The Brickmaker's Bride

by Judith Miller

  He hesitated a moment and then gave a nod. “But what if Mr. Bruce has other plans for dinner? Then what will your mother do?”

  She chuckled. “Then you’ll get to eat several servings.” For a moment she considered telling him Winston would be there but changed her mind. She’d wait to tell him.

  A short time later, Mr. Bruce arrived. He’d accepted Zeke’s offer of a ride as well as her mother’s dinner invitation. However, he’d already registered at the hotel, so he declined the invitation to stay at Woodfield Manor. “I do appreciate your mother’s hospitality. I enjoy her company very much.”

  “Then you must visit more often. We don’t see enough of our friends and always enjoy company.”

  Mr. Bruce clapped Ewan on the shoulder. “Well, if this young man and I are able to sign a contract, I’m sure you’ll see a bit more of me. I always like to visit the companies where I do business. Much more personal than letters or telegrams, don’t you think, Mr. McKay?” He turned his focus on Ewan.

  “Aye, much better. I want to please our customers, and I want to hear for myself what they have to say. If they are unhappy, better they tell me than spread the word to my competitors, right?”

  “Exactly! I knew I liked you, Ewan. We think much the same way.” Mr. Bruce stepped to the window and looked down at the yard. “I see you’re working at full production. I’m eager to see the color you’ve developed and the completed frog.” He rubbed his hands together like a child anticipating a Christmas surprise. “Let’s go down to the yard.”

  Ewan didn’t mind the request, but he’d wanted Laura present during any talks with Mr. Bruce, and the yard was no place for a lady, especially one dressed as fine as she. He worried she’d leave and go home to help her mother with arrangements for dinner, so he stopped in the doorway. “You’ll be here when we return?”

  “Of course. Now go on and show him what fine bricks you’re making down there.”

  Her smile warmed his heart. He strode forward and led Mr. Bruce down to the yard with renewed confidence in his step. “I think you’re going to like the color. We worked to get the right combination of clay and hematite to produce several different shades of red. If you decide to use our company, I’ve carefully recorded the amount of hematite to clay so that we can immediately begin production. Of course, burning can make a huge difference in the color, too, so I’ve been working long hours training the men I hired to work as burners.”

  Laura’s father had been thoughtful in his layout of the yard. While allowing space for expansion, he’d also made certain the supply of clay would be close enough to the pug mill to make the use of one-horse carts economical.

  Once the path into the yard widened, Mr. Bruce came alongside Ewan. “So you’re mixing the hematite into the clay while it is being tempered in the pug mill rather than mixing it with the molding sand.”

  There was no doubt that Mr. Bruce knew a great deal about the brick-making process. Ewan didn’t know if he was being singled out and put to a test or if Mr. Bruce asked detailed questions at every business he visited. Ewan hoped it was the latter and Mr. Bruce wasn’t feeling doubtful about Ewan’s ability to meet deadlines with an excellent product.

  Ewan nodded. “Aye. Too much of the molding sand is rubbed off while the brick is being handled, which can result in loss of hematite and the red coloring you desire. I would never use that method unless a customer insisted.”

  Mr. Bruce appeared pleased by the answer but immediately followed with another question. “How long does it take to temper the clay in your pug mill, and how many bricks do you yield from each mix?”

  Ewan pointed to the semicylindrical trough with long knives set spirally around the circumference. Mr. Bruce watched as clay was loaded at one end of the trough and mixed by the knives until it reached the other end and was discharged from the machine. “We use a closed pug mill because there is more uniform pressure on the clay while it is being tempered, which gives us better mixing results. With this machine, it takes about ten hours to temper enough clay for sixty thousand bricks.” He pointed to the nearby idle pug mill his uncle had recently purchased. “That one will produce about the same amount.”

  Mr. Bruce arched his brows. “But you’re not using it?”

  “I don’t need it right now, but I hope one day to have both pug mills operating every day from early spring until early winter. Everything depends upon how many orders we receive.”

  “I’m surprised you’d purchase machinery before it’s needed, Ewan. That doesn’t seem particularly prudent.”

