“No one is hurt.” Clayton helped Sarah to her feet, forced himself to release her hand. He turned his back as she bent to pick up the child and focused his attention and anger on Quincy. “But that is not to say they were not in danger. Get rid of that hoggerel, it is getting too frisky. You should have known that.”
He turned and made his way back to the house, furious at the emotions tearing at him, at his inability to stop them. He strode through the still-open door, yanked it closed behind him and went to his study and stuffed the report into his waiting saddlebags. He would finish it when he reached Dayton. It was impossible to work here with Sarah Randolph so close. With her ignoring his orders to keep the child out of his sight.
Clayton scowled, slung the saddlebags over his shoulder, slammed out the door and took the stairs two at a time. The faint sounds of Sarah entering the house with the child followed him as he crossed the upstairs hall to his bedroom to grab the clothes he would need for the next few days. He paused, struck by an idea. Perhaps he could employ Sarah Randolph to take the child back to Philadelphia and care for her there. Yes. That would solve all his problems. He continued into his room, packed his clothes and toiletries and hurried downstairs. He would consider the possibility while he was away.
Sarah roamed around the drawing room feeling restless and at loose ends. Clayton Bainbridge had gone to Dayton and would not return for a few days. He had not even told her he was going away. Not that he owed her an accounting of his movements, but she was Nora’s nanny. At least he had told Eldora.
Sarah frowned, glanced at the various objects decorating the shelves in the alcove by the fireplace and moved on. It was odd how empty the house felt without Clayton’s presence. She stopped in front of the fireplace and looked up at the portraits of his grandparents. Ezekiel Bainbridge was a very handsome man, with a square jaw and a look in his eyes that led one to believe he could well have fought and won battles against hostiles. But there was a tilt at the corners of his mouth that spoke of warmth and good humor. A pity his grandson had not inherited those traits along with Ezekiel’s good looks. Most of the time Clayton looked as if he were walking around with a sore tooth.
Sarah shifted her gaze to Rose Bainbridge, studied her refined features. There was a touch of sadness in the woman’s eyes, but nothing like the ill humor that darkened her grandson’s. If it was not inherited, what had caused his sour disposition? Was it his wife’s death? Aaron’s death had certainly changed her. The joy had disappeared from her life, sucked down the same vortex of swirling water that had swallowed him. All that was left was pain and grief and darkness. The light in her world had been snuffed as surely as a candle doused by water. Perhaps it was the same for Clayton Bainbridge.
No. No, it was not the same. He had a child. A part of his wife lived on. She had nothing of Aaron but memories and a dead dream.
An overwhelming longing for home and the way things had been before Aaron’s death rushed upon her. Tears blinded her eyes, clogged her throat. It could never be. Not ever again. She collapsed onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands, unable to stop the flow of tears.
The wave of anguish passed. Sarah pushed herself erect, wiped the tears from her cheeks, clenched her hands and made her way from the room. She hated crying. Hated the feeling of hopeless—She stopped, arrested by her reflection in the hall mirror, startled by the anger and bitterness that glittered, cold and brittle, behind the glisten of tears in her eyes. She turned away, lifted her skirts slightly and started up the stairs. It seemed she and Clayton Bainbridge had more in common than first appeared. But he had Nora. Pain stabbed sharp and deep. Why had God taken Aaron?
Sarah caught her breath and hurried down the hall to prepare for bed—for another lonely night filled with nightmares, startled awakenings and unanswered questions.
Chapter Nine
“Excellent report, Mr. Bainbridge. Work seems to be progressing nicely.”
“Thank you, sir.” Clayton noted the looks exchanged between the commissioners seated at the table, and a shaft of worry speared through his pleasure in their approval. Something was in the wind. He sat a little straighter.
“So you judge you will be through with the remaining necessary repairs to the Cincinnati locks in three months’ time?”
A warning flag waved in his mind’s eye. Had he built too much leeway into his report? No, not nearly enough, given the unskilled laborers he had to work with. “Barring emergency situations, yes, sir.”
“And the aqueduct you report in emergency condition?”
