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  Since Uncle Hugh’s illness, Laura had refrained from visiting the brickyard. Aunt Margaret continued to regard Laura as an interloper who’d married Ewan with the idea of one day having the brickyard returned to the Woodfield name. Of course, this assumption was without merit, yet convincing Aunt Margaret had proved impossible.

  “I suppose you were right not to tell me right away. There’s nothing I could have done, but I wish there was some way I could help.” Rose offered him a meager smile, but the usual shimmer had disappeared from her blue eyes.

  He reached for her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Before this journey ends, you may be able to help me a great deal. Laura’s mother is going to loan me money to purchase a new business, so there are some serious decisions to be made. But right now, we must disembark and catch our train to Grafton to tour one of them.”

  Chapter 2

  Grafton, West Virginia

  Rylan Campbell bent his head low against the beating wind. A flash of lightning and a rumble overhead signaled a spring storm would soon arrive in Grafton, West Virginia. Several fat raindrops splattered the brim of his cap as he crossed the railroad tracks that fronted the Bancock Pottery Works. Once inside, he pulled off his cap and slapped it against his pant leg. As he continued toward the office, he greeted several of the jiggermen, turners, and handlers who’d arrived only moments earlier.

  Over the years, Rylan had worked with most of them, at least for short periods of time. There had been longer training periods in some areas, but once he’d turned sixteen, his stints had been primarily to learn the intricacies of properly performing each task. He’d been assigned to some areas more than once, mostly when they ran short of help, but once a new worker was hired, he’d be transferred to learn another phase of the business.

  The owner, Mr. Bancock, had taken a liking to Rylan, and because the young man was eager to learn, promotions had been swift and frequent. Though none of the other workers had exhibited any resentment toward him, there were some who thought he lacked the experience to become Mr. Bancock’s assistant.

  He’d begun work at the pottery when he was only twelve years old and had never opened his lunch pail anywhere else. But even Rylan understood that most anyone would consider a man of twenty and four too young to oversee a pottery works. However, he’d done so when Mr. Bancock had fallen ill last year, and he’d won the respect of his fellow workers. When Mr. Bancock returned, he’d educated Rylan in the business aspects of the pottery. He’d encouraged the young man to learn about contracts, shipping schedules, wages, and hiring employees. And when he’d completed his training, the older man declared him talented enough to own his own pottery works one day.

  Rylan had nodded and smiled at the adulation, but he knew a poor Irishman would never have enough money to own a pottery works, and so did Mr. Bancock. Still, the two of them pretended that maybe one day it would happen. Maybe one day Rylan would come into enough money to purchase a pottery of his own. And maybe one day pigs would fly.

  Robert Wilson, one of the talented jiggermen and foreman in the clay shop, hastened to meet Rylan’s stride. “I hear we’re to have some visitors today.”

  Rylan nodded. “That’s my understanding.” No use denying the truth, though he wondered who had disclosed the information. Other than the overseers of each work area, Mr. Bancock and Rylan hadn’t informed anyone else of the impending visit. It seemed one of the overseers had loose lips, and the news had spread through the pottery like wildfire on a hot summer day.

  “Terrible shame Mr. Bancock’s illness is gonna cause him to sell the business. What’s that gonna mean for all of us?” He arched his bushy eyebrows. “Think we should be looking for jobs at one of the other potteries? I’m not eager to move, but I hear tell there’s always openings at the potteries in East Liverpool.”

  “Now why would ya even be considering such a thing, Robert? ’Twould be foolish to head off to Ohio when there’s no reason. Having someone come to take a look around means nothing more than that. Who’s to say if he even has the money to buy the place?” Neither Rylan nor Mr. Bancock wanted any of the employees to quit their jobs. They needed every one of them to keep the place operating. Giving Robert a friendly slap on the shoulder, Rylan gave a wink. “Besides, any owner, whether Mr. Bancock or someone new, would count his blessings to have a jiggerman fine as yerself working for him.”

