Eleven

Philadelphia

Friday, June 25, 1852

My dear John,

Do please forgive me, for this letter will not be as long as the letters you are used to receiving from me. But I have had to rush through what I absolutely must tell you, at the cost of failing to tell you what would most please me to say. However, I am doing my very best to finish writing it in time to send to you on the morning train.

As you can guess, I have news for you! Much news!

During the past days Father has been more than unusually uncommunicative. He will ever be a quiet, contemplative kind of man, but now he has become to me very nearly a man who does not speak. And this has shocked me. For previously, even in his most silent moods, I could extract from him whatever I wanted to know … not all the time, of course, John, but usually. I am not infallible. But I am his daughter, and I know him better than anyone else in the world knows him.

But his silence over the last few days has been so complete, and his face has been so taut with strain, so tortured, so fraught with hopelessness, that I have gone almost out of my own mind because of it.

What could I do for him, John? I asked myself this question over and over and over. I even pretended to myself now and again that you were present and that I could go to you with my dilemma.

However, I knew that I had only myself to fall back on. And I knew that 1 alone would be able to plumb the depths of this thing that was inflicting itself upon him, this thing that had brought on such profound changes in him. And I knew that he would be no help to me.

And so yesterday evening, after the railway offices were closed and everyone was gone from them, I surreptitiously entered the building. I waited until the last lights were out and all the doors were locked. I have my own keys, of course, though everyone there, my father included, is unaware that I possess them. I searched through my father’s desk looking for evidence.

And I found it, John! I found what has caused his anxiety.

There are serious discrepancies in the account books of the railroad! If the books are to be believed, the railroad ought to have several hundred thousand dollars cash on hand that our bankers claim we do not have.

In my father’s office safe, I found several secret and confidential communications between my father and senior officials of our banks.

After I read these, I came to the conclusion that my father must have come to: The railroad’s books have been altered!.

Those hundreds of thousands of dollars that we should have are now in some unknown person’s hands.

Who? Why?

There’s no answer to that, John.

But there is a consequence. A fearsome consequence: Without that money, the railroad is in desperate trouble!!

And then, on top of all this, I hear from you about the many incidents of unexplained damage to railroad property and equipment. And I hear also of your own fears about impending labor trouble. I know these things weigh as heavily on my father’s mind as the money troubles do!

What does all this mean, John? Why are all these things happening at exactly the same time!

It’s as though a malign force has been set against us.

I know that you cannot come to Philadelphia now to help us. You have your own crises to attend to. But I felt that you should know what I do. Perhaps it will help you in some way.

Do write to me, John, as soon as you receive this.

Fondly,
Kitty

John Carlysle answered Kitty immediately.

Gallitzin

Saturday morning, June 26,1852

My dear Kitty,

I anticipate receiving every word from you with such pleasure and delight that you can imagine my consternation when I read yesterday’s letter. Your news is truly every bit as disturbing as my recent news must have been to you.

And yet, having said that—and even allowing for both the letter’s urgency and your own concern—it was still a delight for me to see your words on the table in front of me. Simply because they were your words, set in ink on the paper by your hand. Seeing them was the next best thing to hearing your actual, living voice.

But enough of this. I could go on like this for many pages.

And we still must consider together our disturbing information.

As for your news, I am truly not astonished to hear it, even though it is unexpected, and I never predicted it. But you have noticed, just as I have, that there has been an extraordinary cluster of misfortunes which can’t be explained unless we suppose them to have a single instigator.

As for your father, Kitty, I can well understand how his recent behavior could upset you. And it’s not my place to apologize or excuse what he has done. But I might be able to help you to understand it.

As you see him, your father is ignoring and rejecting you. As I see him, your father may simply be unable to prevent himself from betraying those passions to you that he must now show in his dealings with others. It’s because he is certain of your love and regard for him, and equally certain of your own strength of character and capacity for endurance, that he shows himself to you in this unaccustomed way.

In other words, Kitty, I’m convinced that your father believes in you, believes that you’ll stand by him now, even if his own behavior seems questionable, or even impossible.

