A Hope Beyond (31 page)
“Normally the child will have nothing to do with anyone. Even Mrs. Graves finds her unmanageable.”
The woman harumphed at this but said nothing.
“How old is she?” Carolina asked.
St. John grimaced. “She’ll be one year next month.”
Carolina nodded. “I would like to know more about what you would expect of me,” she said, coming to sit again. She bounced Victoria on her lap and played pat-a-cake to entertain her.
St. John seemed uninterested in the child, and Carolina found this very odd. She wondered if he had any love for the baby and then chided herself for such a thought. Of course he loves his own child.
“I would rather leave that to your management,” he replied. “I will offer you a salary, room and board, and anything else you feel you need to provide for Victoria, including an allowance for clothes, toys, and whatever else a baby might need.”
“That sounds most generous,” Joseph said, watching Carolina with the baby.
In her heart, Carolina wouldn’t have cared if the man had insisted she do the job for free. Her earlier fears and reservations crumbled. She couldn’t explain why or how, but just looking into the face of Victoria St. John, Carolina felt a bond she couldn’t ignore.
Meeting her father’s gaze, Carolina smiled. Saying yes to the arrangements seemed very right, and having already prayed a great deal about the matter, she felt confident in what she was about to do.
“I would very much enjoy caring for your daughter, Mr. St. John, but on one condition.”
He arched a dark brow questioningly. “And what would that condition be?”
“That you make no objection to my giving your daughter a religious upbringing. My faith in God is a living, daily thing. I won’t hide it away or seek to keep it from her. If you want to acquire my employment, you must agree to this.”
St. John’s stoic expression changed very little, even as he clenched his jaw. Carolina could see a tiny tick in his cheek, but other than this, he remained clearly in control of any disagreement he might have felt.
After several moments of silence he nodded. “Very well, but in turn you must agree to my conditions as well. The first is that you never question me about the past, nor mention the names of my wife or son in my presence. You will keep yourself to those parts of the house that are allowed to you, and refrain from those that are forbidden you. And you will keep your religious views out of any conversation that includes me.”
Carolina’s gaze was locked with St. John’s. She could sense his anger but see no evidence of it. Even his voice was passive and monotone. She broke his stare and looked to her father. Joseph seemed to sense that she was seeking his approval, and at his nod, Carolina turned back to St. John.
“I accept. I will have to return home for my things, but—”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” St. John interjected. “I will arrange for everything to be shipped here. What you might have need of before that time, you should tell Mrs. Graves and it will be purchased for you.”
“You intend for me to stay here . . . now?”
“If you would.” It was the first time St. John had voiced anything even remotely close to a request. “Victoria has no one,” he added, seeming to know it would seal Carolina’s decision.
“Very well, Mr. St. John.” She lifted the baby in her arms and gazed into her seeking eyes. “Well, Mistress Victoria, it seems I am to be your new nanny.”
The hopes of this nation, and of unborn millions of men of
every clime, are bound by mysterious links to these highways
of commerce. . . . The blows of fanaticism shall fall harmlessly
upon a Union thus held together by the iron ties of
interest, as well as by the more sacred bonds of affection
and common nationality.
—E
NOCH
L
OUIS
L
OWE
In the years that followed America’s most severe economic depression, the world changed greatly, and with that change came a new national spirit born of adversity. In England, a beautiful young queen, Victoria, took the throne. In America, the reins of presidential power were changed not once, but three times. Martin Van Buren and Jacksonian agendas were relegated to the past as William Henry Harrison won the nomination of the Whig party and came into office. His stay, however, was short-lived. Having caught pneumonia at his own inauguration, he served only thirty-one days as President before dying. John Tyler then became the tenth U.S. President in 1841, the same year Britain declared sovereignty over Hong Kong.