  “That may be true, but who’s to say for certain what any new owner might do?” Rylan’s compliment hadn’t satisfied Robert in the least. He’d heard his abilities touted by many through the years, so Rylan’s words hadn’t eased the man’s concern. “I need to put food on the table for my family, so it would be good to know if Mr. Bancock plans to be fair and honest with those of us who have been loyal to him.”

  The moment they stepped inside, the gathering clouds burst forth. Sheets of rain pummeled the expanse between the railroad tracks and the front door and pounded on the windows. The rain would be welcomed by the steamer captains who traversed the Tygart River. With less snow than usual last winter, the thaw hadn’t provided enough runoff to raise the Tygart to the navigable levels they preferred. The rain would also be appreciated by Mr. Bancock and all the other businesses that shipped their goods by steamer.

  Bancock Pottery was situated on acreage between the railroad tracks and the Tygart River. The location was one of the pottery works’ greatest assets. If the river wasn’t navigable due to winter’s freeze or summer’s lack of rain, Bancock Pottery could still ship pottery by rail.

  “Mr. Bancock has never been anything but forthright with his workers. I don’t think you need to be doubting him now, Robert.”

  Rylan had spoken the truth, but he didn’t add the fact that there had been few contracts signed over the past months, a happenstance that made both Mr. Bancock and Rylan nervous. This was the month when most of their buyers either sent word or arrived at the pottery to negotiate what they would purchase throughout the coming year. On several occasions, Mr. Bancock had voiced concern that some of their customers had learned of his illness and were contracting with other potteries. While Rylan shared that concern, he also feared their most experienced workers would soon locate other jobs. If that should happen, Bancock Pottery would quickly revert from a valuable asset to a worthless liability. Such a catastrophe would place all of them in dire straits.

  “What time are these folks coming to see the place?”

  Robert’s question forced Rylan back to the present. “I don’t know for sure. Last I heard, they were to arrive on the train last evening and come here sometime today. I don’t know if they’ve yet arrived in town.”

  “What do ya know about them?” Robert leaned close and nudged Rylan. “I know Mr. Bancock’s told ya a thing or two. Wouldn’t hurt none to share it with those of us that’s doing the actual work. Might relieve some of the worry most of us been feeling.”

  “Mr. Bancock’s the one you should be asking, not me.” Rylan stepped toward the office. Robert had a way of bantering until he managed to wheedle whatever information he wanted.

  Rylan exhaled a sigh when the office door opened and Mr. Bancock strode toward them. He nodded at the two of them and offered a cheery greeting before resting his hand on Rylan’s shoulder. “I need you in the office to help me prepare for my meeting with Mr. McKay.”

  Robert shifted his lunch pail to his left hand. “McKay? Is that the name of the fellow who’s going to buy the pottery, Mr. Bancock?”

  Mr. Bancock’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know who told you Mr. McKay is going to purchase the business.” The owner directed a sideways glance at Rylan. “Mr. McKay is merely coming to look around and see if Bancock Pottery is a business that might interest him.” Mr. Bancock’s lips drooped into a frown. “I’ve learned word has spread from the slip house to the warehouse that the pottery is up for sale. However, the business has not yet sold, so I would consider it a favor if you would try to put a stop to the rumors circulating among the workers.”
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  “I’ll do what I can.” Obviously embarrassed by Mr. Bancock’s comments, Robert shifted his gaze toward the clay shop. “I should get to my work.”

  Before he could depart, Mr. Bancock stilled him with a touch of his hand. “When a contract has been signed, I will personally announce the change of ownership to all of the employees and answer any questions that may arise. Please pass along that message, Robert.”

  Robert nodded and, with his lunch pail swinging from one hand, rushed toward the clay shop. Mr. Bancock turned to Rylan. “I don’t know when Mr. McKay plans to arrive, and I don’t know what he may ask to review, so we must have all of our paper work arranged so that it will be easily retrieved if need be.”

  Rylan walked alongside the owner. “Are you thinkin’ I’m the one who told about the visit today? Because if you are, I want ya to know it wasn’t me. I didn’t say a word, Mr. Bancock.”

