“’Tuna Hunter didn’t get a blessing,” Julie pouted. “She got lost. I can’t find her.”
Anna Kathleen called over, “You all are welcome to join us if you’d like!”
Duncan bit back a groan. If the ladies accepted Anna’s invitation, there was no way he could leave society ladies in the warehouse. He’d be obliged to go along and endure them all afternoon. Brigit had enough common sense to mind the girls and keep them together with her. She’d capably select practical fabrics with a minimum of fuss or bother. Compassion had filled her eyes when she’d been told of the purpose of this outing, and Duncan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the only material she’d want would be for the motherless children. He’d be able to assign a man to push along a cart for Brigit and assure their safety, then leave and tend his own business.
On the other hand, visions of Prudence pulling out yards of pink satin or Opal heading toward the brocades made Duncan’s hair stand on end.
He strove to school his expression. “Someday we’ll have to plan some other kind of outing, Anna. The ladies are wearing such fetching dresses, they’d never want to get them soiled in a musty old warehouse.”
“Yes, well, we will be coming to the ladies’ sewing circle next Tuesday,” Opal singsonged as she ran her fingertips along a ribbon in her day gown. “You girls go on ahead. Be sure to pick out some lovely little pieces so we can brighten the days of those unfortunate waifs.”
Prudence leaned forward. “I’d be happy to help today.”
Opal’s mother cut in. “Pru, Dear, your mama would swoon if I took you home with cobwebs and dust all over that rose taffeta.”
“Another time. Good day, ladies.” Duncan drove off and didn’t even try to smother his smile. Pink had some use after all.
Eight
“Details. They’re just minor details,” one of the carpenters grumbled as he tromped off with a toolbox.
Duncan held his tongue. It wouldn’t serve any purpose to bark at the men. The frustrations he faced were myriad; yet none of them would be lessened by snapping at someone. His ship still needed appreciable fitting before it would be seaworthy and capable of handling a fully laden hull. After listening to the discussions around him, Duncan felt more pressured to hasten the maiden voyage.
Hotheaded men already scrapped with one another about politics, and everyone had an opinion about the Lincoln-Douglas debates. Whichever leaning they held, those men weren’t above trying to convince others to see matters in the “right” way. He had his hands full keeping the workmen on task and off the political bandwagons. More often than not, Duncan found it necessary to stop a scuffle between his workers because some staunchly advocated secession while others firmly believed in preserving the Union. All he needed was for someone to get upset and sabotage the vessel. Once it was launched, he would have far better control over who came near it.
Newcomb Shipping boasted fine crews of seamen, and there’d never been anything but cooperation at sea. Discipline was both rare and fair. Some of these hotheaded men could tear apart the crew’s harmony. Duncan made mental notes of the few who were rabble-rousers and also of those who were peacemakers.
Duncan wasn’t a man to vote by party recommendation—he studied the candidates, prayed, and finally came to the decision he felt was best. The word “secession” came up often, and folks were hot under the collar. He wished the Lord’s peace would be poured out on the nation.
“Duncan, I’m needing more timber,” Old Kemper called from several yards away.
“Fine. I’ll have a draft ready for you at the office. When do you want it?”
Kemper sorrowfully shook his head from side to side and swaggered up. “Nay, that’s not the issue. ’Tis that the mill’s behind on deliveries.”
“Then we’ll send wagons for whatever you need. Probably ought to lay by some extra if they’re running late on our orders.”
“I was hopin’ you’d say that. Can’t take my men, though. I need every last man jack. You’ll have to pull some deckhands. Sooner you do it, the better off we are.” Kemper brushed some sawdust off the front of his shirt. “I’m already looking at a delay because of this.”
After arranging for a team of sailors, Duncan sent them off with him to get the lumber. He went to examine the sails on another vessel and dickered with a supplier over the rising cost of tar.