America exuded creativity and change perhaps more than any other country in the world. Despite the effects of a depression, an inventor named Charles Goodyear discovered the process of vulcanization, thus making a popular new market for the commercial use of rubber. Elsewhere, a relatively new game called baseball was off to a popular start, and portrait painter Samuel Morse exhibited his electric telegraph at the College of the City of New York.
It was a challenging age of growth for the country, and while westward expansion took on new possibilities for thousands of Americans, the railroad grew to meet demands. For James Baldwin, the summer of 1842 represented his fifth year of full-time service with the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. During this service he’d watched the infant company assume a portion of maturity, but never to the degree that he and others fervently prayed for.
James surveyed the workmen from his vantage point on a narrow shelf of Maryland limestone and shale. At least the weather was with them. Spring rains had slowed their progress, but by May they had managed to reach Hancock, Maryland, a small community on the Potomac River. This town represented a point slightly more than halfway to Cumberland, and while there was great revelry and celebrating among the workers, the board of directors still gnashed their teeth and despaired of ever reaching the Ohio River.
“It ain’t your responsibility!” a man suddenly yelled out, instantly capturing James’ attention. The man, a burly, barrel-chested worker, affectionately nicknamed Two-Toes after a nasty blasting accident, was arguing with a wiry Irishman named Mahoney.
It was the third argument in less than twenty-four hours, and James knew that unless he attempted to defuse the incident, the two men would soon be brawling. Scurrying down the rock shelf, James reached the characters just as a third man entered the argument.
“Masterson, this isn’t your fight,” James admonished and ignored the man’s growl as he pushed him back away from Mahoney and Two-Toes.
“I’m telling you there’s too much black powder in that charge,”
Mahoney yelled, poking a long index finger into the chest of the heavier man.
“And I’m telling you that it ain’t your concern. I know what I’m doing.”
“Sure, just like the time you blasted off half your foot.”
“Why, you . . .” Two-Toes pulled back a fist and would have made contact with the man’s face except for James’ intercession.
“Two-Toes, what’s going on here?” James asked. Cautiously, he placed himself between the two men.
“Mahoney’s trying to tell me my job.”
“He’s gonna blow us all to kingdom come,” Mahoney said, spitting tobacco juice across James’ well-worn shirt.
James ignored the stain and turned to face Two-Toes with a smile. “You aren’t trying to avoid a full day’s work by rushing off to see the good Lord, now, are you?”
The man refused to be placated with James’ good-natured question. “I know my job and I cain’t do it standing here a-jawing with you.”
By this time the other workers had gathered around to see what the commotion was, and even Benjamin Latrobe was making his way across the ridge to see what was holding up the final blast of the day.
James hoped to put everyone at ease and return the men to work, but just as he turned to speak, Two-Toes headed off in the direction of the blasting charge, tamping rod in hand.
“Just keep that Mick away from me,” he called over his shoulder.
Mahoney had taken all he was going to stand for and, with a slight lowering of his shoulders, charged after the heavier man and plowed into his back at a full run. It took only moments for the matter to get completely out of control. A full-blown free-for-all ensued, and even James was not spared in the onslaught that followed.
Nursing a sore jaw, James tried to maneuver himself out of harm’s way when a tremendous explosion knocked him off his feet and sent a rain of rock and dirt pelting down around him, leaving James little recourse but to bury his head under his arms. Another explosion followed the first. Rock hailed down on his back, biting and piercing his flesh. When the ground stopped shaking, James was one of the first to get back on his feet. All around him smoke and dirt filled the air, making it impossible to see.
Groping at the air, James coughed and wiped at his watering eyes. “What happened?” he called out, as though it weren’t already apparent.
“We’ve got men buried over here!” came a voice through the haze.
“James, are you here?” It was Ben Latrobe’s voice.
“Over here, Ben. Are you hurt?”
“No, I was back far enough, but I thought surely you were buried alive.” Latrobe reached James through the hazy air. The commotion around them added to the confusion.
“Not me, but apparently others weren’t so lucky,” James replied. “We need to get this thing organized and dig those men out.”
