Authors: Judith Miller
“Aye, ’tis mostly bad news, for sure. The doctor still hasn’t decided what’s ailing Laura. It’s most perplexing. Some days she feels fine, and other days she takes to her bed and isn’t able to do much at all.”
Beatrice carefully watched Margaret’s reaction. The woman loved to hear any scrap of bad news regarding the McKay family. Even more, she wanted to hear about Tessa, her sister Kathleen’s child. The rift between Margaret and the McKays had begun over the brickyard, but it had deepened tenfold when the couple took in Kathleen during her confinement and then adopted the child.
“Poor little Tessa doesn’t know what to think when her mother is ailing. Sad it is to see the wee one so confused by her mother’s failure to even kiss her good-night.”
As planned, her final comment hit the mark, and Margaret frowned. “They told my sister they would provide a wonderful home for her child. What kind of mother doesn’t kiss her baby good-night? I knew Kathleen would rue the day she turned to them for help.”
Beatrice lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “What was Kathleen to do when you sent her packin’? Nobody in the family was brave enough to lend her a hand. They knew they’d suffer your wrath if they so much as offered her a place to lay her head. Truth is, I think Kathleen did the only thing she could to protect herself and the wee one. Can’t say as I blame her for deciding to give Tessa a better home than she could ever provide. And smart she was for going to New York and learnin’ a trade. Wish I could live in a big city like New York.”
Margaret waved her to silence. “I don’t care a whit about your opinions, Beatrice. My sister’s child isn’t being properly cared for, and she should know. I penned her a letter after your last visit and told her Laura was in poor health. Do you know what her first question was to me?”
Beatrice helped herself to another biscuit and shook her head. “Nay. What did she ask?”
“How I managed to get her address.”
Taken aback by the answer, Beatrice inhaled a piece of her biscuit and went into a coughing spasm. Margaret pounded her on the back and pointed to her teacup. “Take a drink.”
Beatrice quickly complied, and when the coughing finally abated, she withdrew her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “You didn’t tell her I gave you the address, did you?”
“I’m not foolish enough to betray my sources, Beatrice. When I replied, I said I had my ways. I did say that if she cared about the welfare of her daughter, it would behoove her to pay a visit in the near future.”
“I wish you hadn’t written to Kathleen. If she writes to Laura and tells her what you’ve said, there’s going to be questions about how you learned of Laura’s illness. This could all come back to haunt me.” Her stomach clenched tight around the biscuits and jam she’d eaten.
“Quit your worrying. A simple answer is all that’s required. I can merely say that I overheard some ladies talking at a social function, but I don’t recall exactly where.” Margaret flitted her hand in the air. “Easy as that. No need to get yourself in a dither. Now settle yourself and tell me what else has been happening.”
Margaret’s reassurance eased Beatrice’s fears. The older woman knew how to sidestep questions; she would protect Beatrice. After all, Aunt Margaret didn’t want to lose her ability to gain information about the McKays.
“What about the pottery? Any news on how the business is doing? I do hope Ewan is having as much difficulty as I’ve been having with the brickyard.” She shook her head in disgust. “How he managed to keep all of those contractors in Wheeling and Pittsburgh happy is beyond me. I’m having a terrible time trying to please them, and now some of them have threatened to take their business elsewhere. They say the bricks aren’t the same quality, but I think they’re lying to me.”
Beatrice didn’t know anything about how Ewan had managed contracts for the brickyard, but she did know that, thanks to her, he was having little success in gaining contracts for the pottery. “He’s not doing so well at the pottery. Most of the contracts he bids on have been going to another pottery in Fairmont. From what I’ve been able to hear, he’s worried they may not make a go of it unless . . .” Her words faded away like a summer evening.
Margaret turned her head and positioned her ear closer. Her desire for any morsel of bad news was now exposed like the underbelly of a viper. “Unless what?”
Beatrice savored the moment. The sense of power wielded at times such as this was as warm and intoxicating as the occasional glass of whiskey she shared with Joshua. “I’ve been thinking that my needs continue to increase with each passing day, and you’ve never given me more than a few coins for the helpful information I place on your doorstep each time I visit or write to you. A bit of extra money would be helpful, what with the train fare and other expenses I suffer with each visit.” She tipped her head and smiled. “A new dress would be ever so nice, but a nanny can’t afford the lovely gowns owned by someone such as you.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. Though her lips stretched into a forced smile, she’d clearly found no humor in the request. Her features remained tight as she placed her teacup on the tray. “If the information you’re bringing me is worth more than usual, I’d be willing to add a few extra coins to your pocket.”
