The Brickmaker's Bride

by Judith Miller

  “I’ve told you Mr. Hawkins is courting Miss Woodfield. This has to do with the machinery at the brickyard.”

  His aunt eyed him with suspicion. “You’d better not be telling your uncle there are problems with any of that equipment. If so, we’ll have to go over and have a talk with Mrs. Woodfield and her lawyer. I’ll see that contract set aside if they’ve tried to swindle us with faulty machinery or kilns.”

  How one woman could heap such condemnation upon others without any provocation was beyond Ewan. “No need to worry, Aunt Maggie. So far as I can tell, the equipment is working fine. We’ll know for sure when we begin molding bricks and firing the kilns next spring. I’m sure if anything is faulty, Mrs. Woodfield will reimburse Uncle Hugh or have the equipment repaired. There was such a clause in the contract, wasn’t there, Uncle Hugh?”

  “Aye, but your aunt can always find something to argue about. With that sharp tongue of hers, a person would think she’d grown up working in a fish market.”

  “Or living with a husband who was willing to gamble away all his money.” His aunt lifted a spoonful of bread pudding and held it in the air. “Here’s to you, husband, the man who caused me to sharpen my tongue.” She smirked, shoved the spoon into her mouth, and then licked it clean.

  “No matter what you say, I know you hold nothing but love for me, dearie.” Uncle Hugh matched her spoon salute with one of his own.

  “Before you go off for your private talk, there’s something I want to settle with both of you. We’ve all been invited to a social gathering—a harvest celebration. A silly name since this hilly country can’t produce what I’d call a harvest. More like gathering a few vegetables from the garden. And if there’d been any harvest, it would have ended long before now.”

  His uncle ignored her critical remark, more interested in details of the gathering. “Who’s hosting the party? And who’s invited?”

  “The Woodfields are hosting, of course, but I have no idea who else is attending. I didn’t receive a copy of the invitation list, husband.” Her words dripped with sarcasm, but his uncle didn’t appear to notice or care.

  “Let’s hope there are some distinguished men present.” Uncle Hugh leaned back in his chair and downed the remains of his coffee. “I’d like to meet a few men like those Ewan met in Pittsburgh. I think we’d have some common interests.”

  Ewan didn’t respond. He doubted whether Mr. Laughlin or Judge Mellon would be interested in joining his uncle at the gambling halls, and that appeared to be his uncle’s only interest right now.

  Aunt Maggie straightened and gave a firm nod. “We can invite them to a party. Although I’d rather wait until our new house has been built, maybe we need to host a party before then. That way you can meet those men, Hugh.” She tapped her fingertips on the table. “I think we should host a Hogmanay celebration to welcome in the New Year. We can invite folks and they can learn a bit about the Scottish tradition. What do you think, Hugh? We could serve steak pie. ’Twould not be a proper New Year’s celebration without it.”

  Though their families had lived in Ireland for many years, the tradition of Hogmanay had continued to be celebrated among those who had long ago migrated from Scotland to Ireland.

  “’Tis true I want to meet those men, but I think it’s early to be deciding on a Hogmanay party. ’Course, I know you’ll do as you please, Maggie.” He pulled his pipe from his inner pocket. “We both know you’re not looking for my permission. Just remember that I’ll not be playing bagpipes as part of your celebration.”

  Her lips curved in a slight smile. “Well, I’ve seen no pipes in this house, so I do not think you need to worry that I’ll be asking you to play.” She hesitated for a moment and then wagged her finger between Ewan and Kathleen. “Now, back to my earlier mention of the party at the Woodfields’—I’ll be expecting the two of you to attend together as a couple. At the very least, dance and appear happy. Others need to regard you as a couple so invitations will come to both of you.”

  Ewan glanced at Kathleen. Deep crimson colored her pale cheeks. Ewan was annoyed with his aunt, but he didn’t want to argue. It would only cause Kathleen further embarrassment. When Kathleen attempted to push away from the table, Maggie placed her hand atop her sister’s and held her in place.

