by Judith Pella
He was going to die!
His body was going to be crushed and mangled by the gears and metal of this monstrous machine. It was going to take his life as it had Phineas’s. It had already smashed his dreams, but it would not be satisfied until it had obliterated all remaining life from him.
Stop!
But only his trembling lips formed the words. He had to get off. He had to save himself. He didn’t want to die.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!”
He only realized that sound had escaped his tortured lips when Eddie appeared at his side.
“Something wrong, Jimmy lad?”
James turned his head slowly, stiffly, as if he himself were a machine. He was panting hard as if he had just run a race. But seeing Eddie’s solid friendly countenance helped snap James’ mind back to a semblance of sanity.
Still he couldn’t speak.
“Is it your leg, lad?” asked Eddie.
James grasped desperately at the excuse. He nodded, then forced out the words, “The pain . . .”
“Ah, was foolish of us to take you out. The jostling is too much,” said Eddie. “We’ll get you back right away, lad.”
The few minutes it took to return to the yard were torture, not, of course, to James’ leg, but to his mind. His distress did not cease until several minutes after he stepped off the locomotive. Eddie and Tommy felt terrible, too, thinking they might have brought on a relapse. And though James knew it was cruel of him, he said nothing to dispel their fears. How could he admit to them that his leg was not the problem? He could barely admit it to himself. The truth was too awful to face, much less speak of. Yet James knew enough to identify the cold nausea and other symptoms he had experienced as only one thing: fear.
And he realized, if vaguely, that this was the nebulous emotion that had been troubling him all along. The accident had made him deathly afraid of riding the locomotive.
Back home in the safe loneliness of his room he berated himself for his weakness. He had become as fainthearted as a woman. What kind of man was he that he couldn’t rise above a mere accident? He’d fallen from a tree once when he was a child and battered himself pretty badly, but that hadn’t stopped him from climbing other trees. Had he been braver as a twelve-year-old than he was now?
But it had been different then. He’d had no concept of death as a child. Now he knew. Death might be waiting around any corner to reach out and grab him, as it had Phineas. And the locomotive, as nothing else, stood in his mind as the embodiment of death. With its flaws and its belching fire and its hard crushing iron, it seemed more a weapon than a vehicle.
Yet fear of death could not be the only reason for his violent reaction to riding the locomotive. He’d had no problem riding the carriage to the yard—and heaven knew the Washington City roadways could be deadly at times!
James shook his head. He could sit for the rest of his miserable life trying to figure out what had happened, but he didn’t want to. He did not want to think of it at all. The very thought of the locomotive made him tremble like a silly girl. His only hope seemed to be in simply staying away from the railroad.
Simply!
He might as well have been made a cripple by the wreck. But what else could he do? Maybe it would get better with time. Maybe someday . . . but if that never happened, would it be so bad? He always had the bank. But that thought made him nearly as sick as that of the railroad.
“You are a pitiful creature,” he mumbled to himself as he went to his bed, stretched out, and tried to sleep. Could his life be over before it had even had a chance to begin?
He fell into a fitful sleep, filled with broken dreams and belching iron monsters.
18
Joseph and Margaret
The late afternoon was chilly and clouds were rolling in. A typical autumn afternoon, but the clouds had dark edges as if building up for a good drenching. Joseph walked with Margaret in the garden as she inspected the few remaining flowers. He didn’t mind the chill, and Margaret was always quite relaxed when in her garden, her special place in which she took great pride. This would be the best time he’d ever find to discuss with her the matter of York’s troubles at school.
In the time since his and York’s talk, Joseph had not had a chance to speak to his wife about the situation beyond a few vague comments. And Margaret—God bless her!—understood his moods well enough to wait until he was ready to talk. He supposed he had needed time to adjust to this abrupt change in his son’s direction in life . . . time, too, in order to accept the fact that his firstborn son had no interest in his beloved plantation. He still hadn’t fully adjusted, but he knew it was time to draw his wife into the situation.
“Margaret—”
But just as he spoke she lifted a leaf of a dahlia and grimaced. “Oh, look at this—more snails. I thought I had them under control.” She turned to the slave who was making the rounds of the garden with her. “Andy, run into the kitchen and fetch a box of salt. I don’t want these snails to get out of hand again.”
“Yes, ma’am!” said the old man whose main job it was to make sure Margaret’s garden remained the talk of Falls Church. He was too old to work at any other task on the plantation, but Margaret never failed to make him feel the most important man on the estate. He hobbled back toward the house.
“Now, what was it you were saying, Mr. Adams? Forgive me for interrupting you.”
“Not to worry, my dear. I enjoy the garden almost as much as you and want to see it thrive. But do you think you should be outdoors after being under the weather last week?”
“I am in perfect health now,” she said. “And the garden has been so lovely this year, I want to ensure the last blooms are not neglected.”
“Well, I must say, the dahlias are a fine grand finale to the season.”
“The roses, too, have been remarkable. And still blooming this late. Andy has worked wonders keeping away the aphids.”
