Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  “A little something extra for the quality.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Flynn shook the man’s hand and took his leave. He was wrong to harbor hard feelings against his old master, the man who had taught him his trade, taken him in like a son. The closest thing he had to family since his own abandoned him in this town.

  Outside, the warm spring air mingled with the hustle and bustle of commerce. Shop owners set their wares out to be viewed, peddlers parked carts along the street. A train’s whistle hardly penetrated the din of shoppers and those who wished to attract their business.

  “Flynn!”

  Muscles tightening across his shoulders, he turned to see Dr. Paul Allerton’s raised hand. He forced his feet in that direction. The one man he could not refuse.

  “Sir?”

  “Glad I saw you, Flynn. My daughter is to arrive.” He looked to the engine’s slow approach. “Give Eli a hand with the luggage.”

  It was all Flynn could do to keep his jaw from clenching. The man never asked. He bellowed orders as though Flynn were just another piece of his property. And yet it was not within his power to say no. “Sir.” He moved several paces off, positioning himself between Eli, who waited near the wagon, and their mutual master. It hardly mattered what color a man’s skin—it was easy enough to be bought and sold.

  The squeal of iron on iron brought the engine and its cars to a stop, and smoke whooshed down on them. Flynn didn’t bother covering his mouth and nose as many did. Smoke and fire were his livelihood.

  He stood back from the bustle of people exiting the cars and scurrying across the platform to meet family and friends. Flynn had forgotten the doctor had a second daughter, an older one who had married a northerner long before his association with Dr. Allerton began. Eli nodded at him and moved to where luggage was being offloaded. Flynn stood back while Eli spoke with the men. Two large trunks and three smaller ones were set aside.

  “I take it Dr. Allerton’s daughter is planning a lengthy stay,” Flynn mumbled as they lifted the first trunk.

  “Returning for good, as I understand it.” Eli’s dark skin already gleamed with perspiration from the sun warm overhead. April had welcomed spring with vigor. “Her and a young’un.”

  “Not her husband?”

  “He died. Left her with the boy and his fortune.”

  A grunt escaped Flynn as they hefted the trunk into the back of the wagon. Not because of the weight, but because in his opinion the Allerton estate already boasted enough wealth.

  They were loading the second trunk when a shout rose from the door of the passenger car. “My bag!” The doctor spewed curses as he hurried away from the train, a child in his arms and a woman on his heels.

  Flynn dropped his side of the trunk, and it cracked against the side of the wagon before rolling off. He snatched the dark leather medical case from the front seat of the nearby carriage, only paces ahead of Eli. By the time he reached Dr. Allerton, the child, a boy no more than ten, was laid out on a bench, breath rasping in his throat, his small hands slapping his chest.

  “You’re only making it worse.” The woman, drenched in black silks, shoved past the doctor and dropped to her knees by the boy. One hand cradled his face while the other gripped his. “Charlie, you’re all right. I’m here. You need to breathe slower. Breathe with me, sweetheart.” She pressed her cheek to his. “Breathe with me.”

  She inhaled deeply, though less than steadily.

  In. Then out.

  And another. Whispers in between. Her large bonnet and its black lace blocked the child’s face, making her all he saw or felt, his whole world. Flynn almost remembered when his mam had been that to him. Before she’d let him go.

  Gradually, the boy’s small chest took on the same pattern. Steadier. Stronger.

  Something tugged at his hand, and Flynn glanced over to see the doctor take his bag. A sigh slipped Flynn’s chest in rhythm with the boy and his mother.

  Her smile was for her son alone as she withdrew to peer into his eyes. “That’s better.” She placed a kiss on his forehead and helped him sit. “All better now. Everything is all right. Nothing to be afraid of. We’re finally home.”

  Flynn leaned into the station wall. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, but he was hardly aware of the coarse brick. Neither could he remove his gaze from the woman and her brown ringlets losing their battle with the humidity still heavy from rain that morning. Rich brown eyes peeked from beneath her dark bonnet as she glanced at him. How long had she been widowed? How difficult had that time been, left with only her son? Smooth skin reflected her youth.