Every last contact contained some reference to the election. Duncan didn’t want to engage in political conversations. He tried to sidestep them as best he could. Folks lost all reason when they found someone didn’t share their leanings. Duncan planned on casting his vote in the privacy of the ballot box and prayed whatever the outcome, his loved ones would be spared any of the discord’s ravages.
John met his gaze and subtly tilted his head toward the shipping office. He rarely sought a meeting in private. Most of their discussions took place out in the shipyard or on the docks. The fact that John indicated he’d rather handle a matter out of sight let Duncan know it must be important.
Duncan cupped his hands to his mouth to create a bullhorn. “John—I need to get some papers signed. Can you meet me in the office?”
His brother-in-law nodded.
Duncan hadn’t lied. He did need John’s signature on a few things. Those matters were resolved in minutes. Unfortunately, folks kept coming in and out. John grimaced. “Let’s have a quiet supper tonight. I’ll instruct Emily that she and the children can eat early. Hey—have you seen my fountain pen?”
“No. Why?”
John shook his head as he rummaged on the top of his desk. “I can’t find it at home and wondered if I accidentally carried it here or if you’d borrowed it by chance.”
“Sorry. Haven’t seen it.”
John heaved a sigh. “It’ll turn up. As to the other matter—we’ll dine in the library at seven, if you’re free.”
“Done.” Duncan figured John had plenty on his mind. They’d both been busier than a one-armed man in a rowboat. ’Twas time to compare notes.
❧
“I’m needing butter.” Brigit surveyed the cart and determined what else would complete the meal.
“Here you go.” Lee plunked down a small dish.
“I’ll be happy to wheel that on in.” Trudy bustled over and curled her hands around the handle of the ornately inlaid wooden cart.
“I imagine you would, but you’re not going to.” Cook used her ample hip to bump Trudy away. “’Tis dishes for you tonight. Get with it, now.”
Trudy let out a gust of a sigh and pouted. “I don’t know why I can’t take the tray in to the gentlemen. I’ve been here longer than Brigit.”
Brigit didn’t want to be party to this conversation. She popped the domed covers over the plates to hold in the heat and filled the creamer.
Cook didn’t mince words. “You’re not assigned that task, and for good cause. You make a pest of yourself every time you get in the same room as Duncan.”
“I do not!”
“And just who dropped beets on his arm yesterday?”
Trudy looked completely affronted. “That was an accident.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so accident prone,” Lee added in a wry tone. “The way you tripped on the stairs and he had to catch you—”
“Oh, stop! Mishaps occur to everyone.” Trudy pressed her hand to her bosom. “No one can begin to imagine how mortified I was to tumble down the stairs in front of him.”
Lee snapped a dish towel at her. “For it being such an embarrassing calamity, Goodhew said you sure did manage to cling to Duncan for a long while.”
“I could have broken my neck. He rescued me, and I was suffering a reaction.”
Cook folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Tripping down one measly step wouldn’t break your neck. It’s a crying pity you didn’t thump your noggin and knock some sense into yourself. Any other lady of the home would dismiss you for the way you’re literally throwing yourself at a family member. ’Tis unseemly. Stop whining a
nd do your job, and be glad you’ve kept it thus far.”
Brigit turned the cart around and bumped the swinging door with her hip to open it. She backed out of the kitchen and drew the cart after her until the door shut. Once out, she seesawed the cart back and forth at an angle until she had it turned around. The library lay just a few doors down the hall.
Goodhew waited until she brought the cart to the door, then opened it and announced, “Dinner, sirs.”
“Yes. Good.” Mr. John’s voice drifted out of the room along with the pleasant scent of the fire Brigit had lit in the room an hour before.
She pulled in the cart, and the door shut behind her. Mr. John sat behind his desk, and Duncan stood by the fireplace. Brigit got no cue as to their desire, so she asked, “Will you gentlemen be dining off the cart, or would you prefer to use the desk or one of the tables?”
