The Artisan's Wife

by Judith Miller

  Ainslee grasped Ewan’s arm as they descended the steps of the boardinghouse. He looked particularly handsome in a dark gray jacket and black-and-gray checkered vest. “You’ve managed to disappoint every woman who rooms with Mrs. Brighton.”

  “And how is that when I haven’t even met them?” Ewan arched his brows as he assisted her into the buggy.

  “Because you’re married. They all thought an eligible bachelor had arrived and they’d be able to impress you.” She settled into the leather-upholstered seat. “This is nice. Did you rent it from the livery in town?”

  “Aye.” He chuckled. “Did you think I might have stolen it from some unsuspecting patron at the hotel?”

  “No, but I am rather surprised. The rentals at the livery in Grafton are not nearly as new—or fancy as this one.” She gathered her skirt to the side as Ewan climbed in beside her. “Was your room at the hotel comfortable?”

  “Aye, but not so comfortable that I don’t miss being at home with Laura. Did you sleep well?”

  “Not so well that I don’t miss being in my own bed at home.”

  Ewan chuckled. “Then we’ve something we agree upon as we start our day. That must be a good sign. We’ll tour the tile works as soon as we arrive, and then we’ll go to the office and begin our work in earnest. Both Mr. and Mrs. Ploughman should be present most of the day.”

  “Do you have a full understanding of their books and records? I know I’m going to need a great deal of training, or I’m going to make a mess of things once you’re gone.”

  She didn’t tell him she’d awakened from a terrible dream last night. One in which she’d entered all of the wrong figures into the books and caused the business to fail. She didn’t know what time it had been when she’d startled awake and recalled the horrid dream of being tied to a post while angry employees hurled tiles at her. Sleep had eluded her as she’d attempted to push the ugly picture from her mind. Even now it haunted her.

  “I went over their records before making the decision to purchase, but I wouldn’t say I’m well-acquainted with their recordkeeping system. That’s what you’ll need to learn. That’s why Mrs. Ploughman is going to be present today.”

  Ainslee gasped. “She can’t possibly teach me everything I need to know in one day.” Panic seized her and she clutched her midsection. “I think I’m going to lose my breakfast.”

  “Do I need to stop the buggy?” Ewan’s eyes shone with concern. “Please don’t worry, Ainslee. If need be, I’m sure I can hire Mrs. Ploughman to return for as long as you need her assistance.” He arched his brows. “Does that help?”

  His promise calmed her roiling stomach. She crumpled against the seat and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “Yes, knowing you’ll have Mrs. Ploughman assist me as long as necessary is reassuring. Will they eventually move away from Weston?”

  “No. Mr. Ploughman’s health has been failing, but I believe they’ll remain in town.”

  Ainslee tucked away her brother’s tentative response. Once she and Mrs. Ploughman became better acquainted, Ainslee would ask for herself. Knowing the previous owners would be available to help her once Ewan departed was important. Should anything go awry, she wanted an immediate source of assistance.

  Ewan held the reins in one hand and pointed into the distance. “Over there. That’s the tile works.”

  Bracing her feet and using the seat handle to steady herself, Ainslee boosted herself several inches to gain a better view. From Adaira’s earlier description, Ainslee had expected an unusual structure, but the concrete, mission-style building appeared out of place in a lush green valley surrounded by tree-covered mountains.

  “The style is rather an odd choice, don’t you think?”

  Ewan grinned. “I thought the same thing when I first set eyes on it, but there are some advantages to the style. I’m not sure Mr. Ploughman was thinking about the benefits when he had the building constructed or if he was just trying to imitate the missions he’d seen in California.”

  “California? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who has traveled that far.”

  “He went out there during the early days of the gold rush but said he soon returned.”

  “Did he find gold?”

  Ewan chuckled and shook his head. “No. That’s why he came back home and went back to work in the business for his father. Eventually, he took over. When the business continued to grow, they needed a new location, and that’s when he bought this land. He said it took about two years to complete the building.”

