A Hope Beyond (24 page)

James did his best to focus on the new president of the Baltimore and Ohio. And in reality he was not a man easily ignored, with his striking appearance crowned by deep-set eyes that could make a man stand and reckon with his actions. Those eyes burned with such fierce intensity, James didn’t know how his own mind could have wandered.

Louis McLane glanced over the letter once more before laying it aside. “I’m impressed with your references, Mr. Baldwin. As you know, I’ve been hired on with the sole purpose of pushing this line west of Harper’s Ferry and on to the Ohio River. It won’t be an easy task, especially now in light of the depressed economy. This country is suffering greatly,” he noted, as if it might be news to James.

“You may not be aware of this,” McLane continued, “but wheat crops in the surrounding areas are being devastated by some type of insect. I believe they’ve called it the Hessian fly, but it matters little what name they give it. What’s important is that it furthers the depression of this country. Farmers are going to lose a great deal of money, and, in turn, people will have no food to buy. Obviously folks can’t afford to invest in railroads when they have trouble putting food on the table.”

McLane seemed to study the papers on his desk a moment before continuing. “I like what I see in you, Mr. Baldwin, but keeping you on for much of any kind of salary is going to be difficult at best. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but just last week the Irish laborers on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal rioted.”

“I had heard something to that effect,” James replied.

“They’ve rioted before and usually over money, conditions, supply shortages, and general ill-will. I believe a shortage of everything has triggered this bout.” He leaned forward; great lines of worry seemed etched permanently in his forehead. “The railroad is at a standstill; otherwise, we’d probably have more of our own riots to contend with. The B&O is barely running. But, of course, you probably know all of this.”

James wearied of the battle raging within his mind. A part of him wanted to immerse himself in work and the future of the railroad, while another part kept bringing to mind Carolina on the arm of Hampton Cabot—the man she would marry! He fought to clear away every image but that of Louis McLane and the railroad.

“I don’t understand one thing,” James said, forcing the direction of his thoughts. “Other railroads are actually thriving in spite of the financial crisis. I’ve paid close attention to this through a variety of sources. Several small lines in New York and Pennsylvania, for instance, are running at a profit.”

“Yes, but those lines are completed. They move from one place to another with a specific purpose, whether it is to haul coal or milk. The Baltimore and Ohio is not successful because it is not complete. We have not even reached our first real objective on the main stem, which is Cumberland. Cumberland represents the eastern terminus of the National Road, and it is from here where we can benefit by picking up the main flow of wagon shipments from the West and stagecoach travel.”

“But the Washington Branch is doing well. The passenger traffic is up considerably,” James offered.

“And do you suppose it will continue to do well when repairs cannot be made to keep up the line? Do you suppose when engines and railcars break down and repairs can’t be made for lack of funding it will continue to do well? Not to mention that people must have money in hand in order to spend it on travel.”

James was finally able to fully realize what McLane was saying. And his concerns over Carolina and her possible marriage to Hampton Cabot were overwhelmed by fear for his very job. His mind was now completely fixed on saving the B&O. “What is to be done?”

McLane seemed to sense James’ change in spirit. “We must reach Cumberland. If not, then all is lost and the B&O will fail.”

“And how do we do this without funding?”

“We will have to find new sources of support.”

“Europe?” James asked, knowing McLane’s reputation for international connections.

“Possibly, but it is doubtful. They, too, are suffering. Especially England. You must remember that, in a way, this all started with that country.”

“How so?” James asked.

“They were heavily investing in American prosperity. Last summer, with Jackson’s passage of the Specie Circular, England began to see the wisdom of curtailing trade with American companies. Their own banks refused to issue further credit to merchants who planned to do business with America. This, of course, caused problems for merchants on both sides of the Atlantic, and by March, financial panic in England caused banks there to demand payment in American gold.

“Naturally, draining this country of its resources created a plunge downward from which we couldn’t hope to recover in time to keep from crashing into complete ruin.”

James felt a hopelessness come upon him. He’d worked hard to see the Baltimore and Ohio become successful, and even though he was but one single man in the midst of many, he felt he owed her an allegiance in her time of trouble.

“I’ll work for stock,” James said, suddenly seeing a plan. “In fact, I would bet a great many men will work for food and stock alone.”

McLane nodded. “That would save some expense. However, unless we can get the state to honor the pledge of financial support they made last year, we won’t have any supplies to put in the hands of those workers.”

“Still, it will take very few supplies to continue the survey to Cumberland. Once that is established we can put men to work clearing the road of trees and establishing passage for the rail. That will require little more than putting picks and shovels in their hands, at least to start. I do realize there will be areas that will require the blasting out of rock and the building of bridges, but it would at least set the beginning.”

“I’ve already considered that matter, and I agree completely with you. Still, there is the problem of convincing the workers that they should give us their all, when the pay will be so very little. In fact, we may need to forego cash and issue script instead.”

“Railroad script?”

“Yes. Company money. Certain stores would honor it in lieu of cash, at least for a time. The B&O’s reputation is sound, and I’ve little doubt it could work. That is, if the men will work for script or even your idea of stock.”

“I’ll talk to them,” James replied. “They know me and they know they can trust me. I’ll explain the situation, and I just know they will see it our way. After all, what other job will they have to go to?”

“Those with families aren’t going to be inclined to stay,” McLane said, thinking through the matter.