And, if this is any consolation to you, your father’s communications with me have remained what they have always been: models of clarity and incisiveness.

For example, we are almost certain to have serious labor trouble here very soon. It could even come within the next few days. I have, of course, sent your father a number of memoranda detailing the issues and describing the events. I’ve told him as clearly as I could what is at stake here.

He has responded with calm and alacrity. He has made it clear that he trusts my judgment. But he has made it equally clear that he is the one who is ultimately responsible, that he is the man in charge.

I could not have hoped for better understanding or for direction that could be firmer or clearer.

In the matter of the labor trouble itself: Mister Tom Collins, the man whom you so admired when you brought my son and the O’Rahillys to Gallitzin, is on the point of dismissing from his employ a large number of the best of the workingmen. He is letting go not the men who impede the work. Rather, he is in pursuit of the ones who have become the head and the heart of the laborers, the ones who give inspiration and direction to the other men. He’s labeling these the mischief makers, and he blames them for the delays that have beset us recently.

One of the most prominent among those to be dismissed is Teresa O’Rahilly’s brother Egan.

This large-scale dismissal, mind you, comes on top of Collins’s recent imposition of ever more stringent and onerous work rules—impossibly arduous regulations that have only brought the men to greater resistance and restlessness.

I have decided to turn to drastic, perhaps even shocking, tactics. I’ve decided that if I can’t put the fire out, then I will add oil to it.

To be specific:

If all goes according to my hopes, I plan to first knock Mr. Collins off balance, then I hope to drive him into a state of panic. Once he’s panicked, I believe he will lead us to the people who are giving him his orders.

In order to effect this plan, I must appear to place myself in his power. I must seem to strip away my objections and go along with him, even in his dismissal of the fifty odd men. He will then believe that the railroad supports him and that I am weak and easy to manipulate.

And so, later this morning, I will talk to him. I’ll tell him that I’ve repented my past follies. This is a man who comprehends repentance, as long as it is in other people! I’ll explain that I’ve consulted with my superiors by telegraph and that they have made me see the light.

Meanwhile, Collins has posted notice. He is calling an assembly on Sunday afternoon of all the men who work for him. In that meeting, he is going to publicly dismiss O’Rahilly and the others. What the workers do after that is anybody’s guess, though it’s likely that most of them will go out on strike.

Collins, however, publicly maintains that they will not do that. He claims that construction work will in fact return to normal. But I think there could be violence. In fact, Kitty, I’m counting on violence—or at least the near approach of violence—to push Collins into the panic I need him to fall into.

We’ll see what happens then…

Naturally, I have kept your father informed about the situation that I’m facing. But I have purposefully kept him in the dark about my own plans of dealing with it. I’ve decided that if things go wrong, I don’t want him to be blamed for my acts. If there is violence, he should not be responsible.

Indeed, if violence does occur, I don’t know what I will do. But, paradoxically, the violence may be the only way to bring us to the authors of the evil that besets us.

These are bad times, Kitty. Very bad times.

And yet I remain, warmly,

Yours,
John Carlysle

Four rocking chairs had been placed on the porch of the administration building at Gallitzin for the use of the engineers and superintendents. John Carlysle was sitting in one of these when Tom Collins and Tom Henneberry came to see him. The noon whistle had just finished its long and mournful blast when Collins mounted the steps that led to the porch. He was, as ever, precisely punctual. It was one of the virtues he’d learned in the seminary, one of the few he had not shaken off.

As he climbed the step, he removed his hat. He gave John a wary smile.

John rose for him. And after as polite a greeting as he could manage, he motioned him to the rocking chair adjoining the one he was using. Henneberry took the one beyond Collins’s.

Since it was the noon hour and a Saturday, any men not working on a shift were out and about. Those who passed by were curious to see Collins and Carlysle together, for it was well known that they did not like one another.

“Mr. Carlysle,” Collins said carefully, once he was seated in his chair, “you asked to see me. What’s on your mind, then?”

John looked at him earnestly. He hoped his expression was full of innocence and naïveté.