“I think you’ll find it worth more than a few coins.” After such an intriguing lure, Beatrice had expected her aunt to readily agree to any requested sum. Either Aunt Margaret wasn’t as interested as Beatrice had first thought, or she was determined to hold tight to her purse strings.
Margaret picked up the teapot and tipped it over her cup. As the amber brew splashed into her teacup, she gave Beatrice a sideways glance. “I’m not foolish, Beatrice. You need to remember who it is you’re dealing with. Once I hear what news you’ve brought, we’ll decide how much it is worth.” She placed the teapot onto the tray and picked up her cup. “I believe you were going to tell me about something that might save Ewan’s pottery.” She arched her brows and waited.
There was no use prolonging this match of wills with her aunt. If she didn’t soon complete her visit, there would be no time to shop in Bartlett. “There’s a contest being sponsored by a hotel in Pittsburgh.” Beatrice detailed the information she’d secured from Rose. “If they win, they’ll be happy as pigs in clover. That contract will set them up for years to come. Leastwise, that’s my understanding. And you can be sure Rose will be entering her very best work. She’s feeling responsible for the losses at the pottery since she’s the one who promised Ewan all her fancy schooling would make the pottery a success.” Beatrice snorted. “Guess she’s finding out it takes more than some fancy school in the big city to make a business successful.”
“So Ewan’s laying the blame at her feet, is he?”
“I don’t know as he’s faulting her so much as she’s taking it on herself. One of the twins told me Rose convinced both Mrs. Woodfield and Ewan that the pottery was the best idea for the family business, ’cause she could make it succeed.”
Margaret rang for Fia, and once the maid appeared, she pointed to the tea tray and waved her from the room. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Fia wasn’t nearby and then leaned forward. “Do you think Rose can win this contest?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Who can say for sure, but she can certainly draw nice designs. She won some big contest while she was in school. And Mrs. Woodfield took both Rose and Rylan Campbell—he’s Ewan’s assistant—up to Pittsburgh so’s they could see Mr. Franklin’s biggest hotel and maybe get some special ideas.” Beatrice fidgeted with her reticule. “I need to be getting along, and I’m lookin’ for twice as many coins today.”
Margaret shook her head. “I’ll get your money, but I won’t be paying ya double. However, if you want to earn that much, you might want to come up with some way to spoil the possibility of Rose winning that contest.” The older woman’s eyes shone with an undeniable vengeance. “Ewan McKay might think I’ve forgotten how he interfered in the problems between Kathleen and me, but he’s wrong.” Margaret tapped her finger to the side of her head. “I have a long memory.”
“And a strong desire for revenge.” Beatrice edged forward on the sofa. “I’m not sure what I can do about causing Rose to lose the contest, but I’ll do me best. Of that you can be sure.” She pushed to her feet. “If you have me money, I’ll tuck it in me bag and be on me way.”
Beatrice didn’t want to be subjected to any more of Margaret’s discourse regarding Ewan and his family or her miserly tricks. Each time she came calling, she was forced to hear Margaret’s recollections of how Laura had wormed her way into the family by marrying Ewan for the sole purpose of regaining control of the brickyard that Laura’s mother had sold to Uncle Hugh. That tirade would be followed by a lengthy rant about a friend of Mrs. Woodfield’s who had supposedly convinced Uncle Hugh to donate enough bricks to construct the local widows’ and orphans’ home.
When she finished that tale, Aunt Margaret would once again detail how Hugh had decided to make Ewan a full partner in the brickyard shortly before his apoplexy. As she related that event, the words would spew from her mouth like venom. Once she’d completely purged herself of all dealings that had created a chasm in the family, she’d sigh and utter how thankful she’d been that her husband had become incapacitated before he could sign the papers and give away what rightfully belonged to her.
“You could stay and visit a while longer. I might be able to help you come up with a plan. Perhaps you could discover some way to destroy her designs so that they’ll miss the deadline for the contest.”
