by Betty Bolte
Evelyn recalled the story she learned during the ladies' visit last November of why Tommy became Emily and Frank's responsibility. Emily's twin sister, Elizabeth, became betrothed to Frank's brother, Jedediah. Jedediah had died in the war, and Frank stepped in to marry Elizabeth when she discovered she was with child to ensure the boy wasn't considered a bastard by society. Upon her death, Emily had perforce assumed the infant's care. Then Frank followed his heart to marry Emily. She had wanted a family but feared death during the lying in, as happened to both her sister and mother. After they married, Tommy once more had two parents and they had Tommy. Such a complex and complicated way to make a family to Evelyn's mind. How long would it be before the newly married couple would create a child of their own?
Her thoughts drifted to her own son, brought into this world not out of love but obligation. She'd married Walter Hamilton knowing he harbored the potential to become difficult, but didn't anticipate his turning violent toward her. If events went against his expectations, however unreasonable, he inflicted some form of punishment. Perhaps a pinch, or a slap. Once he became belligerent and actually punched her in the stomach with such force as to make her vomit. How she'd begged him to stop, to let her return to her parents. To end their marriage. He'd raped her—she hadn't wanted to lie with him, fearing what abuse he might employ in such a vulnerable position—and then her flux stopped and she carried his child.
Despite all the terrible actions Walter had taken against her, she could not blame the wee babe. She'd loved the child the moment she discovered its existence. She would always love him. A vital promise she'd made to her son and would never break. Every decision she faced would be based on his best interests. Like the decision to leave him behind with Jemma while he napped, rather than disturb him with the noise and activity of the friends as they chatted and sewed. Still, she missed his little smile, his pale green eyes watching her. The pressure building along with the tingling of her breasts reminded her that she'd soon need to return home to feed him.
Amy perched on a chair by the sunlit window. She opened the heavy tome, Homer's The Odyssey, and then looked at Evelyn. "Shall I read aloud?"
"It will be diverting to listen to it while we work." Evelyn slipped the needle in and pulled it through the silk. The subtle vibration as the thread slipped through the fabric pleased her, knowing each stitch brought her closer to wearing the frock.
"Please, Amy." Emily kept her eyes on her work but bobbed her head in encouragement. "I haven't read it in some little while."
Amy theatrically cleared her throat. "The Odyssey. 'Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home.'"
"I'd forgotten the opening," Emily interjected with umbrage in her tone. "Frank may as well be Odysseus, traveling about by boat and hoping to arrive in strange places safely."
"What do you mean?" Evelyn peered at the frowning woman.
"He wants me to go with him on a trip abroad, to France and England." She shook her head, the frown deepening. "I don't know what to do."
"But I thought your shop is due to open soon." Amy fingered the page of the book as she studied Emily's tense posture.
"Next week, in fact." Emily gazed at Evelyn and then Amy. "How can I satisfy my husband's desires as well as my own?"
"You can't be in two places at the same time." Evelyn resumed her stitching, her eagerness to finish outweighing the import of the conversation.
"Exactly why I'm struggling to find a resolution to the dilemma." Emily sighed and stuck her needle into the waistcoat with more force than strictly necessary. "He's longed to travel for years and had been denied the possibility because of the war."
"So now he's anxious, I'm certain." Amy rested her hand on the pages of the book. "Can you delay the opening until your return?"
"I could, but I do not wish to." Emily's hand stilled as her attention turned inward. "My dreams or his. That's what it boils down to."
"I suppose I should be glad my choice of opening a girls' school isn't subject to the same debate." Evelyn shook her head, her long tresses brushing her shoulders. The enormity of her decision weighed upon her with its suddenness and importance. A daunting task lay ahead, one requiring perhaps more abilities than she possessed. Even so, she enjoyed a challenge. "I've been contemplating the curriculum as well as the design of the building."
The change in topic smoothed the worry from Emily's brow. "My brothers said they'd speak with you soon about how they can help you. Ethan seemed most enthusiastic."
