The Potter's Lady (2 page)

“I’ll not be finding fault with you, for I’ve had a wee bit of trouble putting my own advice into practice these past weeks.”

Rose turned to face her brother. “What kind of trouble? Nothing with Laura or the girls, is it?”

“Nay. As I said, they’re all fine. I’ll tell you later. We’ll have more than enough time to talk on the train.” He glanced out the carriage window. “I was hoping to have a bit of time to visit Fairmount Park before we boarded the train. Mrs. Woodfield said it would be quite lovely this time of year. Have you been there?”

“Aye. She’s right. The park is beautiful. I visited last spring but haven’t been there since then.”

Her thoughts rushed back to the visit that had proved to be an opportunity for her classmates to inflict another of their many pranks. They had completed their tour of the zoological gardens, and Mrs. Fisk agreed they could go to the small bridge that crossed the brook and then meet her at the pavilion for lunch. Rose still didn’t know who had pushed her into the brook, but the visit had been cut short because of the incident. Mrs. Fisk had been unhappy. After all, she’d reminded them they shouldn’t go near the water. Rose didn’t reveal she’d been pushed. She knew it would only cause retribution.

“Then I’m doubly sorry we do not have time. I’m sure you would have enjoyed another visit.”

Rose shook her head. “I’ve had my fill of city life, Ewan. I’m eager to return to Bartlett.”

They had been on the train for more than an hour, yet Ewan hadn’t decided how to tell Rose about the troubles at home. This should be a happy time for her. She’d finished school and was returning to her family. At least that’s what she believed. Before they stopped in Grafton to tour at least two businesses, he’d be forced to tell her the truth.

When she glanced at him, he offered her a weak smile. It was the most he could muster right now.

“Tell me what has happened at home these past weeks, Ewan.”

He massaged his forehead and pretended to concentrate. “Let me think. What has been happening?” He inhaled a deep breath. “Laura, her mother, and the twins have been busy planning a party to celebrate all your accomplishments. From what I’ve been told, it is going to be the best party of the season, maybe the entire year. The invitations have gone out, and the response has been superb. Those are Laura’s words, not mine.” He forced a smile. “Laura and her mother have been busy planning the decorations and creating menus.”

Rose sighed. “You know it isn’t the party I’m asking about. I’m not a child. There’s something more that’s causing the worry I see in your eyes.”

Ewan leaned against the hard wooden seat, wishing he’d paid the extra price to ride in one of the expensive coaches with padded seating. When they arrived at their next stop, he’d see if tickets were available for one of those more comfortable coaches. Perhaps he shouldn’t spend the money right now, but if he was going to be alert when they arrived in Grafton, he’d need some rest.

After inhaling a deep breath, Ewan grasped his sister’s hand. “Aunt Margaret has become more difficult to deal with now that Uncle Hugh has died.” Ewan rubbed his jaw. “She has forced me out of the brickyard.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “What? How? You’re a partner.”

Ewan shook his head. “I’m not a partner. Uncle Hugh promised to draw up the agreement after Laura and I married, but since his mind was gone after he suffered the high fever and apoplexy, the papers were never signed.”

The hard wood seemed to poke Ewan’s bones, and he shifted sideways as the train chugged onward. Rose’s eyes shone with fear, or was it anger? Back when Hugh’s illness had rendered him helpless as a bairn, Ewan decided the girls should not be drawn into the problems regarding the brickyard. Laura and her mother had agreed. But now, with Aunt Margaret’s recent decision looming over him, he had no choice.

“Why didn’t I know all of this before now?” Rose’s lips tightened into a hard line.

Ewan offered a brief account of how he’d come to his decision, but her shoulders stiffened when he said he hadn’t wanted to burden her or the twins.

When Rose didn’t respond, he sighed. “Can’t ya see, Rose? ’Twould have served no purpose.”

“I’m not a child. You lump me together with the twins and act as though I’m too young to understand anything.”