“I’m a direct and open man,” he said. “I’m an engineering man and not a political man. When something breaks, I fix it. When I can’t fix it, I replace it.” He spoke these words in a tone of sad resignation.

“Yes?” Collins said, still wary and careful.

“I treat machinery and equipment this way. But I treat myself the same way as well. When there’s something wrong in me, I fix it. And if that doesn’t work, 1 replace it. Efficiently. Without sadness. Without regret. It’s easier than holding to a faulty mechanism—or a faulty policy. Does that make sense to you, Collins?”

“I’ve never thought otherwise of you, Mr. Carlysle,” Collins replied with hooded eyes.

“I have to make my position on such things very clear to you in advance,” John continued, still sounding innocent and earnest, “because I am about to tell you something that will surprise you.”

“Not much surprises me,” Collins said.

“I’m sure,” John said.

Collins waited expectantly, and John very discreetly sucked in his lower lip and then chewed nervously on it. When he was sure that Collins had noticed that, he moved on. “After our last meeting, I gave considerable thought— most considerable thought—to the substance of our discussion. I tried to do my thinking dispassionately. I tried, in other words, to ignore the anger that had so unfortunately colored the conversation.”

Collins nodded. “Good. Very good.” And then he smiled. He was beginning to taste the wind that was blowing in his direction the way a farmer tastes the coming of rain.

“I also consulted by telegraph with my superiors in Philadelphia. And I now know their thoughts on the matter as well.”

“Their thoughts on what matter?” Collins asked softly.

“On the matter of…” John paused, as though embarrassed to articulate this thought. “On the matter,” he repeated, “of the proper approach to the handling of your contract workers.”

“And what,” Collins asked, with a scarcely perceptible catch in his voice, “might that proper approach be?”

“They think you have been right all along, Mr. Collins.” John then let out a long breath. “And I have come to think that, too.”

“You mean about the work rules?” He turned to face him. “And the dismissals?”

“Yes, all of that,” John said slowly.

“Hmmm,” Collins said. And then he straightened up in his chair. He had the look then of an inquisitor who has made a heretic recant without having had to use the rack or the stake. “Well then,” he said, “I’m pleased. And I won’t say I’m not.”

“I was sure you would be,” John said.

Then Collins looked a little troubled, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. “So the railroad’s totally behind me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re with me, too?”

“All the way.”

“Does that mean you’ll be by my side tomorrow, when I speak to the men?”

“Would you like me there?”

Collins beamed. “I’d be much honored by your presence.”

“Then I’ll be there.” As he said that, John rose and indicated to Collins and Henneberry that the meeting was over.

“So I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” John said, once the other two men were standing.

Collins smiled. “And I’ll be pleased to see you,” he said, extending his hand. “So we’ll shake now … in friendship?”

John reached over and shook the man’s hand. “Good-bye, Mr. Collins,” he said. “Good-bye, Henneberry.”

The two men then descended the stairs. As soon as they were out of John’s earshot, they broke into animated conversation. He didn’t strain to listen. He knew what they were talking about.

Next, he thought, I’ve got to talk to Egan O’Rahilly, Francis Stockton, and my son. And that conversation is going to be even more difficult than this one has been.

Later that same Saturday afternoon, John Carlysle went looking for Teresa O’Rahilly. Saturday afternoon was Teresa’s usual time off from her duties with the children, and that is when she took care of her laundry, sewing, and other personal necessities. Or else she spent the time with Deirdre O’Rahilly or some of the other women who were living in the camp.

John had a difficult time locating Teresa, for she was neither doing her errands nor visiting with friends. Neither did anyone else know where to find Teresa.

As he walked through the little village that had grown up around the camp, many of the men avoided him, gave him a wide berth, and muttered curses when he passed. John Carlysle and Tom Collins had become closely identified in their minds, not only because both men were bosses, but also because it was by now known that John had reversed himself and was now backing Collins. It hadn’t taken long for that word to get around. That actually pleased John, for it meant that Collins and Henneberry had worked fast.

The men were turning ever more ugly, irritable, and restless.

