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Along the banks of the Tygart Valley River, West Virginia
September 1868

An unexpected rush of sentiment caught Laura Woodfield by surprise. She tightened her grip on Winston Hawkins’s arm as she stepped down from the carriage. Why did entering the brickyard, even the one established by her father, provoke such an awkward show of emotion?

Winston patted her gloved hand. “You have more strength in that small hand than I would have ever imagined. Don’t falter now.”

“I’m sorry.” Laura loosened her grasp and forced a smile. “This place holds many memories, and I haven’t been down here since . . .” The final words caught in her throat.

Her father hadn’t returned from the war. Still, the Tygart River continued to flow, and the seasons still changed without fail. Fall had arrived and the ancient trees that surrounded the Tygart River Valley were already bursting with color. Her father had often declared that God had given him the most beautiful place in the world to perform his labor, and Laura agreed.

While her friends had longed to move to Wheeling, Allegheny City, or Pittsburgh, Laura remained content, feeling more at home in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains. Though she enjoyed occasional visits to the city, she was always happy to return home. Over the past week, she had wondered if her feelings about this place would change once they sold the brickyard. Surely not. Surely she would never want to leave the valley.

She removed a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

“This isn’t a time for sadness. You and your mother should be delighted that someone has finally shown interest in purchasing this place.” Winston’s words were firm yet kind. He gestured toward the huge kilns in the distance. “It’s been more than three years since the war ended. Your father would want you to ease your burdens and sell the business.”

A brown curl escaped Laura’s bonnet as she tipped her head to one side. “I don’t know how you can speak with such authority when even I don’t know what my father would have preferred. He always spoke of this business as something that would sustain our family for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m not attempting to speak for your father, Laura, but when he told you of his dreams for the future, he had no idea the country would go to war.” Winston removed his black felt bowler and traced his fingers through his thick sandy-brown hair. “Where are those two Irishmen?” The corners of his lips drooped into a frown as he settled his hat back atop his ruffled hair. “I dislike tardiness. If a man can’t keep on schedule, how can he expect to succeed? I’ve been told the Irish are prone to drinking. I do hope they’re not sitting in a saloon somewhere.”

“Only yesterday you told me they were excellent prospects, industrious and financially stable. Today you believe they are sitting in a saloon rather than coming here to discuss a contract?” Laura arched her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to deal with men of ill repute, and I certainly do not wish to sell my father’s business to men who won’t be good employers. Father prided himself on treating his employees with respect and paying them a fair wage.”

Winston straightened his shoulders and appeared to immediately grow several inches taller, his lanky frame towering over Laura’s mere five foot two inches. “Forgive me. My words were spoken out of frustration, but I detest tardiness almost as much as I dislike surprises. I suppose it’s the lawyer in me.”

There was a strained note in his voice that deepened Laura’s confusion. She wasn’t sure what to expect from these prospective buyers. Were they good, industrious men who could be trusted, or were they drunken immigrants to be avoided at all costs? Surely Winston wouldn’t have presented the offer to her mother if he didn’t have confidence in the men.

Unable to remain still for even a moment, Winston pressed his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. If the men didn’t appear, he likely feared her mother would consider him a lackluster representative.

Moments later he turned his head and gazed toward the road. “Ah, I believe I hear hoofbeats.” He pointed toward the path leading down to the brickyard. “Here they come.” Heaving a relieved sigh, Winston folded his arms across his chest. “You would think they’d urge their horses to move with a little more speed. I’m certain they can see us waiting on them.”

Turning aside, Laura surveyed the vast expanse that had been her father’s pride before he’d marched off to war. He’d worked so hard to create this business, determined to make it a success. And he had. Their home and financial security were a testimony to his resolve.

Even his departure had been filled with optimism. The day he and many of the local men had headed off to war, he’d spoken of the future. And his subsequent letters had revealed no fear. Instead, he wrote about the new machinery he would purchase when he returned and how he planned to expand the brickyard. Of course, none of that would happen now.

Winston placed a steadying hand on her arm. “If this is too difficult for you, please tell me. It’s my intention to achieve the highest financial gain for you and your mother, but if you appear weak in front of the prospective buyers, it could hurt our chances.”

She inhaled a deep breath. “I’ll be fine as long as I can rely upon you to take the lead.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s what your mother hired me to do. I wouldn’t consider anything less, but please try to appear strong—don’t let them see any hint of tears.”

She’d momentarily forgotten Winston was performing a duty for his client. Fortunately, he possessed no personal attachment to the brickyard and could remain firm and detached as he conducted the business at hand.

“I plan to put all of my negotiation skills to good use so that you and your mother will receive the highest possible price for the brickyard.”

Laura didn’t doubt his word. Winston was considered one of the finest lawyers in the area, and though there’d been no mention of fees, her mother would expect to pay Winston. The fact that he’d been courting Laura would not deter her mother. She would insist upon compensating him for his time and services.

Laura appraised the two riders as they approached. Winston had revealed the men were related, an uncle and nephew from Ireland who were in search of a fully operational brickyard—one that would turn a generous profit in a reasonable amount of time. They claimed to have had years of experience making bricks back in Ireland and believed a brickworks best suited their capabilities and would provide a sound return on their investment. Winston seemed certain the Woodfield Brickworks would meet their requirements. Laura wasn’t as sure. Much depended upon what these men considered a generous profit and a reasonable amount of time.