  The older man glanced at him and gave a slight nod. “I figured it was one of the overseers. Just the same, I’m glad to know it wasn’t you. I suppose it’s just as well the employees know a prospective buyer is visiting today. Mr. McKay will expect to tour the entire pottery, and it wouldn’t take long before the workers put two and two together.”

  Once inside the office, Rylan set to work arranging the contracts by year. The stack for the current year looked mighty slim compared to those for previous years. Rylan stood back and glanced at the mounds. There had been a steady decline over the past three years, but this year was downright meager. Any additional contracts would be for small, unexpected orders, but maybe they could land an unforeseen contract that would provide a windfall of sorts.

  When Mr. Bancock turned to examine his work, Rylan nodded toward the end of the row. “This may not be the best way to arrange the contracts. If he’s any kind of a businessman, it won’t take but one glance to realize the business has been falling off over the past few years.”

  “Leave them as they are, Rylan. I won’t hoodwink Mr. McKay or any other man who may consider the purchase of this business. I’ve always been upright in my dealings, and I don’t intend to change that now.”

  The decision didn’t surprise Rylan. Mr. Bancock was a man who did his best to live by the teachings of the Bible. He wasn’t one to preach at folks, but whenever he had a chance to reveal his faith to others, he didn’t hesitate. It was Mr. Bancock who’d convinced Rylan to attend church with him on Sunday mornings, and it was Mr. Bancock who’d given him a Bible with lots of underlined passages. He’d said those passages would help Rylan deal with the difficulties of life. And they had. Lately, Rylan had been clinging to many of those passages, but fear still ran deep.

  What if the new owner decided to dismiss him? Would he be able to find employment in another pottery? He possessed a variety of skills and had trained for a time in each area of the pottery, but he wasn’t a talented jiggerman like Robert, who could find work in most any pottery.

  Locating an opening for an owner’s assistant wouldn’t be easy, especially for a man his age. Rylan surveyed the stacks one final time and quietly reminded himself of some verses he’d read in Luke. If God cared for the fowl of the air and the lilies of the field, wouldn’t He care enough to provide Rylan with a job? The thought offered a modicum of comfort as he turned away from the table and removed the ledgers from the office safe.

  At noon Mr. Bancock decided to skip his usual lunch at the restaurant near the train station. Worried that Mr. McKay might appear while he was away, the owner asked Rylan to fetch him a sandwich. By two o’clock, Mr. Bancock had walked to the front door more times than Rylan could count.

  Mr. Bancock dropped into his chair and rested his chin in his palm. “Maybe there was some confusion about what day he was scheduled to arrive. Or maybe he missed his train.” He murmured several other possibilities, but his mutterings were mere speculation. “Don’t know why I’m worrying so much when I know the future of this pottery is in God’s hands. Just seems hard to always keep that thought clear in my head.”

  “I could go over to the hotel and see if Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan wanted to do something to help ease the older man’s anxiety, something tangible that might give Mr. Bancock a little much-needed information.

  The older man massaged his forehead and stared toward the door. “I think that is a good idea, Rylan. Don’t tell the hotel clerk your name or where you work. I wouldn’t want him to tell Mr. McKay I was inquiring about him. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m too eager.”

  Rylan nodded. He doubted Mr. McKay would jump to such a hasty conclusion, but he would heed his employer’s admonition. Grabbing his cap, Rylan headed for the door and walked outside. After depositing a half-inch of rain, the thunderstorm had passed. Stepping off the boardwalk, Rylan lifted his nose and inhaled the fresh scent of spring. The earlier gloom had departed, and cerulean skies now framed the jagged mountains. Careful to avoid the muddy roadway, he walked the short distance to the railroad tracks.

  The pottery sat across the tracks and about a half mile south of the hotel on a triangular plot of ground along the western edge of the Grafton rail yard. The B&O Railroad owned the hotel, so the hotel lobby also served as a depot station. Rylan stopped outside the hotel and cleaned the mud from his shoes on the cast-iron boot scraper. The hotel clerk made certain the lobby’s decorative tile floor remained spotless, and he looked askew at those who failed to clean their boots before entering.