John realized that it would not take much to push them to rebel. But they would not take that step without someone to ignite them. And that was the reason John wanted to see Teresa. His inability to find her was now frustrating him.

At last, having exhausted all other possibilities, John tried the local groggery, which was not a place that Teresa frequented, but, to his astonishment, that is where he found her.

She was sitting at a rough-hewn table that was wedged in a comer. To her right was John’s son Graham; and to her left, facing Graham, was Francis Stockton. The two young men were playing a game of cards that John could not recognize. The two played quickly and effortlessly, flicking discarded cards onto the table smoothly and easily.

Francis was elegant and erect, even when relaxed in his chair, while Graham was handsome and effervescent. His earlier troubles had not made him lose his desire for games of skill and chance.

Graham, whose chair was facing the door, was the first to see his father enter the groggery. When he recognized who it was, his face twisted into a parody of revulsion.

“You’ve seen a ghost?” Stockton asked with half a smile. Then he twisted around to see who had caused Graham’s reaction. The smile grew wider when he recognized John. “Worse than a ghost,” he said, “a father.”

“Worse than a father,” Graham said. “The most hated man in Gallitzin… after Tom Collins.”

In fact, Graham was glad to see his father. He welcomed the chance to find out the truth behind all the rumors he had heard in the camp.

As John approached the table where the three were sitting, the other men standing nearby moved out of his way with hostile reluctance. Their anger was palpable; they saw him as one of those responsible for their recent distress.

John affected to ignore them, but to anyone who knew him, his seeming indifference only masked his frustration and anger. He liked being here no more than the men in the room liked having him.

“Afternoon, Teresa,” John said, greeting the woman first. “Francis. Graham.” His voice was cold and brusque. And there was an unusually abrupt snap to his movements.

Teresa rose to her feet, but the two men remained seated, intent on their cards. When he finished his play, however, Stockton glanced up from his hand and gave John a brief but polite nod.

Graham, however, finally taking notice of his father, pretended not to know him. “I’m not acquainted with that man. Who is he?” he asked Francis.

“That man behind you?” Francis asked. “The one who looks like your father?”

“Yes. That one. I don’t know him. And I don’t want to know him—not after hearing all the rumors about him.” At first, Graham glanced sideways, teasingly and slyly, at his father. But as he continued, his expression changed to worry and concern.

“I’m a good man not to know,” John said, seriously.

“I’ve heard that you and Tom Collins have made a treaty,” Graham said.

John didn’t answer him for a long time. He couldn’t. He didn’t know what to risk saying in this place.

Finally he said, “Whatever you’ve heard isn’t true.”

“That’s more than a little provocative,” Francis said. “I’d be kind of interested in hearing what is true.”

“I can’t tell you that yet, Francis. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Graham asked.

“I can’t tell you that, either,” John said.

“Even though it might help us understand why the men out there,” he indicated with a nod to the others in the groggery, “want to cut you into small pieces?”

“Even though they want to kill me,” John said. “Like I said, I’m not a good man to know right now. In fact, now that I think of it, it’s better for you not to be seen with me.”

Francis let out a huge gust of laughter when he heard that.

“What’s that about?” John said, perplexed.

“I didn’t realize it earlier,” Francis said, “but you have now become a member of my club. Welcome to the cheerful fellowship of men who are not good to know.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, boy,” John said, suppressing a smile. “You haven’t yet been sent into exile. And I for one am delighted to know you. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Without me you might be much better off,” Francis said wryly, suddenly reminded of Kitty Lancaster.

“How so?”

“There are two ways to take your statement—logically,” Francis said. His voice was playful, but there was a darker edge to it, too. “You say you don’t know where you’d be without me. This means that without me you’d be worse off than you are. But it could also mean that without me you’d be better off and happier.”

“Francis, Francis,” John said, suppressing another smile, “don’t be such a philosopher. I’m not clever or subtle enough to keep up with you. I’m just a simple engineer. And when I tell you I’m glad to be with you, believe me, that’s what I mean.”

“If you say so, sir,” Francis said, his voice dripping disbelief. “If you say you are simple, then I’ll go along with your wishes.”

