The Potter's Lady (3 page)

“What time are these folks coming to see the place?”

Robert’s question forced Rylan back to the present. “I don’t know for sure. Last I heard, they were to arrive on the train last evening and come here sometime today. I don’t know if they’ve yet arrived in town.”

“What do ya know about them?” Robert leaned close and nudged Rylan. “I know Mr. Bancock’s told ya a thing or two. Wouldn’t hurt none to share it with those of us that’s doing the actual work. Might relieve some of the worry most of us been feeling.”

“Mr. Bancock’s the one you should be asking, not me.” Rylan stepped toward the office. Robert had a way of bantering until he managed to wheedle whatever information he wanted.

Rylan exhaled a sigh when the office door opened and Mr. Bancock strode toward them. He nodded at the two of them and offered a cheery greeting before resting his hand on Rylan’s shoulder. “I need you in the office to help me prepare for my meeting with Mr. McKay.”

Robert shifted his lunch pail to his left hand. “McKay? Is that the name of the fellow who’s going to buy the pottery, Mr. Bancock?”

Mr. Bancock’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know who told you Mr. McKay is going to purchase the business.” The owner directed a sideways glance at Rylan. “Mr. McKay is merely coming to look around and see if Bancock Pottery is a business that might interest him.” Mr. Bancock’s lips drooped into a frown. “I’ve learned word has spread from the slip house to the warehouse that the pottery is up for sale. However, the business has not yet sold, so I would consider it a favor if you would try to put a stop to the rumors circulating among the workers.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Obviously embarrassed by Mr. Bancock’s comments, Robert shifted his gaze toward the clay shop. “I should get to my work.”

Before he could depart, Mr. Bancock stilled him with a touch of his hand. “When a contract has been signed, I will personally announce the change of ownership to all of the employees and answer any questions that may arise. Please pass along that message, Robert.”

Robert nodded and, with his lunch pail swinging from one hand, rushed toward the clay shop. Mr. Bancock turned to Rylan. “I don’t know when Mr. McKay plans to arrive, and I don’t know what he may ask to review, so we must have all of our paper work arranged so that it will be easily retrieved if need be.”

Rylan walked alongside the owner. “Are you thinkin’ I’m the one who told about the visit today? Because if you are, I want ya to know it wasn’t me. I didn’t say a word, Mr. Bancock.”

The older man glanced at him and gave a slight nod. “I figured it was one of the overseers. Just the same, I’m glad to know it wasn’t you. I suppose it’s just as well the employees know a prospective buyer is visiting today. Mr. McKay will expect to tour the entire pottery, and it wouldn’t take long before the workers put two and two together.”

Once inside the office, Rylan set to work arranging the contracts by year. The stack for the current year looked mighty slim compared to those for previous years. Rylan stood back and glanced at the mounds. There had been a steady decline over the past three years, but this year was downright meager. Any additional contracts would be for small, unexpected orders, but maybe they could land an unforeseen contract that would provide a windfall of sorts.

When Mr. Bancock turned to examine his work, Rylan nodded toward the end of the row. “This may not be the best way to arrange the contracts. If he’s any kind of a businessman, it won’t take but one glance to realize the business has been falling off over the past few years.”

“Leave them as they are, Rylan. I won’t hoodwink Mr. McKay or any other man who may consider the purchase of this business. I’ve always been upright in my dealings, and I don’t intend to change that now.”

The decision didn’t surprise Rylan. Mr. Bancock was a man who did his best to live by the teachings of the Bible. He wasn’t one to preach at folks, but whenever he had a chance to reveal his faith to others, he didn’t hesitate. It was Mr. Bancock who’d convinced Rylan to attend church with him on Sunday mornings, and it was Mr. Bancock who’d given him a Bible with lots of underlined passages. He’d said those passages would help Rylan deal with the difficulties of life. And they had. Lately, Rylan had been clinging to many of those passages, but fear still ran deep.

What if the new owner decided to dismiss him? Would he be able to find employment in another pottery? He possessed a variety of skills and had trained for a time in each area of the pottery, but he wasn’t a talented jiggerman like Robert, who could find work in most any pottery.

Locating an opening for an owner’s assistant wouldn’t be easy, especially for a man his age. Rylan surveyed the stacks one final time and quietly reminded himself of some verses he’d read in Luke. If God cared for the fowl of the air and the lilies of the field, wouldn’t He care enough to provide Rylan with a job? The thought offered a modicum of comfort as he turned away from the table and removed the ledgers from the office safe.

