23

Jacob sat wedged on the carriage seat between Mr. Byrne and his assistant. The streets bustled with Independence Day celebrants. Young boys ran along the boardwalk waving small flags. Firecrackers popped. Buggies carrying families all seemed to be headed in the direction of the town park across from the railroad tracks.

“Some of the men who come in for meals work in the cooperage. It’s on Commerce Street, down past the hotel, if you want to see it. After that I’ll direct you to Wylie’s wagon shop.”

Byrne grunted and guided the horse south. “So, Colin tells me he set you up here before the war.” His tone probed.

“He did.”

“And before that, you worked for him in Boston?”

“You already know the answer. Why are you asking me now?”

“Just making sure I’ve got the whole picture.”

He turned the carriage onto Commerce Street, then immediately jerked up on the reins. Buggies crowded the road in front of them. On their right, picnickers dotted the park lawn. Customers lined up at concession booths along the boardwalk. Inside the bunting-draped bandstand, musicians tuned their instruments.

Byrne glared at Jacob. “Is this your idea of a joke? If I want to see crowds, I’ll stay in Boston.”

He returned the man’s glare. “Independence Day. The store’s open, so I forgot about the celebration down here.” Inwardly he, too, chafed at the delay. The sooner the men saw the town, the sooner they’d leave.

Ruggero stirred on the seat and pointed. “Look there. The sign on that booth says ‘Beer and Libations.’ Want to stop?”

“We’re not here to spend the day with a bunch of yokels.” Byrne flicked the reins and guided the horse through the commotion, then turned right.

His scrawny assistant shot him a hard look. After shoving his bowler hat over his eyes, he slouched down in the seat.

“Relax, Lenny. We’ll have time later.” Byrne shifted his focus to Jacob. “Where’s this wagon shop?”

“A mile or two south. Follow Third Street out.” Jacob strove to maintain a polite tone. By the time they reached Wylie’s shop, the hour would be well past noon. He hoped Byrne would forget about seeing the brickyard.

When they reached Wylie’s, Byrne stopped the carriage in front of the sun-bleached building. No horses were tied to the hitching rail. The door was padlocked. “Another one of your little jokes, West?”

Jacob fought down an urge to plant his fist in the man’s smirking face. “You’re the one who wanted to tour Noble Springs today. Looks to me like most folks went to the celebration.” He tightened his jaw. “Might as well take me back to the grocery.”

Ignoring his suggestion, Byrne turned the carriage around. “How far’s the brickyard?”

“From here? About eight miles.” Jacob clamped his hands on his thighs. Eight miles out and back over a rough country road would take too much time. He’d promised Cassie they’d leave by seven. “Going to be the same thing, though. The workers will probably be in town.”

“How do I know there’s a brickyard out there? You could’ve invented it to make your decisions to hire extra help look better than they are.”

“Sit back.” Rugerro sneered at Jacob. “When the boss says he’s going to do something, he does it.”

As Jacob expected, when they reached the northern end of town the road changed from graded to rocky. Byrne slowed the carriage to avoid the worst of the jolts, but each bump sent a shot of pain up Jacob’s right leg. He gritted his teeth and endured. He wouldn’t give Byrne the satisfaction of hearing him groan.

They rode in silence until they saw two beehive-shaped kilns when they rounded a curve. After drawing abreast of the yard, Byrne stopped the carriage. “No one’s around.”

“I didn’t think anyone would—”

“We’ll get out and have a look.” Byrne hopped down and tied the horse to a rail. “Come on, West.”

Jacob surveyed the uneven ground. The desire to remain in the carriage and favor his leg warred with his determination not to be intimidated. He huffed out a breath, grabbed his crutches, and joined Byrne and Ruggero inside the brickyard fence.

Afternoon sun slanted across a mud pit. A stack of empty six-brick forms waited nearby. Byrne walked to a storage shed, his head cocked as he studied the contents. Jacob imagined him counting the bricks and estimating how many men the business employed.

In a moment, the man faced him. “Got to hand it to you. Looks like your ideas are sound. Glad you thought of a bakery—looks like a money-maker.”

Jacob blinked. The last thing he’d expected was a compliment. He opened his mouth to respond, but Byrne continued.

“Since the business was smaller when you started, I think it’s time to renegotiate Colin’s agreement. I deserve a larger share.”

“The ideas are mine. So are the profits.”

“That might have satisfied Colin. I don’t work that way.”

Jacob thrust his chin in the air. If this Boston bully thought he could intimidate him, he’d better think again. “You’ll have to. You deserve nothing more than what he originally intended.”

“How about I give you a little time to think about it?” Byrne turned to Ruggero and nodded in the direction of the carriage. “Get in. We’ve got a train to catch.”

