Fairer than Morning (12 page)

“Go,” he groaned, afraid Master Good might return at any moment. A tiny warm droplet fell on his cheek.
A tear
. A feather-touch brushed it away.

Then with another rustle she was gone, and he heard the door close.

He knew she was wrong and that nothing could help him. But the warmth of her tear lingered on his face and slipped down inside him to the dark, empty places, where it carried for a moment the honeysuckle smell of summer.

Eleven

A
NN SLIPPED IN THE DOOR OF DR. LOFTIN'S HOME,
grateful that the hallway was empty. Will's bloodied and sad face lingered in her mind's eye; it wrung her heart and forced tears to her eyes. She still clutched her handbag with Will's letters inside. They would have to wait for another day.

Hoping she could get to her room unnoticed, she hurried down the hallway into the front foyer. But as she passed the drawing room, Dr. Loftin's voice came through the open door.

“Miss Miller?”

She froze, arms crossed, head down to hide her dismay. She did not want to stop, but she could not be rude to her host.

“Is something wrong?” She heard the rustle of a newspaper, then his leather soles tapped toward her across the marble floor. She lifted her head to see him standing beside her, his brows knit together in concern, his wrinkles deepened around his eyes.

“Master Good is—” A sob rose in her throat and kept her from saying any more. She covered her face with her hands.

“What is it? What has happened?” The doctor's voice was soft. The comforting strength of his arm circled her shoulders, steadying her.

“Master Good is beating his apprentice. I just found him on the ground in the barn. He was barely conscious.” She took the handkerchief he had produced for her, wiped her eyes, and dabbed at her nose.

The concern on his face gave way to surprise. His lips parted as if to ask a question, then he paused.

Her face warmed—of course the doctor wondered why she had been in the barn, but he was too much the gentleman to ask.

His face sagged in sorrow. “I suspected as much. But Will has never said anything. Nor do I think he has any recourse under the terms of his indenture.”

“But there must be something we can do for him.”

“I don't know that there is. It's a sad fact of indenture that some masters abuse their apprentices. The law turns as blind an eye as if it were a father beating his son. The cause is immaterial; Master Good can say what he wishes about the reason for it, and any judge will believe him.”

“But he could kill him.”

“Yes, and would probably get off scot-free for that also. Dead apprentices tell no tales.”

“What about the other apprentice I saw with Will? Can't he be a witness?”

“He would face the same difficulty. A master's word carries more weight. And then Tom would no doubt face dire consequences of his own.”

Then there was no way around it. Unless . . . “Can't you intervene, Doctor?”

“I've considered it, but from my observation of the man's temperament, I fear that he would deal with them even more harshly. I've chosen instead to do small things to alleviate their misery. And to pray fervently that they make it through the remaining years of their indenture whole in body.”

“I can't accept it.” Another sob threatened, but she wiped her nose again and took a deep breath. “I must think of some way to help.”

“I hope you do.” Dr. Loftin patted her shoulder. “I know it may be difficult under the circumstances, my dear, but we do have a dinner engagement to keep. We won't be able to help Good's apprentices tonight, so in the meantime, we should not be rude to our hosts. Perhaps something will occur to us by tomorrow.”

She had forgotten that she should be dressing now for dinner with the Burbridges.

“Perhaps you should go look in on Susan and Mabel,” the doctor said. “I will send Mary up to help you. She will bring you my late wife's gown.”

“You're too kind, Doctor. I'll see to it that the girls are prepared.” Mustering a weak smile, she balled the crumpled handkerchief in her fist and took a few steps to the foot of the stairs. “Have you seen my father?”

“I believe he's dressing already.” With a slight bow, he withdrew to the drawing room and gently closed the doors. She ascended the stairs, deep in thought.