Francis was, in fact, not actually sure what to make of John Carlysle. Though he was certain that John was by no means simple, he could not see beyond his British reserve. Yet, Francis would never forget that John had trusted his judgment during the tunnel crisis. And afterward, John was never less than fair in his dealings. For all this, Francis admired John. Therefore he was willing to wait and see what was actually going on between John and Tom Collins before judging John.

As always, there was the unspoken connection between Francis and John—Kitty Lancaster. Francis did not know what Kitty’s feelings for John were. He still wanted her very much. But he didn’t have any illusions or false hopes on the subject because of the break that had occurred between them before John appeared in Kitty’s life. That break had been preceded by painful, angry scenes that their powerful attraction for one another could not overcome. Kitty’s abrupt departure from Gallitzin in April proved that. Francis knew that she would have remained longer if she felt differently.

And so, Kitty’s image dominated both men’s minds whenever they met. Yet neither ever mentioned her name in the other’s presence.

Teresa had remained standing during the initial conversation between John and the two other men. When she made a move to sit down, John motioned for her not to. “Teresa,” he said, “I’d like a few words with you. Could you spare me some time?”

She looked at Graham. He was shuffling the cards.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“Will you excuse us?” he asked Graham and Francis.

“Don’t go away with that man,” Graham teased. “It’s dangerous to know him.”

John gratefully realized that Graham still trusted him.

“In that, his son takes after him,” she said.

“I should only hope,” Graham said, turning back to his cards.

“Teresa,” John said, holding his hand out toward the door, “would you lead the way, please?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said and proceeded across the room with John behind her.

Outside, John took the lead, directing her a short way outside the village to a place where they would not be overheard.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Carlysle?” she asked once they were alone.

“I’d like you to help me out, Teresa,” he said. “It’s quite important.” He paused to let that sink in. “Would you be willing to take on a special job for me?”

“Tell me about it.”

“There’s actually little that you have to do, but only you can do it for reasons that you’ll see quickly.”

“Go on.”

“You know why Tom Collins has called this gathering tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes,” she said, “I know about that.”

“And you know what’s likely to happen then to your brother?”

“Yes.” As she spoke the word, her face grew tense, her features stony.

“Do you believe I support Collins in any way?” he asked when he saw this reaction.

“That’s the way people are talking, Mr. Carlysle. They’re saying you met with Collins and are taking his side.”

“I did do that, and Collins does believe I’ve come over to him. But I’ve done that deliberately; I have good reasons for it. But I’ve done those things only for the sake of appearances.”

“What do you mean?” she asked with more than a little bit of suspicion in her voice. She had never imagined that John Carlysle was a man who was in any way capable of intrigue.

“I’ll try to explain as much as I can.”

“All right.”

“First, I want you to be my messenger. I want you to go to your brother and to my son Graham and to Francis Stockton with a message from me.”

“You were just now with Francis and Graham. Why didn’t you tell them yourself?”

“They must not be told that the message is from me.”

“A message? From you and not from you?”

“Yes. I want you to set up a meeting with them for later today… sometime this evening would be best. After dark. And I want it outside of the camp in some out-of-the-way spot.”

“Would the clearing in the woods do? The place where I take the children?”

“Perfect.”

“Is that the message you want me to give to them? All of it?”

“Yes. Simply tell them that it is vital for them to come together this evening. Tell them they are not to speak of this meeting to anyone. And don’t tell them I’m to be there.”

“Why can’t I tell them that?”

“I can’t be seen meeting with them, and they can’t be seen meeting with me.”

“Why?”

“There are a number of things I can’t tell you, Teresa. That’s one of them.”

“I think you must,” she said, thoughtfully, doubtfully. “I don’t think you will be well served by keeping your intentions mysterious, Mr. Carlysle. I don’t know why you’ve come to me, but it’s clear that you need me. And that means you need to trust me with your thoughts.”

John pondered a minute. He wanted very much to be honest with her. But he also believed it would be better for her if she did not know his plans.

In truth, the ways of espionage and intrigue left him very uncomfortable.

“You’re absolutely correct,” he agreed, after a time.

