by Laura Frantz
“Yes, we’ll begin apprenticeship negotiations in a few days,” Stephen was saying to an elderly, treble-chinned gentleman. “Miss Lee will be overseeing the girls and I’ll assign the boys. Our goal is to make sure the children are well placed and all parties satisfied.”
A difficult task, Eden reflected, one to be handled carefully—and prayerfully. She’d grown so fond of the children the past three weeks and would be sorry to see them go, Clara especially. The girl was terrified of being bound to strangers and clung to Eden like a burr.
“Miss Lee, is it?” A tall, bejeweled woman clasped Eden’s gloved hand. “And how do your Philadelphia sensibilities find the wilds of Pittsburgh?”
Eden smiled. “You may well convert me. The air is fresher, the view unsurpassed. I shall be sad to leave at summer’s end.”
“Well said. Not everyone is so kind, I’m afraid. You and Mr. Elliot must come for supper soon at our home on Cherry Street. My husband and I have long had an interest in the education and welfare of orphans.”
“In that case, we’re at your beck and call,” Stephen told her warmly. “There’s nothing I like better than discussing—”
A momentary hush in the large room made them turn. Another arrival?
“Ah, at last.” Judge O’Hara’s resonant voice overrode the conversations swirling around them as he glanced toward the parlor door. Isabel was threading her way toward them through the press of guests, a man following. “Stephen, Miss Lee, allow me to introduce my good friend and business partner.”
Isabel stepped into their circle, transformed, beaming. The tall figure at her side became clear, and Eden’s composure collapsed. She went completely still. The fan she held fluttered to a stop.
Silas.
“My apologies for arriving late. Business, ye ken.” His rustic Scots speech had mellowed to a more refined lilt, smooth and self-effacing. He was looking at Stephen Elliot, extending a hand. He hadn’t yet seen her, and Eden felt an overwhelming urge to pull back—disappear. Stephen shook his hand heartily, inquiring after some business matter, to which Silas answered thoughtfully.
Dumbstruck, Eden drank in every freshly shaven, tailored inch of him. Clad in rich, charcoal broadcloth, he looked the equal of any man she’d seen in Philadelphia. His ivory cravat set off his deeply tanned face and turned his eyes a keen, unforgettable green.
Her heart was pounding beneath her stays, as loud as the clock chiming nine across the room. When Silas turned from Stephen to her, she met his eyes reluctantly. His handsome, composed features went slack. He looked . . . stricken. Speechless, he shot a questioning glance at Stephen before returning to her. Did he think Stephen was her husband?
“Mr. Ballantyne, permit me to introduce Miss Eden Lee, assistant director of the Philadelphia Foundling Hospital.” Stephen’s warm voice reached out to her, jarring her into coherency.
Her voice came out a whisper. “Good evening, Mr. Ballantyne.”
“Miss Lee.”
She recovered first, opening her fan and forcing a practiced if tremulous smile.
“Ballantyne Boatworks, isn’t it?” Stephen asked. “Soon to be Ballantyne Ironworks?”
“Aye, in time,” Silas answered.
“In record time,” Judge O’Hara echoed with a knowing smile. “Since Silas arrived in ’85, Pittsburgh’s had a hard time keeping up with him. You’ve no doubt heard of the brigantine he’s building, the Lady Liberty. One hundred thirty-eight feet on the keel with a twenty-foot beam. He’s even begun to traffic with New Orleans despite the trade restrictions . . .”
No longer listening, Eden tried to anchor herself. But the pain sweeping through her heart was so intense she felt a childish desire to burst into tears. Though she didn’t dare look at him, she felt his eyes return to her as she fluttered her fan, as if he doubted it was she.
Mercifully, they soon went in to dinner in pairs, her partner a young lawyer whose name she couldn’t remember. At least her frantic prayers had been answered, for she and Silas were seated at opposite ends of the table. In the minutes that followed, she had no recollection of what she ate. If she looked up, she would have a sidelong view of Silas over the wealth of roses that graced the table’s center. Mostly she kept her eyes on her plate, glad when a berry sorbet was set before her, half-melted in the heat, its mint garnish wilted.