The younger of the two men cut a fine figure, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. Laura leaned a bit closer. “The younger one looks like he’s worked in a brickyard all his life.”

“Either that or digging potatoes.” Winston grinned and tugged on his jacket sleeves. “His physique would put most any man to shame, but I suppose he has manual labor to thank for his muscles. I do wish the buyers weren’t Irish, but we’ve had no other offers.”

The men had dismounted and were walking toward them, but Laura silently reminded herself to inquire later about Winston’s dislike of the Irish. Many people still held Irish immigrants in low esteem, but she didn’t realize Winston’s negative feelings ran so deep.

The older man extended his hand to Winston as he neared. “Mr. Hawkins. ’Tis a fine day we have for our meeting. A wee bit of sunshine with the smell of autumn in the air.” He dropped his hold on Winston’s hand and nodded at Laura. “’Tis a surprise to see a woman in the brickyard.”

“Miss Woodfield is more knowledgeable about her father’s brickmaking operation than I am, and it was her wish to be here.” Winston turned toward Laura. “Miss Laura Woodfield, let me introduce you to Mr. Hugh Crothers and his nephew, Mr. Ewan McKay.”

Laura dipped her head. “Women and children were never an unusual sight in this brickyard, Mr. Crothers. They often brought lunch to their husbands and fathers. During the summer months of my childhood, I spent as much time at my father’s side as he would permit. Once I was older, I tallied the hours and pay for the workers. Of course, that was before the war.”

“I might add that her mother wasn’t particularly pleased,” Winston put in.

Before Winston could speak any further about her mother’s protestations, Laura motioned the men forward. “Shall we begin?”

Both men praised the clay deposits in the hills that surrounded the site and expressed their approval of the eight domed brick kilns, their chimneys rising to the skies. Laura escorted them past the long storage sheds constructed around the periphery of the complex, and they offered favorable smiles when Laura added that the Tygart River gave them easy access to water for the soaking pits.

“We have access to both the railroad and the river for transporting the bricks.” Laura inhaled a deep breath. “I think you’ll agree it is a sound operation. The Woodfield Brickworks is well known for producing quality bricks.”

“Aye, I do not doubt what you tell us, Miss Woodfield. You do have a fine brickyard. But I must be truthful with you. Ewan and I struck an agreement that we would not purchase a yard that did not have at least two VerValen machines. You have only one machine in your yard. If we’re to secure the kind of contracts we want, I think we need to have the ability to produce in larger quantities.”

Ewan studied the yard and then looked back at Laura. “Though I think one VerValen would be enough, my uncle is firm about having two.”

Laura sucked in a breath. “My father managed very well with this equipment. He paid his men a fair wage, and our family never wanted for anything. Perhaps our brickworks isn’t a good fit for you gentlemen.”

Winston shot her a warning look. “Please forgive Miss Woodfield. Since her father’s death, she has been particularly sensitive to criticism of his business.” His lips curved in a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you gentlemen understand.”

“Aye.” Mr. Crothers nodded, then reached into his pocket and removed a pipe. “True it is that womenfolk are better suited to tending the home fires than the kilns of a brickyard.”

Angered by the condescending comment, she attempted to pull free of Winston’s arm. With a quick movement, he held her hand in place and gave a slight shake of his head. She understood Winston’s concern: He didn’t want her to ruin the possible sale, but given the price these men had been quoted for the brickyard, they expected far too much. And they needed to be told.

She’d abide by Winston’s warning and remain calm, but she didn’t intend to remain silent. “If you have visited other brickyards in the area, I’m sure you’ve discovered there are few that have even one of the VerValen machines. I cannot imagine any brickyard owning two. It simply isn’t necessary.”

After a long draw on his pipe, Mr. Crothers blew several smoke rings into the air. “Fine it is this brickyard of yours, Miss Woodfield, but our Scots-Irish dreams are much larger than you can imagine.”

The man must be daft. Either that or he had no idea how many bricks could be molded in one day using the machine. “That one machine can mold at least fifty thousand bricks a day, Mr. Crothers. Do you believe you’ll have orders that require you to surpass that quantity?”

“Is it unskilled at securing customers you think us, Miss Woodfield?” There was a lilt to his voice and a twinkle in his eye.

“Of course Miss Woodfield doesn’t believe you are unskilled as brickmakers or as businessmen, do you, Laura?” There was a hint of panic in Winston’s voice. He wanted to close this deal for her mother.

“No. I don’t believe either of those things, but I do think their expectations are unreasonable. If they want two VerValen machines, then they’ll need to purchase one themselves or look for another brickyard. They’ll not secure a better yard or a better price than what we’ve offered.”

Mr. McKay chuckled and nudged his uncle’s arm. “You may have met your match, Uncle Hugh.”

“’Tis true you are as determined as any woman I have met, Miss Woodfield. But we need a contract that is a good arrangement for everyone, not just for you. Purchasing an additional machine would be a huge expense.”

“That’s true enough, but you need not purchase a second one immediately. And certainly not until you’ve secured contracts that prove you have need of the additional machinery.”

Mr. Crothers glanced toward the sky as a bank of gray clouds gathered. “There are some other sites we yet need to visit.” He extended his hand to Winston. “We will contact you once we have made a final decision.” He turned toward Laura. “If you and your mother should decide to lower your price, have your lawyer send word. My wife and her sister will be staying at the hotel in Bartlett while we continue our search.”