  Ewan nodded. “I do not make the decisions regarding how the money is spent, Mr. Bruce. I manage the brickyard, but my uncle is the owner, and he decides what will be purchased and what will not. I’m expected to bring in enough contracts to cover the expenses and make a tidy profit, as well.”

  “I’d say you have the difficult end of that bargain. I hope your uncle is paying you handsomely.”

  Ewan refrained from answering that remark. Instead, he directed Mr. Bruce to the VerValen machine, where the bricks were being molded. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this piece of equipment.”

  “Indeed. The VerValen has changed the course of brickmaking.” Mr. Bruce picked up one of the six-brick molds bearing the new frogs Ewan had designed. “I like this very much. I understand the C&M initials, but why the burning bush? A reference to burning the bricks?”

  “There are two reasons. You’ve touched upon one of them. The other is because the burning bush reveals a living God. I wanted to use something in the design that symbolized my faith.”

  “And the faith of your uncle, as well?” Mr. Bruce traced his thick fingers across the design.

  “I cannot speak for the faith of any other man, Mr. Bruce. Sometimes we can be fooled by outward appearances. Deceiving humans is not difficult, but deceiving God is impossible. Only He knows the true heart.”

  Mr. Bruce clapped Ewan on the shoulder. “You’re a perceptive young man, Ewan. When anyone asks about the design, it will provide an opportunity for you to share your faith, a topic most of us are reluctant to discuss with others.”

  Ewan hadn’t considered that possibility, but it pleased him to think his bricks might be a way of sharing God’s faithfulness with other people. The idea continued to take root as he and Mr. Bruce watched a teenage boy sanding the molds before placing them in the machine.

  Ewan moved closer to the workman adding sand to the molds and pointed to a spot in the wooden form. “Be sure you sand them well so the bricks don’t stick. See here in the corners? You need to make sure those are sanded as well as the middle of the molds.” Ewan added a little more sand and tilted the mold until every spot had been coated with sand.

  The boy’s hand trembled as Ewan returned the mold. “I try to be careful and do a good job, Mr. McKay. My pa’s gonna be angry if he finds out I’m making mistakes.”

  “No need to worry. We all make mistakes from time to time.” Ewan was surprised the young man hadn’t been corrected by the molder, who scraped off the top of the molds as they came out of the machine, or by the off-bearer, who took the mold from the delivery table and placed it on a two-wheeled barrow. Ewan had asked the experienced men to help the younger or untrained workers, but it seemed he’d need to have another talk with them.

  They stepped aside as two truck men scurried back and forth from the VerValen, pushing the wooden carts filled with molded bricks to the yard, where they dumped the bricks onto the drying floor for the mold setters to arrange in a herringbone pattern to begin the drying process.

  “Looks like you have quite a number of hardworking men,” Mr. Bruce said as they continued toward the drying floor.

  “Aye. We were fortunate to hire almost all of the men who returned from the war and had worked for Mr. Woodfield. And all of our relatives my uncle brought over from Ireland had worked in brickyards, either in Scotland or Ireland, so they are well trained in the craft. Unfortunately, only one was an experienced burner, oth
er than myself, so that has been the biggest challenge.”

  “How many arches in your kilns?”

  Ewan followed Mr. Bruce’s gaze. “Fifteen arches made up of thirty-five to forty thousand bricks. I prefer the arches to be about forty courses high. Since we’re burning with coal, we start the fires on the windward side so the smoke will blow through the arches.”

  The two of them continued onward until they neared the far end of the drying yard. Ewan directed Mr. Bruce to a small covered section. “So you’ve covered only a small area?”

  Ewan nodded. “Eventually, I want to have both an open and a covered yard, but right now we have only a small section covered. The bricks we created for your inspection are in this section.”

  Mr. Bruce leaned down and picked up one of the deep red bricks. “Did you test the water absorption on these bricks?”

  “Except for the salmon bricks, all of these are at less than 10 percent absorption. On that particular brick, it is 5 percent. The bricks were weighed before they were placed in water for twenty-four hours and weighed as soon as they were removed.”