“That table there will do just fine.” Mr. John gestured toward a table flanked by a pair of deep green leather wingback chairs. He then turned his attention back on Duncan. “It’s not a matter of greed. Emily suffered from such poverty. I’ll never have her in a position where she needs to worry again.”
“And you have my undying gratitude for that.” Duncan grabbed an andiron and poked at a log. The logs let off a cheery popping sound, and sparks flew.
Brigit quietly spread a small, plain white linen cloth across the table, then set the plates down and laid silverware beside them. She took pains to make as little noise as possible. The somber tone of voice the men shared brought forth memories of when Da and Mum were discussing the grave matters of sending the farmers to America so they wouldn’t starve. Tears misted her eyes.
She poured coffee for Mr. John and placed the glass of milk for Duncan next to the other plate. Once everything was in place, she pushed the cart off to the corner, came back, and removed the warming domes. “Supper is served.”
The men took seats, and Duncan asked a blessing. Brigit waited until he finished before she set the domes on the cart. It would have been disrespectful to make that racket while he’d been addressing the Almighty.
“We need to set up priorities at once,” Mr. John said. “Plan. I’ll hire some men to do patrols on the grounds.”
“Thank you for the milk, Brigit.” Duncan took his glass.
Mr. John continued. “I expect our vessels to be conscripted right away. Supplies are of the utmost—”
Duncan lifted his chin at a self-assured angle and spoke in an uncustomarily sharp tone, “We’ll have Goodhew summon you if we need anything, Brigit.”
“Very well.”
She gladly left the library. Whatever the two men were discussing, it should be between only them. The very fact that they were holding this private meeting underscored the importance of discretion, and Brigit felt horribly intrusive, standing there. Servants were supposed to be invisible and silent—but she’d been out of place when the men so obviously wished to hash out this business.
“Back so soon?” Trudy simpered once Brigit reached the kitchen. “Don’t you know to stay and clear away? Men don’t take long to eat.”
Jealousy dripped off each word, and Brigit decided to put Trudy’s fear to rest. “That may be, but Duncan dismissed me. I’ll just have to go back later.”
Later. Hopefully much later—after the men had finished and left the library. Brigit felt completely unsettled. Memories flooded back of so many evenings of similar conversations filled with concerns and burdens her parents held. Lord, whatever is weighing on the hearts of those men, please help them carry the load.
❧
“It’s heating up and will hit boiling point all too soon.” Duncan set down his fork. “I’m striving to stay impartial in public.”
John nodded. “There comes a point when a man has to stand up and be counted. When the time arrives, we’ll not be silent. Until then, we have to set priorities and keep as neutral as possible.”
“I’m thinking of protection.”
“As am I.” John took a gulp of coffee and grimaced. “Cook must’ve measured the coffee wrong. This stuff is so weak, it needs crutches. Why did you have that maid leave?”
Because she looked worried and pale. Brigit’s normally been bright as a copper penny, but she wasn’t tonight. Pushing that cart in here, she was the cheerful-hearted lass I’ve become accustomed to seeing; but within seconds she changed. She’s perceptive, and she sensed the ugliness of what we’re discussing. She gave us a trapped look, and tears filled her eyes—I wanted to spare the lass. It all sounded so melodramatic. Duncan hitched a shoulder. “We have no reason to think she’s untrustworthy. I prefer to have no one privy to our conversation, though.” He paused, then tacked on, “Women ought not be burdened with such dark matters anyway.”
“True enough. So as for protection—I want to purchase guns. Several of them.”
“And you don’t think that will raise suspicions?”
John grinned. “It’s customary to give gifts at the boat’s christening. We can order a goodly number of navy Colts and present them to Old Kemper and several of the other men. No one is going to keep a precise count, so we’ll be able to keep a reasonable stash here.”
“What about Timothy and Titus learning some marksmanship?” Duncan chuckled at the memory of the horrendous fuss his sister kicked up the first time she learned John had taken him out to do some target practice. “Do you think Em will allow it?”
