The Potter's Lady (5 page)

“You saw all of that? No wonder you’re weary.” She giggled. “I merely thought Mr. Bancock was worried because we were late for our appointment. Perhaps I need to become more vigilant.”

“When one conducts business, watching others is as important as reviewing their books. That’s a wee bit of brotherly advice for you.” He grinned and saluted her with his cup before returning it to the saucer. “I think he’s a man eager to sell because of his poor health.”

Rose slumped back in her chair. “Did he speak to you of his illness?”

“Nay, but I overheard a couple of the workers talking when we were in the slip house. One of them said he didn’t think Mr. Bancock would be alive this time next year.”

Rose exhaled a small gasp. “How very sad. I’m sure the workers have deep concerns if they know of Mr. Bancock’s illness.”

“Aye. All of the workers appeared worried. Did ya not notice?”

Rose scrunched her forehead as she attempted to recall anything unusual. She shook her head. “I didn’t observe anything of that sort, but I did notice Mr. Bancock hurrying Rylan inside as we were crossing the railroad tracks.”

“Is that so? And how did you happen to see that event? Were you looking over your shoulder so as to get one more look at Rylan Campbell?” He grinned and gave her a wink. “I have to admit he’s a fine-looking young lad and appears to be a hard worker. I’m thinking a girl looking for a husband could do much worse.” When Rose grimaced at the mention of a husband, her brother chuckled. “But we both know that since you’re not interested in marriage, you did na even notice his good looks.”

Rose gave a firm nod. “Mr. Campbell was very nice and he does know the pottery business well, but his appearance is of little interest to me.”

“Ah, so now that I mention his good looks, he’s
Mr. Campbell.
” Ewan’s eyes sparkled. “Only a minute ago, he was Rylan. I think you noticed more about Mr. Campbell than you care to mention, dear Rose.”

Ewan was enjoying his bit of teasing, so she tamped down her urge to offer a prickly answer. She didn’t want to appear easily hurt, but the taunting at school had increased her sensitivity. Telling her brother she’d grown weary of the ongoing references to her unwedded state would serve no good purpose.

Choosing her words carefully, Rose first offered her brother a warm smile. “What I noticed about Mr. Campbell—or Rylan, if you prefer—was his knowledge regarding Mr. Bancock’s pottery and Mr. Bancock’s actions toward Rylan. Almost as if he was a son or the heir-apparent to the business. Yet how could either of them believe such a transfer of ownership could ever take place?”

Ewan shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Who would think a poor Irish immigrant like me would be looking to purchase a brickyard or a pottery? Much is dependent upon prayer, hard work, and the circumstances God weaves into our lives. Were it not for Laura’s mother, I’d be much like young Rylan. Longing to own my own business, but without the means to do so.”

The waiter arrived with their dinner, and Rose touched her palm to her midriff as she eyed the plate of food. “I doubt I can eat all of this, but it does smell delicious.”

“Aye, that it does. And I’ll be happy to help with whatever you’re unable to eat.” He forked one of the roasted potatoes and grinned. “That’s what brothers are for.”

“That—and teasing their sisters.” She cut into the lamb chop and took a moment to enjoy the first bite. “Tell me more about your visit to the brickyard. You’ve said little, so I’m guessing you found it unappealing.” She wanted to say she
hoped
he’d found it a disagreeable place and was not giving it further consideration, but she withheld her position for the moment.

Ewan touched his napkin to his lips. “These lamb chops are delicious.” He cut another piece of the lamb before he met Rose’s gaze. “I thought the brickyard could be a sound investment for us, but I told Mr. Trent I would not make any quick decision because I need to be flexible. Much depends on seeing the books at the pottery and deciding which business will yield the better profit. Of course, it would be much easier for me to step back into a brickyard. I know the business well, but Mr. Trent’s yard is smaller than what I hoped for, and he has no VerValen machine. They still make all their bricks by hand. In order to meet large orders like we did at C&M Brickyard, I would need to purchase a VerValen.”