At noon Mr. Bancock decided to skip his usual lunch at the restaurant near the train station. Worried that Mr. McKay might appear while he was away, the owner asked Rylan to fetch him a sandwich. By two o’clock, Mr. Bancock had walked to the front door more times than Rylan could count.

Mr. Bancock dropped into his chair and rested his chin in his palm. “Maybe there was some confusion about what day he was scheduled to arrive. Or maybe he missed his train.” He murmured several other possibilities, but his mutterings were mere speculation. “Don’t know why I’m worrying so much when I know the future of this pottery is in God’s hands. Just seems hard to always keep that thought clear in my head.”

“I could go over to the hotel and see if Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan wanted to do something to help ease the older man’s anxiety, something tangible that might give Mr. Bancock a little much-needed information.

The older man massaged his forehead and stared toward the door. “I think that is a good idea, Rylan. Don’t tell the hotel clerk your name or where you work. I wouldn’t want him to tell Mr. McKay I was inquiring about him. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m too eager.”

Rylan nodded. He doubted Mr. McKay would jump to such a hasty conclusion, but he would heed his employer’s admonition. Grabbing his cap, Rylan headed for the door and walked outside. After depositing a half-inch of rain, the thunderstorm had passed. Stepping off the boardwalk, Rylan lifted his nose and inhaled the fresh scent of spring. The earlier gloom had departed, and cerulean skies now framed the jagged mountains. Careful to avoid the muddy roadway, he walked the short distance to the railroad tracks.

The pottery sat across the tracks and about a half mile south of the hotel on a triangular plot of ground along the western edge of the Grafton rail yard. The B&O Railroad owned the hotel, so the hotel lobby also served as a depot station. Rylan stopped outside the hotel and cleaned the mud from his shoes on the cast-iron boot scraper. The hotel clerk made certain the lobby’s decorative tile floor remained spotless, and he looked askew at those who failed to clean their boots before entering.

Stepping inside, Rylan gazed around the expansive room. A train had arrived not long ago, and the lobby hummed with activity. Along the east side of the combination lobby and depot, there were several wooden benches, which were occupied by passengers awaiting the arrival or departure of a train.

Printed signs advising gentlemen that they should not expectorate on the floor hung above metal spittoons that had been strategically placed throughout the room. A small ticket office was situated to the rear of the benches. On the west side of the room, a glass-enclosed cabinet displayed boxes of cigars and sundry items that might interest travelers or hotel guests. Beyond the display of goods was a walnut registration desk in the shape of a half moon that wrapped around the clerk like a protective shield.

With his gaze set upon the hotel clerk, Rylan strode past the wooden benches and stopped at the desk. The clerk was a tall man with a neatly trimmed mustache and balding pate. He lifted his long narrow nose high in the air and pinned Rylan with a hard stare. “Train tickets are purchased at the desk across the lobby.”

“Aye, but I’m not here for a train ticket. I’m wonderin’ if you’d be so kind as to check your book and tell me if a Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan forced an amiable smile. “If all went as planned, Mr. McKay should have arrived last evening.”

The clerk shook his head. “We aren’t in the habit of giving out the names of guests registered in our hotel, young man.” He hiked his nose an inch higher. “Whether Mr. McKay has registered with us or not is not a matter we would discuss with—”

“Did I hear someone asking for Mr. McKay?”

Rylan spun on his heel. “Aye, that you did. Are you Mr. McKay?”

“I am. And who might I be talking to?”

Rylan’s gaze traveled between a man with chestnut brown hair and a young woman with deep blue eyes and a beautiful smile who stood at his side. Was the lovely young lady his wife?

He tore his gaze away and faced Mr. McKay. “My name is Rylan Campbell, sir.” He hesitated a moment, uncertain what he should do. At this point, there was no way he could heed Mr. Bancock’s order. Mr. McKay was staring at him with arched brows, obviously expecting to know more than his name. Rylan cleared his throat. “I work at Bancock Pottery.”

A flash of recognition shone in Mr. McKay’s eyes, and he gave a quick nod. “And you’ve come to see what time I plan to visit the pottery, am I right?”

“Aye. Right you are.”

