know there’s not much choice but to accept his offer, but I’ll not be doing anything until I spend some time in prayer. Best you not say anything to anyone else. When the business is sold, I want to be the one to tell the workers. And if it’s to Mr. McKay, I’ll ask him to be present when I do.” Though it was only two o’clock, Mr. Bancock pushed to his feet. “I’m going home for the remainder of the day. Please see to closing up, Rylan.”
Rylan wasn’t surprised to hear that Mr. Bancock would pray about his decision, nor was he surprised to hear the owner wanted to be the one to tell his workers when the business sold. However, he had expected Mr. Bancock to be more forthcoming about the amount Mr. McKay had offered. Though the owner had no obligation to tell Rylan, he had been included in all of the business conducted in the office for more than two years. Truth be told, he knew as much about the assets and liabilities of the business as Mr. Bancock, for it was Rylan who balanced the ledgers, completed the payroll sheets, and placed the weekly wages in each employee’s pay envelope.
Rylan stepped to the door and stared at Mr. Bancock’s departing figure. Shoulders slumped, the old man trudged across the railroad tracks, a picture of defeat. Rylan longed to do something that would help save the business. Both for Mr. Bancock’s sake, as well as his own. For years, the pottery owner had provided Rylan more than a place to work. He’d been a teacher, a friend, and a substitute father. Mr. Bancock had helped Rylan turn loose of long-held resentments toward his father and stepmother. “You’re hurting yourself more than you’ll ever hurt them. With that root of bitterness growing in your heart, you’ll soon become mean and unlovable, a man others will avoid.” Rylan had listened to the older man’s counsel, and after many weeks of Mr. Bancock’s patient Bible teaching, Rylan had accepted the undeserved gift of God’s forgiveness. Eventually he’d forgiven his parents: his stepmother for the harsh changes she’d forced upon him, and his father for giving her the freedom to create a house filled with misery. Rylan had continued to forge his future and forget his wretched childhood, but now his nightmares had returned.
During working hours he’d set aside his own worries and encouraged his fellow employees, but when he went home at night, the past haunted him. Would the new employer be like his stepmother? Would he be degraded and humiliated? Would a new owner come into the pottery and force changes Rylan couldn’t accept?
During the week that followed, it took every ounce of strength Rylan could muster to avoid asking Mr. Bancock if he’d made a decision. Rylan had promised himself he would not inquire. Mr. Bancock would talk when he was ready. But Rylan didn’t know if he could stay his questions much longer.
He glanced at the clock and then looked out the front window, worried that his employer hadn’t yet appeared. When he’d finished posting the invoices and payments to the ledger, the clock chimed nine times. Mr. Bancock was late only on mornings when he had an appointment or when he was ill. He hadn’t mentioned an appointment when they departed last night. Fear prickled Rylan’s skin. What if Mr. Bancock’s condition had worsened and he needed help? In the past a neighbor boy would deliver a note to Rylan if the man needed him. But there had been no sign of the youngster today. Maybe Mr. Bancock was too ill to get out of bed and send a message.
Rylan grabbed his hat, then quickly closed and locked the office door. Before heading off, he stopped in the decorator shop and told Mr. Wheeler he’d be back shortly. As he spoke to the decorator, the rumble of an oncoming train sounded, and he chided himself for waiting so long. At least five minutes would pass before he could cross the tracks. If the train had extra cars, it could be even longer.
Rylan fixed his attention on the
Rylan wasn’t surprised to hear that Mr. Bancock would pray about his decision, nor was he surprised to hear the owner wanted to be the one to tell his workers when the business sold. However, he had expected Mr. Bancock to be more forthcoming about the amount Mr. McKay had offered. Though the owner had no obligation to tell Rylan, he had been included in all of the business conducted in the office for more than two years. Truth be told, he knew as much about the assets and liabilities of the business as Mr. Bancock, for it was Rylan who balanced the ledgers, completed the payroll sheets, and placed the weekly wages in each employee’s pay envelope.
Rylan stepped to the door and stared at Mr. Bancock’s departing figure. Shoulders slumped, the old man trudged across the railroad tracks, a picture of defeat. Rylan longed to do something that would help save the business. Both for Mr. Bancock’s sake, as well as his own. For years, the pottery owner had provided Rylan more than a place to work. He’d been a teacher, a friend, and a substitute father. Mr. Bancock had helped Rylan turn loose of long-held resentments toward his father and stepmother. “You’re hurting yourself more than you’ll ever hurt them. With that root of bitterness growing in your heart, you’ll soon become mean and unlovable, a man others will avoid.” Rylan had listened to the older man’s counsel, and after many weeks of Mr. Bancock’s patient Bible teaching, Rylan had accepted the undeserved gift of God’s forgiveness. Eventually he’d forgiven his parents: his stepmother for the harsh changes she’d forced upon him, and his father for giving her the freedom to create a house filled with misery. Rylan had continued to forge his future and forget his wretched childhood, but now his nightmares had returned.
During working hours he’d set aside his own worries and encouraged his fellow employees, but when he went home at night, the past haunted him. Would the new employer be like his stepmother? Would he be degraded and humiliated? Would a new owner come into the pottery and force changes Rylan couldn’t accept?
During the week that followed, it took every ounce of strength Rylan could muster to avoid asking Mr. Bancock if he’d made a decision. Rylan had promised himself he would not inquire. Mr. Bancock would talk when he was ready. But Rylan didn’t know if he could stay his questions much longer.
He glanced at the clock and then looked out the front window, worried that his employer hadn’t yet appeared. When he’d finished posting the invoices and payments to the ledger, the clock chimed nine times. Mr. Bancock was late only on mornings when he had an appointment or when he was ill. He hadn’t mentioned an appointment when they departed last night. Fear prickled Rylan’s skin. What if Mr. Bancock’s condition had worsened and he needed help? In the past a neighbor boy would deliver a note to Rylan if the man needed him. But there had been no sign of the youngster today. Maybe Mr. Bancock was too ill to get out of bed and send a message.
Rylan grabbed his hat, then quickly closed and locked the office door. Before heading off, he stopped in the decorator shop and told Mr. Wheeler he’d be back shortly. As he spoke to the decorator, the rumble of an oncoming train sounded, and he chided himself for waiting so long. At least five minutes would pass before he could cross the tracks. If the train had extra cars, it could be even longer.
Rylan fixed his attention on the
Similar Books