“That’s not true, Rose. You were busy with schoolwork, and we didn’t want to distract you.” He hesitated a moment. “I think that’s the word Laura used.” He nodded. “Aye. We should not distract you from your studies.” Deciding it might be best to take the offensive, he folded his arms across his chest. “Had you known about this, what would you have done?”

She was silent for a moment. “I would have come home.”

“That is exactly what we thought you would do. We agreed you were too close to finishing at the design school, and we did not want you to quit.”

Rose appeared sullen for several minutes, and Ewan decided it was best to let her absorb the news. If he’d only been more observant, Margaret’s motives would have been clear months ago. Why had he been so unmindful when, on her own, she’d hired Andrew Culligan? Never before had she hired any worker for the brickyard. She said he’d been hired because of his knowledge and as a favor to a friend, but what friend? Margaret’s friends were far and few between, and Ewan had never before heard any mention of a Culligan family. But he’d simply accepted her word and put the man to work operating the pug mill, the horse-drawn machine where they tempered the clay.

Before long, Margaret had reassigned Culligan to work the VerValen machinery. She’d insisted he was far too experienced to be working the pug mill. And she’d been correct. The man knew as much about brickmaking as Ewan, although the two men disagreed about quality. Ewan insisted upon proper mixing, drying, and firing to ensure the finest bricks Crothers & McKay could produce, while Mr. Culligan was prone to taking shortcuts to increase profits. The idea of those extra earnings pleased Aunt Margaret more than the production of first-rate bricks.

When Aunt Margaret had brought Mr. Culligan to the office a few weeks ago and instructed Ewan to explain all of the contracts, bookkeeping, and time records, he’d advised against the idea. “You don’t know this man well at all. You shouldn’t give him access to all of our financial records, Aunt Margaret. It isn’t wise.”

She had vehemently argued that someone else should understand the business aspects of the C&M Brickyard. After all, what if Ewan should suffer the same fate as Hugh? What would she do then? There would be no one to help her through the muddle. Ewan had considered telling her that Laura could help.

They had purchased the brickyard from Laura’s mother, and it had been Laura who had taught Ewan how to keep the books and read contracts. And it had been Laura and Mrs. Woodfield who had introduced Ewan to the men who eventually placed large orders for C&M bricks. However, any mention of Laura’s name to his aunt would only create further hostility.

Since Uncle Hugh’s illness, Laura had refrained from visiting the brickyard. Aunt Margaret continued to regard Laura as an interloper who’d married Ewan with the idea of one day having the brickyard returned to the Woodfield name. Of course, this assumption was without merit, yet convincing Aunt Margaret had proved impossible.

“I suppose you were right not to tell me right away. There’s nothing I could have done, but I wish there was some way I could help.” Rose offered him a meager smile, but the usual shimmer had disappeared from her blue eyes.

He reached for her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Before this journey ends, you may be able to help me a great deal. Laura’s mother is going to loan me money to purchase a new business, so there are some serious decisions to be made. But right now, we must disembark and catch our train to Grafton to tour one of them.”

Grafton, West Virginia

R
ylan Campbell bent his head low against the beating wind. A flash of lightning and a rumble overhead signaled a spring storm would soon arrive in Grafton, West Virginia. Several fat raindrops splattered the brim of his cap as he crossed the railroad tracks that fronted the Bancock Pottery Works. Once inside, he pulled off his cap and slapped it against his pant leg. As he continued toward the office, he greeted several of the jiggermen, turners, and handlers who’d arrived only moments earlier.

Over the years, Rylan had worked with most of them, at least for short periods of time. There had been longer training periods in some areas, but once he’d turned sixteen, his stints had been primarily to learn the intricacies of properly performing each task. He’d been assigned to some areas more than once, mostly when they ran short of help, but once a new worker was hired, he’d be transferred to learn another phase of the business.

The owner, Mr. Bancock, had taken a liking to Rylan, and because the young man was eager to learn, promotions had been swift and frequent. Though none of the other workers had exhibited any resentment toward him, there were some who thought he lacked the experience to become Mr. Bancock’s assistant.