  Stepping inside, Rylan gazed around the expansive room. A train had arrived not long ago, and the lobby hummed with activity. Along the east side of the combination lobby and depot, there were several wooden benches, which were occupied by passengers awaiting the arrival or departure of a train.

  Printed signs advising gentlemen that they should not expectorate on the floor hung above metal spittoons that had been strategically placed throughout the room. A small ticket office was situated to the rear of the benches. On the west side of the room, a glass-enclosed cabinet displayed boxes of cigars and sundry items that might interest travelers or hotel guests. Beyond the display of goods was a walnut registration desk in the shape of a half moon that wrapped around the clerk like a protective shield.

  With his gaze set upon the hotel clerk, Rylan strode past the wooden benches and stopped at the desk. The clerk was a tall man with a neatly trimmed mustache and balding pate. He lifted his long narrow nose high in the air and pinned Rylan with a hard stare. “Train tickets are purchased at the desk across the lobby.”

  “Aye, but I’m not here for a train ticket. I’m wonderin’ if you’d be so kind as to check your book and tell me if a Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan forced an amiable smile. “If all went as planned, Mr. McKay should have arrived last evening.”

  The clerk shook his head. “We aren’t in the habit of giving out the names of guests registered in our hotel, young man.” He hiked his nose an inch higher. “Whether Mr. McKay has registered with us or not is not a matter we would discuss with—”

  “Did I hear someone asking for Mr. McKay?”

  Rylan spun on his heel. “Aye, that you did. Are you Mr. McKay?”

  “I am. And who might I be talking to?”

  Rylan’s gaze traveled between a man with chestnut brown hair and a young woman with deep blue eyes and a beautiful smile who stood at his side. Was the lovely young lady his wife?

  He tore his gaze away and faced Mr. McKay. “My name is Rylan Campbell, sir.” He hesitated a moment, uncertain what he should do. At this point, there was no way he could heed Mr. Bancock’s order. Mr. McKay was staring at him with arched brows, obviously expecting to know more than his name. Rylan cleared his throat. “I work at Bancock Pottery.”

  A flash of recognition shone in Mr. McKay’s eyes, and he gave a quick nod. “And you’ve come to see what time I plan to visit the pottery, am I right?”

  “Aye. Right you are.”

  Mr. McKay rested a hand on Rylan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you appeared, Rylan. My sister and I were planning t
o leave for our visit with Mr. Bancock right now. ’Twould be appreciated if you’d show us the way.”

  The young woman nudged her brother’s arm. “And may I present my sister, Rose McKay. She’s quite eager to see the pottery.”

  “Nice to meet you, miss.” Rylan tried to keep from staring, but her eyes lured him in like a magnet. His sister. Not his wife. Relief washed over him, but he’d better focus on the job at hand and not the girl in front of him.

  He turned toward Mr. McKay. “I hope you won’t be disappointed. It’s a fine pottery. I’ve worked there since I was a young lad. And you won’t find a more honest man or better employer than Mr. Bancock.” He needed to quit rambling. Mr. Bancock wouldn’t approve.

  “That’s good to know. I hope our late arrival hasn’t caused undue concern for Mr. Bancock, but we’d also scheduled a visit to the brickyard, and the rain caused a delay of our tour of the yard.”

  They stepped outside, and Rylan directed them down the wood sidewalk, looking for the best place for Miss McKay to cross the railroad tracks without stepping in too much mud. All the while, his mind was racing. Why had they been at the brickyard? Rylan had heard Mr. Trent was hoping to sell the place.

  He sucked in a gulp of air. “Were you looking to buy Mr. Trent’s brickyard, Mr. McKay?”

  Rylan held his breath as he awaited the answer. Surely if Mr. Bancock knew Mr. McKay was visiting other companies in the area, he would have told Rylan. No doubt Mr. Bancock would find the news distressing.

  “I’m giving it some consideration. My family and I currently live in Bartlett where I operated a brickyard. Before that I worked in many a brickyard in Northern Ireland.” He offered his arm to his sister as they started across the railroad tracks. “What about you, Mr. Campbell? Is it Ireland you call home, as well?”