Bursts of children’s laughter erupted beyond the open French doors, merry and familiar. Eden tried to concentrate on this, not the beloved Scots voice wooing her at table’s end with quiet talk of cargo and transport fees and New Orleans. She took a sip of champagne, something she usually shunned, and felt its bracing bubbles clear to her toes. What had the judge said earlier? Business partner . . . good friend?
Oh, Silas, you’ve done so very well. I never doubted you would.
Seated beside him, Isabel was clearly pleased, peppering the conversation with business matters she obviously knew much about. It seemed Eden had only imagined her vexed expression. They made a striking couple—he so tall and she so tiny.
“Do you like to dance, Miss Lee?”
Numb with dismay, she’d scarcely spoken to the gentleman beside her and felt a twinge of guilt. “Oh yes, I love music . . . dancing . . . though I’ve kept company with Friends—Quakers—for so long I fear I’ve forgotten how.”
“Allow me the pleasure of reacquainting you with the allemande, then.”
People were rising from the table, and there was little to be done except join in. Eden half expected to find Silas among the musicians in the adjoining ballroom, cradling his violin, but he partnered with Isabel instead. By midnight Eden had danced with nearly every man in the room save him. He’d not asked, and if he had, she doubted her trembling legs would have held her. One touch of his hand at her waist . . .
His presence was bringing it all back, unearthing the past she’d long buried. Her practiced smile was slipping as images crowded her head and heart. Hazy stairwell meetings. Scraps of penned Scriptures. Every stolen kiss.
I will betroth thee unto me forever.
And Silas—he seemed to be doing his level best not to look at her. When she brushed past him on the ballroom floor, he averted his eyes as she did, or tried to, yet she detected a fierce tension in his face.
At last it was over. Stephen was helping her into the coach amidst six giggling, exhausted girls to return to the hotel and sleep till breakfast and Sabbath service. As they pulled away from the lights of River Hill, Eden felt the black anguish of old take hold. Sleep—such a sweet, sought-after refuge—would not visit her this night.
40
No disguise can long conceal love where it exists, or long feign it where it is lacking.
François de La Rochefoucauld
Silas sought the familiar, hard-backed pew numbered twenty-seven, relieved Isabel would be too exhausted to attend services after the frolic at River Hill, thankful Hugh was indulgent enough to break the fourth commandment as he so often did. Silas had been tempted to do the same this sultry morning, but his church attendance of late had been less than stellar, given he was oft at the boatyard. God, forgive me, had become his frequent Sabbath prayer. This morning it had changed to something more desperate.
Lord, deliver me.
Numb, still stunned, he replayed the previous evening in his mind, painful as it all was. He’d arrived at River Hill in high spirits, if only because the whiskey boys were in custody, and he and the rest of the county could enjoy one evening in peace without brooding over the next bout of trouble. Dinner parties were a good venue to mix business with pleasure, and he’d wanted to broach the subject of another public enterprise, a lottery-backed levee to protect the riverbanks against flooding. He’d hoped to find support for the project among the guests at River Hill.
He leaned back in the pew as the clanging of the kirk bell yanked him out of his reverie. All around him congregants were entering and finding seats, preparing for worship. Despite the distraction, he couldn’t dislodge the shock he’d felt
seeing Eden again and prayed the tangle in his soul didn’t show on his face. Seeing her had proved far more jarring than his encounter with Henry Turlock.
Fickle, unfaithful Eden.
When she’d raised those soulful eyes to his last night, he’d nearly fallen headlong into their blue depths, just as he had years before. Only she wasn’t a timid blacksmith’s daughter clad in simple homespun any longer, her fiery hair hanging down in girlish abandon and tied with a simple ribbon. The Eden who now haunted him was a woman wearing the richest silk he’d ever seen, the silver threads of her dress reflecting the light of a hundred candles, her body graceful and erect, her creamy neck and shoulders framed with a cascade of curls. He’d breathed in her rose-carnation scent from where he stood and watched her languidly swish her fan against the rising heat. If she was as shaken by their meeting as he, she gave no indication, save the slight tightening of her jaw as they’d stumbled through introductions.
