Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (31 page)

“Nonsense. We are a family. I may not know much, lad. But I am assured our success stands or falls upon the strength of this family and these friends.”

The others stepped away until Abe stood alone in the little alcove.

A pair of glances, first at Abigail and then at Lillian, gave him the strength he needed. “I have an idea for a new business,” he began. “One tied to our plans for Wheeling and the West.”

“Please proceed.”

“As you know, sir, there are but two stagecoach companies operating along the new turnpike to Wheeling. Both of these use a coach of old-fashioned design. One that is reported to be extremely uncomfortable for the passengers.”

“How is it you know this?”

“I lived next door to the stables for a time, sir. Many a time I heard complaints from passengers. They wouldn’t ride the coach into Washington, much less all the way to Wheeling.”

Horace Cutter spoke up. “I’ve heard it called ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ ”

“There is a new system just developed,” Abe went on. “The coach’s base is strengthened by iron bands, and these bands rest on something called through-braces. These thick pads are made of oxen leather. The system does much to steady the ride.”

“You’ve ridden in one?”

“Several times, sir. I’ve also had one of the manufacturers explain the idea. The braces act as a sort of hammock system. The coach swings over bumps like a cradle.”

“Is the coach as large as the standard build?”

“The interior is the same—three passengers to a side. But the coach can carry a greater total weight. So the boot, the step at the back, has been extended to carry cases strapped into place with leather bands. And up top the coach is ringed by a low brass railing to hold more luggage.”

Reginald and Horace exchanged glances. “I gather you’ve discussed the purchase of these coaches?”

Abe flushed. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds, sir.”

“You’ve done nothing of the sort. Tell us the rest.”

“The authorities are now planning to extend the National Road all the way to St. Louis,” Abe continued in a rush. “Nobody has yet to make a bid for carrying the post beyond Wheeling. If we were to make them an offer, agreeing to carry the post as far as the road is open, they would also grant us rights to carry a third of the post destined for Wheeling.”

“Would they indeed. You’ve been busy, young man.”

“Miss Abigail helped me, sir.”

“Of that I have no doubt whatsoever. Our womenfolk have an indisputable amount of strength and wisdom.” His gaze came to rest on Lillian, and then he turned back to the young man. “I suppose there is a bit of bad news.”

“How—how did you know that, sir?”

“When you’ve been in business as long as I have, you’ll learn to expect the hidden cost, the unknown roadblocks to success. Go on, out with it.”

“Well, sir, there are two coaches to be had. And the price is not unreasonable. But there are no horses.”

“Horses trained to a coach’s tethers we can most certainly obtain,” Horace responded with a firm nod. “Long as our competitors don’t know what we’re about.”

Abe added, “Nor have I been able to find drivers.”

Even Lillian understood the significance of this. Coach drivers were a rare breed. With four or sometimes six horses held to a long series of traces, the risks were vastly multiplied. A good driver needed to be able to sense each horse’s mood through the reins and keep them pulling equally. He needed the strength to quiet a restless horse long before panic could cause a tragedy. The worse the condition of the road, the more skills the driver required. A thrown wheel in Indian country could mean the death of everyone on board. Where cities remained few and far between, a driver must also be a skilled carpenter, blacksmith, leather worker, and horse doctor.

Reginald said, “I assume you have an idea here as well.”

“Well, sir, that is . . .”

“Go on, speak up, lad. We’re all on your side here.”

Lillian shivered and scanned the room.
All on your side here
. It was true. Despite the worst she had to reveal, despite all the trickery and the falsehoods, still they accepted her. They drew her in as
family
.

Abe continued in a rush, “I’ve been taking lessons from the stable where I used to berth. And you and Mr. Cutter both can handle a trace. I’ve seen it. So I was thinking, rather than riding on someone else’s coaches . . .”

“We take our own and look for drivers out Wheeling way,” Reginald finished. He turned to his partner and asked, “How would you feel about making the journey with us?”

“Been wondering about that very same thing. If I’m going to invest out that way, I should see the lay of the land for myself.” Horace glanced at Beatrice. “As long as you and the children can do without me for a time.”

“We shall miss you terribly,” she replied after a moment. “But if you feel it is important, then you shall journey with my blessing.”

“Then it’s settled,” Horace concluded.

“We’re bound to find settlers in Wheeling who can handle a full trace,” Reginald continued. “Men willing to be away from home part of each month in return for good hard cash.”

“We could carry a good deal of the first wares ourselves this way, and have the rest transported by oxen train.”

“Slower and far cheaper,” Horace agreed. “But if we’re carrying enough to make a start, what difference does it make?”

Reginald turned to Abe once more. “Does this mean you’d commit to running this as well as our Wheeling company?”

Abe took time for one hard breath and one long look at Abigail. Lillian followed his eyes. The younger woman’s face shone with such pride and love Lillian wanted to weep with shared joy.

Abe straightened his shoulders and replied, “Yes, Mr. Lang-ston, sir. I am.”

“Partners ought to address one another by their given names, Abe.”

Abe flushed more deeply. He gripped Reginald’s hand, but kept his gaze upon Abigail as he replied, “Partners, yes, Reginald.” He walked across the room. “Horace,” he said and shook the man’s hand.

Chapter 25

The adventurers departed at dawn on the following Monday. Their hopes were to arrive at the Harrow home in southwestern Pennsylvania before the next Sabbath. Lillian took great joy in one final church service with old Mr. Cutter. She sang along with the church hymns, but only loud enough for him to hear her voice. It was more than enough.

