The Brickmaker's Bride (3 page)

E
wan slid his foot into the stirrup and mounted the gray gelding, one of the riding horses his uncle had purchased in Pennsylvania when they began their search for a brickyard. Because Ewan was the only one who ever rode the horse, he’d come to consider the animal his own, though his uncle would reject such a notion. After all, the bill of sale was made out to Hugh Crothers, not Ewan McKay. And unlike Ewan’s father, Clive, Hugh held fast to his belongings.

Many a night Ewan had grieved for both of his parents. Uncle Hugh and Aunt Margaret were no substitute for his loving mum and da. Over the years, Ewan had often wondered how his da and uncle could have been raised by the same parents. Though the brothers bore a strong physical appearance, the resemblance stopped there. Ewan’s father had been an honest, upright man—admired by those who knew him. The opposite could be said of Uncle Hugh.

That knowledge had weighed heavily upon Ewan while wrestling with his decision to sail with his relatives. However, tales of opportunities awaiting immigrants in America had eventually tipped the scales in favor of the voyage. He wanted a better
life for his sisters, and coming to America seemed the path to achieving that goal. Although he’d be tied to Uncle Hugh and Aunt Margaret for a few years, the end result would be worth the sacrifice. At least that was his prayer.

The horse’s hooves sucked at the mud created by the earlier cloudburst and slowed their pace. The seldom-used path leading from the road to Woodfield Manor could use a bit of attention. If it belonged to him, he’d use lammies, the bricks distorted from too much heat in the kiln, to pave the area leading from the front of the house to the road. No doubt Aunt Maggie would insist upon first-grade bricks to pave the driveway once she was settled in the manor.

He glanced over his shoulder. From a distance, the chimneys looked like sentinels perched atop the roof of Woodfield Manor. Would that fine home soon be known as Crothers Manor, or would Aunt Maggie decide upon a name reminiscent of her Irish heritage? Perhaps she’d christen it Margaret’s Mansion. He chuckled. Unless someone convinced her the idea was in poor taste, naming the house after herself was certainly a possibility.

More important, where would Miss Laura Woodfield make her home? The young woman had captured his interest when they first met, and after visiting with her this afternoon, he longed to know more about her. She possessed a charm and substance that went beyond her outward appearance, and the fact that she’d actually spent time in the brickyard intrigued him.

With her small frame, she couldn’t have trucked loads of clay or pushed hackbarrows of molded brick. The men who performed those jobs needed muscles the size of melons. Still, the fact that she’d acted as a timekeeper and maintained the books revealed a bit about her. Would she have been as interested if her father had owned some other business? A dry goods store or a coal mine?

“Where have ya been, Ewan? I expected you back an hour ago.” Waiting outside as Ewan approached the hotel, his uncle pointed to the mud caked on the horse’s hooves and fetlocks. “Is it through trenches of mud you’ve taken my horse? Just look at the mess you’ve made of him.”

“I’d forgotten how much rain fell earlier in the day and went off to see a bit of the countryside. I’ll see to the horse right away.”

His uncle grunted and shook his head. “Take him to the livery and tell the boy to take care of him. Margaret and Kathleen have been waiting to go to supper. Thanks to you, neither of them is in good humor.”

“I’ll be sure to apologize. Had I known of Aunt Margaret’s plans, I would have returned before now. If it will help, you can escort them to the dining room, and I’ll meet you there after I wash up.” With a light nudge to the horse’s shanks, he turned the gelding toward the barn.

“Mark my words, there’s more than arriving late for dinner you’ll be answering for.” His uncle’s warning bore a sharp edge that created a sense of foreboding.

Other than being late, he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to anger Aunt Margaret. He’d not seen her since breakfast. His thoughts raced around like the thoroughbreds Uncle Hugh used to wager on at the track back home. When Ewan finally entered the dining room a short time later, he hadn’t arrived at any conclusion.

From the dour look on his aunt’s face, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. She appeared poised to attack. Hoping to appear unruffled, he stood behind his chair and smiled. “Uncle Hugh tells me you ladies were waiting for me to return. I am very sorry. I did not realize we would be eating supper so early.”

Aunt Margaret waved her fan toward his chair. “Sit down, Ewan. We’d like to order our meal.”