"With the racing stable on the horizon, they need seed money to bring it to fruition." Amy shifted in her seat and grabbed the book as it slid precariously on her skirt.
"I'll be glad of their efforts." Evelyn detected curiosity in Emily's expression. "As for what I'll teach, I'm thinking the usual history, literature, needlework, and music and dance, but adding in mathematics, natural science, and astronomy. Do you think it's too much?"
Emily shook her head as she kept her focus on the needle moving through the fabric in her hand. "Impressive. You'll need to find someone to teach the sciences, won't you?"
"I can manage an introduction on each subject to begin. I'll keep learning myself and then share what I've learned." A vision of studying by candlelight after the household quieted each evening flashed through her mind. Long days and nights loomed in her not too distant future.
Emily chuckled, drawing Evelyn's attention. "You sound like Samantha. She told me something very similar only a few months ago."
Evelyn drew her needle through the silk as an answering smile grew on her lips. "I always thought she was a smart lady."
A few more stitches and she had finished sewing her dress. She cut the thread and tied it off, and then stuck the needle into the pincushion on the table. Standing, she held the frock by the shoulders and shook out the long blue skirts with a flourish. "What do you think?"
"What a gorgeous dress!" Amy flowed to her feet, dropping the book onto her abandoned seat. "I love the scalloped bodice, too."
Evelyn turned to show Emily. "Does it need some decoration on the bodice?"
Emily tilted her head to one side, then the other, contemplating the gown with her artistic eyes. Finally she nodded. "Some sequins and seed pearls in a scatter pattern would enhance the fine work you've done. Would you like me to do it for you?"
Evelyn raised a brow as she regarded her eager friend. "If you have time, I'd appreciate your talents."
Amy crossed her arms. "Wait until Nathaniel sees you wearing it."
"Whatever do you mean?" Warmth spread up Evelyn's neck as she imagined the man's reaction. She hadn't seen him all day, what with his starting work at the print shop. She found herself dwelling on him when she should be concentrating on the task at hand. Waiting to hear his voice or, better, his laugh. His opinion had grown to matter to her despite her protests. Would he like it? Or think it too much? "Why should I care about his opinion?"
Amy lifted her elegant brows with a shrug. "Only because he is enthralled by your every movement and word each time you are in the same room with him."
As she felt when in the same space as him, but she had to remember her promise to her son. She'd make a good life for him, take care of him, and see him grow into a fine man. Maybe one day she'd find a man to be a father to him. First, she wanted to establish her own future, not be beholden to any man. Ever. Not even Nathaniel. She silenced the inner voice suggesting she hid from the truth of the matter.
"Nathaniel Williams is mistaken if he believes I care for his attentions." Evelyn hugged her gown to her stomach, trying to quell the tumult rolling inside. "When I wear my dress, it will be for my pleasure, not for his."
Amy chuckled. "Maybe so, but see if you can stop blushing when you do."
Chapter
8
Pungent. That was the word for the sharp odor of the ink. Frank used two wool-stuffed leather beaters to apply the black fluid to the rows of metal letters in the galley. Nathaniel had traded the fresh air of the frontier for ink. Not a fair trade either. The press filled the center of the room, massive posts spanning floor to ceiling to brace the heavy equipment. Large rectangular sheets of damp paper waited in the tympan, a leather-covered frame holding the pages to be lowered onto the inked tiles. He had begun to understand the methods and processes but would the time ever arrive for him to truly begin his new life?
"Make sure to evenly coat the plate." Frank, performing the role of beater, glanced up at Nathaniel, one brow lifted.
Nathaniel nodded once in reply. He waited for Frank to continue but after a moment realized he desired for him to ask. "What's next?"
Confined in the print shop for the third day, Nathaniel longed to flee the pounding vibrations of applying the ink as well as the tedious nature of the printing business. His honor anchored him to his commitment, attention fixed upon his employer's demonstration. Once he gave his word, only the person he'd promised could release his obligation. He'd adjust in time to the smells and tasks. He hoped.