Her eyes danced as she inclined her head toward the section of roses. Joseph hated to disturb the moment with an unpleasant discussion. But he and Margaret had always dealt with the children together, both equally involved with decisions and discipline. They might not always agree, but they usually supported each other. It hadn’t been fair of him to keep quiet this long about York.
“Margaret, can we discuss York?”
“I thought that’s why you came out, Mr. Adams.”
“Did you, now?” His eyes danced with amusement and wonder at his wife’s perception.
“You had such a serious look on your face, and the matter of York’s expulsion from school is the most serious matter confronting us at the moment.”
“I appreciate your patience with me regarding my silence,” Joseph said. “I did not want to leave you out, but—”
“Say no more, Mr. Adams. I perfectly understand your reticence. But now that you do want to talk, I am listening.” She smiled warmly.
He related the details of his conversation with his son. “I don’t feel inclined to block his desires,” he said with a weary sigh, indicating it wasn’t something he did with ease. “And it may be that if we let him get a taste of the real world, so to speak, he may see for himself the need to finish his college education.”
“Yes, that sounds wise, but what if he lands on his feet and finds he doesn’t need to finish his final year of college?”
“I see nothing wrong with that. If he is happy and content, then what else matters?”
“Yes . . .”
They had come to the end of the garden nearest the house, and Margaret had completed her daily tour. They started walking toward the house.
“Mr. Adams, I have to admit that I had hoped he would finish. So many of our friends’ sons have graduated college. James Baldwin has received two degrees. I . . . suppose I don’t want anyone to think less of York.”
“York is a fine young man, every bit as intelligent as the Baldwin boy,” said Joseph with conviction. “Our York will go far in life, with or without
that final year of college. Mark my words!”
Leaving the garden path, they walked around to the back of the house and to the entrance, via a long porch that led into the kitchen. They met Andy as he was coming down the porch steps, carrying a large box in both hands.
“Very good, Andy,” Margaret said. “Now, dose those snails good. I can’t stand the thought of them harming my dahlias!”
On entering the kitchen, they found the place a bustle of activity with preparations in progress for supper. But adding even more energy to the scene was the presence of little three-year-old Maryland, who had come to the kitchen on some errand with Hannah, though it appeared to Joseph as he stepped into the room that the mammy’s errand was merely gossiping with the kitchen women.
Maryland ran up to her parents with exuberant greetings. It was difficult to continue the previous conversation, and Joseph wished he had suggested they take another stroll through the garden. There was one other thing he wanted to speak to his wife about, and he doubted she would now have time to return to the garden. He did manage to get her away from the distracting kitchen. In the foyer, they paused at the door to the small family parlor.
“Mrs. Adams, there is another matter I wish to mention. I plan to go to Washington City within the next few days.”
“You intend to make the trip with rain threatening as it is?” Margaret asked her husband in surprise.
Maryland, the youngest of the Adams clan, had followed them from the kitchen and now ran circles around her parents as they spoke. Joseph opened the door to the parlor and they went in.
“We’ll be well ahead of any rain. Besides, York and I will hardly melt.”
“So you’re taking York as well?”
“Taking York where?” asked Virginia as she swept into the room.
“Your father is going to the capital.”
Virginia’s face puckered into an instant pout. “And I suppose I cannot go along?”
“Sorry, Virginia,” said Joseph. “As your mother just mentioned, it’s threatening rain any minute. Besides, the trip will be a brief one. I have papers that must be delivered and several people I must meet with. All business, you see.”
“It would have been a good time for me to pay my respects to James Baldwin. I haven’t seen him at all since his accident.” She seemed to Joseph to be less concerned about the man’s well-being than she was about being deprived.
“Why don’t you send a letter with your father?” offered Margaret. “I’m sure Mr. Baldwin would appreciate it.”
“And,” said Joseph, “if you tell me of some trinket you have your heart set on, I might be able to include a bit of time for shopping.”
Virginia’s face lit up at this. “Papa, I would very much like a new gown. Could you bring home some material? Several bolts of silk, perhaps, so that I can choose?”
Somehow this request didn’t surprise Joseph. His pretty dark-haired daughter loved little else as much as she adored clothes and all the accessories that accompanied them. This was far more in character than her sitting by the bedside of an injured suitor.
“What is all the commotion?” asked Carolina, who was passing by, an open book in her hands.
Margaret sighed and gave her eyes a roll. “I feel like the Pied Piper—attracting children wherever I go!”
Joseph laughed. He knew his wife loved nothing more than to be surrounded by her children.
“And what about you, Carolina?” Joseph asked, his spirits rising.
“I beg your pardon, Father. I didn’t hear what you asked.”
“I’m going into Washington City and thought perhaps you might like me to bring you back some trinket,” said Joseph.
Carolina’s eyes widened and delightful anticipation clearly shone on her face. “Papa, do they have books on locomotives?”
