Summer of Dreams (11 page)

A gutter pipe was in easy reach, and the brackets anchoring it to the brick wall served as toeholds as he scaled from the third floor, past the fourth floor, and onto the roof. Some of the cadets in the field below noticed and called out encouragement.

“Brixton, you maniac!” someone hollered up from the field. Others applauded in vigor.

He tossed them a hearty wave of acknowledgment. He couldn’t help himself. He loved it here, and he loved the men with whom he served. He didn’t want to be hustled off campus like a criminal. His feet were nimble as he scrambled over the roof and to the adjoining building, one that had an escape ladder welded to the outside.

He gave one final, wholehearted wave to the cadets below. It was a wave of friendship, of farewell, of regret. As he picked up his sack, the shouts of encouragement from the men in the field filled him with the fierce joy of having once been a part of something great.

He got to the ground quickly, then made a dash to the cover of the oak trees bordering campus. No one was in a hurry to turn him in, and he sprinted toward the main gate and soon was on Thayer Road, walking toward the train station.

Onward toward the next great adventure.

Clyde managed to hitch a ride on the back of a farmer’s wagon and arrived at the train station with almost an hour to spare. It was his last hour of freedom, and he didn’t intend to waste it. A couple of boys waiting on the platform tried to play jacks, but their technique was all wrong. Clyde dumped his rucksack, sat on the floor beside them, and showed them the proper technique. He loved playing with kids and hoped to have some of his own before too long.

He pushed the thought away. There was no point in wallowing in his mistakes—he would simply enjoy the adoration in the boys’ eyes as he taught them how to twist their wrist faster and improve their take.

At last it was time to board his train. It would be a two-hour ride to New Rochelle, then a short ferry ride to David’s Island, where Fort Slocum was located. This wasn’t the career he’d hoped for, but he’d try to do a good job. And as soon as he had a chance, he’d figure out what to write to Evelyn to explain his cowardice in not being able to face her this afternoon.

He stepped into the third-class car as soon as the doors opened. There weren’t many people onboard today, so he had his pick of seats. And third class wasn’t so bad. He’d walked and hitchhiked too many times not to appreciate a good, forward-facing bench all to himself. The train was bound to get more crowded as they got closer to Manhattan, but for now the air was clean, and he had room to breathe.

The stationmaster announced one more minute until the doors would close. One more minute before this chapter of his life was over forever.

A woman with her skirts hiked up around her knees came running toward the stationmaster. Clyde nearly choked. Evelyn?

There was no mistaking her. Even scurrying across the platform with her skirts wadded in one hand and a traveling case
in the other, she had the willowy grace that was unmistakably Evelyn. His eyes widened as she boarded the car.

She spotted him immediately, and her smile lit her entire face. She marched down the aisle and plopped into the empty space beside him.

“This seat isn’t taken, I hope?”

She was breathless and beautiful as she looked at him. He couldn’t even speak. Evelyn seemed remarkably even-keeled for a woman whose sweetheart had just scrambled over rooftops and hitched a ride to town to avoid her.

“Be my guest,” he said.

“I’ve been hiding behind the screen of mulberry bushes and spying on you playing jacks with those children. I feared that if you saw me, you’d make a dash for freedom again.” She grinned. “Honestly, Clyde! Am I that terrifying?”

He risked a glance at her. Yes, she was indeed terrifying. She was beautiful and brilliant and he’d been reaching way too high when he’d aspired to win her. At least as an officer he’d had a chance. Now he was Private Clyde Brixton, future ditch-digger.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he admitted. “I’ve let a lot of people down, and I just wasn’t up for seeing you. Your father can be a trying person.”

She smiled. “You’re just now realizing that?”

“He wished me luck in my future digging ditches.”

The stationmaster walked along the platform, calling, “All aboard!”

“Look, you’d better get off now,” he said. “I’ll write, I promise.” He stood and grabbed her satchel.

“I’m going with you to New Rochelle,” she said. “Then I’m heading to Boston. I’m moving.”

He looked at her blankly. “You’re moving to Boston? Why?”