"I'll have Sawyer show you the rest." Frank wiped his hands on a rag and dropped it on the table beside the press. "I'm to meet Emily in a few minutes at the shop."
"Ready to open the doors?" Nathaniel stepped to one side as Sawyer moved in to replace Frank. Though younger, Sawyer's height and breadth suggested he was a man to avoid bringing to anger.
"Almost." Frank sighed and shook his head. "She's adamant about not traveling yet."
Sawyer laid the paper on the galley, then slid the bed under the platen, a large wood block whose job was to make the impression on the paper. Pulling on the bar, Sawyer lowered the weight for the count of five. Raising the bar, he lifted the platen and slid the bed out and opened it.
"You can lift the paper off now." Sawyer waved at the still wet broadside. "Lay it over the drying rods."
Nathaniel did as instructed, hauling up the paper carriage to its open position. Then he lifted the large sheet of paper by the corners and draped it over one of several horizontal rods. One down, two hundred forty-nine to go. Turning back to face Frank, he said, "You need a compromise."
Frank barked a resigned laugh. "I'm open to ideas. I've run out of my own."
Chuckling, Nathaniel propped his fists on his hips. "Next question."
Sawyer guffawed, the sound like gravel hitting a wooden dock. "Nice maneuver, Mr. Williams."
"I've learned a lesson or two while in the militia." Nathaniel grinned at the freckle-faced youth. "How fast can you print the required sheets?"
"It would go faster with another man to help, especially with business increasing daily." Sawyer shrugged. "If you'll help me with these we'll be free in an hour to start laying the type for the booklet. The pages are on the table over there."
"I'll see about finding another man to fill the role of beater. That booklet is going to raise a lot of eyebrows in town." Frank crossed to the table to peruse the contents. "The farmers up north don't understand the importance of slaves to our economy. Calling for an end to the practice in the states responsible for the raising and harvesting of cotton would devastate the area."
Nathaniel shook his head before he'd consciously considered his response. Taking a deep breath, he regarded Frank for several moments, pondering his view of the matter. "You're right. At the same time, I've heard even General Washington has quietly expressed a desire to see the end of slavery."
"It's a matter of time," Sawyer said. "The manumission of the slaves in the northern states, like Pennsylvania and more recently in Maryland, will eventually lead to all the states following suit. At least, that's what my father and I believe."
"I do not see the end of slavery in my lifetime." Frank gazed at the two men, concern clouding his expression. "We'll print the booklet, but I wonder about the reaction of the town leaders."
"You're going to be late to meet your wife." Nathaniel confiscated the pages from Frank, and indicated with his head for the man to leave. "We'll take care of things here."
"Blast it, you're right." Frank flung his cloak around his shoulders and crammed his Monmouth hat on his head. He rushed out the door into the pouring rain, a refreshing blast of air ushering him from the room.
"If Frank follows through on hiring another lad to help, we might stay abreast of the work we're facing." Sawyer picked up the beaters and regarded Frank. "You be pressman, and I'll be the beater."
Nathaniel took his position, while Sawyer used the beaters to ink the galley. When he finished pounding, Nathaniel went into action with the paper and platen. "What else is in the queue, other than the booklet?"
"An almanac, some business forms, and the most time consuming, a map of the area." Sawyer finished his task and paused. "Frank is willing to add on more staff now that the war is over and his mission complete. A new book binder is due to start to-morrow to handle the orders for blank leather bound books for the planters to track their crop rotations and business transactions."
"Good news indeed." Frank released the platen and removed the paper, hanging it on a nearby rod. "The more hands the lighter the work."
His comment brought the memory of his wife's desire to have children as soon as possible in order to have helping hands around the house and garden. He'd agreed with pleasure, sharing the desire to surround them with little ones to love and raise. They'd tried to conceive a child but had failed. Patsy grew more and more shrewish toward him, blaming him for everything. Especially the fact she remained childless after years of marriage. He still had no idea whether she had been right or not. Perhaps if he took another wife, he'd find the answer.