  “I am sure both Kathleen and I will be invited to social gatherings without the need of acting as though we’re a couple,” Ewan said as pleasantly as possible. “No doubt Kathleen would prefer to find an eligible suitor of her choosing.” He looked at Kathleen, hoping she’d affirm his remark, but she merely sat there. Silent as a stone. As though she’d lost her ability to speak. He leaned toward her. “Isn’t that right, Kathleen?”

  She shrugged and glanced toward her sister. “Whatever Margaret thinks is best.” As the younger sister, Kathleen had always been overshadowed by her forceful older sister, but when she contracted consumption five years ago, she’d become completely dependent upon Hugh and Margaret. Since then, she seemed unable to break free of her older sister’s domineering personality. Fear of being left alone in the homeland had eclipsed Kathleen’s dread of sailing to and settling in a new country.

  Ewan stared at the two women, uncertain what Margaret might be plotting. Never had he expressed interest in courting Margaret’s sister, yet it appeared that was what his aunt was suggesting. The idea seemed almost ludicrous. The four of them had been living together as a family, and though he and Kathleen were not related by blood, he thought of her as kin. He would act as Kathleen’s escort—much as a brother or father might—but nothing more. If that was his aunt’s intent, she would be sorely disappointed.

  While Kathleen didn’t possess her sister’s abrupt personality, she and Ewan would never be a match. Kathleen had matured into a quiet young lady who seldom offered an opinion, likely because she’d learned her sister didn’t appreciate opposing views. Even the two women’s looks were as different as herring and trout. While Margaret was tall and thin as a rail, and twisted her dark hair in a knot atop her head, Kathleen was short and thickset, and swept her light brown hair into a severe mode that disappeared in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Rather than hide the fullness of her face with a few thick strands of crimped hair, she wore a style that accentuated her plump cheeks and wide nose.

  “You need to keep your thoughts of marriage channeled in the proper direction, Ewan, and I plan to help you.” Margaret gestured to her sister. “Come along, Kathleen. Let’s leave the men to their privacy so they may discuss the brickyard.” She swept out of the room with an air of authority that left Ewan feeling as though he’d been hit by a tidal wave.

  His uncle held a match to his pipe and puffed until the tobacco glowed red. Using the stem, he waved Ewan toward the library. “Best we get out of sight before your aunt has enlisted a preacher to marry you to her sister.”

  The words startled Ewan and he stopped short. “Marry her? What are you saying? I have no interest in Kathleen.”

  His uncle laughed. “If you do not want Maggie pushing you into a marriage with Kathleen, then you’d best keep your distance from the Woodfield lass. You know she’s courting the lawyer, and so do I, but Maggie’s made up her mind there’s more than friendship between you and Miss Woodfield. And you know my Maggie when she gets something in her head.”

  Ewan didn’t want to do or say anything that might hurt Kathleen, but he’d not permit his aunt to run his life. After following his uncle into the library, the two of them settled into a pair of worn leather chairs.

  His uncle drew on his pipe. “So what is it that you need to discuss in private?”

  Ewan rested his arms across his thighs and met his uncle’s gaze. “I’ve learned you’ve been seeking company at the gaming tables.”

  His uncle merely shrugged. “No harm done. I’ll be needing cards to keep me busy and a glass of whiskey to keep me warm during the cold of winter.”

  “You can’t continue approaching strangers, Uncle Hugh. Even with Winston’s support, no
banker will loan money to a man he believes has a gambling problem, and there’s already talk that you’re more interested in gaming than operating a brickyard.”

  Hugh’s teeth clenched so tight Ewan expected the stem of his pipe to crack. “’Tis no one’s business.”

  Ewan shook his head and sighed. “Either you cease your talk of gambling in town or you can kiss the hope of another VerValen good-bye. It’s your choice.”

  His uncle dropped against the back of his chair. “’Tis enough to scald the heart out of me. I’ll do as you ask, but once we have that loan, I’ll be doing as I please. Any more warnings for me?”

  “Nay, but I’d like to discuss bringing my sisters over as soon as possible.”

