighter. “No!” he cried. “It is unjust to charge me with all of the sorrows and tribulations of this family. I built the first mill in this country–took the chances of opening the industry. The Brenton mill was established to compete with me. There was room for one big plant here and only one. Augustus Curtis knew it and expected to put me out of business. Mrs. Curtis”–Obadiah’s voice was firm now–“you have said some hard things about me today in the presence of my daughter and sister. I am entitled in common justice to my defence. I started in business without a dollar. Much worse off, I think, than your husband. Business has been a battle of supremacy with me. I have taken hard licks and I have given them. I have fought my way. Remember, I had to. A man must win or lose in business and many are the weapons used. I struck with the first one at hand and hit the man in front of me. Do you blame a soldier for the suffering of the dependents of those he kills in battle? I think not. Mrs. Curtis,” he continued, “you never met me before.”
“No,” she admitted.
“How did you recognize me?”
“My husband pointed you out to me in South Ridgefield,” she sobbed.