  Learning about the Ploughmans intrigued Ainslee, and her earlier apprehension subsided as Ewan circled around the expansive building and entered the large courtyard. The massive walls boasted curved pedimented gables. On the east and west sides of the courtyard, arched corridors supported projecting eaves that covered the wide walkways where workers were protected from the elements. Two beautiful tile-covered cupolas and seven chimneys flanked one end of the building. A multitude of windows, both large and small, had been strategically incorporated to provide liberal lighting throughout the workplace.

  Ewan assisted her down from the carriage. “Mr. Ploughman designed the structure so the office spaces would be situated away from the work areas, an arrangement that pleased his wife.” Ewan gestured toward several large stockpiles of clay that had been piled at the far end of the courtyard area. “The clay is purchased from surrounding farms and brought here to weather—much like we weather clay for bricks and the pottery.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t purchase land that was rich in clay rather than choosing to purchase from local farmers.”

  Ewan shrugged. “Who can say what land was available for sale when he decided to expand? I’m sure he explored all the possibilities before he made his choice. He seems a wise businessman, but you can inquire when we visit with him if you like.”

  “Ewan! Good to see you.”

  Her brother turned and waved to the approaching couple before grasping Ainslee’s elbow. “That’s Mr. Ploughman and his wife.”

  The man leaned heavily on a walking stick. His shock of gray hair flew in every direction as a stiff wind caught his cap and carried it across the courtyard. Ewan broke loose and retrieved the hat as it landed against one of the far pillars that divided the arched walkway. Ainslee continued toward the older couple and Ewan met her as they drew near.

  He handed the woolen, flat-billed cap to Mr. Ploughman, then returned his hold on Ainslee’s elbow. “Mr. and Mrs. Ploughman, I’d like you to meet my sister, Ainslee McKay. You became acquainted with her twin sister, Adaira, during our last visit.”

  Mrs. Ploughman’s cheeks plumped like two rosy apples when she spread her lips in a welcoming smile. “You’re as pretty as your sister, and I believe the two of you are going to make quite a team here at the tile works. I always say that two heads are better than one. That’s why Herman and I have done so well with the business, isn’t it, Herman?”

  Mr. Ploughman nodded. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Etta.”

  Mrs. Ploughman stared at the carriage for a moment. “Where is Adaira? Is she resting at the boardinghouse? Traveling can tire a body out, and that’s a fact. I need a day or two to rest up whenever I travel—which isn’t often nowadays. Not with Herman ailing the way he is.”

  She rattled on until her husband held up his hand. “Give him a chance to answer your questions, Etta.”

  “Sorry. I do have a way of keeping the chatter going. Tell me about Adaira.” The older woman’s lips curved in a generous smile that caused her eyes to crinkle into narrow slits.

  “Adaira changed her plans and won’t be moving to Weston, so Ainslee will be taking charge of the tile works by herself. I know she’s eager to learn everything she can about the business from both of you.”

  Mrs. Ploughman placed her arm around Ainslee’s shoulder. “Set your mind at ease, dearie. You can depend on Herman and me. We’ll do everything we can to make sure the change is smooth.” She turned her gaze toward Ewa
n. “Is there any other member of the family that might be coming to give Ainslee a hand with the operation?”

  Ainslee’s stomach somersaulted. The worry in Mrs. Ploughman’s voice left no doubt—she didn’t believe Ainslee could take charge on her own.

  Chapter 5

  Ainslee looked back and forth between her brother and the Ploughmans. Ewan’s lips bore a smile, but his eyes shone with more concern than merriment when he turned to face Mrs. Ploughman. “No one else will be joining my sister, but there is no need for worry. You’ll soon discover that Ainslee’s a most capable young lady with a good head on her shoulders. She’s quick to learn, and our family has great confidence in her ability to take charge.”

  “I don’t doubt your family’s confidence, Mr. McKay, but stepping into the position without anyone else nearby to help would be difficult, even for . . .” Mrs. Ploughman caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “For a man? Is that what you were going to say?” Ainslee’s bonnet blocked her view, and she tipped her head to the side in order to gain a better look at the older woman.