  “Salmon and green bricks always absorb more, but I’m glad to hear these deep red ones are below 10 percent. I think they will be my choice for the row houses in both Allegheny City and Pittsburgh.” He placed the brick back on the pallet and picked up another, one shade lighter. “This one for the churches, libraries, and office buildings in Pittsburgh. The one over there for all industrial buildings, and this one for business buildings, churches, and libraries in Allegheny City.” He glanced at Ewan. “You should write this down so you’ll remember what bricks to produce when I send word we’re going to be constructing a new bank in Allegheny City or row houses in Pittsburgh.”

  Ewan’s pulse quickened. “You’re going to sign a contract with us?”

  “I am.” Mr. Bruce gave a firm nod. “You know how to make a fine brick, Ewan. As long as you meet our deadlines and continue producing bricks of this quality, you won’t need to worry about keeping your men busy.” He gestured toward the hillside. “Let’s get back up there and sign the contracts and then go and enjoy dinner at Woodfield Manor.”

  Ewan’s heart pounded a new beat. He wanted to race up the hill and yank the contracts from his desk, but he forced himself to slow his steps and keep pace with Mr. Bruce. He offered a silent prayer of thanks. Signed contracts and sharing a celebratory dinner with Laura would make for a perfect ending to this day.

  Chapter 17

  What do you mean we weren’t invited?” Ewan’s aunt stood in front of him, hands perched on her hips. With her beady eyes flashing and her elbows angled like wings, she reminded him of an angry hen ready to peck anyone who approached.

  Margaret remained in her henlike stance at the foot of the stairs. If Ewan was going to get upstairs and dress for dinner, he’d either have to convince her to move or vault overtop of her. The thought caused him to grin, which only worsened the situation.

  She extended her hand and pointed her index finger beneath his nose. “This is no laughing matter, Ewan McKay. Not only has your uncle been snubbed, but Mrs. Woodfield has slighted our entire family with her lack of an invitation.”

  “I don’t think there was any slight intended, Aunt Margaret. Mrs. Woodfield didn’t know Mr. Bruce was coming to town until today, and the invitation to dinner was arranged at the last minute. I’m sure I was included only because of my meeting with him today.” Ewan didn’t add that he assumed Laura had been the one who’d included him in the arrangements. That admission would only compound his aunt’s anger.

  “Your uncle is the one who owns the brickyard. If anyone attends the dinner, it should be him. And me, of course.” She lifted her nose and sniffed.

  “I believe this is a social dinner rather than a business gathering, Aunt Margaret. Mr. Bruce has known the Woodfields for many years, and they share a number of the same acquaintances. Since we’ve already signed the contracts, there’s not going to be a need to discuss business.” Ewan took a step to the right, hoping he could edge around her.

  “I’ll tell you what I believe.” His aunt placed her palm against his chest and stayed him. “I believe those Woodfield women have cooked up a plan so they can remain involved in the brickyard—especially Laura. She’s been keeping her nose in things ever since they sold the place to us. You think I don’t know how often she’s over at that office with you?”

  The longer his aunt talked, the more Ewan’s excitement faded. His aunt’s caustic remarks were enough to wilt the bloom off a rose. Maybe if he didn’t respond, she’d cease her angry diatribe and move aside. As if to announce how little time he had, the hallway clock chimed the hour.

  “Laura Woodfield thinks if she marries you, she’ll still be able to keep her fingers in the business.” His aunt’s brows dipped low as her face creased into an angry frown. “You can tell her for me that she’ll never have any part of our brickyard again. And if you want to stay in your uncle’s good graces, you’ll heed my words and stay away from her.”

  Ewan sighed. Laura had offered tremendous help to them—help they would have had to pay for if they’d purchased a brickyard from anyone else. And he’d already explained to every member of the family that Laura was being courted by Winston Hawkins. If Winston would drop out of the running, Ewan would request permission to court Laura, but he’d never divulge that information to Aunt Margaret.

  “You can cease your continual worries about Laura Woodfield. Why do you find it so difficult to believe that she’s helping only because she wants us to be successful?”