The moment he was seated, a waitress scurried to their table and announced the evening specials of roasted pork or fried chicken. After she’d stepped away from the table, Ewan’s aunt leaned toward him. “When your uncle returned from the brickyard, I inquired how soon we would be moving, and what do you think he told me, Ewan?” Her lips curled in a sneer.

“I think he told you that he had not made a decision because the price was more than he wished to pay and because he wanted at least two VerValen machines.” Ewan arched his brows and forced a lilt to his voice. “Is that not correct, Uncle Hugh?”

“Aye, that much is true, but I also tried my best to have the lawyer negotiate a better price from the widow Woodfield. And what did you do, my boy?”

Before Ewan could so much as pour cream into his coffee cup, his aunt jabbed him with her elbow. “You took sides with those women against your own uncle.”

“I wasn’t taking sides so much as stating that believers should follow the teachings of our Lord and treat widows and orphans with kindness and generosity. I know my mother would have appreciated a touch of generosity from strangers when she was caring for all of us after Da’s death.”

Margaret’s lips tightened in a thin line, and she glowered at Ewan. “I may not be a widow, but I’ve suffered my share. More than most, thanks to your uncle’s bad habits.”

Kathleen squirmed in her chair. Like Ewan, the topic of Aunt Margaret’s suffering and Uncle Hugh’s gambling created an air of discomfort.

Hugh’s thin lips flicked beneath his dark, drooping mustache. “Ya need not blame all your suffering on me, Maggie. ’Twas the effects of the potato famine that nearly robbed you of your life, not me. After two generations, your family still has not recovered.”

Maggie squared her shoulders. “That may be true, but your gambling has robbed me, as well, and you know that’s the truth. We’d have been able to come to America long ago if you wouldn’t have spent your time and money at the racetrack and local pubs. I’d still be the woman you married had ya kept your money in your pocket instead of running off to the gaming tables and racetrack whenever I turned my back.”

Hugh patted the pocket of his wool jacket. “You best remember that I wouldn’t be sitting here with money if it weren’t for my winnings at the racetrack.” Hugh motioned to the waitress and lifted his coffee cup.

Ewan and Kathleen were forced to listen as the couple resumed their ongoing quarrel. While Ewan sympathized with the horrors his aunt had experienced during her lifetime, many other people had gone through worse and hadn’t become greedy and demanding. Yet he couldn’t deny that Uncle Hugh’s behavior would be enough to set any woman on edge.

Aunt Margaret’s childhood deprivations had formed her into a covetous, selfish adult, and Uncle Hugh’s gambling had reinforced her fears and stinginess. She constantly harped about his gambling, but it hadn’t stopped him. Instead, he was willing to take the tongue-lashings and abide her greedy nature because he’d come to believe it justified his own behavior. Unfortunately, their abhorrent conduct spread like a contagion and contaminated most folks who crossed their path.

“I thought it was Ewan you had a quarrel with, but it seems you’d rather hash over the past with me.”

Ewan cast a glance across the table. Though his uncle was eager to deflect his wife’s ire, Ewan didn’t miss the glimmer of fear lurking in the older man’s eyes. Did he worry Ewan would give away his secret, or was it only this morning’s meeting at the brickyard that caused him concern?

Margaret waited until after the waitress had refilled her husband’s cup and stepped away from the table. “I was talking to Ewan before the conversation took an unexpected turn.”

“Aye. A turn that went down a mighty crooked path. As if you planned it that way. Eh, Ewan?” Hugh cocked his left eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

“I planned nothing, Uncle. I do not think Aunt Margaret will forget to ask me whatever it is she wants to know about this morning’s dealings.”

The aroma of roasted pork filled the air as the waitress set their plates in front of them. Ewan’s stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since morning, He nodded to his uncle. “Will you be offering thanks, or shall I?”

“I’ll pray. I’m hungry and your prayers go on too long. Besides, I doubt you’ll have much to be thankful for once your aunt finishes with you.”

Ewan bowed his head but didn’t miss the fact that his uncle had picked up his fork before he offered a one-sentence prayer.

His uncle jabbed a piece of meat. “See how short a prayer can be, Ewan? Doesn’t take more than a few words to bless the food.” He glanced at his wife. “Did ya have nothing more to say to Ewan about the brickyard, Maggie?”

