A Hope Beyond (32 page)

James dropped his gaze to the ground. What could he say to these men that could in any way compensate them for what had happened? How could he bolster their spirits when discouragement threatened to destroy his own?

“You must understand,” James began, “that what happened today need never have happened.” He lifted his face to look upon them once more. “Either we work as a team following one master plan, or we follow our individual way—with obvious results.” He paused, struggling for words to express what was on his heart. “I feel very responsible for what happened here today.”

Murmurs of protest rose through the crowd, but James raised his hands to continue. “I failed to bring two men together. I failed to help them see this project as the effort of many, and not of one man. As their supervisor, I should have been able to convey the importance of following directions, working together, and sticking to one plan. But somewhere along the way I failed them, and you.”

James felt as though the weight of the entire matter rested upon his shoulders. Responsibilities he might have shrugged off as a youth were now impossible to ignore. He had been given a job supervising the rail crew, and because of his ability to communicate and interpret Latrobe’s and Knight’s intricate surveys, he had become an important part of the B&O’s westward expansion. All of this seemed to pale in the wake of the accident.

“We can work together or we can work apart. One way will achieve our objective and see us to Cumberland. The other will result in this.” He lifted his aching arm and pointed to the rubble behind them.

“There is a master plan. A specific design that if followed to the letter will ensure your safety and the progress of this line. And I know you want to see the progress of this line.” James studied the faces of the men around him. “You are this line. The Baltimore and Ohio is not built of iron rail and crossties—it’s built of flesh and bone, of sweat and blood. You are the B&O, and without you it would pass from existence into the ashes of a distant dream. Will you let it die?”

Mutterings and a rumble of supportive responses encouraged James. “We’re laying a mile of track a day. We’ve faced impossible odds and mastered the elements. We’ve done what others said could not be done. We’ve built a railroad in the midst of depression and financial ruin. We’ve faced striking workers, low wages, minuscule supplies, and the disdain of landowners, and through it all we have endured. But we’ve only endured because from within our circle we were strong. We were one body, following a master plan. That plan must continue to be followed, or we will fall from within. Today, three men are dead and again as many are injured as an example to us.”

“He is right, you know.” James turned to find Ben Latrobe at his side. “As each man seeks to perform his tasks, he must constantly be aware of the responsibility he holds to his fellow workers. You are good men and your work speaks for itself. I admonish you to listen to Mr. Baldwin. Together we can build the railroad, but separately we will tear it down. Not one of you here today works alone.”

The men nodded knowingly, and while no great chorus rose up to confirm his thoughts, James felt certain the men were in agreement.

“Tomorrow we’ll assess the damage and see what is to be done, but for now I want you to bathe and rest up. The evening meal is nearly ready, so see to your needs and meet up in the chow tent.”

The men disbursed very nearly in silence. James stared after them, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

“They’re a good bunch,” Ben said, as if reading James’ mind. “They’ll pull together.”

“It’s been so hard on them. These past years haven’t been easy. Some of those men have been with the B&O for the entire time, while others are new and uncertain as to what’s expected of them. Sometimes it’s hard to make them see this as a combined effort.”

“I know,” Latrobe replied. “Then just when you have them doing their job, something like this happens and upsets the entire cart.”

“Yes.” James looked across the camp and remembered the frightening moments during the explosion. “It’s a wonder more of them weren’t killed.”

“Life is fragile. That’s why it’s best to know where one is headed when it’s over.” Latrobe stared hard at James. “What about you, James? Do you know where you would have spent eternity if you’d been one of the dead men pulled from the rubble?”

James shook his head in a hesitant manner. He’d crossed death’s path twice now, and neither time had he been ready for the possibility of his youthful existence coming to an end.

Latrobe seemed to understand his turmoil. “It gives one a great deal to consider.”

“Indeed,” James replied, unable to say anything more.

35
Victoria

“Nanny!” Victoria St. John scurried into the room with all the energy of an active five-year-old. Her animated expression nearly caused Carolina to laugh out loud. Instead, she felt compelled to admonish her young charge.