“Carolina, whyever would you wish to read such a thing even if there were?” her mother questioned; then, not waiting for an answer, she cornered Maryland and retied her hair ribbon for the third time that morning.
“I’m very interested in the railroad,” Carolina explained, and Joseph thought she was making a great effort to be patient. “Do they have such books, Papa?”
How very typical that he should buy Virginia a dress and Carolina a book. “I would imagine there might be a few. It is a relatively new subject in this country. I’ll do what I can.”
“Oh, thank you!” Carolina exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled with a fire that reminded Joseph of his own passions for the new railroad.
“And, Virginia,” he said, turning to his eldest daughter, “I will bring back the best material money can buy.”
“I’m going to start planning the dress right now!” Virginia’s eyes matched her sister’s in anticipated delight. Then she added almost as an afterthought, “After I write that letter, of course!”
Joseph chuckled at Virginia’s childlike glee; it was far less typical than her request for a dress. True, she was eighteen and a woman, but he thought she had always tried too hard to be grown up. Even when she was ten she had been far more concerned with proper decorum than with usual childhood pursuits. Thus, it pleased Joseph to see her practiced ladylike facade slip, even if only momentarily.
Joseph turned to Margaret. “And what about you, Mrs. Adams? A new gown for you as well?”
Margaret smiled, seeming to forget her concerns about Carolina’s request. “I’ve clothes enough for now. However, perhaps you could bring me some new embroidery thread. I find my supply is dwindling. And, of course, you won’t forget the other children.”
“Certainly not. I’ll go now to take their orders.”
“Me, Papa, me!” Maryland stopped her cavorting and looked up at her father. “Me go, too.” She held up her arms to her father.
Joseph leaned down and picked her up. Her dark brown curls framed a dainty, almost cherubic face. “I cannot take you this time, Mary, but Papa will bring you back some rock candy.”
“Yes, yes! Candy!” Maryland clapped her hands, then reached them up to caress her father’s face. “I wuv you, Papa.” She placed a wet kiss on his cheek, then squirmed to be put down.
The minute her feet touched the floor, Maryland went running out of the room chanting, “Candy, candy. Papa get me candy!”
Joseph exchanged a look with his wife. Margaret seemed displeased with his promise to Maryland. “A very little bit of candy will not hurt,” he said. “Now, I must make some preparations for the trip.”
“How long do you plan on being away?” asked Margaret.
“I should be home within the week.”
Margaret looped her arm through her husband’s. “I will miss you, Mr. Adams.” Her displeasure was forgotten as they moved toward the stairs.
“And I will miss you, my dear—”
“Mr. Adams, careful how you speak in front of the children,” she scolded, but not harshly.
“They should know you are dear to me, wife. An occasional term of endearment can do no harm.” He looked down at her. After twenty-two years of marriage and nine children, Margaret Adams was still as lovely as she had been on their wedding day. And he well knew there was far more to her than the reserved and proper shell she revealed to the world. “Now, perhaps you can help me pack, my d—ah, that is, Mrs. Adams,” he said tenderly.
As they began their ascent up the stairs, Maryland raced past them still singing, “Candy! Candy!”
“Mary!” Margaret called. The child ignored her mother and jumped down the last two steps before turning to race back to the top. “Maryland Adams!” Margaret scolded. The precocious child turned with a grin. “Stop running on the stairs. Young ladies do not run.”
Maryland’s only response was a giggle before she took off in another streak.
Margaret sighed and looked at her husband. “Where does she find the energy?”
“I remember when the other children were small and there were four running the stairs at once.” Joseph laughed at the pleasant memory.
“Ma
ryland makes up for four,” said Margaret wearily.
19
Oakbridge Tutor
“Baldwin!”
Leland Baldwin glanced toward the street and saw Joseph Adams alighting from a cab. He quickly pocketed his timepiece and straightened his coat. He had been on his way to a meeting with a local merchant regarding a sizable loan and was running late. But Leland stopped and gave his full attention to Adams. After all, the prospect of receiving some of the Adams fortune was far more important than his shelling out money for a loan.
“I had no idea I might run into you today, but it was just in my mind to look you up,” said Joseph, extending his hand as soon as his feet touched the street.
“Adams, it’s good to see you. I’m on my way to the bank. Why don’t you come over and sit a spell with me?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t just now. My son York is meeting with Mr. Brubaker about a job.”
“I didn’t realize York was finished with school. Is he out on winter interim?”
Joseph pulled his heavy outer coat closer and his brow creased. “Ah, no . . . that is to say . . .” He shifted uncomfortably. “York has decided to take a break from college and formal education. He desires to go to work right away. You know, see if he can make it without the tedium of finishing an education.”
“Not everyone is cut out for the scholarly life. I know I wasn’t,” said Leland.
“Nor was I. But a college education is becoming more and more important to success.”
“We didn’t do too badly, now did we?” Leland chuckled, then added more earnestly, “I wish I could offer him a position at the bank, but I’d like to believe James might be taking on those duties as soon as he’s fully recovered from the accident.”