“Then can you explain yourself?”

“It would be better—for you—if I didn’t.”

“I’d like to judge that.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Well then…” she said.

“I can tell you a part of it,” he said at last, after a considerable pause for thought. “It must be seen that I approve of Tom Collins’s acts tomorrow at the assembly and that I now have come to support his overall treatment of the men. It will also appear that through me he has the backing of the railroad.”

“You what?” she snapped, suddenly swelling up with outrage—but also pricked with simple curiosity. “You can’t be serious coming to me for help to do that

“That’s why it must never be known that I am meeting with Egan, Stockton, and my son.”

“Thai’s why?”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “The word is ‘appeared.’ I must seem, at least, to assent to Collins’s acts.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She shook her head. “You are a terribly exasperating man, and this is a terribly exasperating discussion!”

He looked at her again. “You’ll have to trust my judgment, Teresa. You’ll have to believe that I know what I’m doing, even when I seem to be doing the exact opposite of what you and your brother would like me to do.”

“Go on,” she said, now more curious than outraged.

At that moment he decided to risk telling her all that was troubling him.

“Think about Collins a moment, not from your brother’s side but from mine. Consider the man’s motives.”

“That’s easy. He’s a petty tyrant.”

“That’s what he appears to be,” John agreed. “He seems to be one of those bosses who tries to squeeze more and more work out of his men by constantly punishing them. But consider that from other angles. First of all, he is paid to get a job done. But, the job is not getting done. Not only is he harassing the men, but he is about to let go many of the best of them, including your brother. In so doing he will be making it publicly clear that he is determined to be unreasonable and unfair and to make the workers’ existence utterly miserable, while at the same time giving the appearance to the directors of the railroad that he is merely being hard and strict. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know,” she said, drawing in her breath slowly, for she was beginning to see the direction of his argument.

“Now, let me move away from Tom Collins for a moment.”

Teresa’s brow furrowed deeply, and she took in another very long, very deep draught of air.

“Let us suppose that someone wants to put an end to the Pennsylvania Railroad. But to put an end to it in such a way that its death does not appear to be sabotage. How would a person do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here is one very good way to do that,” he said. He described the growing number of incidents of destruction of property and equipment, incidents that did not appear to be sabotage. Then he described the railroad’s growing financial difficulties and his own suspicion that this was due to theft and fraud. Then he added Tom Collins’s recent actions to that formula.

“I see what you’re getting at now,” she said when he had finished with that thought.

“And so I’m beginning to think that it’s not just Tom Collins that I’ve got to deal with and stop. It’s whoever is behind the entire plot to destroy the railroad.”

“Yes,” she said, “I see. But how do you get to that person?”

“Through Collins.”

“Through Collins?”

“If I play my cards right, Collins will lead me to his master. But only if I play my cards right. And that means that he must come to think that I am inconsequential. And that means he must believe that I’ve come over to his camp.

“He also must believe, of course, that he has the backing of the railroad. I plan for him to think he has attained both of those goals.

“So if I seem to go along with Collins, then he thinks I’m weak, and he can dismiss me from his mind… and from his fears. Once that happens, I can begin to manipulate him.”

“How?”

John didn’t explain that exactly.

“After that I want to press him further. And for that I’ll need some good men to back me up. That’s why I want your brother, my son, and Francis Stockton. Those three are forces of nature, Teresa… They are human whirlwinds. But I’m an engineer, girl, and a good one. I intend to harness their natural force and direct it against those who are trying to hurt the railroad.”

“I think you’re going mad,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Perhaps,” he said with a nervous laugh of his own.

“But I think there might be some reason in your madness,” she said soberly. And then she turned away from him to consider what he had said to her. She remained that way for quite a long time.

John, losing his patience, stretched a hand out and lightly touched her shoulder. “Are you still with me?” he asked gently.

“All right,” she said, still facing him. “I’m with you.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it for me?” John asked anxiously.