  “Charlie gets excited and loses his breath. He doesn’t need anything from your bag, Father. A dozen doctors have studied him, and offered nothing. Please, can we just go home?”

  Home?

  Father?

  This was Dr. Allerton’s daughter? Of course. Flynn almost laughed as he shuffled back a step. He had work to do. He stalked back to the wagon and stifled a curse. The trunk he’d dropped lay open on the street, its contents spewed across the dirt. Eli worked to clean the mess, and Flynn hurried to lend a hand. What better way to put a woman from one’s mind than rummaging through her belongings? He groaned. Books. Quills. Gowns and everything that fit under them. Flynn tried not to think on that while shoving the silky fabrics into the trunk. He allowed one last glance as Dr. Allerton’s eldest daughter helped her boy into the carriage and disappeared after him. She had her father and her late husband’s wealth. What would she ever want with a blacksmith who hardly owned the sweat-ridden shirt on his back?

  Esther Mathews pulled her son close as they drove away from the train station. She recognized the questions and answers chasing across her father’s expression as he studied her boy. Always the same. Something was different about Charlie. He learned slower. Spoke slower. Wasn’t the same as other boys his age. No one saw beyond to the gentle angel God had sent her. Not even Charles, his own father.

  Especially not Charles.

  “You never said anything in your letters.” Father inclined his head toward her child.

  “There is nothing to say.” Flint edged her words. She would not discuss Charlie in his presence. His heart still raced under her hand. She’d not let anything more upset him today.

  “I would like to examine him once you are settled.”

  Esther held her tongue. Speaking would only prolong the conversation. She would decline the request later. Charles already saw to it that the best doctors examined their son and always with the same results. There was nothing they could do. Her child was flawed, mentally damaged, physically inferior, and all anyone offered was his removal from her arms.

  “How is Julia? I am anxious to see her.” Esther forced a smile, eager for another topic.

  “Your sister hasn’t said a single intelligible thing since we received your letter. She’s planned dinners, parties, and tea with half the ladies in the community.”

  Esther didn’t know whether to smile or cringe. Hopefully he exaggerated. The last few years had made her quite content to remain at home with her own company. Far away from the whispers.

  Charlie leaned to look out the window, and she compelled her hands to settle on her lap. Aided by his natural curiosity, Charlie’s excitement was almost contagious. She didn’t want to smother him under her fears.

  “Mama, look!”

  Esther leaned forward to see the usual bustle of busy streets, but with the addition of military uniforms—sore thumbs among those in regular attire. She couldn’t be sure to what Charlie pointed, so she simply smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Sometimes she wished to see the world through his eyes. Without the cynicism that came so naturally to her now. The world had turned upside down since Mr. Lincoln won the election in the fall. Seven southern states had already seceded from the Union, and both sides were building their armies. What would the next few months bring?

  Conversation was sparse on the journey to the large house her father had commissioned to be built s
hortly before she’d been introduced to Mr. Charles Mathews. She’d forgotten the deep red of the brick and the grandness of the peaks. Never mind the great chimneys that had once drawn her imagination to the castles of England. They seemed rather less impressive now. Though still very elegant. Boston boasted great houses, but her husband had liked living in the middle of everything, and so provided an elegant town house. Trapped in the center of the city, by the end it had begun to feel like a prison.

  Would she find more freedom here?

  Esther climbed the steps with Charlie’s hand grasped tightly in hers.

  He squirmed, pulling away. “Mama, too hard.”

  Instantly relaxing her hold, she slowed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  His grin beamed at her, offering complete forgiveness. If only this were the boy people saw.

  “Esther!”