When the two men started toward their horses, Winston stepped forward. “If it’s the money to purchase machines that’s holding you back from making a decision to purchase this brickyard, I believe I can be of some assistance.”

The older man glanced over his shoulder. “How is that, Mr. Hawkins?”

“I’m on the board of directors at Bartlett National Bank. I think we could offer you a loan at very low interest should you wish to purchase additional equipment.” Winston gestured toward the yard. “You would have more than enough collateral to secure a loan for a VerValen molding machine—even two or three, if you’d like.”

Mr. McKay stopped short. “That is most kind of you, Mr. Hawkins. I believe—”

“Ewan!” Mr. Crothers glared at his nephew before tipping his hat to Laura and Winston. “Thank you for showing us the yard. When we make a decision, I will let you know.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Winston clasped Laura’s arm as they stepped toward the carriage. “We should hurry. I don’t want you to be stuck out here in a downpour.”

He didn’t wait for her response before grasping her elbow and urging her toward the carriage.

Once they were on their way, Laura folded her hands in her lap. “I have a feeling you’re unhappy with me, but I felt compelled to speak my piece. Besides, there are no brickyards in the area that are anywhere near the size of this one. I think Mr. Crothers is bluffing to see if we’ll give in to his demands.”

“There’s nothing to say they’re not looking elsewhere, is there? There are brickyards in many other parts of the country. They could take a train up to New York and discover many a brickyard along the Hudson River up near Haverstraw. I still hold strong hope that they’ll return with an offer your mother can accept.”

Laura had heard tales of the huge brickyards on the Hudson River from her father. He had kept every news clipping and article he’d ever read about various yards and the production of bricks. She surmised Winston had learned of Haverstraw while going through her father’s papers.

“They were in Pennsylvania, up near the New York border, before coming here, so I would assume they’ve already surveyed all of the brickyards farther north.”

“You never fail to surprise me with what goes on in that head of yours.” The horses, undeterred by the continuing rumbles of thunder, plodded onward.

Laura arched her brows. “I hope that doesn’t mean you think women can’t so much as deduce the obvious.”

“Of course not. I give credit where credit is due. You’re more intelligent than many of the men with whom I conduct business.”

His tone was flattering, but she doubted Winston’s words were entirely genuine. Few men thought women their equal when it came to business. Still, she was pleased by his compliment.

The skies continued to darken. Changing winds labored through the densely wooded hillsides, and leaves scattered to the ground in a profusion of autumn-colored confetti.

Winston’s face tightened as a bolt of lightning split the sky. “We’ll talk more when we get back to the house.” He flicked the reins. “Come on, boys. Let’s get the lady home before the rain begins.”

She wondered if he hoped to convince her mother the sale was in their best interest. Would her mother agree with Winston? In any event, Laura was determined to make certain Winston understood her position. “I do hope you’ll remember that the brickyard has been an important part of my life.”

Winston pulled back on the reins as they came to a halt in front of the Woodfields’ grand brick mansion. “I do understand, Laura, but your mother believes it’s time to move forward, and I agree. This sale will give you both the freedom to do so.” A groomsman scurried from the carriage house and held the reins while Winston circled the buggy to assist Laura. He tilted his head to the side and met her gaze. “I hope you don’t think me unsympathetic, but I believe your mother will know what’s best in this circumstance.”

“We’ll see. I do hope you don’t plan to use all of your courtroom skills in an attempt to convince her to sell.” Laura extended her gloved hand and stepped down. “There are very few things I believe are worth an argument, but the brickyard is one of them. I would be extremely unhappy if the brickyard sold for less than its value.”

“I think you might want to give further consideration to the burden the brickyard places on your mother and consider bowing to her wishes.” Together they continued up the front steps. “The final decision belongs to your mother, so I hope you won’t hold it against me when I advise her to sell to these men.” Winston gave her a sideways glance. “After all, there have been no other offers.”

Laura stepped into the foyer and met his gaze. “True enough, but Mother values my opinion, and I hope that after you plead your case, she’ll take my advice.”

Lightning cracked open the sky, and sheets of rain spilled forth as Winston paced back and forth in front of the library fireplace. He stopped periodically and glanced in Laura’s direction. His pleading looks wouldn’t be enough to change her mind, but she didn’t interrupt as he set forth the terms of Mr. Crothers’s offer to her mother.

When he completed his final line of reasoning, he heaved a sigh and sat down opposite Laura’s mother. “I hope you’ll consider dropping your price somewhat to meet the expectations of these men, Mrs. Woodfield. I feel certain we’ll not receive a full-price offer.”

“You must forgive me if I don’t immediately agree.” Laura’s mother refreshed her cup of tea and added a spoonful of sugar. “During our marriage, Isaiah and I made all of our important decisions together. Now that I no longer have his counsel, I feel the need to be cautious—especially with such a major decision. I’m sure Laura concurs; don’t you, dear?”

“Indeed I do, Mother.” From all appearances, her mother wasn’t ready to sell the business. Winston had waged a good argument, but her mother wasn’t going to be rushed into a hasty decision.

Winston leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. “I understand that your husband’s death has forced you into an undesired position of responsibility. That’s why I had hoped to ease your burden and handle this matter for you.”

“That’s most kind, Winston, but I’d prefer to spend some time in prayer and see what the Lord would have me do. I’m sure if these men are the ones who should own the business, the decision will become clear to all of us.”