The closer they all had come to departure, the faster the world had spun. Such was the pressure to keep to the imposed schedule that none of them slept more than a few hours the last two nights. The group had been working together, both those going and those remaining, and all of them shared tasks and called upon one another without hesitation. Lillian had forged ahead with whatever was set in front of her, including packing bolts of cloth, counting blocks of soap, and checking wares off a long list as Abigail and Erica sorted through piles destined for the later oxcarts. By the time they had left, the travelers were all beyond the point of exhaustion.

They had elected not to seek additional passengers for the journey, but rather use the extra carriage space for further supplies. Reginald and Abe traveled in one coach with Lillian and Abigail. The one professional driver they had managed to hire was a taciturn older gentleman married to the nanny Erica Powers employed for her daughter. Erica would be accompanied in this second coach by her daughter, Hannah, the nanny, and Horace Cutter. The nanny was a rather colorless lady who spoke scarcely a word to anyone, just like her husband, the driver. When not tending the child, the nanny kept her nose buried in a threadbare copy of
Pilgrim’s Progress
.

That first afternoon the two men sat above with the driver while the two women napped inside. They berthed at a roadside inn long after dark and started again soon after dawn. That second morning they fashioned a bed up top so the man not driving could rest within the fencing. The road was very crowded this close to the nation’s capital, but there were laybys every quarter mile, where the slower carts would pull in and allow the faster coaches to speed ahead. That second afternoon it rained so hard they were forced to shut all the windows, and Reginald accepted Abe’s encouragement to retreat inside with the ladies. That night as Abe sat by the tavern’s roaring fire, drying his boots and his oilskin on the back of his chair, he took paper and quill to a list of figures. They had averaged a full eleven miles an hour for the first two days of their journey, he declared. A most remarkable pace, they all agreed.

For Lillian, banked-up fatigue was joined now with the tiring journey. She rested when she wished. She chatted with Abigail, mostly about lighthearted matters, for Lillian did not wish to speak of the dark cloud she felt still looming over her personal horizon. Abigail also was very weary and clearly in no frame of mind to discuss anything weighty.

Lillian was seeing the land firsthand out the carriage window as the miles slowly ticked by. The country appeared endless. It was not a matter of traveling out a distance and buying land. The arable lands neighboring Washington were either going at very high prices or already taken. No, the land sale was out West. Lillian had heard people say this any number of times. But only now did she understand what it truly meant.

On the third morning they crested a rise, and up ahead of them they spotted the first ridgeline of the Appalachians. Reginald explained how they would take the National Road north of the highest peaks, heading through the Pennsylvania farmlands for several more days before entering the steep hills. Lillian saw how the others received the news with equal mixture of excitement and acceptance. She, however, was utterly alarmed and discouraged. The hills rose like blue-tinted walls, barriers she would cross because she had to. Yet on the other side, what then? She listened with a heavy heart as Reginald described more of the landscape and Abe calculated time and distance.

Lillian turned her face to the window. The forested hillside sloped down to yet another valley, endless land in vast array, stretching out for days and weeks and months. How had she permitted herself to fall in love with a man who would return to his Georgetown life and be lost to her forever? How could she have ever dreamed they might find a way to maintain their romance?

She was traveling to some western land because she had no choice. And once there, she would say her farewells to this fine man beside her. And he would return to his city, where already her scandals were beginning to be hinted at. Her confessions were not enough to diffuse the tirade of half-truths and bitter denunciations the bankers would send forth. She would make a new life in the distant West beyond these faceless hills. She had no choice in the matter.

And she would have to do so alone.

On the fourth morning they shifted positions so that Horace, Reginald, and Abe might travel together and discuss business. Abe took the reins of one coach, sharing the bench with his partners, while the taciturn driver handled the other team. Lillian offered to sit with the nanny and Erica’s slumbering child, insisting that a time alone with her thoughts would do her a world of good.

For her part, Erica spent the first hour completing work on a journal article. She carried a small wooden case that opened into a lady’s traveling secretary, with a scrolled leather top and compartments for quills and paper and ink. Abigail observed Erica with a strange pleasure. She had known this woman since childhood, most of that time only through letters, yet she felt in some ways she knew Erica not at all. Letters were fine, of course, for Erica was an excellent writer and diligent in maintaining the friendship. Abigail now felt a great sense of ease. She knew Erica cared for her very deeply. She also knew their time together would soon be ended, as they went their separate ways. So what should they talk of ? For a moment Abigail was tempted to bring up the incident in London. Yet something held her back. It took only a moment for her to realize that was the past. What Abigail wanted to address with her oldest friend was who they were
now
.

Erica cleared the quill tip and laid it in the recessed cavity. She dusted the ink, set the page onto the pile of completed work, and closed the box. “There has scarce been time to gather my thoughts and keep up with the journaling Gareth asked me to do,” Erica said. “Even with the nanny traveling with us, Hannah demands a great deal of attention.”

“You two look so lovely and happy together.”

“She is such a blessing to us both,” Erica said. Merely speaking about her daughter brought a new shine to her eyes. “Gareth and I had to wait so long, we feared we would never have children. We had almost decided God wished for our work and our cause to be the sole bonds between us and Him.”

“That possibility must have made you awfully sad at times.”

“Yes, but it also drew me closer not only to Gareth, but also to God and more devoted to our shared work.”

“The pamphlets and the antislavery movement.”

“Just so.”

“What is it like to have such a cause, I wonder?”

Erica spent several thoughtful minutes finishing latching up her little box and stowing it away. “I would say that it draws me out of my own comfortable and somewhat selfish world more than I should ever have thought possible.”