The gray-brown waters of the Allegheny lapped ahead of them as the Millers drove toward the bridge in the doctor's coach. All of the girls were muffled in capes and fur hats; the warming box beneath Ann's feet staved off the frosty bite of the air on her slippers. She sat stiffly beside her father, the blue-green satin of her borrowed dress spilling to the floor and encroaching upon Susan's knees. Dr. Loftin sat across from her father, and the two men conversed about the history of Pittsburgh. At least she herself did not have to make pleasant conversation. Her father's secrecy still disquieted her in his presence. Her little sisters chattered with one another about the width of the river.

As they left the cover of the bridge, a wintry gloom stole into the afternoon, hinting the approach of dusk. Ahead on the Pittsburgh wharf, hundreds of men crawled like rats from one skeletal boat hull to another, the sharp taps of their hammers echoing across the river. The hiss of furnaces and a low hum of engines rose from buildings all along the waterfront, as if the city breathed and its unseen heart beat somewhere below ground. Piles of coal tumbled into the edges of hills of white sand; raw riches of the earth heaped themselves in every spare yard of space. The line of glassworks and iron foundries stretched unbroken until the point of the city dropped away into the three rivers. And everywhere crept the musty smell of smoke that hung black against the somber sky.

The coach made its way through the streets. Ann was stunned by the number of wagons, horses, and pedestrians. She was glad Dr. Loftin had an expert driver as well as a coach to offer them. The doctor was himself an excellent amateur driver who enjoyed the pursuit and occasionally drove his own coach, but she felt safer with a real coachman at the reins. The heavy wagons headed west looked dangerous. They were so massive compared to the other conveyances on the road. If a driver misjudged his distance and hooked one of the fine coach wheels on a heavy wooden wagon wheel, it would splinter to bits. Their judicious driver kept them well clear of the wagons. It was more difficult to avoid the pedestrians, some of whom seemed driven by a fatal impulse to hurry as close to the coach as possible.

They moved away from the wharf. The products of factories disappeared, and the establishments of attorneys, tailors, and dressmakers appeared. A yellow brick church sat gracefully amidst a grove of trees.

“Ann, a castle!” Mabel pointed to another church. It was enormous, dark gray, with buttresses and spires. Susan gasped, and even Ann was impressed. She had never seen a building like this outside the pages of a book.

Her father looked out the coach window. “It's a church, girls. Trinity Church. Finished last year.”

The coach slowed, turned into a narrow drive, and stopped. Ann slid the loop of her fur handbag over her elbow. She had brought a few essentials: a tiny hand mirror and comb, a handkerchief. But there was something else in her bag too. She had not wanted to leave Will's letters behind at the doctor's house. The crinkling of the paper when she touched the bag was like a talisman for the apprentice's welfare, reassuring her that she would somehow think of a way to help him.

Dr. Loftin opened the door and handed her out to the graveled drive. The Burbridge home was very large, as she had suspected it would be—a two-story red brick with imposing white columns. Evergreen hedges taller than a man were trimmed into neat lines and curves, forming a green wall circling half an acre around the home. Within this protective embrace, smaller evergreen bushes had been trained into tiered cones. Some were perfect spheres of solid dark green.

“Topiary,” Dr. Loftin said in response to her expression of wonder. “Not fashionable in Europe, perhaps, but pleasing to look upon.” He turned back to help the little girls out of the coach.

“Good evening,” a cheerful voice called out. Some yards from the coach, Allan Burbridge walked down the wide white steps of his home and came to greet Ann, bowing over her hand. When he looked up at her, his gray eyes were keen with interest. “I'm delighted you could come, Miss Miller.”

“Your garden is lovely,” Ann said.

“Thank you.” He indicated the twigs protruding from heaped mounds along the walls of the home. “I wish you could see the roses, but they are asleep and cannot be awakened.”

She smiled. “Like Briar Rose.”

“You've read the Grimms' tales?”

“Yes, the new edition—the small book for children.”

Susan came up beside Ann and took her gloved hand. “I love Briar Rose.”

“She was beautiful and kind, like you and your sisters.” Allan looked at Susan first, but then at Ann. She blushed.