She bit the corner of her lip and seemed to shrink a little. For the first time since boarding the train, she looked nervous.

He sat and grabbed her hand. “Evelyn,” he whispered urgently, “what’s going on? Tell me. Tell me what I can do to help.” Because somehow he suspected he was the cause of this and, if so, he needed to repair it. He could take anything but disappointing Evelyn.

“I got a job,” she said, her voice a mixture of pride and trepidation. “It’s not much, just weighing and selling things in a dry goods store, but it will help pay my expenses in Boston. I’ve rented an apartment just a few blocks down from the store.”

If she’d told him she’d sold all her earthly belongings and was moving to the North Pole, he couldn’t have been more stunned. But he was proud of her. She was withering on the vine in West Point, and anything that got her out of there was good. The fact that she was doing it on her own? Truly amazing.

His smile was genuine. “I’m glad for you, but did you have a falling out with your father? I don’t understand . . .”

“My father has been wonderful. He was the one who told me about your future as a ditch-digger.”

Clyde sighed. He’d be two months at Fort Slocum for training, but his life after that was still a mystery. Apparently General White knew where he’d be sent, as did Evelyn.

“And did he say where I’d be digging ditches?” He braced himself, dreading the answer.

“Boston.”

He blinked. “Boston? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you realize the army is upgrading their telephone and telegraph capabilities. They are experimenting with setting the cables into underground conduits, and guess where that work is beginning?”

The thud of his heartbeat had just doubled. “Boston?”

“Boston!” she exclaimed, her voice triumphant. “Rumor has it that one of the enlisted soldiers assigned to work on laying
the cables is a smart-yet-reckless young man. He’s no good at following orders, but he has a way with electricity.”

He reached out for her hand, squeezing it hard. He wasn’t able to speak yet—the lump in his throat was getting in the way. What a relief to be assigned to meaningful work that would take advantage of his skills. He’d still be a private in the army, but he craved the chance to use his God-given abilities to their fullest potential.

His breath froze as another realization blazed to life. “And why are you moving to Boston?” he asked, barely able to get the words spoken without shaking.

“Because that is where you will be. And for me, that’s home.”

His breath left him in a rush. It was impossible to believe this beautiful, talented woman would actually want him after all he’d done to destroy his own career. He had
nothing
to offer her. The extent of his worldly possessions fit into the rucksack at his feet.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you need. I’m a private in the army; I’ll be paid a pittance, and half of that will go to my mother.”

“That’s why I got a job, Clyde. We’ll do this together. I want to do this together.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, but all he felt was a growing terror. His father had disappointed his mother time and again, and he didn’t want to be the kind of man whose wife feared how the next month’s rent would be paid. Evelyn could have anyone. She was beautiful, intelligent, and well-connected—she didn’t need to settle for a job in a dry goods store. Once she left home, her father might not even take her back if things went badly.

This discussion was too important to couch in vague terms. He needed to lay it out bluntly. “I’m afraid you will give up everything for me, and then I’ll let you down. I’m a
private
, Evelyn.”

“I didn’t fall in love with a rank or a uniform. I fell in love with
you
. A man who could build a generator to hatch hummingbird eggs. Who dropped everything to rescue a friend. And Romulus passed his test, did you know? He earned a perfect score and will graduate on time, all because you were there when he needed someone to help him through a rough patch. No man with that kind of heart will ever let me down.”

Evelyn’s smile was growing wider by the second. It was hard to believe this was happening. Was she really moving to Boston because of him? It was wonderful and terrifying and quite possibly the answer to all his prayers.

He grabbed her other hand. Okay, he’d better not muck this up. “It would be pretty scandalous if we ran off to live in sin, wouldn’t it?”

The glare she pinned him with assured him he was well on his way to mucking things up. He cleared his throat and started again. “What I meant to say is that I’d be honored if you would consent to be my wife.”

“Of course I’ll marry you—”

He cut her off with a kiss. What had begun as the worst day of his life was ending as his best. “I can’t believe this is really happening,” he said.