The door opened, jangling the bell above. Nathaniel turned toward the customer but held back. Sawyer moved to the high table dividing the entrance from the work area and nodded a greeting to Dr. Trent. Better for the experienced apprentice to handle the business.
"Good day, gentlemen." Trent laid his tricorne hat on the wooden surface, droplets running down the sides. The shoulders of his cloak glistened with rain. "I'd like to place a notice in the next paper."
"The next edition won't be released for two days," Sawyer said. "Will that suffice?"
Trent nodded as he unfolded a piece of paper and smoothed it onto the table. "I suppose it must. In the event, it's not a significant delay."
Nathaniel moved to read the notice with a quick skim. "A new hospital?"
"Yes, I've been working on preparing the facility and locating qualified doctors to add to my staff." Trent smiled, a huge grin revealing his pride and pleasure. "Something I've envisioned doing for years."
"You fancied building a hospital? That's quite an ambition." One Nathaniel could never imagine for himself. Such a project would tie one not only to a certain place, but also to a community and an immense responsibility.
"And it's going to be a reality. In only a week, I'll open the doors to our first patients. Thus my notice to the townsfolk."
"Will your wife be working with you?" Sawyer transferred the page to the side table with the other projects waiting their turn to be set into type for the next paper. His glance toward Trent contained a question as well as humor.
"Absolutely." Trent laid a few coins on the table. "I've learned the value of her experience both as a healer and as a midwife."
"I'm sure she's pleased." Sawyer glanced at Trent, his grin matching the doctor's. He deposited the payment into the cash box in the drawer of the table. "After all the trouble you two had last year over whose methods proved reliable."
Nathaniel sensed an underlying joke in the exchange but didn't pry. If they wished him to be in on it, they'd share the secret. Still, he suddenly felt like the outsider he was.
"Yes, well..." Trent slipped his hat back onto his head with a small shrug. "Good day to you."
Trent turned and hurried out the door, his cloa
k billowing about him. Nathaniel glanced at Sawyer, one brow lifted in question.
Sawyer chuckled and shook his head. "You weren't here last year when Miss Samantha and Dr. Trent struggled to work together without becoming involved, even though it was obvious to everyone around them that they belonged together. Trent had wanted to put her out of business, but she prevailed. Now they're married, just to prove the point."
"That explains his reaction to your comment." Trent moved back to take up his position. "I suppose we should finish this job, since more work awaits."
Sawyer stepped back to pick up the beaters. "One thing for certain. The women in this town have their own views and expectations now that the war is over."
"What do you mean?" Nathaniel prepared to put the paper on the plate, but paused in expectation of the man's response.
"Each of the women in town have spunk." Sawyer looked at Nathaniel for a long moment. "Even Miss Evelyn, if I'm not mistaken. Despite her husband's attempt to quell her spirit."
Nathaniel studied Sawyer while he set to work beating the ink onto the plate. Why had the younger man included Evelyn in his observation? Was Nathaniel being too obvious in his affection for Evelyn? Did he care if others knew? Something to contemplate.
They worked in companionable silence for the next hour, exchanging a word or two only as needed to accomplish their task. Nathaniel ignored the growling in his belly. His thoughts strayed to Evelyn time and again. How was she occupying her time? Thinking of the woman in question proved more enjoyable than focusing upon the task at hand. Her pretty face appeared to his mind's eye, with lips forming a soft smile and gray-green eyes framed by red hair pulled up into a soft bun. The way she held her son and gazed at him with love shining in her expression. The graceful sway of her hips when she sauntered across the room toward where he waited, hungry for her touch and longing to taste her mouth. Everything about her commanded his attention and piqued his interest. What would he do if she denied him? He couldn't think about such a dreary prospect.