She admitted that Allan was both intelligent and attractive. And it did not hurt that his thick wavy hair was neatly clipped, his broad shoulders clad in a fine black coat. But he was clearly not serious about this pursuit. He threw out flirtatious phrases with far too much aplomb and did not watch her closely in the way of a real suitor who would hang on his beloved's every response. And she might live in the country, but she was no milkmaid to heed the sweet whisperings of the lord of the manor. She did not realize she had smiled at her own thought until Allan smiled back.

“Shall we go in?” he said, offering her his arm. Dr. Loftin took Susan's hand to be sure she would not slip on the steps, and Ann's father brought up the rear with Mabel.

A butler—a real butler—stood at the door and took their coats, Ann's handbag, and the leather portfolio her father carried with him when on business. The butler retreated back through a side door, presumably a coatroom. Ann composed herself so she would not look awed or silly, but it was hard not to marvel at the enormous foyer, the dark gold color of the walls, the high ceilings with white crown molding carved with Grecian leaves. Ahead through a wide double door frame, she could see blue and gold carpets and the dark, graceful curves of furniture made by masters. A chandelier shimmered with candles.

Her sisters' eyes were about to pop from their heads. Mabel let go of her father's hand and ran up to Susan, grabbing her arm. She jabbed Susan in the ribs as if to say “I told you so.” Ann raised her eyebrows at Mabel, sending her a silent but familiar warning. Her littlest sister dimpled and left Susan alone to return to her father's side, contenting herself by gazing avidly in every direction.

“My family awaits us in the parlor,” Allan said as he led Ann forward, his arm strong and steady under her fingertips. He bent his head and lowered his voice. “I'm afraid you're not our only guests tonight, though I dearly wish you were.” His breath tickled her ear, sending a pleasant shiver through her. She should not allow him so close, but she did not know the polite way to tell him so.

She did not have to wonder for long at his meaning, for when they walked through the double door frame and turned into the oval parlor, she saw three very straight backs, two in satin and one in serge. The Holmeses.

Mrs. Holmes and Amelia descended upon them with the cries of predatory birds.

“Oh, Miss Miller, Mr. Miller! And the darling girls!” said Mrs. Holmes, swooping over in a cloud of heavy floral scent. Magnolia, of course.

“Ann, how wonderful that you could grace us with your presence!” Amelia poked out her chin toward Ann like a beak.

Ann was taken aback by the change in their demeanor— their false sweetness was almost as bad as their earlier snubbing, but at least it was less awkward. Perhaps the Holmeses had realized that if the Burbridges accepted the Millers, they would be best advised to follow suit.

Mr. Holmes shook Dr. Loftin's hand. “Good to see you again, Doctor.” As Mr. Holmes extended his hand to her father, he wrinkled his nose toward his brows and made his startling, snuffling honk before saying, “And you, Mr. Miller.”

Ann wanted to giggle at her father's alarmed expression, but he manfully took the hand offered to him. She snuck a glance at her little sisters. Thank goodness they were not laughing—yet. Susan and Mabel had dubbed Mr. Holmes “The Great Goose” in the privacy of their stateroom. Ann noticed that Mabel's hands were pressed together demurely in front of her, but her arms waved back and forth at the elbows, like wings; Susan's lips trembled. Ann laid her arms across each of her sisters' shoulders.

“I believe we may need to refresh ourselves after our coach ride,” she said.

Louisa Burbridge, soft and demure in rose silk, came to her rescue. “Why of course. Come with me.”

They left Ann's father and Dr. Loftin to make conversation, while Louisa showed them to the back of the parlor. Ann led her sisters through a small door into a powder room, all white wood panels and gold trim, with a full-length mirror on a matching white stand. Ann did not have time to admire its beauty for long, as she had little sisters to admonish. They emerged suitably chastened, and Ann rested easier in her hope that perhaps they would avoid girlish mischief for the rest of the evening.