Laughter mingled with her smile. “It seems we have a history of doing everything the hard way.”

He bent his head. Everything about the next two years was going to be hard, and it was entirely his fault. All the early demerits, rescuing Romulus, his impulsive show of bravado leaving campus rather than facing Evelyn directly . . . all of it had taken him a little farther from the safe, respectable life Evelyn deserved.

“I can do better,” he vowed. And he would. He loved Evelyn too much to fail. What had started as a summer of dreams was going to become so much more.

He held her close, thankful he’d been given the chance to build a fountain for her birdcage, and that she’d been able to see past his uniform to the man beneath. It would be a challenge to be worthy of her, but with God’s grace, he had been given a chance to prove himself. Marriage was a serious commitment, and from this day forward he would strive and pray to be worthy of Evelyn’s trust. He would hold fast to her, love and cherish her, through all the joys and sorrows that lay ahead.

Keep reading for a special excerpt of
From This Moment
by Elizabeth Camden.

B
OSTON
, M
ASSACHUSETTS
M
ARCH
1897

R
omulus White stood motionless in the crowded ballroom, staring at a woman he’d once longed for more than his next breath of oxygen.

It was not a pleasant experience, especially since Laura stood alongside her doting husband. Even from a distance, her copper-red hair gleamed in the candlelight and made her stand out from the crowd.

It had been several years since Romulus had last seen her. He braced himself for the blinding wall of anguish that was sure to clobber him, but surprisingly, it didn’t come. He waited, holding his breath, but the only emotion Laura’s presence summoned was a cloudy swirl of bittersweet memories, an almost-pleasing sort of ache. Wasn’t that strange? But perhaps that was the nature of a first great love. If such a profound experience didn’t leave the trace of a scar, it would be disappointing.

“Are you going to say hello to her?” His cousin Evelyn drew up alongside him, pressing a glass of mulled cider into his hand.

He took a sip before responding. “Who?” he asked casually, but Evelyn sent him a shrewd look. Evelyn was three years younger than his thirty-two years, but she’d already perfected a disapproving stare that could terrify lesser mortals. They’d grown up together, and she knew all about his epic fit of despair when Laura broke their engagement ten years ago. It was not his proudest moment. He’d rather think of anything—a plague of locusts, perhaps enduring a public execution—anything other than those ignominious few weeks following Laura’s rejection.

“You know who I’m talking about,” Evelyn said pointedly. “It might be nice to exchange a few words to let her know there are no hard feelings.”

“I’m here on business, not to make pleasant chitchat with Laura Rittenhouse.”

Tonight’s gala was in celebration of the next round of funding that had just come through for the greatest engineering project in Boston’s history. Hosted in the lavish country club overlooking one hundred acres of rolling woodland, this was an unprecedented gathering of the city’s leading politicians, engineers, bankers, and businessmen, all of whom had joined forces to create the nation’s first subway, which would soon be running beneath the streets of Boston.

Romulus intended to shake as many hands as possible tonight. His career as the editor and publisher of
Scientific World
depended on his ability to capitalize on friendships with the engineers and scientists who were forging the new era of invention. He’d spent more than a decade cultivating these alliances, and he was good at it.

“You haven’t stopped staring at her since she entered the ballroom,” Evelyn observed.

“Laura no longer means anything to me,” he said, relieved there was no stirring of those turbulent emotions that had once knocked him flat. In hindsight, Laura had been right to cut him
loose. He would have been a terrible husband, and she was surely better off with Dr. Rittenhouse.

Besides, it was quite possible that no man in Boston enjoyed bachelorhood more than Romulus M. White. He adored women and had cut a wide swath through their ranks over the past decade. Someday he would marry, but not anytime soon. The woman he married would be a good mother and suitable companion. His future wife would make him smile, but never roar with laughter. She would be capable of holding an intelligent conversation, but she would not hold him spellbound and entranced. Nor would she have the ability to make him weep in despair or plunge him into melancholy merely because she withdrew her favor. He had already dipped his toe into that particular pond and had no desire to sample it again. Ever.