“Victoria, you are a young lady, and thus you should conduct yourself as one. Walk, don’t run.” My, but she sounded just like her mother had when scolding her little sisters.

“But, Nanny, you must come see. Cynthia has babies!”

Cynthia, the stray cat Victoria had adopted, had been the subject of great speculation these last few weeks. Now the time of questioning was over.

Carolina smiled. “How many?”

Victoria danced rings around Carolina, brown curls bobbing. “Cook says there are six, but I only saw four. They are gray and white, just like Cynthia. Oh, do come see!”

Carolina shook her head. “All right, but then you must wash up for supper. Your papa is due home today.”

Victoria frowned at this news, and Carolina could scarcely blame the child. Whenever the rare occasion of Blake St. John’s presence took place, Victoria was relegated to the nursery, where she was expected to remain until her father once again took his leave. It had been this way the entire four and a half years Carolina had been in residence. And now, having dealt for long enough with the man’s moody preoccupation and obvious disinterest in his only child, Carolina was determined to speak to him.

“Will Papa see me this time?” Victoria asked. Her childish longing brought a knot to Carolina’s throat.

“I do not know,” Carolina said. “But I do plan to speak to him again on the matter.”

“You do?”

Victoria’s hopefulness made Carolina feel guilty. It wasn’t that she’d never tried to encourage her employer to take a more active role in the life of his child. She had spoken to him many times of the void he left in Victoria’s life. She had even admonished the man that her own father knew more of Victoria’s daily routine than did he, but St. John remained unmoved.

“I plan to talk to him,” Carolina finally said, taking Victoria in hand and leading her to the back porch. “But that doesn’t mean it will change a thing. We must be patient with your father, Victoria. He is a good man, but he was very saddened by your mother’s and brother’s deaths.”

Victoria nodded, knowing full well the circumstances behind her father’s overextended periods of absence. At least she knew them as well as Carolina could explain them. In the years she’d been employed to care for Victoria, Carolina had struggled to make excuses for Blake St. John’s lack of interest in his only child. She found it abominable that the man was seldom in residence, and that when he was home, he insisted on having nothing to do with his precious little girl.

And she was precious, Carolina thought as they bent over the basket of new kittens. How she loved this little girl! She’d come to see Victoria practically as her own child, and in many ways— the ways which truly counted—she was. It was Carolina who had watched her take her first steps and taught Victoria her first words. It was Carolina who’d sat up through long nights of croup and other assorted childhood ailments, and it was Carolina who comforted Victoria when she was scared and dried her tears when she was sad or hurt. In every way that mattered, Carolina was bonded to Victoria as a mother to a daughter.

Perhaps the hardest thing she had to deal with was Victoria’s growing number of questions concerning her father and mother. In all her years in the St. John house, Carolina had been told very little concerning either one. Mrs. Graves, the plump, elderly housekeeper, certainly never saw fit to share any information with Carolina. To the best of her ability, Carolina had tried to befriend the woman, but it was almost as if Mrs. Graves saw Carolina as some sort of threat to the peace and sanctity of the home.

Carolina could still remember the way Mrs. Graves had puffed up indignantly when she had dared to broach the subject of Mrs. St. John’s death.

“But I only want to explain the matter to Victoria,” Carolina had explained.

“The child need not know about such morbid matters. Her mother is gone and that’s enough to understand.”

“But she’s asking me questions for which I have no answers.”

“Then that’s a sign of ill-breeding. You should take a firmer hand with the child and admonish her to speak only when spoken to.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carolina had countered. “Children have a right to know of their own parentage.”

“Bah! Children have no rights at all, except those given them by overindulgent nannies.” With that the matter had been very firmly closed.

But now Carolina was determined to get some answers. Four and a half years was a long time to walk about in the dark, and unless Blake St. John wanted to risk their amicable relationship, Carolina felt he owed her at least a brief explanation.

“Now, you wash your hands and face, and I will set our table for supper.”

“Are you going to stay with me?” Victoria asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Carolina replied, gently patting the child’s head.

“Where else did you expect me to go?”

“Won’t Papa want you to eat with him?”