Mr. McKay rested a hand on Rylan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you appeared, Rylan. My sister and I were planning to leave for our visit with Mr. Bancock right now. ’Twould be appreciated if you’d show us the way.”

The young woman nudged her brother’s arm. “And may I present my sister, Rose McKay. She’s quite eager to see the pottery.”

“Nice to meet you, miss.” Rylan tried to keep from staring, but her eyes lured him in like a magnet. His sister. Not his wife. Relief washed over him, but he’d better focus on the job at hand and not the girl in front of him.

He turned toward Mr. McKay. “I hope you won’t be disappointed. It’s a fine pottery. I’ve worked there since I was a young lad. And you won’t find a more honest man or better employer than Mr. Bancock.” He needed to quit rambling. Mr. Bancock wouldn’t approve.

“That’s good to know. I hope our late arrival hasn’t caused undue concern for Mr. Bancock, but we’d also scheduled a visit to the brickyard, and the rain caused a delay of our tour of the yard.”

They stepped outside, and Rylan directed them down the wood sidewalk, looking for the best place for Miss McKay to cross the railroad tracks without stepping in too much mud. All the while, his mind was racing. Why had they been at the brickyard? Rylan had heard Mr. Trent was hoping to sell the place.

He sucked in a gulp of air. “Were you looking to buy Mr. Trent’s brickyard, Mr. McKay?”

Rylan held his breath as he awaited the answer. Surely if Mr. Bancock knew Mr. McKay was visiting other companies in the area, he would have told Rylan. No doubt Mr. Bancock would find the news distressing.

“I’m giving it some consideration. My family and I currently live in Bartlett where I operated a brickyard. Before that I worked in many a brickyard in Northern Ireland.” He offered his arm to his sister as they started across the railroad tracks. “What about you, Mr. Campbell? Is it Ireland you call home, as well?”

Rylan shook his head. “Nay. I consider this country my home, though my parents came here from Ireland. They crossed the ocean when I was a wee babe. From what they tell me, I nearly died on the ship, but I don’t remember any of it.”

“Well, glad I am that you arrived safely. Too many of our countrymen perished on those ships.”

As they continued toward the pottery, Rylan’s thoughts remained fixed on the knowledge that the acquisition of the Bancock Pottery was much more tenuous than he had imagined.

U
pon Rylan’s return, Mr. Bancock’s lips formed a deep frown. The pottery owner hadn’t wanted Mr. McKay to know he was eager to sell. Seeing the visitor alongside Rylan meant only one thing to Mr. Bancock: He’d lost his ability to bargain from a position of power. Rylan couldn’t dispute the fact that Mr. Bancock might have more difficulty negotiating now. But that difficulty would arise more from Mr. McKay’s interest in the Trent Brick Works than Rylan’s chance meeting with Ewan and Rose McKay.

As Rylan and the McKays stepped inside, Mr. Bancock forced a smile. Rylan made brief introductions, and his employer extended his hand to Mr. McKay and nodded at Rose. “Pleased to meet both of you and welcome to Bancock Pottery Works.”

Rylan sighed with relief when Mr. McKay explained to Mr. Bancock how they’d met in the hotel lobby. “A fortunate coincidence that we would walk up just as young Mr. Campbell arrived.”

“I’m pleased he was able to escort you.” Mr. Bancock glanced toward the street. “This morning’s rain left us with a great deal of mud.” With his brows arched ever so slightly, Mr. Bancock directed a forgiving look at Rylan before returning his attention to Mr. McKay and his sister. “Would the two of you like to begin by reviewing the ledgers and contracts before touring the pottery, or is the opposite your preference?”

Ewan turned to his sister. “What do you say, Rose? A tour of the pottery or an examination of the books?”

Both Rylan and Mr. Bancock followed suit and directed their attention to the young woman. Rylan was pleased to see the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. He was certain they perfectly matched the deep blue glaze of their finest pottery.

Yet her excitement pleased him for other reasons, as well. He remembered his first visit to the pottery so many years ago when he’d been hired to help one of the turners, the journeymen who turned the cups and bowls on a horizontal lathe in the clay shop. He had been struck with unexpected exhilaration on that day.

Almost a third of the workers in the clay shop had been journeymen, but the rest were helpers—mostly young boys or women, anyone unskilled and willing to work for the meager wages paid by the journeymen so they could complete more pieces in a day. Many of the men had their wives and children work for them so they didn’t have to pay a non-family member wages.