Rose’s heartbeat quickened at the response. “Then you’re going to purchase the pottery.”

Ewan stopped eating and stared at her. She’d spoken the words with more determination and authority than she’d intended.

“That is not what I said, Rose. An examination of Mr. Bancock’s books will tell me more. But I will tell you, I’m not finding comfort in the idea of learning a new trade. Making bricks is what I have always done, and where I can probably best succeed.”

“But don’t you see, Ewan?” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I can help with the pottery business. With your business experience and the design and creative skills I learned at school, we can own the best pottery in West Virginia.”

“This is not a decision we’ll be makin’ this evening or even tomorrow. Before I give Mr. Trent or Mr. Bancock an offer, I’ll be spending time in prayer and seeking the opinion of both Laura and her mother.”

The idea of waiting so long worried her. If Mr. Bancock feared they might not return tomorrow, what might he think if Ewan left town without giving the man an answer?

She pushed a piece of potato around the edge of her plate. “But what if one or both of them should be unwilling to wait for your decision?”

Ewan hiked a shoulder. “Then I suppose I won’t be doing business with them.”

Rose inwardly sighed. She was certain the pottery would be the better choice—at least for her.

W
hen Rylan arrived at work the next morning, Mr. Bancock was once again rearranging the contracts and ledger books. His hair stood in tiny gray peaks, and his shirt, the same one he’d worn yesterday, was rumpled and stained with ink. After Ewan McKay’s departure, Rylan had talked with Mr. Bancock for several hours in an effort to assure him the visit had gone well. He had even stayed and prayed with the older man well into the evening hours.

Rylan sighed. By Mr. Bancock’s appearance this morning, it was obvious he hadn’t slept well. Rylan wondered if he’d even gone to bed. Rylan understood his employer’s desire to make a good impression. The older man’s health and finances both made the sale necessary. And though he’d placed ads in several newspapers, only two bids had been forthcoming. Both were from rival pottery owners who wanted to put a competitor out of business. Both offers had been abysmal. Both had been rejected by Mr. Bancock.

Mr. McKay’s request to tour the operation had been the first viable possibility he’d received, and the letter had buoyed Mr. Bancock’s spirits to new heights. As they had prepared for the visit, he’d become overconfident, certain Mr. McKay would purchase the business and certain he’d receive an excellent price. As soon as he learned of Mr. McKay’s interest in the Trent Brick Works, Mr. Bancock’s bold stance had taken flight, and his thoughts of driving a hard bargain had dissolved like salt in water.

When Rylan stepped closer, Mr. Bancock pointed to the worktable. “I think this arrangement is better, don’t you?” Rather than looking at Rylan, his attention was fixed on the window. “I thought they would be here by now. Mr. McKay said nine o’clock, didn’t he?”

The morning work bells clanged in the workshops. “He did, but it is only seven.” Rylan feared his employer’s disheveled appearance would not make much of an impression on the prospective buyers. “Did you remain here all night?”

The older man nodded and pressed his hands down the front of his shirt. “Yes, I wanted to make certain everything was in order, and when I couldn’t sleep I stayed up and prayed.”

Pity seeped through Rylan’s bones as he traced a hand over the stacks of paper work and ledgers. “Everything is in fine order, Mr. Bancock. I think it would serve you well to go home for a while. Maybe coffee and some breakfast will help to settle your nerves before Mr. McKay arrives. And a fresh shirt would be good, as well.”

Mr. Bancock’s eyes flitted about the office as though taking stock of the room for his very first time. “I suppose you’re right. I won’t make much of an impression in this soiled shirt.” He tugged at one of the stained cuffs.

“Either way, you’ll feel better after some breakfast.”

Mr. Bancock examined the worktable one final time before lifting his hat from a metal hook near the door. “I’ll be back by eight thirty. If Mr. McKay should arrive early, send one of the boys from the glazing shop to fetch me.”