Perhaps Ewan had misread his uncle’s earlier look, for he didn’t appear fearful at the moment. Instead, he seemed to relish the fact that he’d be an onlooker rather than the recipient of Aunt Maggie’s attention.

Maggie buttered a piece of warm bread, then placed the knife across her plate. She was like a hawk circling its prey, waiting for the precise moment and taking pleasure in the hunt. “From what your uncle tells me, I believe you are an extremely ungrateful young man, Ewan. We paid for your passage to this country, we’ve supported you since we arrived, and your uncle is doing
everything possible to help you establish a new life here. You did say that was what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Aye, you know it is. I came to be Uncle Hugh’s partner in a brickmaking business and provide a better life for my sisters.”

“And how is it you plan to become an owner when you thwart your uncle’s negotiations? It appears you’re more interested in impressing the Woodfields than in striking a deal.” She wagged her head back and forth. “To think you would take sides against your own kin makes my blood run cold.”

“Is it going against my kin to speak the truth, Aunt Margaret? I do not think the Crothers or McKays want to be known as liars or cheats in their new homeland. Do you not see that the best way to build a business is with honesty and fairness?” He waved toward his uncle. “Tell her, Uncle Hugh. The price they were asking was fair, was it not?”

“Aye, I suppose it was, but I’m a man who enjoys bartering and making a deal.”

Ewan bit back the words he longed to speak: the secret he’d learned while crossing the sea. He’d promised to keep his lips sealed, and he would keep his word. But he would not become a party to cheating anyone.

“It’s not your money that’s crossing hands, is it?” Margaret speared several green beans with her fork. “You owe your uncle money, and you need to do as he tells you.”

Ewan inhaled a deep breath. “I do owe him money, but that does not mean I’ll compromise on this point. I’m sure I could find work as a brick burner and eventually repay him.”

“But you’d never earn enough to bring your sisters over here, now would ya?” Margaret glared across the table.

“We all need each other, and arguing won’t settle things. There’s been enough talk for tonight.” Hugh nodded to his
wife. “Ewan and I will settle our differences in private.” He signaled to the waitress. “I could eat a piece of that apple pie.”

Maggie pushed away from the table. “You enjoy your pie, Hugh. Kathleen and I are going upstairs so you and Ewan can settle your differences.” She stood and rested her palm on her husband’s shoulder. “Just see to it that any differences settled between the two of you don’t interfere with a move into the Woodfield Manor by the end of the month.”

Hugh’s lips tightened and caused his mustache to droop more than usual. “You’re hovering over me like a black shadow, Maggie. You need to remember that purchasing a quality brickyard is more important than any house. I haven’t made a final decision to buy from Mrs. Woodfield, so don’t be making plans to move into her house just yet.”

Margaret squared her shoulders and squeezed his upper arm. “I’m tired of traveling, and this is where I want to settle. There’s not a man alive who can strike a better bargain than you if there’s no one interfering in the process.” She cast a warning look at Ewan. “I just want to make certain you understand my position before I go upstairs.”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder. “Aye, and now that you’ve said your piece, will ya let Ewan and me discuss our differences?”

“No need to speak in such a gruff tone. I said I was going upstairs.” Margaret motioned to her sister. “Come along, Kathleen. Let’s give the men their privacy.”

The two women wove between the tables, with Kathleen following close on Margaret’s heels. Hugh nodded toward them. “Ya’d never know they were sisters. O’course Kathleen is nearer your age than Maggie’s, so I guess she’s a wee bit afraid of Margaret. Still, the differences between the two are immense. Kathleen’s quiet as a mouse while my Margaret’s as loud as a yapping dog. Took me a lot of years to abide her ways, but I understand she
means well, and I’ve learned to make allowances because of her childhood. Besides, I’m not the easiest man to live with, so she has a right to complain from time to time. I wouldn’t want anyone ever to cause strife between us.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “You understand what I’m sayin’, boy?”

Ewan stared at his uncle. Of course he understood. Because of Uncle Hugh’s gambling, the couple had separated more times than he could count on one hand. A year ago he’d given his solemn oath that those days were behind him. If Aunt Margaret ever discovered that a portion of the funds to finance their voyage and to purchase the brickmaking business had been won at the racetrack and gaming tables during that year, Uncle Hugh would never hear the end of it.