  His uncle chuckled. “It’s your aunt you’ll need to convince. She’s pulled the purse strings tighter than a hangman’s noose. Why do you think I need to sit at the gaming tables?”

  Expelling a breath, Ewan stood and strode toward the door. How could he possibly persuade his aunt? How could he soften a heart that had turned to stone?

  For years Ewan had wondered over the relationship between his aunt and uncle, so opposite from that of his own parents. How had Uncle Hugh and Aunt Margaret ever decided to wed? Even more, how had they remained together all these years—and why? Several years ago, he’d gathered his courage and posed the question to his uncle. The answer hadn’t been what he’d expected. His uncle had chuckled and said, “Because I love her, and she loves me. Nobody else would put up with either of us.” Though the answer hadn’t been particularly helpful, Ewan had decided there was a dependency that existed between the two of them. One that could neither be explained nor understood by others.

  Chapter 12

  Laura stood in front of the oval mirror and examined the fit of her gown. Brushing her fingers down the front of the plum-colored silk, she rearranged the folds and gave a satisfied smile. Her tear-shaped pendant earrings sparkled in the fading light filtering through her bedroom windows. She worried this evening might prove a disaster for Mrs. Crothers, but she wished her well with hosting her first party since moving to Bartlett.

  When Laura and her mother had hosted their annual harvest celebration party, Mr. and Mrs. Crothers had seemingly enjoyed themselves, though they’d departed earlier than most of the guests. Ewan had never mentioned his uncle’s behavior during the event, but she hadn’t failed to notice Ewan had remained close to Hugh’s side throughout the evening. On several occasions she’d considered asking if he’d warned his uncle to avoid inviting the other male guests to join him in future gambling forays, but there had been no opportunity.

  Neither he nor Kathleen knew any of the dances, and their few attempts had been abysmal. She and Winston had offered to change partners and help them with their dance steps, but Mrs. Crothers had rushed to Kathleen’s side and declined on behalf of the couple.

  Since then, she’d seen little of Ewan, though she’d thought of him often. She attempted to refrain from such thoughts. To be thinking of another man was, after all, inappropriate. Yet she couldn’t seem to cease comparing Winston and Ewan. They were so different. Winston, with his political ambitions and desire to mingle among men of power and money, had a distinct dislike of anything connected to manual labor and everyday life.

  Ewan was quite the opposite. He held little interest in politics or acquainting himself with wealthy, influential men. Instead, with his feet slipping and sliding, she’d watched him run down the side of the hill to work alongside the men digging clay. Even at a distance, she’d seen his muscles flex and bulge beneath his tight chambray shirt. And though she should have averted her eyes, she didn’t. The man fascinated her.

  Over the months since they’d met, she’d tried to understand why she was drawn to him. He possessed an air of genuine kindness, exhibited an unapologetic faith in God, had proved honest in his dealings, and longed for success—not at the expense of others, but by his own hard work.

  Using a delicate touch, she judiciously twisted a jeweled pin into her curls and gave herself one final look in the mirror. As she descended the stairs, Winston stood in the foyer gazing up at her with a frozen smile.

  At that moment, the answer came to her: She was drawn to Ewan because he possessed the qualities she’d most admired in her father. Why had it taken her so long to realize the parallel between the two men? Of course there were some differences. Ewan was an immigrant and hadn’t been reared in a well-to-do family, nor had he been educated in a fine school. Still, her father had known hardship, too. When he’d decided to go into the brick business, he’d met with strong disapproval from his father, but her father had persevered without the family’s wealth to help him. And she was certain Ewan would, too. By connecting with friends from the early years, her father had gained a great number of customers. The introductions that she and her mother were now offering Ewan would do the same for his business, unless his uncle managed to ruin everything with his gambling and crass behavior.

  “You look lovely, my dear. Is that a new gown? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.” He reached for her hand as she descended the final step.

  “Yes, the seamstress delivered it early yesterday. I’m quite fond of the fabric and thought the color perfect for the holiday season.”