An hour later, Laura escorted Winston down the hallway to the massive front door hewn from black walnut trees on their own land. He’d waited for the rain to abate before taking his leave and had used a good portion of the time to urge her mother to move forward with the sale, but her mother had remained steadfast in her decision. However, when Laura returned to the library, she was surprised to see her mother pacing the same length of carpet Winston had tread only a short time earlier.

“Between you and Winston, we may need to purchase a new floor covering before year’s end.”

“W-what?” Her mother blinked and looked down at the black-and-gold floral-patterned carpet before lifting her gaze.

“You appear worried. Are you having second thoughts now that you’ve asked for additional time to make a decision?” Laura grasped her mother’s hand and gently walked her to one of the leather-covered chairs her father had chosen for his library.

“Though I hate to admit it, I suppose I am. Winston did make some valid points.” She lowered herself into the chair and scooted back until her feet barely touched the floor. “I never have liked these chairs. They’re far too big.”

“We could replace them,” Laura offered. “If we removed them and repositioned the desk, we could place a settee near the window. You’d have a lovely view of the foothills and wonderful light to sit in here and read on winter days.”

“You may be right. I’ll think about it. We could purchase something that would match the new carpet you think we may need.” Her mother grinned. “What did you think of Mr. Crothers and Mr. McKay? If I’d gone along with you to the brickyard, perhaps it would have been easier for me to make a decision. I wouldn’t mind selling for a little less than the worth of the business if they are honest men and will provide jobs for our workers who were fortunate enough to return from the war.”

“I wasn’t particularly drawn to Mr. Crothers. He appears to be far more interested in excessive profits than in helping others. His nephew seemed to have a kinder bearing, but I believe Mr. Crothers holds the purse strings, so I think he will be the one who decides whether they will buy.” Laura patted her mother’s hand. “Mr. Crothers has high expectations. I don’t believe he’ll find any brickyard that will meet his ambitious dreams.”

Her mother downed the remains of her tea and wrinkled her nose. “The tea is cold.”

“Shall I ask Catherine to brew a fresh pot?” Laura reached for a bell to summon the maid.

“No. I believe I’ve had—” A loud knock at the front door interrupted her mother’s response. “Who could that be? Do you suppose Winston forgot something and has returned?”

“I don’t know what he could have forgotten. I’ll go to the door. Catherine is downstairs, so I doubt she heard the knock.” Laura hurried down the hallway. As she pulled open the heavy door, her breath caught and she took a backward step.

“Good afternoon, Miss Woodfield. Sure I am that you weren’t expecting to see me again today.”

Laura bobbed her head. “That would be a correct assumption, Mr. McKay. What brings you to Woodfield Manor?” She made an attempt to see beyond Ewan McKay’s broad shoulders.

“I’m alone, if that’s what you’re trying to discover, miss.” He chuckled and stood to one side. “I hope you do not think me overly forward in making such a visit by myself, but I hoped to speak with you and your mother in private.” He hesitated a moment. “Without your lawyer or my uncle present. Would that be possible, miss?”

“I believe it would, Mr. McKay. Why don’t you step into the parlor, and I’ll invite my mother to join us.”

Laura hurried back to the library with a muddle of questions suddenly racing through her mind. Why would Mr. McKay return without his uncle? And why did he want to speak to them without Winston present? Did he hope to strike some farfetched bargain and impress his uncle? If that was the case, he might as well head back to the hotel in Bartlett. She’d not be bamboozled by those twinkling eyes or that broad smile of his.

Mr. McKay was standing looking out the east windows when Laura and her mother stepped into the parlor. He turned and offered a slight bow as Laura introduced her mother. “’Tis a true pleasure, Mrs. Woodfield. I hope you’ll forgive me for arriving without a proper invitation.”

The older woman glanced at her daughter. “We don’t stand on a great deal of ceremony here at Woodfield Manor, Mr. McKay. My husband always preferred to have me run a more informal household.” She glanced toward one of the chairs. “Do be seated. Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee, perhaps?”

“No thank you, ma’am. This is surely a lovely home you have here. I counted at least five chimneys as I came up the path. I’m guessing the brick used to build this house was fired in your own brickyard . . . am I right?”

“Yes. My husband was involved in every step of the construction, but we chose the site and decided upon the plans together.”

“And a better site you could not have chosen. What a lovely view you have of the valley and foothills. The green of this valley reminds me of home.”

Mrs. Woodfield nodded, and Laura could see the distant look in her eyes. They’d lived in a nearby smaller frame house for many years—until her mother had conceded to Mr. Woodfield’s desire to build her a fine brick home. “It isn’t good business for the owner of a brickyard to live in a frame house.” That had been the argument that finally won her mother’s agreement. Once she’d agreed, hired men set to work clearing the hilltop and digging the basement. Each day Laura and her mother had gone to the site and watched the house steadily rise up and take shape.

“From where in Ireland do you hail, Mr. McKay?” Mother settled on the divan and motioned Laura to join her.

“I’m from Ulster, a province in northern Ireland. Some folks in this country refer to us as Scots-Irish or Ulster-Irish. Perhaps you’ve heard the expression?”

“I’ve heard the term Scots-Irish. There are many who are known as Scots-Irish in this area, Mr. McKay.” Laura settled on the divan beside her mother. “I’ve never understood if they were Scottish or Irish.”