But the uninjured workmen were already digging at the massive pile of dirt and rock that had seemingly appeared from thin air.
James took up a shovel and began working beside two other men. His mind filled with hideous images and disheartening thoughts. How many men would he find dead beneath the rubble?
“I’ve got one!” yelled a man.
James glanced up only momentarily to see the workers pull the limp body of a man from the dirt.
“Is he alive?” someone called.
“Barely.”
James wanted to pick up the pace and rake the shovel across the debris, but he hesitated digging into the mess, fearing that he might accidentally dig into an injured man.
“Who’s missing?” James heard Ben Latrobe ask the surviving men.
A quick head count revealed that an additional five men, including Two-Toes and Mahoney, were still unaccounted for. James scraped away layer after layer of gravel and dirt, but as the minutes passed he grew more desperate. A man had to have air to survive, and buried beneath the mounds of rubble, five souls were being denied that very element.
He tossed the useless shovel aside and began clawing at the dirt with his hands. Razor sharp pieces of rock bit into his flesh, but James ignored the pain and continued to work.
“Here’s Mahoney!”
James glanced up to see two men hoist up Mahoney’s lifeless body. “He’s dead,” one of the men announced.
James felt sickened. Bile rose in his throat, and he fought to keep from expelling the contents of his stomach. Dig, he told himself. Dig and think of nothing more than finding the other missing men alive.
His hand met with resistance as he pulled at the dirt. Brushing aside the debris, James spotted a hand. “Here’s one!” he called out and frantically worked to free the body.
He was joined by two other men, and together they unearthed the body of Two-Toes. He was dead also, his face nearly obliterated from the blast. This time James’ weak stomach got the better of him, and running to the farthest end of the work site, he vomited until his sides ached.
“James?” Ben put a hand to James’ shoulder. “Are you all right.”
Wearily, James got to his feet. He felt green, and his mind refused to let go of the image of Two-Toes’ faceless head. “This can’t be real,” he murmured, lifting his eyes to take in the all-too-real scene before him.
Light was fading from the sky, and as if noting it for the first time, Latrobe called for lanterns to be fixed in order to aid the workers.
Shaking from his head to his toes, James started back, but Latrobe put his hand on his arm. “Why don’t you wait a moment.”
James shook his head. “I’m all right.”
But even as he spoke the words, James wondered at the truth of the matter. Images of Phineas Davis and the train accident that had claimed his life flashed through James’ mind. Railroading was a dangerous business—of that there was no disputing—but this matter seemed purely senseless. A foolish argument had given birth to this incident. James wondered about Two-Toes and whether he had a wife and family. Phineas had left a wife and two very small children, and although the accident was nearly seven years behind him, James shuddered as though it were only yesterday. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his leg as if feeling the injury all over again.
“Are you certain that you aren’t hurt?” Latrobe asked him, eyeing the leg suspiciously.
James forced the thoughts from his mind. “I’m certain.”
“Here’s a live one!” The cry rallied the men to work faster. If one man had survived, there might well be others.
James instantly left Latrobe’s side and, with new resolve, resumed his place beside the other workers. So long as there was even one man missing, James pledged to himself that he would remain.
Within twenty minutes the others were accounted for. Three men were dead and three were seriously injured. James had never felt more tired or dirty, but more than this, he felt the discouragement and grief of the men around him. Gathering up his courage and his wits, James called the workers to a meeting at the far end of the work site. He wanted to remove them from the reminder of death and destruction; he wanted to encourage them and help them to look toward the next step. But what was that step?
Anxiously, James glanced around for Ben Latrobe, but unable to find him, he called out to the men instead.
“If I might have your attention for a moment.” He shifted nervously as the men gathered round. Some, sporting makeshift bandages to patch up injuries they’d sustained in the explosion, looked up at James in painful anticipation. Others, coated in grime and sweat from their rescue efforts, stared blankly, as if still in shock and disbelief at what had happened.