They strode across the brickyard. Jacob struggled to follow at their pace, but the muddy ground dragged at his crutches.

As the carriage pulled away, Ruggero hollered over his shoulder, “Enjoy your walk, Jake Westermann.”

Cassie walked through the deserted dining room, her record book tucked under her arm, while Jenny and Becca finished their chores in the kitchen. Because of the holiday, they’d had few supper patrons. She’d have plenty of time to change her dress and rearrange her hair before Jacob called for her at seven.

When she entered the grocery, Timothy grinned at her. “Time to lock up, Miss Haddon. You going to see the fireworks show?”

“Yes, indeed. I want to give today’s receipts to Mr. West first, though. Is he in his office?”

The boy looked surprised at the question. “No. Haven’t seen him all afternoon.”

“Then what—” She glanced at the shelf where Jacob kept his cash box. “I’d better hide that away. He must be planning to come in tomorrow.”

“I expect so, miss. You know how he is about the receipts.”

She knew all too well. After Timothy left, she hid the box in Jacob’s office, but didn’t go near his ledger.

On her way home, she heard snatches of band music coming from the park. Excitement tickled in her throat at the thought of spending the evening watching fireworks. Her uncle had deemed such a pastime worldly, so she hadn’t been allowed to go when she and Mother lived in St. Louis.

For a moment she felt disloyal. What if Calusa didn’t hold an Independence Day celebration? Maybe her mother was sitting at home alone. Her steps slowed as she recalled Mother’s most recent letter. She’d mentioned a growing friendship with a woman who owned a rooming house.

Praying the two of them had plans for the evening, Cassie darted across the street and hurried into her cabin. Tonight she’d wear her rose-colored chintz dress. Jacob hadn’t seen that one.

The sun had settled toward the horizon by the time she felt satisfied with her appearance. After draping her embroidered muslin mantelet over her shoulders, she took one final glance at herself in the mirror. Spots of color brightened her cheeks at the thought of sitting close to Jacob as the sky darkened and brilliant rockets blazed across the heavens.

She crossed to the next room and opened the door to catch stray breezes, then perched on the edge of a chair to wait. The setting sun cast on orange glow over the path to her cabin. After a few minutes, the light faded. A breeze scuffed through a patch of coneflowers planted beside the alley.

Cassie stepped outside. The fireworks would start soon. If Jacob didn’t hurry, they’d miss the show. She peered down the alley, seeing nothing but a yellow tabby cat licking a front paw. It wasn’t like Jacob to be late for anything.

She returned to the cabin and lit the lamp. The last thing she wanted was to be caught staring out the door like a child waiting for Papa to come home. She grabbed a book from her meager collection, plopped down on a chair, and opened a page at random. Her mind wouldn’t focus on the words. Instead, she tried to imagine what Jacob might have found so important that he’d forget their plans.

After reading the same paragraph several times, she snapped the cover shut and paced to the open door. The first stars of the evening twinkled overhead. She listened for hoofbeats, but heard none.

She slammed the door and blew out the lamp.

The next morning, Cassie marched to church with her head high. Jacob had attended with her the past two weeks, but if he couldn’t be bothered to take her to the fireworks, he probably wouldn’t show up at church, either. If he decided to join her, fine. If not, that was fine too.

She slid into a pew next to Rosemary and Elijah.

Rosemary shifted little Josephine in her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Where’s Jacob this morning?” She spoke in a whisper.

“I don’t have the slightest idea, and I don’t care.”

Rosemary blinked. “What—” She stopped when Reverend French stepped to the pulpit and opened a hymnal.

He sent the congregation a beatific smile. “Please stand and join me in singing ‘O Day of Rest and Gladness.’” Pews creaked and dresses rustled as worshipers rose. Cassie felt anything but glad, but she sang anyway. As her anger at Jacob faded, tears threatened. Had he changed his mind? Was ignoring her his way of avoiding commitment?

She pondered her questions as she listened to Reverend French preach from the first chapter of the General Epistle of James. When he read, “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God,” she squirmed in her seat. She definitely felt wrathy toward Jacob. She bowed her head. Please, Lord, help me to know what to do.

When she stepped outside after the closing hymn, the first thing she noticed was Wash standing at the foot of the steps. Worry creased his forehead.

She ran to him, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Wash! Why are you here? Where’s Jacob?”

“His leg took a bad turn on him.” He twisted his worn hat between his fingers. “He said to ask if you’d kindly come to the store.”

“Come to the store? The grocery’s closed on Sundays.”

“Yes, missy. But that’s where he is. Would you come?”

She stared down at her clasped hands. When she asked the Lord to show her what to do, she hadn’t expected such a quick answer. Lifting her head, she met Wash’s anxious gaze. “All right. I’ll go with you.”