  Mrs. Ploughman’s cheeks turned scarlet, but she didn’t back down. “Yes. Even a man would have difficulty running this place without someone to assist him. Ask my husband. He’s had me helping in the office since we expanded. He realized he couldn’t be in two places at once, so he took charge in the workrooms and I’m kept busy in the office.”

  Instead of shrinking back at the comment, Ainslee bristled. If she was going to return home, this tile works had to succeed under her leadership. One way or another, she was going to see that it became a profitable business that would appeal to a host of buyers.

  “Then I suppose I shall have to find a capable workman I can trust to take a leadership role among the men. Surely, there is someone among your current workers who will prove a good choice.”

  Ewan’s eyes shone with pride and heightened Ainslee’s determination. She nodded toward the entrance to the tile works. “Why don’t we begin the tour? I want to gain a better idea of the tile-making process before I begin to learn the office procedures.”

  Mr. Ploughman signaled for a young boy to take care of their horse and carriage. While he was instructing the boy, Mrs. Ploughman stepped to Ainslee’s side. “I didn’t mean any offense, my dear. I’m sure you are extremely bright and capable. When we first spoke with your brother, I expressed my concern that the business operation might prove a challenge. Needless to say, with only one of you here to manage the entire business, I worry you’ll be overwhelmed and want to give up.”

  “I know I’m faced with a huge challenge, Mrs. Ploughman, but I do plan to succeed. Knowing you and your husband will be remaining in Weston gives me added comfort.”

  “You can call on us whenever you need to.” As they crossed the courtyard, Mrs. Ploughman hooked arms with Ainslee. “The design of the tile works has proved one of my husband’s best ideas. The courtyard provides a perfect place for the wagons to deliver clay and coal, and when tiles are ready for shipping, the empty wagons can be drawn close to the doors and loaded. Even in bad weather, the covered walkways help protect the workers.”

  Ainslee agreed that the courtyard and covered walkways were ideal. “I was curious why you didn’t purchase land rich with clay rather than deciding to buy from local farmers. Was there no land available with clay deposits?”

  The bun atop Mrs. Ploughman’s head bobbled when she nodded. “Oh, yes, there was other land available, but Mr. Ploughman weighed the cost of a less expensive piece of acreage and the cost to purchase clay from other farmers against the cost of paying a higher price for the land and hiring the diggers. He also considered that there might not be men who would want to do the job when we needed them. Since the war, there’s been a shortage of able-bodied men. In the end, cheaper land and purchasing the clay was a better option. Once you go over the books, you’ll see we’ve had good success with the farmers. Their prices have remained reasonable.”

  When they entered the building, Mr. Ploughman’s gait slowed and he leaned more heavily upon his walking stick. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to show you each step in the process we use to make our paving and flooring tiles, Miss McKay. We make several sizes and shapes. You’ll be able to see a sample of each in the cutting room. When a new customer comes to the office, it’s important to tell them they have choices. Most of the manufacturers around here don’t offer more than one or two sizes. We pride ourselves on the variety we can offer.”

  Sunlight cascaded through the windows and provided ample light in the mixing room. A young man with broad shoulders and bulging muscles nodded before heaving a heaping shovelful of clay into a steam-powered mixing machine.

  Mr. Ploughman gestured to the man. “Harold, these are the new owners of the tile works. Why don’t you explain your job to Mr. and Miss McKay?”

  Using his forearm, the young man wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Ain’t much to tell.” He glanced toward the man standing nearby. “Me and Robert take turns, so we each know how to do both jobs. Right now, I’m shoveling the clay into the mixer, then I add some water.” He lifted a bucket and dumped water into the mixer. The machine churned the mixture until the clay slowly appeared and pushed through the opening at the other end of the machine, where it was squeezed through a screen. “Once the clay has been screened, we remove the screen and put a die on the end of the machine. The die allows the clay to come out in a continuous slab. We cut the slabs into blocks with this.” He tapped a large metal arc that had been strung with thick wire. When pulled into the clay, it sliced the clay into workable-sized blocks. “The fellows in the next area prepare the slabs, and then they’re sent down to dry.”