He didn’t want to think about Laura tonight. A far more fascinating woman had just arrived in Boston and captured his professional interest. He had never even met Stella West, but his letter to her was burning a hole in his pocket.

He leaned down to whisper in Evelyn’s ear. “After the speeches are concluded, I need a few minutes of your time to discuss business.”

Evelyn was not only his cousin, she was his business partner and the managing editor of
Scientific World
. They shared ownership of the magazine on a fifty-fifty basis, so he was legally obligated to gain her consent before major decisions. Although they usually worked smashingly well together, there had been tensions over the years, and the envelope in his pocket was
not
going to make Evelyn happy.

“Dare I hope you are about to tell me you’ve approved the list of technical articles for the April issue?”

“Completed just before I left and already on your desk. You can get everything on the production schedule first thing Monday morning. There is something else we need to discuss.”

And it was going to have to be handled delicately. Evelyn ran a tight ship at the magazine, and she was likely to fight him tooth and nail over his suggestion. She could be tightfisted, fussy, and domineering. Those were some of the things he adored about her.
Scientific World
would have crashed into insolvency years ago if Evelyn had not been there to reel him in from his more extravagant indulgences, but on this issue he intended to remain firm.

“Are you wearing a
pink
vest?” The voice belonged to Michael Townsend, the attorney general of Massachusetts and Romulus’s weekly sparring partner in the boxing ring. With patrician features and prematurely gray hair, Michael was a handsome man despite his bland taste in fashion.

“It’s coral,” Romulus corrected. “I’m wearing it in honor of the marine life exhibit currently at the Smithsonian. We are featuring it in next month’s issue.”

Michael looked skeptically at the vest, but his tone carried a glint of humor. “It looks pink to me.”

Like most men in the ballroom, Michael wore a black swallowtail coat and vest, but Romulus had had an appreciation for style from the day he was old enough to understand the concept of complementary color schemes. Standing over six feet tall, with black hair and a face that turned heads, he never shied away from a dash of color or a sparkly gemstone to liven up his wardrobe.

“Brace yourself, the speeches are coming,” Michael said, and a balding man with a walrus mustache stepped up to the podium in front of the orchestra.

The music came to an end, and the clinking of forks on champagne glasses caused a hush to settle over the crowd. Henry Whitney was the improbable hero of the evening. A businessman with a lifelong interest in railroads, Henry was intrigued by the possibility of creating a railway that ran beneath the streets.
Two years ago, he had finally cobbled together the necessary financing, technical plans, and political clout to begin building America’s first subway.

Traffic congestion had always been bad in Boston, with its narrow, twisting streets first laid out in the seventeenth century. More than half a million people now lived in a city whose streets were choked by lumbering streetcars, wagons, and pedestrians darting among the potholes and horse-drawn carriages. It had been even worse for the past year as streets had been torn up for the digging of the subway tunnels, but the first leg of the subway was due to open soon.

As the applause settled down, Henry began speaking. “My friends, it is surely no coincidence that the first attempt at a project as technically challenging and politically risky as a subway should happen in Boston. Our city has been blazing trails into the unknown since the first settlers arrived in America. We carved a great society out of the raw wilderness, and now our factories, publishing houses, and universities are the envy of the world. Our colleges support the research that is fueling the innovation that will lead us into the twentieth century. Our ships sail to ports all over the world, and our buildings are rising high into the sky. Soon we shall expand into an entirely new realm, deep beneath the city itself, to launch the first underground subway in America.”

A hearty round of applause greeted the words.

“London may have been the first city in the world to build a subway,” Henry continued, “but the London subway runs on steam, and ours shall be powered by the miracle of electricity. It shall be a clean, well-lit, and well-ventilated subway, a model for all future projects.”

Mr. Whitney proceeded to introduce the mayor, the chief engineers, and the bankers who had pulled off the latest round of funding that would permit breaking ground on the Tremont
link. If all went well, digging on the Tremont leg would happen within the month, and the subway would be ready for business by the end of the year. Henry continued introducing key players in the Boston subway while Romulus fought the temptation to let his gaze wander back to Laura Rittenhouse on the far side of the ballroom. Then Henry’s voice interrupted the struggle.