“I suppose it depends on who’s doing the explaining.” Ewan’s lips curved in a generous smile. “We’re descendants of the Scotsmen who were sent to Ireland when King James I took the English throne back in 1603. The good king planned to bring the Irish under his control, so he decided to colonize northern Ireland with immigrants of the Protestant faith, mostly from Scotland, but some from England and even a few from Germany and France. The king’s idea did not turn out as he planned. Instead, there has been nothing but turmoil and fighting between the north and the south.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose you could liken the bloodshed of good men there to what you’ve suffered here in America.”

Mrs. Woodfield reached for her knitting in a basket beside the divan. “The bloodshed would be the same, but our causes were different, Mr. McKay.”

“Aye, ’tis true, but I fear the outcomes will prove much the same. Wounds remain open, and hatred exists for far too many years after the sword is laid aside.” He inhaled a slow breath. “But that is not what I’ve come to discuss with you.”

Mrs. Woodfield wrapped a strand of dark-blue yarn around her knitting needle. “I am sure it’s the brickyard that brings you back, is it not?”

“It is. And I’m hoping I can trust you ladies to keep this matter in confidence. There would be no pacifying my uncle’s anger should he discover what I’m about to say, but I consider it my duty as a man and as a Christian to speak with you.”

In spite of the afternoon’s warmth, Laura’s skin prickled. She didn’t want him to pass along clandestine comments that might anger Mr. Crothers. “So long as what you tell us will not bring trouble to our doorstep, Mr. McKay.”

“I would not do such a thing, miss. I came here to tell you that my uncle is a man who looks out for himself above all else. He knows that you have a fine brickyard and that you’re offering to sell at a fair price. We’ve looked at yards from New York to Virginia and back again. It’s your brickyard and this valley that impress him. Do not be deceived by his blustering. He’ll pay what you’re asking if you hold your ground.”

“And why have you told us this, Mr. McKay?” Mrs. Woodfield’s knitting needles clicked in a steady rhythm while she spoke.

“Because I was taught to follow the teachings of the Bible. My own mother was particularly fond of sharing the passages that state we should look after widows and orphans and be honest in our dealings with others.” He swiped several strands of chestnut-brown hair off his forehead. “I think because she’d been unfairly treated by our landlord after my da died.”

“And has she come to West Virginia with you?” When Ewan didn’t immediately answer, Mrs. Woodfield looked up from her knitting. “Your mother—is she at the hotel in Bartlett?”

“Nay. She died a year after my da. I have Da to thank for my training in the brickyards. I’ve never met another with such skill.” Ewan cleared his throat. “My mum’s been gone for five years and my da for six. We were told it was consumption that took the both of them. My sisters are still in Ireland with some distant relatives, but I hope to bring them here once my uncle makes his decision about the brickyard. My oldest sister, Rose, and I have been caring for the twins since our mum passed. The four of us had never been separated until I sailed. I miss them very much.”

“And how old are your sisters, Mr. McKay?” Once again the older woman’s knitting needles clacked their familiar beat.

Mr. McKay straightened and smiled. “Rose is sixteen, soon to turn seventeen. She’s a real beauty, with dark hair and blue eyes. Ainslee and Adaira are twins. They’ll soon be twelve. Rose has her hands full trying to keep them out of mischief.” He chuckled. “Good little lasses they are, but they do enjoy their pranks as much as any lad I’ve ever known.”

Laura smiled and glanced at her mother. “I think my mother will agree that girls can engage in as much mischief as boys. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Indeed, it was true of you, my dear. Keeping you out of the woods and away from the brickyard proved a fruitless endeavor.” She hesitated a moment. “I’m sure you look forward to being rejoined with your family as soon as possible, Mr. McKay. Is Mr. Crothers eager to bring other family members to America, as well?”

“If you’re meaning will he hurry to make a deal on the brickyard because of his family back home, the answer would be no. There are two things that concern Uncle Hugh. One is holding on to his money, and the other is keeping his wife content. Aunt Margaret tends to be a wee bit demanding at times.” He grinned. “I’ll say no more on that matter.”

“Then let us hope that Mrs. Crothers convinces her husband they should remain here in West Virginia.”

Mr. McKay stood. “I should be on my way. I said I was going for a ride, but I’m thinking my uncle will expect me to return soon. I’ll do my best to convince him, but mind what I’ve told you, ladies. Hold to your price. Don’t let the lawyer rush you, either. My uncle will come around.”

After escorting Mr. McKay to the door, Laura returned to the parlor. “What do you think, Mother?”

The older woman continued her knitting. “I think he is a very handsome man with a good heart. I believe the Lord sent him to reveal what we should do, and I plan to heed Mr. McKay’s advice.”

Laura arched her brows. “But I thought you were going to pray before arriving at a final decision.”

Her mother stood and grasped Laura’s hand. “One need not be on her knees to seek the Lord, my dear. I was silently praying the entire time Mr. McKay was here with us.”

Hoping to release the tension that clutched her midsection, Laura expelled a deep sigh. Isn’t this what she wanted? A short time ago, she’d told her mother the same thing. But now fear assailed her. Could they believe anything Mr. McKay had told them? Should they trust the Irishman and his promises, or heed the advice of Winston Hawkins, a highly respected lawyer and pillar of the community? She wasn’t sure, but it seemed her mother had no doubt.

And her mother would make the final decision.