A sharp pain pierced Rylan’s heart as he watched Mr. Bancock trudge across the railroad tracks, his shoulders hunched and his head thrust forward. The older man had been like a father to him all these years and had promised to protect Rylan’s job when the business sold. Of course, how he’d be able to accomplish that feat remained a mystery. Besides, selling the business—not saving Rylan’s job—remained the greatest necessity. If need be, he would leave Grafton and locate work, hopefully in another pottery. He might have to accept a lesser position somewhere else, but he would rely on God and see where the future might lead.

After a glance at the clock, Rylan strode out of the office and headed for the slip house. Every morning he stopped in each department to retrieve time sheets for the previous day. Each foreman was charged with maintaining a daily record, and though Rylan thought it would be more productive to enter the records each Friday before preparing the payroll, Mr. Bancock disagreed. He wanted a daily report of absent employees and recorded each day’s production against the number of employees in the various departments. Production decreased when employees were not in attendance, so those who made a habit of absenteeism were soon seeking other employment.

Along the way Rylan greeted many of the workers and then stopped in the decorating room, where he paused to admire the work of Mr. Wheeler as he applied a hand-painted design to an urn. Because skilled artists were the highest-paid employees in a pottery, Mr. Bancock had steadily decreased production of specialty pieces over the past five years and concentrated on ware that could be produced at a lower cost. Mr. Wheeler was the only decorator who remained an employee of Bancock Pottery.

Rylan had disagreed with the decision to eliminate the other artists. He’d said as much to Mr. Bancock, but to no avail. The owner wanted to keep costs down and had decided the decorating section should be entirely eliminated by the end of the year.

“Good morning, Mr. Wheeler.” Rylan nodded toward the urn. “That’s a beautiful design you’ve painted. I’m sure it will sell quickly.”

The decorator’s bushy brows lifted. “I’m pleased that you can appreciate my workmanship, Rylan. Seems Mr. Bancock has lost all interest in having beautiful pieces created in his pottery.” Mr. Wheeler dipped his brush into a tin of paint and wiped the excess along the edge of the can. “Between you and me, I’m going to go ahead and look for work at one of the potteries in Fairmont or Wheeling. May even go up to East Liverpool, though I’m not eager to leave West Virginia. My wife’s been after me to locate another job ever since Mr. Bancock let most of the decorators go.” He traced his brush along the edge of a leaf to create the perfect shading. “I reckon she’s right, but I kept hoping things would change around here.”

Rylan liked Mr. Wheeler. The decorator had encouraged Rylan to remain in the decorating shop back when Mr. Bancock first offered to take him into the office and teach him about ledgers and contracts. Mr. Wheeler had argued that working in the office was a waste of Rylan’s artistic talents, but Rylan had ignored the decorator’s suggestion and taken Mr. Bancock’s offer. Though Rylan possessed a good eye for design, he never believed his future would lie in the decorating shop.

As if Mr. Wheeler had been reading his thoughts, he pointed the tip of his brush in Rylan’s direction. “Bet you’re glad you didn’t listen to me when I tried to persuade you to stay here and apprentice with me.”

Rylan didn’t miss the sadness in Mr. Wheeler’s eyes. He’d been working at the pottery for more than twenty years. Moving to another pottery would be a difficult adjustment. “Don’t do anything just yet, Mr. Wheeler. There’s a possible buyer for the pottery. His sister is with him, and they’ll be coming through later this morning. She’s interested in design, so I’m thinking they may want to expand the decorating section.”

Mr. Wheeler gave a slight nod. “I’ll offer up a prayer or two that it all works out, Rylan. Nothing I’d like better.”

When Rylan returned to the office, he discovered Mr. Bancock peering out the front windows. The older man had changed his shirt and combed his hair, but his shoulders remained slumped from pain. “It’s half past eight and there’s no sign of them, but I suppose there will be time enough for concern if they haven’t appeared by nine o’clock.” He glanced at Rylan. “Did you collect the time sheets?”

Rylan handed the paper work to the older man. “This should keep you busy until they arrive.”