A Hope Beyond (5 page)
She took up a seat at her father’s expansive desk and began to study the proposed charter for the Potomac and Great Falls Railroad. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her name as one of the proprietors of the proposed line. The charter itself, however, drafted in the terminology of legal proposals and bureaucratic nonsense, left her restless and bored. She wanted to see iron rails and puffing steam engines, not words such as “wherefore witnesseth” and “interdependent escrow.” Putting it aside, she picked up her newest copy of the
American Railroad Journal
and began to peruse the articles. Sometimes it was frustrating that her only link to the railroad was words on paper. But if that was all she had, then she intended to make the most of it.
“Of particular difficulty,” she read, “is the problem of properly venting the excess boiler steam. Without allowing the steam a means by which to escape, the container in which the steam is held will eventually burst. The current safety valves are inefficient, for, in allowing steam to escape, they often do not close in a timely manner with a proper fit. Thus boiler pressure is lost.”
Carolina read with some fascination about this problem. It seemed that safety valves were absolutely necessary, and that when engineers and firemen sought to circumvent their use, explosions and deaths occurred. Among the most impressive examples cited was an account of the 1831 demise of the engine
Best Friend
. It seemed that the fireman, having dismounted to attend to hitching up additional cars, grew annoyed by this constant hiss of steam and tied down the safety valve. The pressure built inside the boiler, and inevitably, an explosion took place that resulted in the boiler being thrown twenty-five feet into the air. The fireman died from his injuries, and the engineer was badly burned by the scalding water.
Carolina toyed with her father’s quill pen while reading about the desperate need to improve the basic design. How she would love to go to the B&O shops in Mt. Clare and see for herself the mechanism in question. A picture was a poor substitute.
“I thought I might find you in here,” Hampton Cabot said from where he stood at the now open door.
Carolina inwardly groaned but outwardly smiled as politely as she could manage. “I presumed my father’s business would keep you amply occupied.”
“We’ve finished for now,” Hampton said. “It seems he has other matters to attend to, and that in turn freed me. Would you care for some company?”
Carolina knew that it wouldn’t matter whether she desired his companionship or not. Hampton had clearly made up his mind to join her, and it would be unthinkably rude to reject him at this point.
“By all means. There are many wonderful volumes on the shelf,” she said, glancing around the room. “You have but to pick one and find a comfortable chair.”
Hampton laughed and closed the door. He was dressed smartly in a navy blue suit with a plumb-colored satin waistcoat and heavily starched white shirt. His blond hair had been carefully styled away from his broad face, and his blue eyes seemed delighted with what they observed in Carolina.
“I thought perhaps we could talk,” he said. “Unless, of course, you would like for me to read to you. Perhaps romantic poetry?”
Carolina could not refrain from grimacing. The very idea of Hampton Cabot offering up words of love in this manner was something she could not tolerate.
“No, thank you. I haven’t much interest in poetry at this moment. I’ve been reading about safety valves in steam engines. Perhaps you are familiar with them?” Carolina asked, leaning her face against her hand as though completely enraptured.
“I assure you, I am not,” Hampton said, flashing her a smile. “But I am familiar with the words of Shakespeare. ‘See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand: O! that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.’ ”
Carolina instantly regained her previous composure and returned her attention to the journal in front of her. “Safety valves . . . are . . . uh . . . necessary to keep the boiler from building up too much steam.” She tried to infuse her next words with detached calm. “If boilers build up too much pressure they will explode.”
Hampton grinned in a wickedly leering manner. “People are like that, too. Steam is quite like passion, don’t you think?”
Carolina ignored the question. “The safety valves open when the pressure builds too high, and they close again when the steam is released. This way a steady pressure can be maintained. Of course, the ideal way to maintain it is neither to feed the fire with too much nor too little fuel. This way you don’t waste the steam.”
“And love, too, must be steadily fed,” Hampton said, refusing to give in to her railroad talk. “ ‘Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets’ food is love and fame.’ That’s in the Shelley book I brought you.”
