Distant Dreams

by Judith Pella

  James shook his head. “Probably not. Knowing Phineas it would just give him cause to burn the midnight oil a little longer.”

  “I would be that way, too,” Carolina replied. “I seriously doubt Mr. Davis would have done things one bit different. My mother once told me I should never let fear keep me from living my life and seeking my dreams. It’s my desire to have an education. And with that education I’d like to know more about the railroad and how locomotives work. But I don’t want to be responsible for causing you, or anyone else, pain. If I have to wait until I’m grown and capable of living on my own, I’ll get that education.” She swallowed hard, uncertain she could continue with what she had to say. “So, if you want to end this position as my tutor, I will understand. I’ll even be the one to address the matter with Father.” The very thought of him quitting caused Carolina’s eyes to fill with tears. She prayed he wouldn’t go, yet she felt so filled with remorse for her actions of the past weeks. “I won’t be responsible for grieving you further,” she added in a wavering voice.

  James reached out and touched her hand. Carolina hadn’t realized how cold she was until his warm fingers folded around hers. “Please don’t feel badly about what happened. You had no idea how I felt.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have to pester you every day since your arrival, and . . .” She paused, wondering if she could think clearly with his thumb gently rubbing across the top of her hand. “I . . . uh . . . I haven’t been very nice to you. I’ve been argumentative and I’m sorry.” She struggled to keep her emotions in check.

  James looked at her sternly for a moment. “I think maybe it’s been that very nature that has kept me from feeling too sorry for myself.” He paused and offered her a smile. “I’ve had to keep on my toes in order to deal with your attacks. Maybe God knew if I sat at home in Washington, I’d only grow more withdrawn and distant.”

  Carolina felt a surge of hope. Perhaps he would stay and continue the lessons. She had to prove her sincerity. “So shall we call a truce, Mr. Baldwin?” Her cloak hood fell back and the wind toyed with her curls.

  “I’d like that, and I’d like it even more if you would call me James . . . that is, if we are truly to be friends.”

  She gently disengaged her hand. Her mind was a mass of confusing thoughts. “Very well, James.” She went to the door and, with a hand on the brass handle, turned to add, “I promise not to bring up the subject of the railroad again.”

  26

  A New Subject

  The following morning Carolina had no sooner seated herself at the table when Virginia entered the room on the arm of James. Grimacing to herself, Carolina listened to Virginia’s sickeningly sweet praise for James’ healing progress. Does she never tire of such blithering? Carolina wondered.

  “Christmas at Oakbridge is positively wonderful,” Virginia said in a voice dripping honey. “You’ll absolutely love it.”

  “Yes,” Carolina said, pushing back her book and turning to frown at her sister. “Virginia puts on quite a display. Well, maybe I should say”—Carolina tapped the book as if trying to think of the right words—“Oakbridge puts on quite a display, and Virginia is merely a part of it.”

  While James closed the door, Virginia whirled around to stick out her tongue at Carolina. Carolina only smiled and noted that James was trying hard not to do the same.

  “Well, if you’re ready to begin our studies, Carolina,” James said in an authoritative air, “I’ve a new subject to add to our schedule.” Virginia, realizing she’d been dismissed, quietly took a seat by the window and drew out the doily she’d been crocheting.

  James went to the secretary and brought back a two-foot-long scroll of papers, which he immediately began to unroll on the tabletop. Carolina’s eyes widened at the sight of the locomotive schematics laid out before her. She looked up at James, questioning with her eyes the object at her fingertips.

  “You wanted to know about such things,” he offered by way of explanation. “I thought perhaps this would be a good way to start.”

  “But I thought . . . I mean I told you I . . .”

  “I remember what you said,” James replied, taking a seat beside his pupil. He lowered his voice and added, “I did a great deal of thinking after our talk last night, and I’ve decided you were right.”

  Carolina wondered only momentarily if Virginia found this conversation strange. Gingerly she reached out and touched the paper. “Are these your designs?”

  James smiled. “Yes. They’re the same ones I showed to Phineas Davis. He, of course, had his own designs, and shortly after his death a prototype was built using a horizontal boiler. My designs aren’t intended to actually be put to use—they were mainly a training exercise for me. However, I’ve tried to include some of my own ideas, such as a shorter boiler to accommodate the crooked track. Would you like to know more about them?”

  “Oh yes. Please!”

  “See here?” His long slender fingers traced the edges of inked perimeters. “The largest component of the engine is the boiler. The earliest known steam engine was created by the Egyptians about 100 b.c. They noted that if water was boiled over a wood fire, steam could be directed through pipes into a hollow ball pierced with a couple of bent tubes. When the steam reached the ball it would hiss out through the tubes and make the ball spin. They had no idea what to do with the new creation, but no doubt they realized even then that it was something of value.”

  “But when did they start using railroads?” Carolina interrupted excitedly.