“Probably not and rightly so.” James paused, thinking of Carolina once again. “If a man is responsible for a wife and children, he cannot very well work for stock.” He felt suddenly relieved that he’d not come back to Baltimore as an engaged man. He could never offer his services in such a manner if he was obligated to a betrothal. “But the idea of script might well intrigue them.”

“Very well, Baldwin. I’ll draw up the details of what we can offer, and you take it to the men. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir,” James said, getting to his feet. He extended his arm and shook McLane’s hand enthusiastically. “Agreed.”

But the workers were far from enthusiastic about James’ proposal. Most of the men were married, and many had already given up on the B&O as a means of support. Returning to Baltimore from Harper’s Ferry, James was a defeated man. He hated the idea of facing McLane. The list of those who’d signed on to work under the new agreement was small, and James knew full well it represented less than a quarter of the men they needed.

Deciding to put McLane off until the following day, James stepped from the sweltering confines of the train and made his way to a local tavern. Drowning his sorrows in several glasses of whiskey, James was beginning to forget the pain of the railroad only to remember his anguish over Carolina.

Apparently, he thought, I’ve not had enough. He ordered a bottle to take with him and made his way home. Halfway there, steeped in pity for his past mistakes and present failures, he spied Annabelle Bryce.

“Miss Bryce,” he called, and she turned.

Flashing a smile from her cherry red lips, Annabelle waved. “Mr. Baldwin, how very good to see you. How are you this day, or should I say, evening?”

“I wish I could say that all is grand and glorious, but it would be a lie, and I long ago gave up such contrivances with you.”

Annabelle linked her arm through his. “For such honesty, I shall have to reward you.”

James sighed. “A couple hundred railroad workers would suit me just fine.”

Annabelle laughed in her lyrical way, but it did little to lift James’ spirits. “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner,” she said, then pointed to the bottle tucked under his arm. “Unless you plan to continue drinking yours this evening.”

“Dinner? I suppose we could. There’s a fine establishment—”

“No. No. I meant at my place. I have recently acquired a lovely little house just four blocks from here. If you don’t mind the walk in all this heat, I shall happily extend a welcome to you and prepare for you a feast fit for a king.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“Nonsense. It isn’t an imposition. I have to eat whether you are there or not, and my maid is there to help, so it really won’t be that much work for either of us. Besides, you look as though you could use a friend, and I’m much better company than that bottle.”

“Well, I don’t know . . .”

“There’s a wonderful pork roast in the oven that you might as well come help me enjoy.”

James could think of nothing more appealing than the company of a lovely woman. Unless, of course, that woman could be Carolina Adams. Feeling his head spin with the effects of the liquor, he nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”

Within the hour, Annabelle and James were seated at a small candlelit table in Annabelle’s parlor, enjoying a succulent pork roast and dilled potatoes while she shared stories of her stage performances in Boston. When her plump German maid, Gretta, appeared with an apple cobbler for dessert, Annabelle told him of her decision to take a month’s holiday away from the stage to relax a bit in Baltimore.

“So you see, you have saved me from an evening of boredom and misery,” she said lightly and signaled for Gretta to leave the room. “Do you care for anything else?”

“I’m afraid I’ve had more than enough,” he said, lingering on the features of her face. Her violet eyes seemed almost black in the flickering candlelight. Her hair was worn casually knotted at the back of her neck, and her dress was a soft printed muslin. He liked her like this. She seemed less Annabelle Bryce the actress and more what he imagined would be Annabelle Gainsborough, the English rose.

“You have a strange look on your face, James Baldwin.” She held up the bottle of whiskey he’d brought and noted it was half empty. “Perhaps you have had too much.”

James drew a deep breath. “Do you know how much I’ve come to care for you?” She shook her head slowly and set the bottle down as he continued. “I’ve thought of you often. I close my eyes and conjure your face to mind, and it makes my day brighter.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “You are an important part of my life, and I cannot imagine not having you near me every single day.”

James knew he was hopelessly lost in the effects of the alcohol, but his loneliness was getting the best of him. He needed someone to care that he was lonely. He needed someone to care that he longed for companionship. He needed someone.

Opening his eyes he leaned forward. “Why don’t you marry me?”

Annabelle looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then put her hand atop his. “Because I’m not Carolina Adams, and she’s the one to whom you’re truly speaking.”

James was taken aback by her brutal honesty. “But we could be happy. You and I get along famously, and we see eye to eye on many things. You love your independence, and I swear I wouldn’t interfere. I love the railroad, and I would be gone probably as much as you would be, but when we came back together we wouldn’t have to be alone. Don’t you see? It might work.”

Annabelle smiled sympathetically. “No, James. I cherish your friendship, but your heart belongs to another woman. That is sacred and I would never interfere in such a precious thing.”

“But I need you. I need—”

“You need her,” Annabelle interrupted, and James saw for the first time there were tears in her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, feeling his head swim from the whiskey. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by suggesting something unthinkable.”

“It isn’t that, James,” she replied. “It’s that you are so very empty and lost inside, and it pains me to see you struggle this way. I know what it is to be lost and to feel that no one in the world cares.”

“But the world loves you, Annabelle, and as you told me once long ago, you are never alone.”

She wiped away the tears with her napkin. “I’m never alone, but not because of the world and the people who follow me. I suppose I led you to that belief, but it isn’t so. I’m not alone because deep inside, I know a higher source of strength. Deep inside, I know God watches over me and loves me, and that, James, and nothing else, is why I can go through each day. You do not have a faith in God, and therefore you are only half a man. You struggle alone and the loss consumes you.”