by Judith Pella
“Mama scared me,” Penny said weakly from her bed, drawing Carolina from her brooding thoughts.
“I know, and I’m so sorry. Mama doesn’t understand how frightening her cries can sound. But you don’t have to worry now, Penny dear. Lydia is going to sit with you until you fall asleep.” Carolina nodded to a young female slave. The wide-eyed girl took a seat beside Penny’s bed.
“Would you tell me a story, Carolina?” Penny asked as Carolina turned to leave. “Just a little story?”
Carolina took pity on her sister and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “What would you like to hear about?”
“Tell me about the railroad again. Tell me about how they are going to build the railroad to go clear to the other side of America.”
Carolina smiled. “Well, they are certainly going to try. First they have to be able to handle all of the mountains in between. Mountains make a very big obstacle for the locomotive engines. You see, the engines must not only go up the mountain themselves, they must pull a load of cars behind them. Sometimes the engines aren’t powerful enough, and sometimes the wheels slip and slide on the rail.”
“What do they do to make it work?” Penny asked, and Lydia also leaned forward as if awaiting the answer herself.
Carolina smiled. “They do all kinds of things. One thing is to use incline planes. These are places on the rail line where the road gets too steep. They put the rails into place, sometimes going straight up the mountainside for a short ways, but only if it isn’t too steep. Then they lay track that goes on a flat space to kind of even things out. This makes it look like they are going to go around part of the mountain rather than straight up. They use as many sections as they need to finally reach the top of the mountain, weaving the railroad back and forth until they reach the summit. Then they do the same thing coming down the other side. Sometimes locomotive engines pull the cars up the incline planes, but some lines use horses.”
Penny yawned, and Carolina knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she would fall fast asleep.
“Does our railroad use horses?” she asked.
Carolina almost laughed at her sister’s choice of words. Ever since the Baltimore and Ohio had built their southern branch to the capital city, Penny had called it their railroad. Carolina felt the same way.
“They do on the western line,” Carolina replied, patting Penny’s hand. “But incline planes aren’t necessary on the Washington Branch.”
“Aren’t the engines too heavy for the horses to pull?” Penny asked sleepily.
“They don’t pull the engines. There are engine terminals on both sides of the mountain. They unhook the engine there and simply take the cars up and over and hook them up to another engine on the other side. Understand?”
Penny fought to open her eyes and finally gave in to sleep. Carolina smiled, but then a serious thought about Penny’s weakness crossed her mind. The doctor hadn’t thought Penny would survive the fever, and now that she had, he didn’t believe she would live much longer. The fever and its aftermath had left Penny’s heart weak, and because Margaret had refused to allow her children to be bled—or so the doctor said—there was little he could do.
Carolina couldn’t imagine the house without Penny’s sweet, gentle spirit. But then, she couldn’t have imagined the house without the rambunctious Maryland. Mary, who used to so love running up and down the main staircase that, whenever she was missing from the nursery, one had only to look to the stairs in order to find her.
Rising, Carolina reached out and brushed back a sandy brown curl from her sister’s face. She’s so little, God, Carolina silently prayed. Please give her strength to fight this illness. Don’t take Penny away as You did Mary.
2
A Master Design
James Baldwin stood atop Jefferson’s Rock, high above Harper’s Ferry, and watched in anticipation the opening of the new bridge across the Potomac. Harper’s Ferry was the door through which the B&O would eventually reach the Ohio, and today, with his companions, James was witnessing the dramatic opening of that door.
Harper’s Ferry, nestled at the base of a low hill, was the joining place of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. The scenery was both treacherous and breathtaking, and even set against the harsh briskness of the winter day, James thought it a lovely place with tremendous potential. It was, in fact, the prospective trade west that drove the B&O Railroad to seek passage through the small community.
James watched as the small grasshopper engine pulled closer to the Potomac Viaduct. Behind it trailed a string of cars, some carrying supplies, others carrying passengers—all sharing this monumental moment in history. Instead of riding in the train, James had opted to view it all from his present spectacular vantage point.
He had the utmost confidence in the small but powerful engine. The design had been that of his friend Phineas Davis. Davis had died just over a year ago in the rail accident that had left James injured and confused. He had wanted to give up the railroad, and would have, but for Carolina Adams.
He smiled at the mere thought of the feisty woman-child. How she would love to be a part of this day, he thought. He could imagine her thrilling to the sight of the smoke-belching engine as it crept closer and closer to the bridge. He would have loved to share the moment with her, and had they still been on speaking terms, he would have done just that.
He frowned and walked a few steps away from the companions accompanying him for the celebration. Ben Latrobe, head surveyor and superintendent of the bridge, and Jonathan Knight, chief engineer, hardly noticed his introspective mood. They were caught up in the moment, just as James had been. The bridge represented real progress for the main stem, which had been fraught with delays lately.
James watched the smoke streaming from the engine and felt the importance of the moment. He wanted to impress every image on his mind so that perhaps one day he might relay the images to Carolina.
And he would see her again.