  James smiled indulgently. “Actually the railroad has a much earlier origin than you might think. Eighteen hundred years ago the Greeks made wood rails on which to move heavy wagons by oxen and horses. This made it easier for the animals, and sometimes humans, to pull the loads because the rail made it smoother. Centuries later, it was realized that iron would last longer and be smoother yet, and the modern rail was born.”

  Carolina turned her attention back to the engine design. “So they took the Egyptians’ idea and made a bigger boiling pot, and the hissing ball became cylinders that pressed the pistons and moved the drive wheels?”

  James laughed. “It seems you know a great deal more than I had realized.”

  “Father told me about the transference of steam from the boiler to the drivers. I asked him about it after we saw the engine in Washington.”

  “This design differs from the engine you saw.”

  “Yes, I see that. The boiler is horizontal instead of vertical,” Carolina said, rather proud of herself for recognizing the difference.

  “That’s right. Phineas designed vertical boilers for the B&O because the rail line is very curved with many twists and tight turns. A horizontal boiler would jump the tracks constantly because the length would never be able to keep up with the turns. Vertical boilers allow for the entire engine to be little more than fifteen feet long, whereas most of the horizontal boilers being designed are at least half that again.”

  “So why not keep with the vertical boilers?” Carolina was totally taken in by the drawings.

  “You can’t increase the boiler size on a vertical boiler. If you make them taller, most won’t fit through the tunnels or pass under the existing bridges. Without increasing the size, you can’t increase the power. Also small boilers keep the overall weight of the engine down.”

  “Why is that important?” Carolina eagerly turned to meet James’ eyes. His face was only inches from hers, and it instantly made her nervous. Quickly lowering her face to the schematics, she asked again in a shaken voice, “Why . . . is that important?”

  James seemed unaffected by the encounter. “The tracks on the B&O are weak. Most American track leaves a great deal to be desired. They’ve used strap rail on most of the B&O. This is thin strips of iron laid on top of wooden stringers. These stringers are fastened to wooden ties to hold it in place. The newest method of laying track is to use a T-rail.”

  “I’ve heard Father discuss it,” Carolina stated, rec
alling to mind the time she’d eavesdropped.

  “Well, one of its many advantages is that it’s a lot stronger and can bear up under the heavier weight of the horizontal boilers. The Washington Branch of the B&O uses T-rail.”

  “So if the rails are being adjusted to take on greater weight, why not straighten out the curves while you’re at it?”

  “Exactly,” James replied. “And so they are. Even now there are small portions of the B&O rail between Baltimore and Harper’s Ferry that crews are working to remake. But because of cost, they are mostly just straightening the line a bit and reusing the strap.”

  “So eventually, when the money is available, they will rebuild the line?”

  “That is the plan. Mr. Thomas would like to see the entire line west to the Ohio redone in T-rail. It will make it safer and more sturdy and better able to handle the larger engines.”

  “Then your ideas for a horizontal design shouldn’t be rejected.” Carolina’s matter-of-fact tone was intended to encourage James. She wanted to keep him in whatever positive frame of mind would allow for his continued good nature toward this subject.

  “James is giving up that nonsense with the railroad,” Virginia announced from where she sat. “He told me so not two days ago. Isn’t that so, James?”

  James rolled the papers up and shrugged. “I might have been a bit hasty in my decision.”

  “I hardly think so,” Virginia replied coolly. She eyed Carolina with calm disdain, as though knowing already that her sister had something to do with this change of heart. “Your father is offering you a stable job in banking. It isn’t everyone who can simply waltz into a position of such social importance.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” Carolina interjected strongly. “If a man has to be about something, why not let it be something he enjoys?”

  “Such childish notions,” Virginia said with a stilted laugh. “I would expect that view from someone of your immature age, sister dear.”

  James interrupted the conversation here. “Ladies, I’ve been hired to tutor, not to argue. Let us return to our studies. I have yet another design to show you.”

  Virginia sullenly resumed her crocheting, but not before Carolina offered her a triumphant little smile. It was then and there that Carolina decided if she had anything to say about it, James would return to his dream of the railroad.

  When Carolina and Virginia left the classroom to prepare themselves for the midday meal, James sat back on the sofa and ruminated over the morning’s progress. It gave him great pleasure to recall Carolina’s excitement when he had produced the locomotive designs. He had been a bit shaky at first when he had launched into the discussion, but she had not noticed at all. And before long, he too had practically forgotten his pounding heart and trembling hands.

  It felt good to talk about the railroad again. Very good. Of course, talking was a far cry from riding a train again, but perhaps it was a start. And how odd that little Carolina had been the one to boost him in that positive direction. She was wise beyond her years. There were times when he thought he ought to be learning from her. He might know science and mathematics, but there was so much about life that eluded him.

  The simplicity of her response, if not the wisdom, had made him think about his reaction to all that had happened. He remembered her simple words, “Would he have put the railroad aside if he’d known it would kill him?” The railroad might not be important enough to die for, but dreams, hopes . . . yes, he believed they were.