“And I would be remiss if I did not recognize Mr. Romulus White, whose magazine,
Scientific World
, has done so much to educate the public about the subway project.”

Romulus felt pole-axed. This kind of recognition was unexpected and stunning, but not to be taken lightly.

“Romulus? Where are you?” Mr. Whitney asked from the podium.

“Here, sir!” he called out in a hearty voice. The crowd around him parted enough for the renowned financier to spot him.

“Egad,” Mr. Whiney burst out. “A pink vest!”

Romulus raised his glass. “Only the best for a night like tonight!”

Applause mingled with laughter as every face in the room swiveled in his direction.

When the laughter settled, Mr. Whitney continued in a sober voice. “We could not have commenced this project without the support of the public.
Scientific World
has done more to ease fears about safety and stoke excitement for the coming subway than an army of politicians could have done. We are grateful, sir.”

This time the applause was mingled with foot-stamping and some good-natured cheers. Michael clapped him on the back, and Evelyn beamed.

He swallowed hard. Oh, this felt good. Was Laura still in the ballroom to hear? Ah yes, there she was, standing by the ice sculpture and politely clapping.

He bowed his head in acceptance, when what he really wanted
to do was shout from a mountaintop. For a man who had barely graduated college, floundered with finding a career, and whose glittering wardrobe disguised a lifelong sense of insecurity, this was nice. For a few seconds, he had the esteem of every person in this room.

But they didn’t really know him. Not like Laura did.

He pushed away the thought. These misgivings rarely plagued him anymore, for he had launched a magazine with scientific influence that reached all four corners of the globe. By the time he managed to draw a breath, Mr. Whitney had moved on to congratulate the team of geologists whose work charting the terrain beneath the Charles River was a vital step for the next leg of the subway.

He turned to Evelyn and kissed her on the cheek. Evelyn was an attractive woman, with glossy black hair and a willowy figure that belied the backbone of pure steel that had propelled her into a field normally closed to women.

“None of this would have happened without you,” he murmured, and Evelyn sent him a grateful smile. It wasn’t fair that he received all the acclaim for their magazine’s success, but he’d always been the public face of
Scientific World
, while Evelyn quietly labored behind the scenes to keep the operations humming like clockwork. The two of them had been inseparable since childhood, and what a miracle that they’d found a way to turn their unique talents into a profitable career for both of them. He only hoped the letter in his pocket would not throw a bomb into their sometimes contentious relationship.

“Enough with the boring speeches,” Mr. Whitney intoned with a nod to the orchestra. “Let the dancing begin!”

Romulus had no interest in dancing. He needed to win Evelyn’s consent regarding the letter in his pocket. It took some
maneuvering, but he managed to lead her out to the enclosed patio overlooking the wide expanse of lawn. The March evening was chilly, and there were fewer people out here, but some had gathered amid the potted palms and flickering lanterns that cast circles of warm light into the evening. Soft laughter mingled with a violin sonata, and the air was perfumed by night-blooming jasmine. He guided Evelyn into a secluded corner, for he didn’t particularly care to be overheard.

“Stella West is in Boston,” he said. “She is the final missing piece we need to make
Scientific World
soar.”

It was hard to mask the excitement leaking into his voice, for Stella was an artist of extraordinary skill. He’d been trying to hire her for years. They had never met, but he could tell merely by looking at her illustrations that they were kindred spirits.

Scientific World
was the most prestigious science magazine in the country, but they’d never been able to produce full-color illustrations on the amazing topics they covered. Developments in lithography now made high-speed reproductions of color artwork possible, but it required an artist of both technical and artistic mastery. Stella could do it. Her illustrations could capture the translucent quality of a butterfly wing or the breathtaking colors of the Grand Canyon. No grainy photograph could capture the wonders they covered, and Stella’s artwork hinted at an exuberant love of the natural word that had captivated Romulus from the moment he’d seen her fantastic lithographs.