1880
The newspaper headlines screamed of the certainty of Wash’s removal: “Engineer Roebling to Go” and “Roebling: Mayor Proposing to Supersede Him Because He Cannot Perform His Duties.” I tossed the papers in the trash bin when they appeared on my desk. At home, I hid them so Johnny wouldn’t see them.
Benjamin Stone seemed to take a particular delight in presenting me with the latest diatribe. In early January, he brought a shock of cold air in the door along with his usual bluster. His puffy face was beet red, and he wiped his dripping nose with a handkerchief as he dumped three dailies on my desk. “Ahem.”
“Don’t want to hear it, Mr. Stone.” I lifted the papers and pivoted toward the trash. Percolating in my mind was how to use the information Dunn had given me. I had not yet collected enough evidence and didn’t want to tip my hand.
“You’ll hear this, missy. Don’t ignore what might be the last warning.”
I sighed and glanced at the headlines. “Tay Bridge Disaster—Scores Dead.” That got my attention. I scanned the article. A few rumors had been circulating about a bridge collapse in Scotland, but I had no idea the accident was this tragic. My cheeks burned as I read on, Stone’s huffing breath above me.
“Terrible.” I shook my head. “Winds over seventy miles an hour.”
“You think we never experience winds like that here?” he bellowed.
“Of course that can happen anywhere, especially on a seacoast. Winds have been factored in.”
“Ha. Calculated, recalculated, does anyone know anymore what that tower of ineptitude will hold?”
“Ours is a completely different design. Comparing the East River Bridge to the Tay Bridge is like comparing a steamship to a rowboat.” Although my voice was measured, inside, I was plagued with doubt, remembering the brittle wire crumbling in my hand.
* * *
Johnny was about to enter his teen years, and I despaired at the lack of time I had spent with him. Before long, he would be out on his own, his childhood having vanished amid the continual demands of bridge building. Wash hadn’t spent much time with him either, living in Trenton more than with us. So I planned a special treat for our son. The British ship Cutty Sark was scheduled to arrive in New York, and as Johnny had always loved sailing ships, I arranged for us to tour the triple-masted clipper.
A few dozen people gathered to cheer as she plied up the narrows, full sails billowing in the wind. Johnny’s eyes widened as she was secured to the pier, her wooden hull, painted a shiny black with golden scrollwork, gleaming in the sun. We strolled her length of over two hundred feet, her graceful shape built for speed. Johnny laughed and pointed at the figurehead, a bare-breasted woman holding what appeared to be a horse’s tail.
We boarded and were treated to a full tour by the captain. I had expected to see stacks of crates of tea from China. Instead, the hold was filled with jute in various stages of manufacture into rope. Enough for every ship and circus tent in the country. Dank and earthy, the hold smelled like a circus tent as well.
“I saw her under construction,” I told Johnny as we stepped back down the gangplank, then turned for a last look at the beautiful ship. “I wish you could see her hull under the waterline. It’s as gold as my wedding ring.”
“Mama, why did you bring me here?”
“I thought you would enjoy seeing her. You so enjoyed building models with your father.”
His eyes squeezed shut as if it were a painful memory.
“Didn’t you?”
His height was now equal to mine, and he opened his bright-blue eyes and looked at me intently, causing me to blink away.
“I did. Very much.” He gave a goodbye wave to the crew.
“I thought it time to discuss your future studies. I… We… Your father and I don’t wish to push you into the family business.”
“I thought it was something else.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his shoes. “Are you and Pa… I mean…” He looked up, his voice just above a whisper. “I don’t wish you and Pa to remain together for my sake. I’d rather you be happy.”
My heart sank. Why couldn’t we have one joyous day together? “We’ve had difficulties, Johnny, as all families do. Ours happen to be front page news. But we’re as happy as we can be for the moment.” I gently shook his shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. Think about your future.” I waved toward the ship. “You’ve always loved building things, but it doesn’t need to be bridges.”
He brightened. “I do prefer things that move and have power. Trains, ships. Someday, we’ll have machines that fly.”
“That’s my boy.” He allowed me to slip my arm through his as we walked down the pier.
“What about you?” he asked. “What will you do with yourself once the bridge is finished and I am released from your empire?”
“I will laze about, being fed peeled grapes while reading Shakespeare and Tolstoy and Nietzsche and Dickens and Flaubert…”
“And the week after that? What about your women’s causes?”
I sighed. “When the time is right. It’s hard, Johnny. It’s not just social and cultural change that’s needed. There are laws preventing progress on many fronts.”
“Then change the laws.”
“Would that I could. Hmm. Perhaps a letter-writing campaign is in my future.”
“No, I mean to say change them yourself.” His voice cracked as it rose with emotion.
I shook my head. “One would have to be in office, with a good understanding of the law, to do that.”
“Then attend law school.” He laughed and broke away, his youthful energy held at my pace for too long.
“Well, that’s one idea. Or being fed grapes.”
Of course, women weren’t accepted into law school. But I knew men powerful enough to change that.