  Maybe he would never be able to step on a train again, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t continue to produce his designs. And it certainly didn’t mean he ought to give up after that one unfortunate incident. He had a talent for design, or so Phineas had told him, and he had a decided aversion to banking. After much thought and Carolina’s sweet encouragement, he decided it was better to face the terrors of the rails than the horrible boredom of banking.

  At least he wasn’t ready to make any rash decisions. He feared Virginia might never let him live down his hasty words of two days ago, but he’d handle her somehow. In the meantime, he still had to recuperate fully. Who could say what might happen during that time? Why, Carolina might just get him aboard a train before his stint at Oakbridge was over.

  27

  Something to Think About

  A week before Christmas James entered the sitting room without Virginia’s ever constant presence. Carolina was already hard at work, head bent over her book, pen in hand. He could hardly believe the progress she’d made. Already she commanded a good understanding of algebra, and the problems presented her were rationally examined and questioned when that understanding failed her. She was an avid student, and since their agreement to a truce, he found her company quite enjoyable as well.

  He also found Virginia’s company enjoyable, but for an entirely different reason. Virginia was . . . well, the kind of woman a man naturally found alluring. She was delicate and charming with her talk of the social season and of helping the children at church to put on a Christmas pageant. She always managed to speak of domestic affairs as though her heart beat for their very existence. And perhaps it did. Seldom did Virginia broach any subject other than that which might appeal to her feminine nature. James doubted seriously that Virginia even knew there was a political or industrial world, except that the people who participated in such things were often those at her parties.

  Yes, he found Virginia to be a fine companion. Her beauty alone ought to be enough to keep any man interested and content. He was content at any rate. He’d already decided to propose to her after the New Year.

  “Oh, bother!” Carolina exclaimed, rallying James from his thoughts.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” she said, seeming somewhat embarrassed. “It’s really nothing. I just spilled ink.” Getting up, she went to the secretary where she’d purposefully tucked a few rags for just such occasions.

  James watched her bite her lip as she concentrated on cleaning up the mess. She wore her hair down, with only a delicate pink ribbon to hold it back away from her face. The dark brown ringlets danced over her shoulder when she bent to her task, and without thought James reached out to keep them from merging with the inky mess.

  Startled, Carolina immediately straightened, and James dropped the silky curls. “Sorry,” he said, feeling his face redden a bit. “I feared your hair was about to change colors to indigo.”

  Carolina, still holding the inky rag, nodded briskly and returned to her task. “I should have paid better attention to what I was doing.” Her voice sounded rather stiff and formal, and James worried that he’d offended her with his behavior. The few times he’d touched her hand or brushed her arm with his, she’d always reacted the same way. No doubt she was still harboring some anger against him for his original attitude toward her education. If that were the case, he could help rectify the situation here and now.

  “You know, Carolina, I don’t believe I’ve told you what I think of your progress.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She finished with the ink and discarded the rag in a bin by the fireplace. Briefly studying her hands to ensure that none of the ink would follow to her clothing, she nervously smoothed her skirt.

  James motioned her to the more comfortable sofa. “Here, let’s take a moment from the studies.”

  Carolina eyed him strangely but did as he suggested. She sat on the edge of the yellow-striped sofa, back stiffly straight, hands folded in her lap. James limped noticeably as he retrieved a chair and brought it to sit in front of her.

  “I just wanted to take a few moments to tell you how well you’re doing. I know I had my misgivings in the beginning, but I’m very impressed with your ability to comprehend the subjects we’ve taken on.” He paused, trying to gauge her reaction, but Carolina’s face remained fixed. “I suppose I have always looked at extended studies for women as a waste of time. But you have taken such joy
in what you are learning that I think perhaps the purpose resolves itself in your pleasure, if nowhere else. It seems to me that should you never be allowed to do anything more with what you’ve learned here, you would find happiness in what you had.”

  Carolina frowned. “Are you telling me that you’re finished tutoring me?”

  James shook his head. “Not at all. I merely wanted you to know I recognize your keen intellect. You are unlike most women . . . perhaps due to your youth or your father’s obvious indulgence . . .”

  “Are you saying I’m spoiled?” Her brow arched slightly, the old ire returning to her tone.

  James ran his hand back through his dark hair. This wasn’t going the way he’d intended. “Not at all. I’m simply saying you’re different from other women. Oh, bother. I’m not saying this well at all.”

  Carolina calmed. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m a bit testy today. Virginia put me off at breakfast, and I’ve not had much patience since.”

  James offered what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “What happened to put you two at odds?” It was always something— usually Virginia baiting her younger sister and Carolina losing her patience.

  Carolina sighed. “She wants me to occupy her former suitors at the party so that she can save most of her dances for you.”

  The look on her face was one of such utter displeasure that James couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It’s true!” Carolina exclaimed before he could say a word.

  “I’ve no doubt it is,” James replied. “Virginia must have forgotten I am in poor shape for much dancing.”

  “Oh, she’ll find a way to monopolize your every moment. And I will still be left to do her bidding.”

  “It seems as though you were asked to tend the dying rather than enjoy an evening of flirtatious adventure.”