Ewan slid his foot into the stirrup and mounted the gray gelding, one of the riding horses his uncle had purchased in Pennsylvania when they began their search for a brickyard. Because Ewan was the only one who ever rode the horse, he’d come to consider the animal his own, though his uncle would reject such a notion. After all, the bill of sale was made out to Hugh Crothers, not Ewan McKay. And unlike Ewan’s father, Clive, Hugh held fast to his belongings.

Many a night Ewan had grieved for both of his parents. Uncle Hugh and Aunt Margaret were no substitute for his loving mum and da. Over the years, Ewan had often wondered how his da and uncle could have been raised by the same parents. Though the brothers bore a strong physical appearance, the resemblance stopped there. Ewan’s father had been an honest, upright man—admired by those who knew him. The opposite could be said of Uncle Hugh.

That knowledge had weighed heavily upon Ewan while wrestling with his decision to sail with his relatives. However, tales of opportunities awaiting immigrants in America had eventually tipped the scales in favor of the voyage. He wanted a better life for his sisters, and coming to America seemed the path to achieving that goal. Although he’d be tied to Uncle Hugh and Aunt Margaret for a few years, the end result would be worth the sacrifice. At least that was his prayer.

The horse’s hooves sucked at the mud created by the earlier cloudburst and slowed their pace. The seldom-used path leading from the road to Woodfield Manor could use a bit of attention. If it belonged to him, he’d use lammies, the bricks distorted from too much heat in the kiln, to pave the area leading from the front of the house to the road. No doubt Aunt Maggie would insist upon first-grade bricks to pave the driveway once she was settled in the manor.

He glanced over his shoulder. From a distance, the chimneys looked like sentinels perched atop the roof of Woodfield Manor. Would that fine home soon be known as Crothers Manor, or would Aunt Maggie decide upon a name reminiscent of her Irish heritage? Perhaps she’d christen it Margaret’s Mansion. He chuckled. Unless someone convinced her the idea was in poor taste, naming the house after herself was certainly a possibility.

More important, where would Miss Laura Woodfield make her home? The young woman had captured his interest when they first met, and after visiting with her this afternoon, he longed to know more about her. She possessed a charm and substance that went beyond her outward appearance, and the fact that she’d actually spent time in the brickyard intrigued him.

With her small frame, she couldn’t have trucked loads of clay or pushed hackbarrows of molded brick. The men who performed those jobs needed muscles the size of melons. Still, the fact that she’d acted as a timekeeper and maintained the books revealed a bit about her. Would she have been as interested if her father had owned some other business? A dry goods store or a coal mine?

“Where have ya been, Ewan? I expected you back an hour ago.” Waiting outside as Ewan approached the hotel, his uncle pointed to the mud caked on the horse’s hooves and fetlocks. “Is it through trenches of mud you’ve taken my horse? Just look at the mess you’ve made of him.”

“I’d forgotten how much rain fell earlier in the day and went off to see a bit of the countryside. I’ll see to the horse right away.”

His uncle grunted and shook his head. “Take him to the livery and tell the boy to take care of him. Margaret and Kathleen have been waiting to go to supper. Thanks to you, neither of them is in good humor.”

“I’ll be sure to apologize. Had I known of Aunt Margaret’s plans, I would have returned before now. If it will help, you can escort them to the dining room, and I’ll meet you there after I wash up.” With a light nudge to the horse’s shanks, he turned the gelding toward the barn.

“Mark my words, there’s more than arriving late for dinner you’ll be answering for.” His uncle’s warning bore a sharp edge that created a sense of foreboding.

Other than being late, he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to anger Aunt Margaret. He’d not seen her since breakfast. His thoughts raced around like the thoroughbreds Uncle Hugh used to wager on at the track back home. When Ewan finally entered the dining room a short time later, he hadn’t arrived at any conclusion.

From the dour look on his aunt’s face, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. She appeared poised to attack. Hoping to appear unruffled, he stood behind his chair and smiled. “Uncle Hugh tells me you ladies were waiting for me to return. I am very sorry. I did not realize we would be eating supper so early.”

Aunt Margaret waved her fan toward his chair. “Sit down, Ewan. We’d like to order our meal.”

The moment he was seated, a waitress scurried to their table and announced the evening specials of roasted pork or fried chicken. After she’d stepped away from the table, Ewan’s aunt leaned toward him. “When your uncle returned from the brickyard, I inquired how soon we would be moving, and what do you think he told me, Ewan?” Her lips curled in a sneer.

“I think he told you that he had not made a decision because the price was more than he wished to pay and because he wanted at least two VerValen machines.” Ewan arched his brows and forced a lilt to his voice. “Is that not correct, Uncle Hugh?”

“Aye, that much is true, but I also tried my best to have the lawyer negotiate a better price from the widow Woodfield. And what did you do, my boy?”

Before Ewan could so much as pour cream into his coffee cup, his aunt jabbed him with her elbow. “You took sides with those women against your own uncle.”

“I wasn’t taking sides so much as stating that believers should follow the teachings of our Lord and treat widows and orphans with kindness and generosity. I know my mother would have appreciated a touch of generosity from strangers when she was caring for all of us after Da’s death.”

Margaret’s lips tightened in a thin line, and she glowered at Ewan. “I may not be a widow, but I’ve suffered my share. More than most, thanks to your uncle’s bad habits.”

Kathleen squirmed in her chair. Like Ewan, the topic of Aunt Margaret’s suffering and Uncle Hugh’s gambling created an air of discomfort.