This he promised himself. It would probably be very far into the future, when his appearance wouldn’t cause her so much grief and embarrassment, but he would return to Oakbridge Plantation one day. He smiled, remembering his days at Oakbridge. The estate was vast and beautiful, with thousands of acres of rich Virginia soil to sustain the growth of most any crop. James could almost envision Carolina walking out amid the orchards—flower blossoms snowing down on her hair and carpeting the ground where she stepped. He would see her again.
“We’re still going to fix this line,” James heard Latrobe assure Jonathan Knight, and the words brought his thoughts back again to the railroad.
“Do you think Louis McLane will make a good run of things?”
Knight questioned. Elections had not yet been held to choose a new president for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, but everyone was certain the process was only a formality. Louis McLane, once a very important man in Andrew Jackson’s cabinet, was expected not only to take up the position of president but to pump new blood and energy into the line as well.
Latrobe smiled. “He’s the devil to work with, but the man can move mountains with the simple snap of his fingers. People respect McLane, and he isn’t afraid to take a chance now and then.”
James smiled, and though he wasn’t a direct part of their conversation, he felt the same as Latrobe. He’d met the anticipated president of the B&O, and he liked him. McLane was a man of vision, and his vision was to see the B&O reach the Ohio as it should have years before now.
James continued watching, memorizing each detail of the day. It was cold and brisk and the air smelled like snow. All around him the dead dry vegetation of summer sparsely covered the rich brown ground, while hardwood trees stood devoid of leaves among the windswept pines. The earth rested, but not so her inhabitants.
“The area west of Harper’s is going to be the death of us,” Latrobe told Knight. “It’s possible to continue with the basic plan, but some changes are going to be needed.”
James strolled
back a few feet to join his friends in their conversation. “What kind of changes?” he asked with great interest.
“Big ones. Expensive ones,” answered Latrobe. “It’s a good thing the Washington Branch is so profitable. We’re going to need all the ready cash we can get our hands on.”
Knight nodded. “The Washington line made a net revenue of over eighty thousand dollars between last October and September of this year. That’s net, my good fellows—and it included over seventy-five thousand passengers and more than five thousand tons of freight.”
“But the westward line is the main one,” Latrobe said, “and that is the line that ought to be producing the best benefit to the company. Freight aplenty awaits us at the Ohio, but there are so many problems.” He shook his head as though the idea of it all was too overwhelming to consider.
“What must be addressed first?” James asked, the wind stirring his dark brown hair.
“Well, we should rid ourselves of the strap iron,” Latrobe replied, rubbing his bearded face. Both James and Knight nodded knowingly. Strap iron—thin iron strips attached to wooden stringers and laid upon wooden or granite sleepers—was an abomination from which the B&O could not seem to shake itself. The thin railing could scarcely handle the lightweight grasshopper engines without pulling away and bending upward from their fasteners. These created the dreaded snakeheads that caused derailments and serious injury.
“Yes, the strap has to go,” James agreed. Most of the Washington Branch had been laid with the much more useful and safe T-rails. Even so, a coupler on one of these had come loose, causing the derailment that had killed his friend. Railroading was far from a perfect science.
“That, of course,” Latrobe said, pulling off his tiny wire-rimmed glasses and rubbing them gently with his scarf, “is going to cost a fortune and take a tremendous amount of time. However, until we straighten out some of the more crooked areas of track and re-lay the line with T-rail, we can never develop this railroad into what it hopes to become. The new heavier, more powerful engines will never be allowed on the lines for fear of tearing up the track and being totally destroyed in the process.”
“I understand you are working to straighten sections east of here,” James offered.
“Talk, all talk. We’re surveying, of course.” Latrobe put his glasses back on and squinted. “Something about that bridge gives me great concern,” he muttered offhandedly, but no one paid him much attention.
“Actually,” Knight said, pulling his top hat down tight against the steadily growing breeze, “McLane desires to see the incline planes at Parrs Ridge dealt with early on.”
“True enough,” Latrobe answered. “We’re surveying how to bypass the incline planes altogether.”
“But why?” James asked. “Since it’s recently been proven that locomotives are capable of hoisting the loads up and over, why not worry about that later?”
“The incline planes are impractical for speed and safety. I’m afraid they were a terrible miscalculation and will be a very expensive wrong to make right.” Latrobe spoke while his eyes continued to seek the progress of the locomotive below them.
“Have you already laid out your plans—?” Suddenly James stopped. His eyes also had been focused on the train as they talked. “What’s that?” He turned to Knight. “Don’t you have a spyglass?”
“Yes, in my saddlebag.”
James strode to where the horses were tethered, retrieved Knight’s spyglass, and returned to the others. He lifted the glass to his eyes.
“What is it, James?” asked Latrobe.
“The train is slowing.”
“Yes . . . it is at that.”
James peered intently through the glass. He could see no reason for the slowing, though he supposed there could be some mechanical problem. Then he saw it. Only with the glass was he able to make out the bits of crumbling masonry falling into the ravine below. At first he thought it only loose rocks being kicked aside by the progress of the train. But a closer inspection revealed a cracked section of piling near the top of the bridge.