  Mr. Ploughman thanked the two men before continuing through an arch that led them into a room where the slabs of clay were being cut. “This is Joseph. He’s foreman here in the cutting room.”

  The man nodded but continued with his work.

  Mr. Ploughman picked up a three-inch by three-inch tile. “This is our smallest tile—it’s called a Cluny quarry and that’s the press used to cut them. All the square shapes are referred to as quarries, but each size has a different name.” He set the Cluny quarry on the worktable and picked up another square. “This is a medium-sized square known as an English quarry, and the largest one is a German quarry.” He returned the English quarry to the table and then tapped his finger on the largest square. After taking a few more steps, he gestured to a small rectangle. “These are called little bricks and this larger rectangle is known as a cut blank.”

  Ewan picked up one of the hexagons. “What about these hexagons—any special names for them?”

  Mr. Ploughman laughed. “Nope. They’re sold as medium and little hexagons.” He picked up a large wooden frame. “This is a form used for the Cluny quarries. There are several forms for each size we offer for sale. Two good men can prepare fifty-five hundred Cluny quarries in a day. Of course they have to be dried, fired, and cooled after they’re cut.”

  Ainslee picked up one of the small reddish tiles. “It would take a lot of these to cover a large floor. Do you receive many orders for these?”

  Mr. Ploughman nodded. “We do. They outsell several other sizes. I quit making the large hexagons because we received too few orders for them, but the forms are still here if you decide you want to make them again.”

  “I’m surprised the little ones are chosen. Wouldn’t it be less expensive to lay a floor with the larger tiles?” She returned the Cluny tile to the worktable.

  The older man nodded. “Yes, but many folks think the smaller ones much more pleasing to the eye, and much depends on the location. If a customer is purchasing tiles for an area such as a train station, where the usage will be great or heavy equipment will be used, the larger ones are more likely to crack than the smaller ones.”

  Ainslee bobbed her head. “A matter of weight disbursement.”

  Mr. Ploughman grinned. “Your brother is right—you’re a bright
young lady. My wife has all the figures in the office that detail the number of tiles required to fill specific areas. Once you have those figures and your customer gives you the size of the area he wishes to tile, it’s only a matter of arithmetic to figure the number of tiles needed and the cost to cover any area.”

  Ainslee motioned to the two young men placing the cut tiles onto racks. “What happens to the tiles after they have them on those racks?”

  Using his walking stick as a pointer, Mr. Ploughman gestured to the far side of the room. “The racks are placed on that dumbwaiter and lowered into the clay pit to dry.”

  Ainslee stepped close to the dumbwaiter and peeked around the edge of the frame into the pit. “It’s quite deep.”

  Joseph’s grin revealed a gap between his front teeth. “Nah, it’s not so deep. Only ’bout twelve feet to the bottom.” He crooked his neck toward the other side of the room. “The steps are over there. Couple of the boys unload the racks from the dumbwaiter, and we hoist it back up and fill it. Want to go down and have a look?”

  “Perhaps another time, when I’m more appropriately dressed for climbing stairs, but thank you for the offer.”

  Joseph’s grin faded, and she wondered if he had hoped to embarrass her. One day soon, she might surprise them all and wear the pair of Ewan’s old workpants she’d stuffed into her trunk. She bit back a smile at the thought. That would likely cause a commotion.

  They continued into the loading room, where several men carefully placed the various flooring tiles into oval fireclay saggers in preparation for firing in one of the five kilns. Other men unloaded the tiles from cooled saggers and placed them on wheeled racks. In another room two men carefully packed the finished tiles into crates and barrels for shipment to their final destination. The crates and barrels were carefully marked with the type and number of tiles in each container.

  Mrs. Ploughman hurried Ainslee past a brawny young man shoveling coal into one of the kilns. With each toss of his shovel, the fire popped and danced as though eager to be released from the restraints of the kiln. By the time they returned outdoors, perspiration dotted Mrs. Ploughman’s plump features.