Carolina closed the journal and looked at him squarely. “Quote all the poetry you like, Mr. Cabot. It will not change my love of the railroad, nor my disinterest in you.”
“I think you like me more than you want to admit,” Hampton said, seemingly unmoved by her harsh statement. “I think you’re a little bit spoiled, and because your father has given you much too much freedom, you don’t realize what you were intended for. I suggest if you want to occupy yourself you could make a better time of it over here with me.” He patted the sofa invitingly.
“I’m not merely seeking to occupy myself, as you put it. I enjoy learning about the railroad and the development of our country. I enjoy expanding my mind to include new subjects, and how dare you call me spoiled? You don’t even know me.” Carolina felt her face grow hot as her anger mounted.
Hampton only laughed, which furthered her fury and caused her to get to her feet. Hampton, too, stood and lazily wandered over to the front of the desk. Feeling that the desk afforded her marginal security, Carolina refused to make peace between them.
“You declare yourself interested in me, Mr. Cabot, yet I find you have no real interest in the things on which I feel strongly about. You belittle me and cause me grief, all the while spouting poetry and talk of love. If you cared about how I feel . . .”
“Oh, but I do care,” he said in a seductive drawl. “I’d very much like to know how you feel. But I’d rather it come in the form of how you feel in my arms rather than how you feel about locomotives.”
Carolina’s mouth dropped open in surprise. From the expression on his face, Hampton appeared to enjoy her discomfort, and this only fed Carolina’s anger.
“Good morning, sir! I’ve had quite enough of this conversation.” She moved quickly to the door, but not fast enough. Hampton reached out and pulled her into his arms. She could feel the hard buttons of his coat press into her body.
“I did not mean to insult you, Carolina. I rather thought you might like to know what an attractive woman I find you to be. Most women enjoy hearing their praises sung, but you appear quite different on the matter. Could it be that I am your first love?”
Carolina pushed him away. “You are not my love at all!”
“Only time will tell that for certain,” Hampton said, his voice low and husky. “But I can see by the way you tremble that I am your first. Not to worry, I’ve experience enough for both of us, and I assure you I can make you quite content to be my wife.”
Carolina could bear his leering grin no longer. She pulled open the heavy oak door with such rage that it crashed against the wall. She could hear Hampton’s laughter as she hurried from the room, but it no longer mattered. Her heart was racing and her breath came in labored gasps as she found refuge in her own bedroom. Locking the door, something she was not often given to doing, Carolina hugged her arms to her body and shuddered.
The idea of finding herself in Hampton’s arms had been alarming. On one hand, he infuriated her and repulsed her because he was typically male in his attitude toward women. On the other hand, his words of passion and love fascinated her and gave her cause to wonder at her own feelings. He made her feel so strange. He confused her mind and then only made it worse by throwing out statements about being her first love.
“But you aren’t my first . . .” she whispered in the solitude of her room. “My heart has already been given . . . and . . .” she sighed, feeling the empty ache inside, “already broken.”
James felt honored to be in attendance at the B&O board meeting. Sitting at the far end of the room, he had no say on the choice for the new president, but he clearly agreed with the retired president, Philip Thomas. Though Thomas had resigned last summer, he still had a strong voice in the workings of the railroad.
“McLane is favorably received by this body,” began Thomas, “to become the next president of our esteemed railroad.” Thomas had agreed to continue serving on the board of directors, and everyone in the room had great respect for his opinion. Thomas was only one of two men, the other being William Steuart, who had been on the original board selected in 1827.
“I feel confident in his ability to lead us forward,” Thomas concluded.
From everything James had read or heard, McLane was a mover and a doer. He would see the Baltimore and Ohio push west past Harper’s Ferry, or die trying.
McLane was an energetic man, well known as a statesman and politician. He had served a dozen years in Congress and acted as ambassador to England, secretary of the treasury, and secretary of state under Andrew Jackson. He moved with complete competence and ease amid the social circles of New York, London, Washington, and Baltimore, clearly opinionated and highly respected. He was exactly the dynamic infusion of new blood that the Baltimore and Ohio so desperately needed.