Hugh’s thin lips flicked beneath his dark, drooping mustache. “Ya need not blame all your suffering on me, Maggie. ’Twas the effects of the potato famine that nearly robbed you of your life, not me. After two generations, your family still has not recovered.”

Maggie squared her shoulders. “That may be true, but your gambling has robbed me, as well, and you know that’s the truth. We’d have been able to come to America long ago if you wouldn’t have spent your time and money at the racetrack and local pubs. I’d still be the woman you married had ya kept your money in your pocket instead of running off to the gaming tables and racetrack whenever I turned my back.”

Hugh patted the pocket of his wool jacket. “You best remember that I wouldn’t be sitting here with money if it weren’t for my winnings at the racetrack.” Hugh motioned to the waitress and lifted his coffee cup.

Ewan and Kathleen were forced to listen as the couple resumed their ongoing quarrel. While Ewan sympathized with the horrors his aunt had experienced during her lifetime, many other people had gone through worse and hadn’t become greedy and demanding. Yet he couldn’t deny that Uncle Hugh’s behavior would be enough to set any woman on edge.

Aunt Margaret’s childhood deprivations had formed her into a covetous, selfish adult, and Uncle Hugh’s gambling had reinforced her fears and stinginess. She constantly harped about his gambling, but it hadn’t stopped him. Instead, he was willing to take the tongue-lashings and abide her greedy nature because he’d come to believe it justified his own behavior. Unfortunately, their abhorrent conduct spread like a contagion and contaminated most folks who crossed their path.

“I thought it was Ewan you had a quarrel with, but it seems you’d rather hash over the past with me.”

Ewan cast a glance across the table. Though his uncle was eager to deflect his wife’s ire, Ewan didn’t miss the glimmer of fear lurking in the older man’s eyes. Did he worry Ewan would give away his secret, or was it only this morning’s meeting at the brickyard that caused him concern?

Margaret waited until after the waitress had refilled her husband’s cup and stepped away from the table. “I was talking to Ewan before the conversation took an unexpected turn.”

“Aye. A turn that went down a mighty crooked path. As if you planned it that way. Eh, Ewan?” Hugh cocked his left eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

“I planned nothing, Uncle. I do not think Aunt Margaret will forget to ask me whatever it is she wants to know about this morning’s dealings.”

The aroma of roasted pork filled the air as the waitress set their plates in front of them. Ewan’s stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since morning, He nodded to his uncle. “Will you be offering thanks, or shall I?”

“I’ll pray. I’m hungry and your prayers go on too long. Besides, I doubt you’ll have much to be thankful for once your aunt finishes with you.”

Ewan bowed his head but didn’t miss the fact that his uncle had picked up his fork before he offered a one-sentence prayer.

His uncle jabbed a piece of meat. “See how short a prayer can be, Ewan? Doesn’t take more than a few words to bless the food.” He glanced at his wife. “Did ya have nothing more to say to Ewan about the brickyard, Maggie?”

Perhaps Ewan had misread his uncle’s earlier look, for he didn’t appear fearful at the moment. Instead, he seemed to relish the fact that he’d be an onlooker rather than the recipient of Aunt Maggie’s attention.

Maggie buttered a piece of warm bread, then placed the knife across her plate. She was like a hawk circling its prey, waiting for the precise moment and taking pleasure in the hunt. “From what your uncle tells me, I believe you are an extremely ungrateful young man, Ewan. We paid for your passage to this country, we’ve supported you since we arrived, and your uncle is doing everything possible to help you establish a new life here. You did say that was what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Aye, you know it is. I came to be Uncle Hugh’s partner in a brickmaking business and provide a better life for my sisters.”

“And how is it you plan to become an owner when you thwart your uncle’s negotiations? It appears you’re more interested in impressing the Woodfields than in striking a deal.” She wagged her head back and forth. “To think you would take sides against your own kin makes my blood run cold.”

“Is it going against my kin to speak the truth, Aunt Margaret? I do not think the Crothers or McKays want to be known as liars or cheats in their new homeland. Do you not see that the best way to build a business is with honesty and fairness?” He waved toward his uncle. “Tell her, Uncle Hugh. The price they were asking was fair, was it not?”

“Aye, I suppose it was, but I’m a man who enjoys bartering and making a deal.”

Ewan bit back the words he longed to speak: the secret he’d learned while crossing the sea. He’d promised to keep his lips sealed, and he would keep his word. But he would not become a party to cheating anyone.

“It’s not your money that’s crossing hands, is it?” Margaret speared several green beans with her fork. “You owe your uncle money, and you need to do as he tells you.”

Ewan inhaled a deep breath. “I do owe him money, but that does not mean I’ll compromise on this point. I’m sure I could find work as a brick burner and eventually repay him.”

“But you’d never earn enough to bring your sisters over here, now would ya?” Margaret glared across the table.

“We all need each other, and arguing won’t settle things. There’s been enough talk for tonight.” Hugh nodded to his wife. “Ewan and I will settle our differences in private.” He signaled to the waitress. “I could eat a piece of that apple pie.”

Maggie pushed away from the table. “You enjoy your pie, Hugh. Kathleen and I are going upstairs so you and Ewan can settle your differences.” She stood and rested her palm on her husband’s shoulder. “Just see to it that any differences settled between the two of you don’t interfere with a move into the Woodfield Manor by the end of the month.”

Hugh’s lips tightened and caused his mustache to droop more than usual. “You’re hovering over me like a black shadow, Maggie. You need to remember that purchasing a quality brickyard is more important than any house. I haven’t made a final decision to buy from Mrs. Woodfield, so don’t be making plans to move into her house just yet.”