“Yes, Mr. Carlysle, I will do what you ask.” She then turned and faced him once more, giving him a surprisingly warm, radiant smile. “I’ve decided that I like you, Mr. John Carlysle… You’re maybe a bit too stiff, somber, and earnest, but you’re deep, too. And you’ve got in you more imagination than most railroad men have.” And then she let her eyes slide shyly away from him.

John Carlysle did not hurry up the path to Teresa O’ Rahilly’s glade. He walked slowly in part because he was not looking forward to his encounter with the three young men. But there was another, deeper reason too why he lingered: For the first time in what seemed like weeks, John was able to be alone with himself without having to scheme or plan or organize.

He took advantage of the solitude and the balmy June evening and strolled leisurely, enchanted by the soft wind and shifting leaves, by the moist, delicious, earthy scents, and the delirious summer songs of insects and birds.

As the dusk faded and died, the woods began to shimmer with burnished silver light from a half moon. Under the grand and ancient trees, the moonlight did not so much shine as fall through the air like mist. John sensed Julia’s presence about him, and he felt profoundly calm. He could almost imagine her walking beside him, and in his mind he could see her face as she had looked during her pregnancy with Graham. And then, suddenly, Julia’s image was replaced with Kitty’s, and strangely enough her expression was the same as Julia’s had been. John was still daydreaming when he walked into the glade.

As far as he could tell, no one was there. Or at least no one was visible. Yet he sensed the presence of others nearby.

A cheery voice sounded from out of the deep shadows across the way.

“Well, well, well, it’s Mr. Carlysle … It’s about time you got here.” The voice belonged to Francis Stockton.

John wondered how Stockton knew to expect him.

“We’re this way, Mr. Carlysle,” called Egan from off to his right.

He stood still for a moment in the moonlight at the center of the clearing to collect himself. Then he heard a short, barking laugh, which belonged to his son Graham.

“We’re playing hide and seek,” he called out. “And you are it.”

And then he was more baffled then ever, for, emerging gracefully out of the shadows like a ghostly dancer, came a woman dressed in white. “This is a magic place, isn’t it, Mr. Carlysle?” Teresa said with a voice like bells.

“Magic…?”

She nodded. “If you could see your face,” she said, “you would believe in its magic.”

“What the hell are you doing here, girl?” he said abruptly as soon as he realized who she was. “I didn’t tell you to come. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I am not your sweet and pliant messenger girl, Mr. Car-lysle. I belong here as much as the other three. I’m as much a part of your conspiracy as they are. And besides, there are uses for a woman like me, uses that no man can be put to.”

He was about to respond but Teresa continued. “1 took it upon myself to tell Egan, Graham, and Francis what you told me this afternoon… even after you told me not to. I did it for a very simple reason. If they didn’t know those things, there could have been one tremendous row when you arrived and they saw who it was that had brought them here. You are not well thought of tonight, Mr. Carlysle, by most of the men in these parts. So I’ve saved all five of us time … and none of us has wasted ourselves in useless passion either.”

“You told them everything I told you?” he asked, more than a little daunted by this young woman.

“Yes,” she said. “You didn’t hope to make them your knights without telling them what you told me, did you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“And now, because of that, the three of them are ready to put on armor and take up their swords and follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“I should think that won’t be necessary,” he said, admiring her.

“Was I right to do that then?”

“I should take you over my knee, girl, and spank you until your arse is nothing but black bruises… But, yes, you were right. And thank you.”

“I’d planned a speech to you,” John said after the three men gathered around. “But Teresa tells me I don’t need to do that.”

“It’s a good thing that she did, too,” Egan said. “If she hadn’t, I think I might have killed you.”

He was only half joking, and John was well aware of that.

“So it appears that I’ve saved us both,” John said with the slightest, grimmest of smiles.

“That it does,” Egan said, with a grin that was—if possible—even slighter and more grim.

John then turned his attention to the other two men. Graham had stationed himself next to Teresa. And when John examined them closer, he noticed that her hand was resting in his. This did not at all surprise John Carlysle.

As always, Francis had an alert, inquisitive, and faintly supercilious expression on his face. But there was something else there, too—a kind of envious, knowing look, as though he was aware that John had just been thinking about Kitty Lancaster.