He’d heard the Elliot party had arrived but had given it little thought. The philanthropist was known to him, if only through the Pennsylvania Gazette. Stephen Elliot made good press, and Silas admired his charitable bent. With that in mind, he’d gone to River Hill hoping to arrange for apprentices at the boatyard. The task of taking two unknown, half-grown boys and trying to steer them right was sobering. He’d have to lodge them, though he knew Jean Marie had an extra room. He’d have to clothe them, act as a sort of father to them. Yet he felt the Lord leading him to take on the responsibility, come what may.
The evening at O’Hara’s had promised to settle a great many things. Instead it unleashed a Pandora’s box of complications. For a few agonizing seconds he’d thought Eden married to the much older Elliot. The wrench of it still lingered.
He leaned back in the pew, wanting the service to begin, wishing the room would still. But a sudden commotion from behind was causing a stir, turning every head in the church. He gave a discreet tug to his overly tight cravat before looking over his shoulder. The Philadelphians were entering, Stephen Elliot herding the rambunctious boys and Eden shepherding the sleepy-eyed, yawning girls.
Across the humming, hallowed room, her eyes locked with his. Flummoxed to the core, Silas rose and went out.
Eden lowered her head as Silas exited, the pain she’d felt upon seeing him last night pummeling her afresh. She should have realized he’d be at the First Presbyterian Church, the very one within walking distance of their hotel. In Philadelphia, Pine Street Presbyterian had been her Sabbath home, as it was the Elliots’. She’d not thought to attend anywhere else this morning, though Pittsburgh boasted several denominations.
She glanced at Stephen, half expecting him to comment on Silas’s abrupt departure, but thankfully there were so many people coming and going it seemed to have escaped his notice. Still, she felt an overwhelming longing to be back in Philadelphia, amidst the safety and sameness of life there. When troubled, she would escape to her spinning balcony or sit and rock the foundling babies in the hospital nursery, savoring their exquisite newness. Here there was no such respite, only an aching, unrelieved emptiness, and the nagging certainty she’d encroached upon Silas’s life and he was begrudging of her presence. Biting her lip, she bent her head.
Lord, please help redeem this difficult situation. You’re the only one who can.
The June Sabbath promised a fine day for a walking tour of Pittsburgh. With the sun tucked behind high clouds in a lapis sky, the weather had turned slightly cooler, coaxing them outside. Below, the three rivers glinted gray then blue as the clouds shifted in leisurely fashion. Carrying a lace parasol, Eden followed Stephen down dusty streets devoid of the lamps that lined Philadelphia thoroughfares, a dozen children in their wake. Walking toward the point where Fort Pitt once reigned, they took note of a great many brick and timber buildings along a grid of streets in dire need of curbstone walks.
A post office, a printer, a glass-front mercantile, a jail, and a courthouse were but a few of the newest buildings. Eden grew dizzy looking at so many shingles. Clock makers. Tanners. Hatters. Weavers. Saddlers. Tinners. Wheelwrights. Sail makers. A ferry cut through the glittering water on the Monongahela side to an enormous sandbar where buckwheat was grown.
“’Tis bigger than I expected,” Eden admitted, looking back to the eastern swell of hills and wondering where Silas lived.
“I’ll wager it will become the Birmingham of America,” Stephen replied. “One day the coal coming out of these hills will turn the air black with soot.”
They spent the afternoon along the point. There the children explored the remains of Fort Pitt and the King’s Garden, and Eden distributed the picnic lunch packed for them by hotel staff. She tried to savor the beauty of the day but kept returning to the crush of events the last four and twenty hours. Would she never forget the shock of last night or Silas striding out of church this morning?
Stephen, thankfully, kept up a steady discourse. “I’ve arranged a boat trip for the children,” he told her. “Silas Ballantyne has a small sloop perfect for a day trip and a bit of fishing upriver on the morrow. I don’t suppose you care to go along.”
“No!” she burst out before amending, “Only if you need me.” Fingering a pleat on her dress, she wondered if she should tell him about her overriding desire to leave Pittsburgh as soon as possible, upsetting his carefully made plans. “I’d rather spend the time doing paperwork, preparing for the apprenticeship meetings.”