He’d begun work at the pottery when he was only twelve years old and had never opened his lunch pail anywhere else. But even Rylan understood that most anyone would consider a man of twenty and four too young to oversee a pottery works. However, he’d done so when Mr. Bancock had fallen ill last year, and he’d won the respect of his fellow workers. When Mr. Bancock returned, he’d educated Rylan in the business aspects of the pottery. He’d encouraged the young man to learn about contracts, shipping schedules, wages, and hiring employees. And when he’d completed his training, the older man declared him talented enough to own his own pottery works one day.

Rylan had nodded and smiled at the adulation, but he knew a poor Irishman would never have enough money to own a pottery works, and so did Mr. Bancock. Still, the two of them pretended that maybe one day it would happen. Maybe one day Rylan would come into enough money to purchase a pottery of his own. And maybe one day pigs would fly.

Robert Wilson, one of the talented jiggermen and foreman in the clay shop, hastened to meet Rylan’s stride. “I hear we’re to have some visitors today.”

Rylan nodded. “That’s my understanding.” No use denying the truth, though he wondered who had disclosed the information. Other than the overseers of each work area, Mr. Bancock and Rylan hadn’t informed anyone else of the impending visit. It seemed one of the overseers had loose lips, and the news had spread through the pottery like wildfire on a hot summer day.

“Terrible shame Mr. Bancock’s illness is gonna cause him to sell the business. What’s that gonna mean for all of us?” He arched his bushy eyebrows. “Think we should be looking for jobs at one of the other potteries? I’m not eager to move, but I hear tell there’s always openings at the potteries in East Liverpool.”

“Now why would ya even be considering such a thing, Robert? ’Twould be foolish to head off to Ohio when there’s no reason. Having someone come to take a look around means nothing more than that. Who’s to say if he even has the money to buy the place?” Neither Rylan nor Mr. Bancock wanted any of the employees to quit their jobs. They needed every one of them to keep the place operating. Giving Robert a friendly slap on the shoulder, Rylan gave a wink. “Besides, any owner, whether Mr. Bancock or someone new, would count his blessings to have a jiggerman fine as yerself working for him.”

“That may be true, but who’s to say for certain what any new owner might do?” Rylan’s compliment hadn’t satisfied Robert in the least. He’d heard his abilities touted by many through the years, so Rylan’s words hadn’t eased the man’s concern. “I need to put food on the table for my family, so it would be good to know if Mr. Bancock plans to be fair and honest with those of us who have been loyal to him.”

The moment they stepped inside, the gathering clouds burst forth. Sheets of rain pummeled the expanse between the railroad tracks and the front door and pounded on the windows. The rain would be welcomed by the steamer captains who traversed the Tygart River. With less snow than usual last winter, the thaw hadn’t provided enough runoff to raise the Tygart to the navigable levels they preferred. The rain would also be appreciated by Mr. Bancock and all the other businesses that shipped their goods by steamer.

Bancock Pottery was situated on acreage between the railroad tracks and the Tygart River. The location was one of the pottery works’ greatest assets. If the river wasn’t navigable due to winter’s freeze or summer’s lack of rain, Bancock Pottery could still ship pottery by rail.

“Mr. Bancock has never been anything but forthright with his workers. I don’t think you need to be doubting him now, Robert.”

Rylan had spoken the truth, but he didn’t add the fact that there had been few contracts signed over the past months, a happenstance that made both Mr. Bancock and Rylan nervous. This was the month when most of their buyers either sent word or arrived at the pottery to negotiate what they would purchase throughout the coming year. On several occasions, Mr. Bancock had voiced concern that some of their customers had learned of his illness and were contracting with other potteries. While Rylan shared that concern, he also feared their most experienced workers would soon locate other jobs. If that should happen, Bancock Pottery would quickly revert from a valuable asset to a worthless liability. Such a catastrophe would place all of them in dire straits.