* * *
I was frequently invited to the monthly board meetings held in the bridge committee boardroom to provide an update both on bridge progress and Wash’s status. An impressive space: large sketches adorned the wood-paneled walls, and scale models and a cross section of cable were displayed. The usual attendees were Benjamin Stone, Kingsley, Martin, and board president Henry Murphy. Stone and I were on unfriendly footing, and I was not fond of Kingsley, whom, like Stone, I found pretentious and condescending.
Former Congressman Hewitt was sometimes present, as he had been appointed by the mayor to ensure the board remained free of corruption and undue profit taking. He had already cleared Kingsley of pocketing thousands of dollars in unexplained expenses. I noted that they frequently sat next to each other and seemed quite chummy.
I rather admired Mr. Murphy. He was an accomplished lawyer and former U.S. representative with neatly cropped gray hair, tinted here and there with its original ginger. His tailored suits complemented his spare frame. He was tough but fair, and I was ever grateful that he chaired the committee.
“I move to replace the chief engineer,” said Kingsley with the same nonchalance as if remarking on the weather.
“On what grounds?” Murphy asked in his clipped, official manner.
“As is quite well known and has been the case for some time, Mr. Roebling is physically and mentally incapacitated by a nervous affliction. That the condition was brought on by his work on the bridge is unfortunate, but we must consider the consequences of allowing him to continue.”
“I second the motion,” Stone piped in.
Kingsley nodded.
Stone tapped his pen on the table. “Mr. Roebling is an invalid who observes the building of the bridge through a telescope. We cannot know how much his mental capacity is impaired, as he refuses to appear before us.”
“We must place the safety of the people first!” Kingsley hammered the table with his meaty fist.
“We are prepared to give Mr. Roebling appropriate compensation.” Stone raised his cool gaze to meet mine.
“In return for his resignation?” I shot back.
“Not entirely. He could remain on as consulting engineer. Then there’s the matter of your role, Mrs. Roebling. You’ve presented specious qualifications. Furthermore, should we decide to delve deeper into your activities, I believe we’d find them highly illegal for a woman.”
The committee murmured; some coughed to cover chuckles.
Stone rapped his pen. “Mrs. Roebling’s work has never been approved by this committee and must face further scrutiny.”
“While you award more contracts to your business partners?” I said.
The men stirred uneasily in their seats.
Hewitt cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I believe Mr. Stone is leading us down a rabbit hole. The legality of women’s work is not an argument appropriate for our agenda.”
I glanced toward the aging iron baron and politician, but he studied his fingertips. I had thought him to be aligned with Stone. Wash had no use for Hewitt, going back to the curious meeting with his father in Ringwood. “Hewitt cannot be trusted,” Wash had written to Murphy. “He is ambitious beyond all measure and wields his power by extracting a hefty fee from those his power can assist.” He was referring to the Brooklyn firm that won the wire award—Stone’s business partner, Haigh.
“No good will come of challenging him. That is not our affair,” Wash had told me.
But I could no longer allow the practice of awarding contracts and receiving bribes to go unchallenged. In my lap beneath the table, I twisted the piece of wire I had collected from the anchor building the day Supple was killed.
“If there is blame to be had, perhaps you should look no further than this room.” I threw my evidence onto the long, polished table, let it skitter across, about as welcome as a dead fish. “The entire project was put at risk so that a few could extract unseemly profits.” After making sure they were all watching, I picked up the wire and pinched it between my fingers, bending until it snapped—much too easily.
“How dare you make such accusations!” Stone bellowed.
“Would you care to explain, Mr. Stone, how a company in which you have considerable financial interest won the steel contract? Perhaps you can enlighten the committee on how inferior wire was switched for the wire we ordered?”
“You tell me, Mrs. Roebling. The wire that failed at the anchorage building was Roebling wire.”
A rumble spread through the room.
“That is so. But that defect was found to have been caused by a faulty pulley, which sheared the wire. The important thing is that it led to the discovery of this wire, which has been mixed with the Roebling wire.” I held up the piece of cable wire I had collected.
Wash was right. This was a serious accusation to level at anyone, and the meeting disintegrated into discordant shouting until Murphy banged his gavel to restore order.
Stone’s threats, demands, and unceasing doubt over the past years boiled inside me. I used the ensuing silence to continue my attack. “Explain to us why your profits are more important than the safety of the millions of people who will pass over this bridge.”
“I demand this woman be removed from the meeting immediately!” Stone thundered.
“I would remind the board that this meeting concerns the role of Mr. Roebling,” Murphy said.
“Mr. Roebling’s position is that if you have lost faith in him, he will step down entirely,” I said.
“As he wishes.” Stone chortled, followed by the laughter of his cohorts.
Murphy banged his gavel. “Mr. Stone, you are out of order. The board will render its decision shortly on the chief engineer. As his wife is but an advisor and messenger, I see no reason to examine her qualifications, and Mr. Hewitt’s comments are valid.” He wrote a note and passed it to the recorder. “A full investigation on the wire contracts will begin immediately. All in favor?”
All but Stone, who crossed his arms over his ample chest and glared at me, raised their hands.