“Have a look for yourself, Mr. Latrobe,” he said, handing the glass to his companion.
Latrobe focused the glass, then shook his head. “It is as I feared. This is just the kind of thing that has kept us for so long from reaching our goal. If only they would do things right from the beginning.” He sighed. “So, you can see, James, there’s a great deal to be done before we can begin to address the problems we just spoke of.”
“I’d like to help, Mr. Latrobe,” James said eagerly. “I know McLane would approve, and if you’ll have me . . .”
Latrobe smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. I didn’t want to impose and take you away from the engine shops in Mt. Clare. I know how you enjoy the design work, and Jonathan might not have liked to see you get so far away.”
“He’ll not be that far,” Knight laughed.
Far enough, James thought, to feel a true sense of adventure, not to mention to be even more distanced from his problems. James felt a tremendous sense of anticipation, even more so than the excitement of seeing the new railroad bridge. All else aside, here was a chance to dig in to the actual rail line of the B&O and to be a part of the changes that would forever restructure the traffic flow between Baltimore and the Ohio River. He enjoyed his work at the yards building locomotives, but what he found he was desiring more was the actual engineering of the rail lines.
“If this is what you’d really like to do, I can use you immediately,” said Latrobe.
“It was one of my original desires for railroad work. I have a passion for this railroad, and I want to immerse myself in its creation.” James paused and looked up rather sheepishly. “Does that sound a bit melodramatic?”
“Not in my mind,” chuckled Latrobe. “I feel the same. You know, James, I worked a short time for the Baltimore and Port Deposit Railroad, but it just wasn’t the same. I was happy to return to the B&O. Here is my true calling.” He waved an arm against the backdrop of the valley below. “Here is my future.”
And mine, James thought. If he could not be with the woman he loved, then let him at least be with the railroad he loved.
“I see the hand of God clearly upon my choice,” said Latrobe.
James looked at Benjamin Latrobe with surprise. “The hand of God?”
“Indeed. I am a strong believer in placing faith in God’s guidance for our lives.”
At this, Knight walked away as though ill-at-ease with the deeply personal turn the conversation had taken. James felt uncomfortable, too, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, he stayed where he was.
“I’ve had very little to do with church and religion, Mr. Latrobe,” James answered with a shrug.
“Church and religion are only a minor part of God’s plan, my boy. I’m speaking of a more intimate knowledge of the good Lord.”
“Well then,” James began slowly, “I would have to say that my experience is limited to childhood prayers and adult questions of purpose.”
Latrobe smiled. “You aren’t alone in questioning the purpose and actions of God. I don’t believe a day passes but that I wonder what God originally had in mind.”
James took a closer appraisal of Latrobe. The Baldwin family had been acquainted with the Latrobe clan for years, but because James had always been so much younger than the Latrobe boys, he had never been close to them. That was ironic, too, since their interests were so similar. Ben Latrobe, in his mid-thirties, was of average build but with a striking appearance. His small, dark eyes gave him a stern countenance, especially accompanied by his dark, full beard. But there was a good-natured glint in those eyes. He looked almost like an Old Testament prophet who had just heard a good joke.
Latrobe had a way of putting James at ease, and the younger man spoke almost without thinking. “God seems cruel at times,” James said. “I can’t imagine what He must be about when He allows good people to die and evil folks to succeed.”
Latrobe rubbed his be
ard and slightly pursed his lips. The thoughtful expression made James regret his openness. Religion and God were subjects he’d rather leave unmentioned these days.
Just when he figured the conversation was over, James was surprised when Latrobe spoke again.
“I see God as the Master Designer,” said Latrobe. “He surveyed and set onto paper, if you will, His own design for mankind—much as I put together the design for the bridge below us. God laid out His plan, marking each and every item with careful consideration as to how it would fall into place with the next item in line.
“He saw the rivers, the ravines, the mountains, and He planned for each of these well in advance. Then with His plan established, He created mankind and shared His way with them. Much as I shared my designs for the Potomac Viaduct with the railroad’s board of directors. What they chose to do with it from that point was up to them. What I choose to do with God’s plan is up to me. Just as it’s up to you.”
James grew strangely disturbed at this analogy. “So you’re saying it’s our own fault that things happen, that people die, and that evil prospers.”
“I’m saying that we take God’s design and make changes to suit ourselves and then wonder why the master plan is so flawed.” Latrobe looked at him with stern yet compassionate eyes. “For instance, I can tell even at this distance that the contractor did not heed my bridge design in total. He made certain changes, no doubt to save money, but for whatever reason, those changes were made without ever consulting me or seeking the truth on why things were laid out a certain way. If what we witnessed today worsens, how can I be held accountable for the problems that ensue? They refused to follow my plan.”
“I suppose that makes sense. If God truly has a master plan, and we are toying with His design, I can reason in my mind why that would create problems. But how does it account for the death of good people before their time?”