“I inspected it yesterday on my way here. It’s near collapse and must be repaired immediately.” Clayton glanced at the other three commissioners seated at the table, including them in his answer and assessing their reactions. “I’ll start a crew of men working on it as soon as I return, though it will stretch workers on the locks too thin—which could add two weeks to my timetable.” He took a chance. “Unless you authorize the funds I requested to hire more men.”
The head commissioner looked around the table. Clayton’s hopes surged at the unanimous nods of affirmation. He held his face impassive as the head commissioner again looked his way.
“Very well, Mr. Bainbridge. We will give you authorization to hire the extra men you need—within reasonable bounds. In return you will complete all the needed repair work on the entire southern section by the end of June.”
“Two months! Gentlemen, what you ask is unreasonable—”
“But not undoable, Mr. Bainbridge—given adequate funds and sufficient numbers of workers. Under those conditions, and given your talents and capabilities, we are certain you will manage to accomplish the task.”
Clayton took a breath, weighed his words. “I appreciate your faith in me, gentlemen.” He shot another assessing glance around the table. “But even under the favorable conditions you outline the undertaking will be a formidable one. The time constraints—”
“Are necessary—and not of our doing.” The head commissioner scanned around the hotel dining room and leaned closer. So did the others.
Clayton responded in kind.
“As you know, Mr. Bainbridge, July fourth will mark the tenth anniversary of the opening of the Miami Canal from Cincinnati to Dayton. The governor intends to commemorate that occasion with a special celebration. There will be speeches and public entertainments in Cincinnati on the third. On the fourth, the governor, the mayor and councilmen of Cincinnati, and those of us gathered around this table, along with everyone’s families, will board a passenger packet the governor has ordered specially outfitted for the purpose and travel to Dayton. There will be stops and speeches at the various towns along the way, of course. That is the reason all repairs must be completed by the end of June. The canal must be in excellent condition for the anniversary trip.”
“I see.” Clayton sucked in a breath, thankful he had added in those two weeks of leeway. By subtracting that time and adding more men he should be able to get the jobs completed on time. “I shall start hiring immediately, sir.”
The head commissioner nodded, leaned back against his chair and smiled. “That brings us to our last piece of business, Mr. Bainbridge.” His smile disappeared. “We are not pleased with the quality of construction, nor the rate of progress being made on the new, northern section of the canal. The present chief engineer of the project is unequal to the job. Therefore, we are offering you that position—beginning when your repair work on the Miami Canal is finished in June and the celebration trip is over.”
Clayton stared, hoped he didn’t look as surprised as he felt. “I am flattered, gentlemen. Beyond that I do not know what to say. Knowing the position was filled—I was not expecting such an offer to be tendered, and there is much to be considered. I should like the opportunity to inspect the project before I respond.”
“Perfectly understandable.” The head engineer smiled. “You needn’t give us your answer now, Mr. Bainbridge. We will talk more about it onboard the packet during the an
niversary trip. That should give you ample time to make your decision.”
“On the anniversary trip?”
“Yes. I thought I had made it clear that you and your family are expected to come along. It’s the governor’s way of expressing his gratitude for your excellent work in engineering the repairs and keeping the Miami Canal functioning at optimum capacity.”
Family. The word settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. Clayton forced a smile. “I am flattered by the governor’s favorable opinion of my work, and I will be pleased to join you on the celebration trip to Dayton. But as to family…my wife is deceased.”
“Yes. We are aware of that. You have our sympathies. But you have a daughter, do you not?”
Clayton nodded, kept a pleasant expression on his face. “I do.” He sought an acceptable excuse, offered it with relief. “But the child is not yet three years old—too young to be away from her nanny.”
The commissioner frowned. “Then bring the nanny along. There will be ample accommodations, and the governor was adamant about all family members being present.” His tone of voice made it clear he would brook no argument. The frown smoothed to his previously friendly expression. “That concludes our business, Mr. Bainbridge. Would you care to join us for a glass of port?”