  The feminine squeal pulled Esther upright. Julia. She rushed to throw herself into the outstretched arms of her little sister. Though not so little anymore despite the eight years between them. How old had she been, maybe ten, when Esther left? A decade had transformed a little girl into a woman. She’d noted the maturing in their letters, but to see it …

  Julia held her out for a moment. “I’m so glad you’ve finally come. Far too long and not even a visit since that man stole you away.”

  “I’m here now.” What little she had to offer.

  “Yes. And to stay. You must tell me everything. Your letters left much to be desired.” She gave another hug that slowly weakened. Julia withdrew, looking past Esther to Charlie. He stared back, blue eyes curious and smile in place, tip of his tongue showing between his full lips.

  “This is Charles Jr.”

  Esther extended her hand, and he eagerly took it. “This is Charlie.” She stooped to capture his gaze. “Charlie, this is your aunt Julia. Say hello to her.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Charlie.” Uncertainty hung in Julia’s voice, but her expression softened. She glanced to Esther. “We should get you two settled and rested from your journey. There will be time for visiting later.”

  Esther nodded and followed; her feet felt almost as heavy as her heart. The journey had been difficult enough, but the reunion with her family laid her torn heart open. It ached for her little boy, ached to find others who would see him as she did, and love him the same.

  Chapter 2

  Flynn’s hammer danced against the cooling copper until the red glow became dull. He set the tool aside and returned the thinning copper to the heat of the forge. A few minutes later, he pulled back and again laid it across the dip in his swage block. He used a smaller hammer to tap out the sway of the ladle. While the copper began to resemble the final product, he would spend the time necessary to smooth every crease and ridge and add ornamentation to the handle. His customers expected the best, and he would give it to them.

  Despite the steady tap of his hammer, footsteps breached his concentration, sounding out across the floor of his storefront, to his smithy in the back. Usually a bell announced customers, but he had opened the door with hopes of a spring breeze. A large shadow blocked the light from the storefront as he finished his last strike. Flynn relaxed the ladle onto the block and rotated his shoulders to ease the tightness of his muscles.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Lyman Hastings, the gunsmith from down the street, offered his meaty hand. “For once, I would like to do something for you.”

  Flynn raised a brow. He’d never considered Hastings a friend, and the man never went out of his way in the past when Flynn needed the help. “What, exactly?”

  Instead of answering, Hastings picked up the nearly formed ladle. “What is this worth? A few cents, perhaps? Hardly enough to get your head above water.”

  Flynn snatched the ladle away. “What do you want?”

  “The army requires rifles, and there’s money to be made. I just received an order that is worth over two hundred dollars. Part of that could be yours.”

  “You want me to build rifles?” He moved to a pail of clear water on the workbench near the door and dipped a cup inside. Better to not allow the other man a glimpse of anxiousness in his eyes.

  “The barrels. I’ll give you the specifications and provide the iron. It’s the time I don’t have. They want them by the end of May.”

  Flynn had enough orders to keep him occupied over the next six weeks, but he needed the money. “How much?”

  Hastings scratched a hand across the side of his ruddy face and a day’s growth of red whiskers. “Thirty-five if I am providing the iron.”

  “How’s the quality?” Nothing more frustrating than trying to mold cheap iron that would do better as a wagon wheel or horseshoe.

  “You think I would give our soldiers anything but the best?”

  Flynn held his comment. “Forty dollars.”

  “Forty! Have you no loyalties to the Confederation?”

  The month-old Confederation that Virginia hadn’t officially joined? “I have loyalties to myself. Same as you, I believe.”

  Hastings frowned. “My final offer is thirty-seven.”

  “Forty.”

  He huffed out a breath. “Very well. I will have the iron delivered in the morning.”

  Flynn nodded and then walked toward the door, indicating their conversation was over. He had work to attend. Yet he lingered in the doorway after Hasting’s departure. He closed his eyes and filled his lungs. If he could keep up with his usual work while forging the rifles, he might put a dent in his debts. It would require long days of hard hours, but for the chance to get ahead, he couldn’t decline.