On the positive side, each one of the three looked ready for action. Teresa had done her work well. Now he would find out if they would follow him to the ends of the earth.

He glanced again at Francis Stockton. “You have a question in your face,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I do have a question,” Stockton said. “I’m curious about why you are calling on us to help you.”

“Are you looking for flattery, Francis?” he asked. “If so, I have an easy answer for you: I like the three of you. I trust you. And I need three men I like and trust.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Francis said, “though I’ve never been known to reject flattery.”

“I didn’t actually think it was flattery you were after,” John said while Stockton paused to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

“It’s like this,” Stockton went on. “Tess told us that you suspect Tom Collins has been involved in an intrigue against the railroad. I understand that suspicion very well. The man inspires it. I also understood from Tess why you believe that there’s more to the intrigue than just Tom Collins. That doesn’t surprise me either. But I don’t understand what you intend to do about it… and about him.”

John turned and, with his hands clasped behind his back, faced the moon for a time. Then he turned his attention back to Stockton and the other three.

“My belief,” he said, “is that Tom Collins is nothing but an officer in the secret army that is attacking the railroad. If I’m right, then we have to discover who the general is.”

“How specifically are you going to do that?” Egan asked.

“Specifically, I want to make Tom Collins run… but not just to run: I want him to run to the general. Once I know who that person is, then I’ll begin to be able to put together the puzzle about who is attacking the railroad.”

“And where are we in this?”

“Partly you are simply with me. I need the help of men … and women,” he glanced at Teresa, “that I know and trust. But I have something else in mind, too.

“As I said, Collins must lead us to his master. And this means he must be made to go there. And that means he must be made to panic. His world must be falling in around him. He must see his fortunes falling in an instant from the heights to zero.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to do,” Francis said playfully, with obvious, theatrical bravado.

“You’re right,” Graham said, laughing, catching his spirit. “We should be done by lunch tomorrow. But then,” he went on, stagily crestfallen, “what will we do in the afternoon? Or the evening?”

“These men aren’t knights,” Teresa said with a grin, “but jesters.” And then she made toward Graham an elaborate, courtly dubbing motion, holding a pretend sword. “I dub thee, sir clown,” she said.

John laughed. “Graham, a clown? Maybe the boy has promise after all.”

“He takes after his father,” Graham said, grinning.

“Collins will run to mother because he’ll die laughing if he doesn’t,” Francis said.

“Not exactly,” John said, once again serious. “I’ve got something more painful in mind for him.” And then he turned to Egan. “How are the men now?”

“Bad,” Egan said. “Miserable, restless, ugly, more ready than ever to go out on strike.”

“Good,” John said.

“Good?” the four others said in chorus.

“What would it take to push them to violence?”

“Not much.”

“Could you do it?”

“What?”

“Could you make them strike?”

“Me?” Egan said almost voicelessly. “I never considered anything like that.”

“You’ve never considered the authority and the power you have over them?” John said.

“Never,” he said, sucking in his breath.

“Egan,” Francis said, “if you asked them to lift themselves off the ground into thin air, they’d do it.” Francis was not being playful now. His voice was completely level and steady, as though Egan’s power over the men was as certain as sunshine.

And Graham, with a nod, instantly seconded him in that certainty.

“Tomorrow Collins is going to make his move,” John said. “And when he makes it, he is going to believe he owns the world. Everything will be working in his favor. And the men will go out on strike, which, for him, will be a victory.

“But what if the men don’t just strike? What if they grow violent, violent enough to threaten him, violent enough even to put his life—apparently—in danger?”

“You want me to manage that?” Egan asked with growing skepticism.

“I want a rebellion tomorrow … not a great rebellion with loss of life and destruction of property … controlled rebellion.”

“I doubt that can be done. Even if I could whip them up, I could never control them.”

“He’s right,” Stockton said. “You’d have a mob.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” John said, “not if you follow my directions.”

“And what about the rest of us? What do you have in mind for us?” Graham wondered.

“Listen,” John said.

And so John explained to them what else he had in mind for the following day. And after they heard him, they agreed to do what he asked.