Nodding, he pulled the brim of his hat lower. “I think one or two of the girls may want to remain behind as well. No doubt we’ll have plenty of boatmen to keep anyone from falling overboard.” He frowned and reached into his coat pocket. “I had a letter from Harriet waiting when we arrived.”
“Oh?” Eden brightened.
“I’m afraid it brings some unsettling news.” He opened it slowly, as if weighing the wisdom of sharing the contents. “It’s early yet, but Dr. Rush has confirmed a yellow fever outbreak along the waterfront. It appears Haitian immigrants brought it ashore.”
“Yellow fever?” The news was more than unsettling, though the city had its share of disease, especially in summer. “Is Harriet all right?”
“At this posting, yes. But she fears an epidemic and has advised us to stay in Pittsburgh till the danger passes. I pray the trouble will be short-lived, but one never knows.”
Lord, no. She could imagine the quarantine now in place. Yet she held on to the hope they could place the children quickly and return east earlier than planned. Why, she’d wanted to pack her trunk this very morning. The thought of being here through the summer, perhaps beyond . . .
“The papers will soon carry word of it, and we’ll keep up with the outbreak that way.” The heaviness edging his voice led to darker thoughts.
Eden knew how helpless the foundling babies were against disease. And there was Constance Darby, Betsy Simms—and Elspeth. Elspeth would have arrived by now, and she’d be walking into . . . death.
“I’ll write to Harriet tonight and assure her we’ll stay on here. In the meantime, we’ll pray for Philadelphia and our friends and interests there.”
The chicken and biscuit she’d just eaten sat uneasily in her stomach, aggravated by the dull ache behind her eyes that was now building in light of the letter and her dashed hopes. “Would you mind if I take the girls and return to the hotel a bit earlier than planned?”
“Of course not,” he said benignly. “But can you find your way back?”
She stood and brushed crumbs from her skirt, glancing at the congested hill. “Up Penn Street to Fifth, if I remember.”
“Very well, then. We’ll meet you for supper later.”
They trooped up the hill as far as Fourth Street, winded and perspiring, when a great, shaggy object bounded toward them, scattering the squealing girls. Slowing her steps, Eden shifted her parasol and squinted against the sun’s glare as a dog came into focus. For a few disorienting moments, she was cast back to the past, to a lonesome meadow overhung with clo
uds and dotted with sheep, hazy as a dream.
Sebastian?
It could be no other, the telltale cropped tail and ears shattering her uncertainty. He seemed to know her, truly. Stunned, she dropped to one knee alongside the quiet street and sank a hand into his lush fur. The pronounced gray about his nose and whiskers turned her a bit melancholy.
“You’re older, aye, but still just as handsome.” As is your master.
He nuzzled her quivering chin, sniffing at her skirts as if to make sure it was she. The girls gathered round and took turns petting him, laughing when he thumped his tail and barked in glee. Amazement trickled through her when she remembered the last time she’d seen him. Had Sebastian followed Silas that snowy day? All the way here?
With a sudden bark, he turned and ran away, disappearing down a narrow alley toward the waterfront. Eden longed to follow—but didn’t.
Eden’s gloved hand had just touched the stair banister when a clerk stopped her. “Miss Lee? I have a note for you.”
She hid her surprise, waiting till the girls traipsed up the carpeted stairs to their rooms before crossing to the front desk, where a sealed paper waited. The indigo wax bore a bold B, and she ran a finger over it, awash with trepidation. Silas? There could be no mistaking the sender. This was best read in the privacy of her room.
Once there, she splashed cool water on her flushed face, taking a deep breath and trying to untie the knot in her stomach. The note lay unopened on a desk by the window, the Allegheny gliding idly by the glass. Her fingers shook as she broke the seal and drank in the familiar slant of each letter.
Eden, we must talk. Silas
She felt a swell of disappointment. All that fine foolscap and wax for five terse words? Her heart picked up in rhythm. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. A meeting place? A time and date? Perhaps he was simply letting her adjust to the idea first. Or was trying to do so himself.