“The board will meet officially after Christmas, December twenty-seventh, and a vote will be cast at that time,” Joseph Patterson, the acting president, confirmed. Murmurs of approval went up in the room. “I therefore propose the motion that we adjourn until such time.”
“I second the motion,” Thomas declared and the ayes held the vote.
As the meeting broke up, James watched the commotion in the room for several moments before getting to his feet. The atmosphere was surprisingly light considering the weighty decision that would soon be made. The Christmas spirit was probably upon them, he reasoned, and he imagined everyone hurrying home to their families. It was, after all, a season for celebration and for being with the ones you loved.
But that wouldn’t be a luxury afforded to James Baldwin.
Standing away from the crowd, James mused that the future of the B&O looked far brighter than his own personal future. It thus meant more to him than ever before that the railroad include him. The railroad represented his dreams for America, as well as for himself. He longed to see the untamed West brought under control, and he envisioned the tie that would bind it all together to be a railroad tie.
“James Baldwin,” a voice called out from behind him. “I hoped I might get a word with you before you hurried home.”
James turned to find the brother of his old friend Ben Latrobe approaching him. John Latrobe was a family friend in his own right. He was also the general counsel for the B&O Railroad and had served faithfully with Philip Thomas, ironing out many of the legal problems that had plagued the railroad. Ben and John’s father, Benjamin Latrobe senior, had been instrumental in creating the architectural styling of Washington City.
“Mr. Latrobe, a pleasure to see you again.” James gave a slight bow and met Latrobe’s searching eyes.
“My brother, Ben, tells me that you’ll be joining him for some survey work.”
James smiled. “Yes, you are quite right. The weather is holding us back now, but once the worst of winter is past us, I intend to find myself deep in the Virginia wilderness.”
John nodded. “Ben has had his eye on you for a while. He likes the way you tend to keep yourself turned to the matter at hand. Not many young men would be willing to journey so far from home and family.” John paused long enough to check his watch. “Speaking of which, how are your father and mother?”
James dreaded the question. He’d had no contact with his parents since his departure from Washington last October. Should he lie to John and tell them that they were fine? No doubt John knew more of the elder Baldwins than he did. Perhaps it would be better to avoid the subject altogether.
“They’re well,” he finally said, then catching sight of Philip Thomas, he changed the subject. “Mr. Thomas seems to be bearing a heavy load these days. I have heard it said that his illnesses are getting the better of him.”
Latrobe glanced across the room to where his old friend stood in conversation with several of the new board members. “I tried to talk him out of resigning the presidency. He’s convinced, however, that the railroad will not move profitably forward under his leadership.”
Latrobe grimaced. “You know what they’ll say, don’t you?”
James shook his head. “I’m not sure I follow you. Say about what?”
“They’ll say the railroad positively burst into prosperity because Philip Thomas gave the job of president over to someone who knew what to do with it.” Latrobe seemed quite troubled by this. “I told him that the B&O was due to swing upward and that while the public could get testy over the low return of dividends, if he left now before the improvements began, people would always assume that he was the reason for all of the problems.”
“But whether he stays or goes, the B&O still has a fair number of obstacles to overcome,” James offered.
Latrobe nodded. “And well I know it. McLane will have his hands full when he comes on board. Unfortunately, I’m not convinced that McLane is the man for the job.”
“I’ve heard nothing but good of the man. I’ve had the pleasure to meet him on several different occasions, and he is well spoken and deep thinking.”
“True enough, but is he competent in the running of a railroad?”
James chuckled. “There aren’t many with enough experience to prove that point. The business is in its infancy, so you can hardly fault a man for a lack of experience.”
“I suppose only time will tell as to his devotion and dedication to the B&O. And, in all honesty, I must say that I’ve never yet known anyone, including Mr. Daniel Webster, who possessed in the same degree the faculty of stating a case more clearly than McLane.”