  The murmur of women’s voices drew his gaze to Dr. Allerton’s daughters. Hooped skirts sweeping the street, they strode toward him with boy in tow. The elder sister, who had arrived a week earlier, glanced Flynn’s way but with disinterest. Probably didn’t recognize him from the station. He hadn’t expected otherwise. There was no reason for the pang in his chest.

  “Good morning.” Julia Allerton paused and peered through his shop window, which showed little due to the haze of dust.

  He made a mental note to wash the glass. “Morning, Miss Allerton. Is there something you wished to see?”

  Her slender shoulder rose a degree. “I was going to send someone for a new broom and shovel for Esther’s room, but maybe we’ll pick one out while we are here.”

  Esther. Though the lady in question frowned at the suggestion, and her son pulled from her grasp, something in Flynn softened at the use of her name. His baby sister had been named Esther. Barely a year old in his memory, she’d be a young woman now at sixteen. Or was it seventeen? How could a memory so clear have happened so long ago?

  “I’m hardly picky about what my fireplace broom looks like.” Esther’s voice rang with exasperation as she tried to drag her son from where he crouched to examine a stone. “And we are expected at the milliners.”

  Julia hooked her arm through her sister’s. “It won’t take very long, and you have yet to appreciate the artwork you’ll find in this shop.”

  “Charlie is already tired.” Esther’s focus remained on her son who again reached for the stone. We’ve stopped at almost every door we’ve passed.”

  “We came to shop. You are the one who insisted on bringing the boy instead of leaving him with a nurse.”

  Esther’s shoulders pulled back and her body stiffened. “I already told you how I feel about that.” She took a step, boy in tow. “I think it best I take Charlie home.”

  “I want rock, Mama.”

  “It’s dirty, sweetheart.” She tried another step.

  The boy’s eyes, set wide apart and with a slight slant, filled with tears.

  Her own face crumpled, and she touched his cheek. “I know you want it, but it’ll soil your hands. We need to stay clean today.”

  “I stay clean, Mama,” but he still reached for the stone.

  Flynn crouched down and plucked it from the dirt. As ordinary as rocks came, b
ut the boy seemed to place importance upon it. “I could wash the stone, ma’am. Would only take a moment.”

  She studied him for the first time, her expression showing uncertainty. At the same time, a smile bloomed across the child’s face, transforming his whole countenance.

  That was sufficient for Flynn. “I’ll be back in a trice.”

  They followed him inside, past his display of wares to his workshop and the pail he used for cooling. Warm water washed over the stone, bringing out tones of red that had not been visible under the dirt. Flynn couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with the boy. He didn’t act like others his age. Nor did he speak the same. His appearance was quite different as well—something about his face.

  “See, Mama!”

  Flynn turned. They stood in the doorway to his smithy. The large blue eyes of the boy scanned the fire, bellows, anvil, and table set with tools. Esther only took a fraction of the time to take in where he worked all day, before focusing on him and the stone in his hand. He couldn’t tell which had earned the distaste rippling her brow.

  He wiped a rag over the stone and held it out to her.

  She plucked the rock from his palm and set it in her son’s waiting hand. “This was very kind of you, sir. Charlie is very fond of stones. He collects them.”

  “Not an unusual pastime for a boy.” Flynn offered a smile, hoping for one in return. She was so unlike her younger sister. Life pinched the corners of her eyes, and a worry crease seemed to have taken up permanent residence between two well-shaped brows.

  “Thank you, Mr….?”

  “Flynn.”

  Her eyes widened just a smidgen but enough to see the question and answer left unspoken. Irish? She gave an uneasy smile and backed into the storefront where her sister looked over his wares. He was used to the dismissal, the walls that rose when people learned the only thing remaining of his family, but the sting faded slower this time.

  An Irishman? Her late husband had cursed the existence of them, and they had indeed plagued the streets of Boston. But this man did not speak with the same strong brogue. Looking at his wares, it was obvious he was a talented craftsman.