“Thank you for the kind offer, Commissioner, but I must decline.” He forced his lips into a smile. “Time is of the essence, and I intend to retire to my room and go over the needed repairs to discover how many laborers I must hire to accomplish our goal. If you gentlemen will excuse me?” He rose, inclined his head in a polite bow to all present and left the table.
Now what was he to do? Pray? Not likely! Clayton flopped down on the bed and stared up at the plaster ceiling. “I wish you were here, Grandma and Grandpa. I could use some advice. I don’t know what to do, how to get out of this snare I find myself in. I had thought to be rid of Sarah Randolph and the child. Now I have to take that anniversary trip on that packet. I want that job as chief engineer on the northern Erie section of the canal. It will mean a real advancement in my career, and—Ahh!”
Clayton bolted out of bed, strode across the small room and yanked open the window. Sounds of revelry from the hotel’s barroom floated up to him on the night air. Too bad he wasn’t a drinking man. He could go downstairs, get drunk, then come back up to this room and sleep the night away. As if that would help anything. His problems would still be here when he woke tomorrow morning. At least this way he had a clear head to think things through and come up with a solution. And the first step was to define the problem. To admit it was not only the child anymore. It was Sarah Randolph, as well. She was so beautiful. So vibrant. So warm and caring and spirited. And when she had looked up at him the day her hair got tangled in that limb…And again yesterday, when she put her hand in his…
Clayton gripped the window frame and stared out at the night. Why had a woman like Sarah Randolph come into his life? And why was it impossible for him to be rid of her?
Bitterness rose, acrid and sour in his mouth. He stared up at the ebony sky. Did it amuse God to see him writhing in the pain of his guilt over Deborah’s death? Is that why He took her, even though he had offered himself in her stead? Why He allowed the child to live as a daily reminder?
Clayton shoved back from the window, rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He was without excuse or defense. He had known carrying a child would likely kill Deborah. He stared into the darkness, filled with remorse, helpless to change what was.
He loathed himself. Every time he saw Deborah’s child, his shame and guilt grew. And now there was Sarah. Beautiful, warm, spirited Sarah, who stole his breath by simply walking into a room.
Was she a test sent by God? Clayton turned his back on the night, walked over and flopped on the bed. It would take every bit of strength he possessed, but he would not fail this time. He stared up at the ceiling, the pain in his heart swelling. “Do You hear me, God? I will not fail this time.”
Sarah scanned the yard, spotted no sheep and, laughing at herself for being a coward, hurried to the front gate. Clayton Bainbridge had been gone four days, and each day left her feeling more restless. A good brisk walk should help.
A quick, longing glance toward the city below brought a sigh. There was so much of Cincinnati she was eager to explore. And she dearly wanted to go to Mrs. Westerfield’s and see how her new gowns were progressing—and visit that shop on Fifth Street, the one opposite the Dennison House. N. L. Cole, that was the name. They had such lovely umbrellas and parasols in the window. But after all the talk of sickness she had overheard on her first visit to town, she was afraid to go again for fear of bringing the illness, whatever it was, home to Nora. She could not bear the thought of the toddler becoming ill.
Sarah pushed open the gate, turned her back on the city and started walking along the road, enjoying the fresh air, the response of her body to the demand of the hill. Unlike most of her lady friends and acquaintances, she enjoyed exercise, thanks to James. She had spent countless hours as a child playing outdoor games with her baby brother. A smile curved her lips. How he hated to be called her baby brother, but age gave one some privileges.
Sarah picked up her pace, her mind leaping from James to skipping stones to Clayton Bainbridge’s private pond. Where was that trail…? Perhaps around this next bend? Yes! There it was. She started down the narrow path, careful to avoid the thorny branches that had ensnared her the first time. Clayton Bainbridge was not here to rescue her today. Heat stole into her cheeks. She had been so awkward and bumbling that day, so…inept. But Clayton had not said a word about her foolishness. He had simply untangled her, and very gently, too. And when she had looked up at him…
Warmth rushed through her in remembered response to the look in his eyes. Their blue color had deepened to almost black, and there had been tiny lights, almost like flames, flickering in their depths. For that one unguarded moment he had looked…dangerous. Had made her nervous.