Beatrice cleared her throat and pulled Margaret back from her thoughts. “Don’t concern yourself with a plan. Until they begin working on their designs, there’s no telling what might succeed. If I see there’s gonna be problems, I’ll bring meself over and then we’ll talk.” When Margaret didn’t make a move, Beatrice held her reticule in the air and gave it a slight shake.
Margaret frowned, but she stood and strode toward the door. “I’ll go and get your money.”
Her aunt had been gone only a few moments when Fia scuttled into the room. “How’ve ya been, Beatrice? Do ya still like living over in Grafton? I know you’re missed at home.”
“I like Grafton just fine, Fia.” Beatrice glanced toward the doorway and then leaned close to the maid’s ear. “If you and Melva would be brave enough to tell Margaret you’re thinking to go to work at the hotel in town, I’m sure she’d raise your wages.”
Fia’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know. As soon as we mention money, the missus starts talking about how ungrateful we are after Hugh brought us over from Ireland.”
“Pay ’er no mind, Fia. You paid back what you owed, didn’t ya?”
“Aye, that we did,” Fia answered, wringing her hands nervously. “The money was held out of our wages ever since we set foot on dry land.”
“Then don’t back down when she begins her blustering. Mark me words, she’ll match what the hotel is paying if you don’t go all weak-kneed when ya talk to her.”
At the sound of footsteps, Fia rushed off.
Margaret stepped into the room and extended her hand. “Remember, there’s more to come when you get me more information.”
A smile slipped across Beatrice’s lips as she accepted the trifling sum. The older woman may have outfoxed her this time, but it was going to cost her a pretty penny when Fia and Melva insisted upon an increase in wages.
Beatrice bounded down the front steps and giggled aloud.
Grafton, West Virginia
September 1872
T
hey’d barely begun their evening meal when Mrs. Woodfield inquired about progress at the school. When the twins had originally requested waiting another year before attending boarding school, Ewan had objected. After learning Miss Spangler had been unsuccesful in her search for an additional teacher and receiving a promise from the twins that they would attend boarding school the following September, Ewan had agreed. Both Adaira and Ainslee reported the children were making great strides. Once they finished their account, Rylan nodded his agreement.
“I’ve spoken to a number of the mothers and some of the boys and girls, too. They’re grateful for the opportunity.” He glanced at Rose. “Of course, it’s Rose they need to be thanking. She’s the one who was determined to see the children gain an education.” He smiled at the twins. “And you two young lasses deserve thanks, as well. Your hard work in the schoolroom is reaping benefits. Some of the older boys tell me they’re beginning to understand how to do their sums, and they’re proud of the wee bit of reading they’ve accomplished.” He grinned. “I think they all realize what they learn in that school is going to help them in the future. I’m sorry I didn’t support the school in the very beginning.”
Mrs. Woodfield took a sip of coffee. “Why were you opposed to the school, Rylan?”
He squirmed in his chair. “Change is hard for me. With Mr. Bancock leaving, I didn’t want to be forced into any other adjustments.” He gave Rose a sidelong glance. “But I was wrong. Rose has good ideas. Keeping the pottery clean has helped a lot, too. All the workers agree there’s been less sickness.”
Ewan nodded. “For sure, that’s a fact. Now if we could just win some contracts so we could keep everyone employed, I’d be happy. I want to keep everyone working, and I want the lads and lasses able to continue with their schooling. We’ll have to depend on the good Lord to help us through all of this.”
“There’s no need to be so downcast, Ewan. The pottery isn’t floundering quite yet, and I’m sure Rylan and Rose are going to do their best. With God’s help, they’ll have a winning entry.” Mrs. Woodfield dabbed her lips with the linen napkin. “Speaking of which, now that dinner is over, shouldn’t you two be working on your designs?”
Rose chuckled. “You’re right.” She looked at Rylan as they made the short walk down the hallway to Ewan’s combination library and office. With the exception of Sunday evenings, the two of them had been working on their designs every night since their return from Pittsburgh a week earlier. On evenings when Ewan had work of his own to complete, he sat scrunched at a small desk in the fancy parlor the family used on special occasions. For a man who confessed he didn’t like changes, she’d observed a great deal of change in Rylan during their time together. Though he took more time than most to fully digest suggestions and agree to change, she admired his increasing openness.