The Potter's Lady

by Judith Miller

  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.

  Chapter 4

  When 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 deco
rating 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.”

  Mr. Bancock grasped the papers in his right hand and moved away from the window. “You’re right. I might as well accomplish something this morning.”

  Moments later, Rylan patted the gentleman’s shoulder. “They’re coming, Mr. Bancock.”

  He pushed up from his desk. “I’m hopeful the Lord will reveal this to be the business Mr. McKay should purchase. Let’s do what we can to help Him, Rylan.”

  Rylan wasn’t sure how one did such a thing, but he would try. He owed that much and more to Mr. Bancock.

  The greetings were brief, but Rylan was certain Miss McKay appeared even lovelier today. She was wearing a shirtwaist that was a close match for her deep blue eyes, and Rylan was drawn by her passion for the business as she inquired about the decorating shop. When Mr. Bancock answered they would soon see the area, she smiled and stars dimpled her cheeks. How could he have missed that charming feature yesterday? What would it be like to be around someone so talented and lovely each day? Following behind Mr. McKay and Mr. Bancock, Rylan escorted Rose toward one of the warehouses, his imagination taking flight as he began to consider working for Miss McKay and her brother.

  “This is the warehouse where dust and dirt are brushed from the ware before it is sent to be glazed. Mostly women and a few children work in this area.” Mr. Bancock waved his hand toward the door but didn’t step inside.

  Rather than passing by, Rose stepped into the warehouse and looked around the vast area. “How can they breathe with all this dust flying about?” Rose wrinkled her nose and removed a handkerchief from her pocket. She lifted the linen square to her face and covered her nose and mouth.

  Rylan grasped her arm and directed her toward the door. “Those who work in this warehouse are used to it. There’s no way to avoid dust when you’re cleaning the ware. If it becomes too bad, they wet down the floor, but this task cannot be overlooked. The ware has to be free of dirt and dust before it can be glazed.” He shot her a grin. “You’ll not find it terribly bothersome after you’ve been working at the pottery for a while.”

  Rose arched her brows. “If we purchase this pottery, there will be some definite changes, especially regarding cleanliness.”

  Remembering Mr. Bancock’s earlier appeal, Rylan nodded his head. “I’m sure that any changes you make will please the employees, Miss McKay. We all look forward to helping you in any way we can.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mr. Campbell, though my brother has yet to make a final decision about the business.”

  Mr. McKay turned around and waved to them. “Come on, Rose. You’re lagging behind.”

  After hurrying forward, Mr. Bancock led them into the next section. “This is the glazing room. Glazing is what makes the ware impervious to liquids. The workers who glaze the ware are called dippers. Most of the dippers hire women and children to work for them. That way they don’t have to take time to remove the excess glaze from the pieces or transport the ware.” He nodded toward several of the children. “All of those are Harry Perdue’s young’uns, and that’s his wife over there.” He lowered his voice a notch. “The men with families have an advantage because they can put their wives and young’uns to work and don’t have to pay outsiders to help.”

  Rylan saw the look of disapproval that crossed Rose’s face. Didn’t her brother have any children working in his brickyard? She could visit most any coal mine, pottery, brickyard, or other industry in the state, and she’d see children working. He wanted to ask her about her visit to Trent Brick Works and if she’d not seen children working alongside their fathers, but he kept his lips sealed. Any such talk might lead to trouble, and he didn’t want to be the cause of any problems for Mr. Bancock.

  Rylan gestured toward the kilns. “This is where the ware is fired after it’s glazed. The second firing is known as the glost firing.” As they entered a small section of another brick building, several women sat side by side wielding rubber stamps. “Each piece is stamped with the Bancock pottery mark.”

  Rose clasped a hand to her bodice. “These women stamp every piece of ware made in this pottery?” Rylan nodded, and she released a small gasp. “I can’t imagine performing such a monotonous task day after day.”

  “I’m sure if your children needed food on the table, you’d be willing to stamp pottery, Miss McKay.” He took note of the pity that shone in her eyes before he hurried her toward her brother and Mr. Bancock. “You’ll be pleased to know that the decorating shop is straight ahead. You’ll be able to watch our artist at work.”

  When Rose’s mood lightened, Rylan smiled, pleased his comment had gained the desired effect. While Mr. Bancock and Mr. McKay continued to talk, Rylan escorted Rose inside the decorating shop and urged her forward. The artist glanced up from his work, and Rylan nodded. “Mr. Wheeler, this is Miss Rose McKay. She’s been eager to see your work.”

  “Not much t
o see around here anymore, Miss McKay, but you’re welcome to sit on one of the empty stools and stay as long as you like.” Mr. Wheeler’s apron bore splashes of various colors, and a hint of gold gilding decorated his bow tie. Rylan wondered if he realized the mishap.

  Rose leaned forward and carefully examined Mr. Wheeler’s painting. “Your work is beautiful. If all of your artists possess as much talent, my brother will be fortunate to own this pottery.”

  “Then your brother best look elsewhere. There are no other decorators in this shop, Miss McKay.”

  Rose’s face crimped in a frown as she looked up one row of workbenches and down another. Unoccupied wooden stools sat empty at the work spaces. “Well, it certainly appears there are a great number of work spaces available for decorators. Where are they?”

  Mr. Wheeler looked at Rylan from beneath hooded eyes and gave a quiet harrumph. “Those who could find work have gone to other potteries.” He nodded toward the doorway. “If you’ve any more questions about the lack of decorators, you best ask Mr. Bancock. He’s the one who gave ’em their walking papers.”

  The words had barely been uttered when Mr. McKay and the owner walked inside. Deep furrows wrinkled Mr. Bancock’s forehead, and his bushy brows dropped low. He glowered at Mr. Wheeler. “Did I hear you speaking my name, Frank?”

  The decorator picked up his brush and continued with his work. “Indeed, but you need not worry. I spoke nothing but the truth.”

  Moments later, Rose peppered Mr. Bancock with myriad questions regarding the pottery’s lack of artists and decorators. She was firm in her final request: She wanted to review the ledgers regarding all specialty ware. Mr. Bancock agreed but was quick to add that a brief glance at the books would tell her he’d made the proper decision.

  “Skilled decorators like Mr. Wheeler, the ones who can apply beautiful hand-painted designs and gilding, are the highest-paid employees in a pottery.” Mr. Bancock turned his attention away from Rose and back toward Ewan. “Unless you can sell those items as quickly as the cheaper ware, your profits will quickly disappear. If you don’t have to worry about turning a profit, you need not worry. You can hire as many decorators as you like and make hundreds of hand-painted vases that will sit in your warehouse.”