Sarah replaced the disturbing thought with the memory of Aaron’s quiet, respectful kiss the day she had accepted his proposal of marriage. Clayton Bainbridge was not at all like Aaron Biggs. Aaron had always made her feel safe and comfortable. Cared for. Not…restive and uneasy.
Sarah rounded the curve in the path and stepped out into the small, open space. The pond shimmered in the sunlight, bright and tranquil. The rocks and pebbles along its shore invited her to skip them across the still surface. The large rock beckoned her to sit and rest in the sunshine. She stood staring at the beautiful little glade, at the serene beauty of Clayton Bainbridge’s special place, and tears welled into her eyes, made the pond’s calm surface quiver, the trees shimmer and blur. She should not have come here.
She whipped around and rushed back up the path to the road, sobs filling her throat. She did not want to see that pond ever again. Nor the path. Or that thornapple tree! She did not want to remember being there with Clayton Bainbridge. She wanted Aaron. And the safe, undisturbing harbor of his love.
Chapter Ten
Eldora Quincy jumped at the quick, sharp raps of the front door knocker and scowled in the direction of the entrance hall. “How’s a body supposed to get any work done with someone bangin’ to be let in every five minutes!”
“Would you like me to answer the door for you, Eldora?”
“No. You’re busy with Nora, Sarah. I’ll go.” The housekeeper dropped the stalk of rhubarb she was slicing into the bowl, wiped her hands dry on the towel tucked into the waist of her apron and hurried from the kitchen.
“More berries?” Nora held up her dish.
Sarah fixed her with a look.
“Pwease?”
“Good girl.” Sarah smiled, sliced a few strawberries into the dish and placed it in front of the toddler. “You must remember to be polite and always say please and…”
“Tank you!” Nora piped the answer, beamed a smile, then stuffed a pudgy little handful of the sliced berries in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged.<
br />
Sarah laughed and wiped the red smear from around the toddler’s lips before it stained her fair skin. “Small bites, sweetie. It is impolite to stuff your mouth.”
“’Twas another man t’be interviewed fer workin’ on the canal.” Eldora came plodding back to the table. “Seems like all I got done all day is to answer that door. I would never get this rhubarb put up without you lendin’ a hand, Sarah.”
“I am happy to help, Eldora. I only wish I could do more.” Sarah placed the washrag on the table, picked up the knife and resumed slicing berries. “I have been thinking…” She glanced over at the housekeeper. “I know how to manage a household, Mother taught me that. But, as you well know, I am at a loss in the kitchen. Would you be willing to teach me how to cook and bake?”
Eldora stared at her for a moment, then picked up the rhubarb, finished slicing it into the bowl and started on another piece. “I might could do that. You can start by adding them berries you cut up to this rhubarb an’ tossin’ in a couple handfuls of sugar.” She pushed the full bowl across the table. “Then I’ll show you about making crust. Mr. Bainbridge’s favorite dessert is strawberry and rhubarb pie.”
Sarah paused in her slicing and looked up. Eldora turned away from the table, but not before she had seen the woman’s smile. She frowned and dumped the berries in with the rhubarb. What was amusing Eldora? Did the housekeeper think because she had been pampered all her life she was incapable of learning to cook?
Determination stiffened her spine. Sarah wiped her hands on the cloth, dried them on the towel and reached for the crock of sugar.
She had baked a pie. And helped Eldora put up the rhubarb. How surprised everyone at home would be when she wrote them about it. Sarah laughed, crossed the porch and walked down the stairs. She was finding it quite satisfying to learn how to do things for herself. But in spite of her baking lesson and the success of her pie, today had been disappointing. She had waited and watched, but no opportunity had presented itself for her to bring Nora into her father’s presence. Clayton Bainbridge had been ensconced in his study all day. He was there still, interviewing potential laborers for the canal. And she had kept Nora far from the front of the house. Some of those applicants looked very rough and ill-bred, and she did not want the toddler frightened.
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