  His aunt’s cackle echoed down the hallway. “I know women better than you ever will, young man, and you can mark my words—she has an ulterior motive. No one volunteers all that help without expecting something in return.”

  Nothing Ewan said would convince his aunt otherwise, and he was wasting valuable time arguing with her. “Please step aside, Aunt Margaret. I need to change clothes and leave. It would be rude to arrive late.”

  “What’s rude is that we weren’t invited. Invitation or not, if your uncle were here, I’d demand we attend that dinner. But since he’s not, I’m going to insist you take Kathleen.” His aunt gestured toward the parlor.

  Ewan turned toward the room. Apparently, Kathleen had been quietly sitting and listening to their entire conversation. He didn’t know what offended him more—the fact that she’d been eavesdropping or the fact that his aunt expected him to take her sister to the dinner.

  “She is not invited, and I’m sure Kathleen doesn’t want to embarrass herself by appearing at a dinner party when she’s not received an invitation.” He tightened his jaw and looked at her. “Do you, Kathleen?”

  Kathleen glanced back and forth between her sister and Ewan and soon decided to take her sister’s side in the matter. “I can change my dress and be ready in short order, Ewan. I’m sure Mrs. Woodfield won’t mind an additional guest.”

  Ewan’s stomach clenched. He wanted to object, but it would serve no purpose. His aunt would continue with her silly argument until she won. Throughout the years, she’d used this same ploy with his uncle, and her smug look only increased Ewan’s irritation.

  Ewan sighed. “Even if she is offended by our rude behavior, Mrs. Woodfield is far too proper to ever let on.”

  His aunt grasped his arm. “Are you saying that I’m not a lady?”

  “Nay. You’re putting the words in my mouth, Aunt.”

  He shook loose of her hold and bounded up the steps before she could detain him any longer. Escorting Kathleen to the dinner would prove an embarrassment to both of them and an inconvenience to Mrs. Woodfield. His thoughts raced as he tried to formulate an appropriate remark he could make when he arrived at Woodfield Manor with Kathleen at his side. By the time he met Kathleen downstairs, he’d still thought of nothing. Perhaps she’d have a helpful suggestion.

  The carriage was waiting for them when they stepped onto the front porch. Aunt Margaret had thought of everything. She’d m
ade certain Ewan couldn’t use the lack of a carriage as an excuse and ride off to Woodfield Manor on his horse.

  They’d gone only a short distance when Kathleen grasped Ewan’s arm. “I know you’re angry that I didn’t object when Margaret insisted I attend the dinner party, but there was a reason.”

  Ewan glanced in her direction. “Do you care to share your reason with me, or am I to guess?”

  Her lips trembled in a slight smile. “I want you to take me to Terrance O’Grady’s house and return for me after the dinner party. Please, Ewan? We care for each other, but my sister won’t give him permission to call on me. She has her mind set against him, but it doesn’t change how we feel about each other. Once he’s making enough money to support a wife, we’ll get married, but until then I need to continue living with Margaret and Hugh, which means I must do as my sister says.”

  Ewan wasn’t surprised to hear Aunt Margaret wouldn’t grant Terrance O’Grady permission to court Kathleen. Though his aunt had never said it aloud to him, Ewan had come to the realization that she wanted him to marry Kathleen. In fact, he was sure his aunt would do everything in her power to see her sister wed to her nephew. But that would never happen. Not that Kathleen wasn’t a nice young woman; she was. But he’d never be attracted to her as anything other than a friend—not now, not ever.

  “So you and Terrance have been seeing each other without Aunt Margaret’s approval?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Quite some time now. It’s easy enough to slip out after everyone is asleep. Now that it’s warm, we meet near the hillside leading down to the brickyard, but please don’t tell Margaret.”

  He was surprised to hear Kathleen would secretly meet Terrance O’Grady, or any man, for that matter. Even more troubling was the fact that she wanted him to be a part of her plan to meet Terrance this evening. “I understand your plight, but I cannot play a part in your deception, Kathleen. If something should happen to you, your sister would never forgive me. And that means Uncle Hugh would never forgive me, either.”