Margaret squared her shoulders and squeezed his upper arm. “I’m tired of traveling, and this is where I want to settle. There’s not a man alive who can strike a better bargain than you if there’s no one interfering in the process.” She cast a warning look at Ewan. “I just want to make certain you understand my position before I go upstairs.”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder. “Aye, and now that you’ve said your piece, will ya let Ewan and me discuss our differences?”

“No need to speak in such a gruff tone. I said I was going upstairs.” Margaret motioned to her sister. “Come along, Kathleen. Let’s give the men their privacy.”

The two women wove between the tables, with Kathleen following close on Margaret’s heels. Hugh nodded toward them. “Ya’d never know they were sisters. O’course Kathleen is nearer your age than Maggie’s, so I guess she’s a wee bit afraid of Margaret. Still, the differences between the two are immense. Kathleen’s quiet as a mouse while my Margaret’s as loud as a yapping dog. Took me a lot of years to abide her ways, but I understand she means well, and I’ve learned to make allowances because of her childhood. Besides, I’m not the easiest man to live with, so she has a right to complain from time to time. I wouldn’t want anyone ever to cause strife between us.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “You understand what I’m sayin’, boy?”

Ewan stared at his uncle. Of course he understood. Because of Uncle Hugh’s gambling, the couple had separated more times than he could count on one hand. A year ago he’d given his solemn oath that those days were behind him. If Aunt Margaret ever discovered that a portion of the funds to finance their voyage and to purchase the brickmaking business had been won at the racetrack and gaming tables during that year, Uncle Hugh would never hear the end of it.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. When Uncle Hugh had been in his cups during their voyage, he’d confided why he’d been in such a rush to leave Coleraine, and now he spoke of it again. “It was a piece of luck that came my way that day, and I took full advantage. That fellow could afford to lose. He didn’t fool me none. He was one of them wealthy Montclairs. He thought he knew how to play a game of cards, but he’d never come up against the likes of me. I know more tricks than any of those fancy fellows. I liked the idea of sitting opposite him—just the two of us—and taking his money every hand. None of the locals had enough money to wager against him.”

“You did.” Ewan lifted his coffee cup and downed the remaining cold liquid.

“Aye, but that’s different. I’d been saving from all my gaming over the past year so I’d be ready when an opportunity came along. And thanks be to me, I say. We’d still be sitting in Coleraine if I hadn’t been saving my winnings.”

“And thanks be to the Lord that Lyall Montclair was a poor shot or you’d be under the ground.”

“He couldn’t aim that pistol any better than he could play cards.” Hugh guffawed. “Glad I am that he didn’t have my name and we were able to set sail two days later. He’s probably still lookin’ for me.”

Ewan shook his head. “What you did was wrong, Uncle Hugh.”

“What’s the matter with you, boy? With Montclair’s money and power, the law would have taken his side against me, and you know that to be true.” He slapped his palm on the table. “All of that is behind us now, and I don’t want you talking about it any more. There’s no good that can come of telling Margaret or anyone else. Understand?”

Lying, keeping secrets, and finding excuses for his unscrupulous behavior had become a way of life for Uncle Hugh. He enjoyed this game of cat and mouse, and Ewan doubted the man would ever change. He also doubted Lyall Montclair had been dealt even one fair hand of cards.

“Well?” His uncle nudged him. “You gonna answer or keep staring at me like a dead mackerel?”

“I would never intentionally cause trouble for anyone, but I told you back then and I’m telling you now, I won’t lie or cheat to keep your secrets. I never wanted to hear any of it.”

“I know ya didn’t.” His uncle wiped his napkin across his mouth. “If I hadn’t had a wee bit too much to drink, I would have kept me trap shut. Would have been better for the both of us.”

“Aye, but you didn’t.” Ewan leaned back in his chair. Maybe this was the right time to press his uncle to sign the papers. “What about the brickyard? Aunt Margaret made it clear she’s set on staying here, and I don’t think we’ll find a better place. I think you should pay what they’re asking and sign the papers as soon as possible. We need to hire men and begin digging clay before winter sets in or we won’t be able to make bricks come spring. We’ll lose a year of production if we wait much longer. You and I both know it, and so does that lawyer. He’s not going to budge.”

“If I pay full price and this doesn’t work, it’s gonna be on you. If this turns out bad, there may not be a racetrack or gaming table to make up my losses. You a good enough brick man to earn my money back for me?”

“If you listen to me, you’ll see more profit than you’re expecting. If not, I can’t promise what will happen.”

Hugh’s brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes. “Can’t say as I like giving you so much control.”

“It’s not my money at stake, but my future depends upon making the yard a success. I’m giving you my word that I’ll do everything I can to make the company the best brickyard in all of the state.” Ewan hiked a shoulder. “You have my word. There’s nothing more I can offer.”

“Make it the best brickyard in all the country, not just this state.” Hugh grinned and extended his hand. “We’ll go and see the lawyer in the morning and sign the papers.”

Ewan shook his uncle’s hand, pleased to have the matter settled. No doubt, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Kathleen would be knocking on the front door of Woodfield Manor tomorrow afternoon. He hoped Margaret would extend the widow and her daughter every courtesy. Even with the help of servants, moving all of their belongings from the mansion would take time.

And Aunt Margaret wasn’t known for her patience.

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