“I don’t really know, but if he does I can join him later.”

Blake St. John arrived home shortly before the evening meal. “The master bids you join him,” Mrs. Graves said solemnly as she placed Victoria’s supper on the small nursery table.

“I will dine with Victoria first,” Carolina answered. “You may tell Mr. St. John that I will join him in a short while.”

Mrs. Graves was clearly disturbed by this answer but nevertheless took her leave.

Carolina refused to hurry Victoria through the meal, and even though dinner was not included for herself, she nibbled at the things she knew Victoria would not eat.

He summons me like a servant, Carolina thought, and it gave her brief pleasure to defiantly hold her ground by putting him off.

At twenty-two, Carolina had become a confident and extremely independent woman. She had little worry about her financial status and circumstance. In her years of employment, Carolina had put aside most of her generous pay and, with her father’s help, had managed to purchase stock in the Baltimore and Ohio, as well as invest in her own dreams for the Potomac and Great Falls Railroad. She’d personally felt little of the effects of the national depression. Blake St. John was outrageously wealthy. This she’d learned from Mrs. Dover, who over the years had encouraged Carolina to simply call her Cook. Cook seemed open to bits of gossip now and then, but even she, fearing for her job, refused to ever discuss the former Mrs. St. John. The master of the house had made it quite clear that the matter was never to be addressed.

Preparing Victoria for bed, Carolina let go of her frustrations and instead concentrated on listening to the child’s prayers. This had been a topic of much controversy in the St. John household, for Carolina insisted on being allowed to give the child a Christian upbringing, while Blake held little regard for such matters. Carolina won out, only because of the frequent absence of Victoria’s father. She yielded to his wishes, however, whenever he saw fit to reside in Baltimore, but her days of placating the morose man were rapidly coming to an end. How dare he impose his grief upon this child! She was but a babe and deserved a father’s love; instead she received his condemnation and anger.

Seeing Victoria’s eyelids droop in sleepiness, Carolina kissed her on the forehead and made her way to the St. John dining room. The house, her home for all intents and purposes, was always silent. She likened it to a tomb, and at times felt as though she’d been buried alive. Even Victoria was a quiet child for the most part. Her games and playtime were spent in quiet whispers and hushed conversations. In truth, the announcement of Cynthia’s kittens was by far the most excitement the St. John house had seen in months.

Squaring her shoulders, Carolina paused before the hallway mirror. She touched a hand to her nicely coifed hair, thankful that Miriam had taught her the tricks of dressing it out herself. She’d chosen not to bring a maid, and while at times she’d almost relented and sent to Oakbridge for assistance, Carolina was content to care for herself.

Now, studying her reflection, Carolina wondered what Blake St. John would have to say to her. Theirs was a strange relationship. On one hand it seemed very intimate. She’d observed him grieving over his son’s grave many years earlier. That had been her first encounter with the elusive Mr. St. John. And while they’d exchanged no words at that meeting, something had passed between them that kept his image on her mind. The sorrow in his eyes had been so intense, the pain so raw and fresh, that Carolina felt as though she’d actually touched the inner being of his soul. Then, of course, there had been his rescue of her from Hampton Cabot during the charity ball at the Gadsby Hotel. He’d been softer then, yet the haunted shadows remained in his dark eyes. He was unlike anyone she’d ever known before.

Licking her lips, Carolina noted her own brown eyes and the fear that seemed to edge her expression. How could she still fear a man whose child she’d cared for since infancy?

But she did fear him.

Only now, rather than his hollow-eyed stares and stern expressions she feared the power he held over her. He alone could say whether or not she remained in the household. He alone held the right to separate her from Victoria. She’d painted herself into a dangerous corner, and now, more than ever, Carolina was well aware of her circumstance. She was hopelessly devoted to Victoria. She loved the child as though she were her own daughter, and in turn, Victoria loved her as any child would a mother. In many ways they had clung to each other because there was no one else to cling to. Oakbridge was a world away, and while Carolina had missives from home and brief trips back to visit, she was isolated in a way that left her completely removed from her family. Victoria had become her family.