“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 outf
oxed 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.
Chapter 19
Grafton, West Virginia
September 1872
They’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.
Rose glanced over her shoulder as they neared the office doorway and was met by Rylan’s quick smile. “I’m hopin’ we’ll make some fine progress with our drawings this evening.”
She nodded, but her breath caught in her throat. While she admired Rylan’s newfound ability to listen and change, she’d been surprised by the sudden rush of warmth that sparked deep within when he would occasionally touch her hand or speak to her in a soft tone. She wasn’t positive when she’d begun to experience these strange feelings, but her first remembrance was when they were on the train returning from Pittsburgh. Rylan was seated beside her and had leaned across to point out a herd of deer. He’d brushed her hand, and his touch had evoked pleasure.
Though they still didn’t agree about everything, their collaboration had become increasingly enjoyable since their return. Now, rather than dreading the evenings with Rylan, she looked forward to this time alone when they could discuss their designs as well as the daily events at the pottery.
Yet while their relationship had progressed, the pottery continued to falter. The lack of contracts continued to create worry among the workers. Over the past month, Rylan had heard rumors that some were anxious enough to have begun looking for other employment. With each rejected bid, it became more difficult to allay their concerns.
Earlier in the day, they’d received word of yet another rejected bid, and Ewan’s spirits had plummeted as the three of them had gathered around his desk to discuss the future of the pottery. The despair in her brother’s voice had gnawed at Rose for the remainder of the day, and his quiet demeanor at dinner had underscored his concerns for the business.
“Ready to begin?”
Rylan’s question pulled Rose from her thoughts. He spread their latest drawings across the desk and pointed to one of her designs. “I think if you put a little more deep blue right here, this urn and plate would be more connected as a set.” He continued to stare at the drawings. When she didn’t respond, he turned to look at her. “What’s wrong? Have I upset you?”
“No.” She forced a smile and shook her head. “I was thinking about our meeting earlier today. I know Ewan is despondent about the lack of success with the pottery. I feel responsible for pushing him into purchasing the pottery.” She sighed and met his tender gaze. “I simply don’t understand how we can be underbid on every project. It seems such an impossibility that we are losing every contract.”
Rylan reached across the strewn papers on the desk and squeezed her hand. “I agree that we’ve hit a streak of bad luck with the bids, but I don’t see how you can hold yourself responsible. You’ve been trying your hardest since the first day you stepped across the threshold. The rejection of the bids has nothing to do with you. Do you figure the costs and write the bids?”
She shook her head. “Nay, but . . .”
He held up his hand to silence her. “Then there’s no reason to blame yourself. It’s Ewan and I that do the figuring, and somehow there are potteries who can produce at a lower cost, and they get the bids. It has nothing to do with you, Rose.”
She attempted to hold her tears in check, but a lone drop slipped down her cheek. Rylan cupped her chin and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “There’s no need for tears.”
She choked back the lump in her throat. “You don’t know all of what happened, Rylan. Ewan wanted to purchase the brickyard, but I interfered and did everything in my power to convince him the pottery would be a better choice.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I wanted to show off what I’d learned in school and prove that I could do something worthwhile. I let my pride take hold, and now I must live with what I’ve done.”
Rylan’s eyes shone with compassion. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Rose. I don’t think you made this decision on your own. ’Tis not your name on the contract with Mr. Bancock. Your brother agreed he wanted the pottery. I was there when all the meetings took place. I don’t believe the choice rests on your shoulders alone. And I don’t think Ewan believes that, either.”
Though Rylan’s words were meant to soothe her, they did little to lift the burden. She had convinced Grandmother Woodfield. In turn, the older woman had used her influence to persuade Ewan the pottery would be a better choice than the brickyard. And now the older woman’s warning rang in Rose’s ears. “If we purchase the pottery, I expect great things from you. I have no doubt Ewan can invigorate a failing brickyard, but I’m not as certain he can do the same with a pottery. That will rest on your shoulders, Rose.”
“’Tis true we must all live with the consequences of our decisions, but beating yourself about the head isn’t going to help. I believe Ewan suggested we all continue to pray and ask God’s guidance. Am I right?”
She nodded. “He did, and I have been praying, but it seems God has turned a deaf ear.”
Rylan chuckled. “God never turns a deaf ear. He may not answer th
e way we want or as soon as we hope, but He hears us and wants only the best for us. Ya must remember that sometimes what we want isn’t what’s right for us, Rose. Only God knows what we truly need.”
“I know you’re right, but knowing that doesn’t change our situation.”
“Right ya are, so what we need to do is get busy with these drawings and create the most beautiful designs we know how to produce. If it be God’s will, then we’ll win that contest and have us a huge contract for the pottery.”
The lilt in his voice lifted her spirits, and she nodded in agreement. “I do think you’re right about the blue in this design. It will make it much better.”
He chuckled. “And here I was thinkin’ ya hadn’t even heard me mention the idea of adding a wee bit of dark blue to that urn.”
Rylan’s enjoyment of his time with Rose had increased tenfold since their visit to Pittsburgh, and he reveled in the fact that she now seemed to take pleasure in his presence, as well. Evening dinners around the McKay table had become an important part of his day. The camaraderie of the family and the joy they expressed, especially the twins, had become a special highlight. Ewan’s dinnertime conversation had seemed more forced of late, and Rylan remained uncertain if it was because of the pottery or because his wife was ailing again. Her absence from the dinner table had become more frequent, and he wondered about her well-being. She’d once again been absent this evening. When he offered prayers for the family, he’d begun to ask a special blessing for Mrs. McKay’s health.
As they continued to discuss their designs, Rylan decided to broach the subject with Rose. Though he didn’t want to pry, he didn’t want to appear indifferent. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Mrs. McKay. When we traveled to Pittsburgh, you mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well. Since she hasn’t been at dinner several times since we returned, I was wondering about her health.”
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