  Winston snorted. “Christmas is over, and I don’t even claim to understand this Hogmanay celebration. The name alone is ridiculous. I know it has to do with the New Year, but the name is outlandish. Why didn’t they simply call it a New Year’s celebration?” He arched his brows as though he expected a response, but he didn’t give her an opportunity to reply before he continued voicing his discontent. “I’m still not sure why you insisted we attend. I doubt any of our acquaintances will be present.” He circled his index finger in the air, and she slowly turned. “Absolutely perfect. There isn’t a woman in all the state who can compare with your beauty and charm.”

  His words should please her, but Winston’s praise always sounded as though he was simply uttering proper and expected compliments. She didn’t doubt that he thought her attractive and admired her social graces, but his comments didn’t bear the emotion of a man in love. He’d likely perfected the art of hiding his true feelings while seeking candidacy for political office. Often enough, he’d told her that carefully chosen words could make or break a man during an election. There was no doubt he’d taken those words to heart in both his public and private life. To her, it seemed a sham. To him, it was telling people what they wanted to hear—anything for a vote. She thought the idea chilling and wondered if all politicians embraced that same belief.

  Yet what right did she have to criticize Winston’s behavior? Even though she’d first objected to his courtship, she’d eventually given in to her mother’s wishes. Laura salved her conscience with the thought that she was saving her mother from the worry of leaving behind a spinster daughter. But wasn’t that just as deceitful?

  In truth, she and Winston were using each other—and they both knew it. Winston wanted a wife who would help him succeed politically. He cared about nothing else. As for herself, she wanted to ease her mother’s fears, and her options were limited unless she married without telling her intended the truth. And she would never marry a man without detailing her past. But Winston knew her secret. He had actually been pleased when her mother presented him with the information. She should be thankful that he wanted to marry her, but there were times when she thought it might be better to remain a spinster than to live out her years in a loveless marriage.

  Mrs. Woodfield appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a dark blue gown trimmed with imported ivory lace. A jeweled brooch was centered on the neckline, and matching earrings gave the ensemble a striking final touch. “I’m sorry to keep you two waiting, but the older I get, the longer it takes to make myself presentable.”

  “You need not worry about your age, Mrs. Woodfield. You could pass for Laura’s sister.” He glanced at Laura and quickly stammered a retraction that only made matters more
embarrassing.

  Laura touched his sleeve. “No need to worry, Winston. I’m not offended in the least.” She gave her mother a quick appraisal. “You look lovely, Mother. That color is becoming on you. It brings out the blue in your eyes, don’t you think, Winston?”

  “Absolutely.” He helped Laura into her ermine-trimmed coat and then assisted her mother. “Have you thought about replacing Willis?”

  Her mother made a quick turn to face Winston. “Why would I replace Willis? I have Zeke to take care of the stable and animals; Joseph takes care of any necessary repairs and whatever else Zeke needs done; Catherine and Sally take care of our household and personal needs. Willis took care of my husband’s personal needs and occasionally performed a few duties as a butler. Had he returned from the war, I would have retained his services, but with both him and Isaiah in their graves, I see no need.”

  “I just thought it would be helpful to have someone assigned to answer the door, see to . . .” Winston grappled for the right answer, seemingly upset that he’d once again lodged his foot firmly in his mouth. Then he gestured to Mrs. Woodfield’s coat. “To help with your coats and such.”

  “Why, that’s exactly the reason we have an escort, Winston.” Mother offered a charming expression as she brushed past him and continued out the front door.

  During the short carriage ride to the party, Winston again voiced his displeasure that Laura and her mother had accepted the Hogmanay invitation. “I simply don’t see why we couldn’t have sent regrets.”

  Laura’s mother looked at him as though he’d lost his senses. “Because it would be rude. These people are our neighbors. They purchased our business, and we want to support them in their first social event.” She pulled her coat higher around her neck. “Once you see who is attending the party, you may be very happy we accepted the invitation.”

  Winston shot her a sideways glance. “I hope you didn’t convince the governor he should attend. If so, I’m sure he’ll be taken aback when he sees they’ve invited him to no more than a hovel.”