“While you were away on your last voyage, I went down to the caretaker’s cottage to talk to your father. He and I have been working on Emily a bit at a time—dropping hints so she could grow accustomed to the notion. At first she pitched a fit, but she’s had a chance to let the idea sink in.”
“I could tell her a Colt is more manageable and accurate for the boys. Safer by far, too.” A distinct memory of that first time he’d fired John’s rifle flitted through Duncan’s mind, and he winced at it. “The kick from a rifle would knock them over.”
“Your father sneaked Tim off a few weeks ago and let him discover that fact firsthand.” John unconsciously rubbed his right collarbone. “I smuggled Tim some liniment that night to lessen the bruise, but he sported an impressive one.”
“Gunpowder and bullets—what is your plan about those?”
The men talked long into the night—making plans and setting priorities. If war didn’t occur, they’d easily use all the supplies in the course of time. If matters continued down the road of doom Duncan predicted, they’d need every last bit.
Aye, that was the sickening part of it all. The United States looked as if they weren’t long to remain united. In a war, the North and the South would surely inflict wounds that would be slow to heal. With Virginia counting itself as the South and participating in the Southern economy, it would be doubly difficult since the capitol was right there. This region would be in the middle of the skirmishes.
In the event of a war, Newcomb Shipping would be an immediate target for the factions. Each side would want to lay claim to the vessels. The very thought that the vessels they used only for peace would be conscripted for war left both men cold. By loading half the ships and setting up long-term voyages and trade agreements, John planned to keep a good part of the fleet out of the fray. His strategy ought to work well enough to keep them from being party to a good portion of the predicted violence.
John drummed his fingers on the table. “How do you stand, if it comes to fighting?”
Nine
Duncan stared him directly in the eye. “I’m not eager to take a life; but if it comes to the point that we go to war, I’d represent our family. I want you to stay out of the fray. Em and the children need you too much.” Duncan didn’t want John to give him any grief over that assertion, so he smoothly changed the direction of the conversation. “Have you thought about what you want to do with the family? Will you keep them here since we were discussing firearms earlier?”
John shook his head. “It’s one of the reasons I’m sending the boys with you to
Massachusetts on this next voyage. It’ll give you a good reason to drop in on my aunt. Discuss the matter with her. If she’s amenable, I’ll have Emily and the children stay with her for a season or two until the danger passes.”
“You think Em will go for that?”
“She’ll battle me.” John wiped his mouth. “But Em loves the children, and in the end that will tip the balance in my favor. She’d do whatever is necessary to keep them safe.”
Duncan absently swirled his glass until the milk turned into a whirlpool. “No matter whether you have a Northern or a Southern sympathizer, everyone is sure that if it comes to a battle, the whole matter will be over in a few months.”
“We can only pray if it comes to that point, they’re right. Now let’s determine what supplies to stock up on and how to go about it.”
Plans. They made their plans in seclusion over a fine meal and by a warm fire. Detail after detail needed consideration. The very next morning both men started to carry them out. Within days Duncan was glad they’d buckled down right away. Events around him made it abundantly clear they had assessed the political situation all too accurately. The nation was teetering on the precipice of civil unrest.
“Hey—did you read the article in The Spectator about Yancey’s speech?” the sail maker asked as Duncan inspected the cloth he proposed to use. “It says here, ‘As a declaimer and specious reasoner, he has few superiors. As an ingenious debater, seeking to place fairly and frankly before the country a faithful record of facts and an incontrovertible accumulation of unimpeachable testimony, he was, in his effort of Wednesday, totally and painfully deficient.’ ”
“Hmm.” Duncan tested the thickness of the fabric and frowned.
“Are you unhappy with the editor’s opinion or with my goods?”
“I was considering having you make an extra set of sails to keep on hand. The last storm cost us dearly, and ’twould be wise for me to place an order.” Duncan rapped his knuckles against the cutting table. “You can deliver them as you make them.”
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