Prue sometimes reflected on how, during the period the nation’s capital had resided in New York City, the most important American business had been conducted in a modest stone building, all but surrounded by pigsties. She herself had seen the Stars and Stripes flying overhead, and had heard rumors of General Washington pacing the balcony (just as she’d heard rumors of him keeping a lookout once on Clover Hill—all unsubstantiated claims, as far as she knew), but beyond that, she’d always thought the seat of government less impressive than her father’s manufactory.
When the state capital had moved to Albany just the year before Prue and Ben proposed their bridge, the plan had been to endow the government with a ceremonial home that would give the lie to the notion the city was New York’s little sister. Prue had been looking forward to this grandeur; but found, to her dismay, that Governor Jay and the two branches of the legislature were still squabbling over the cost and had done nothing to effect the transformation. (She was disappointed both because she thought that, arriving on an errand of such importance, she should have someplace impressive at which to arrive, and because it boded ill for their willingness to finance something as costly as a bridge.) The assembly and the senate now sat in two large halls in a building still called the Stadt Haus. It was a large wooden structure, not especially impressive though built on an unusual octagonal plan, and surmounted by a bell and weathercock, as if that alone should inform visitors they had arrived at a place of moment. As Mr. Willemsen’s carriage pulled up to the front steps, Prue’s pulse beat so hard in her throat, she worried she resembled a bullfrog. A huge oxcart had already arrived bearing the model, and its driver was smoking on the steps.
“I shall inform my colleagues of your arrival,” Willemsen said, as the bewigged Negro porter helped him down. “It shouldn’t take a minute.”
After seeing Willemsen into the building, the porter sauntered back down to wait beside the carriage. He pointed with his nose toward the elevation. “Quite a thing you’ve got there,” he said.
Prue was uncertain what the correct response might be. Ben said, “Thank you.”
Pearl got down from the carriage and walked forward to admire the horses. Willemsen returned shortly with a score of porters to bear the model and elevation inside. They all flocked to the drawing, as no one wanted to have to carry the bridge on its platform base. Ben took the roll of smaller drawings, then gave Prue his arm and escorted her up the stairs.
The door opened into a small rotunda, such as Prue had seen in etchings of the ancient world, though made of simple wood. The inlaid floor was smooth beneath her thin-soled shoes, and around the gallery, high as a roof, loomed statues of portly men in old Dutch ruffs and tall boots. Prue imagined these must have been left over from the building’s former use. There were two sets of oaken double doors, one to Prue’s right and one to her left, and behind both sets the rumble of voices rose and fell. The empty-handed porter stopped before the left-hand set of doors, and Prue squeezed Ben’s arm and let him go. Two of the other porters had the scroll up on their shoulders as if returning from the hunt. The men bearing the heavy model had already placed it on the floor. They would remain out in the foyer with these objects until called for, as both Ben and Prue imagined they would be unable to speak a word once the representations of the bridge had been seen. Prue nodded to the man at the door, and he lifted the iron latch to usher them in. “Benjamin Horsfield, King’s County’s surveyor,” he announced, “and Prudence and Pearl Winship, distillers, of Brookland.”
The gentlemen of the assembly rose and turned toward them as one, their fussy wigs making them resemble grandfathers, though many, Prue saw, had the high color of youth or overindulgence. There were at least a hundred of them. She did not, at first, recognize Willemsen with his bald pate covered, but he nodded to her as they stepped forward. Many of the gentlemen were regarding Prue and Pearl with some interest—as, Prue supposed, “distillers” did not call two young women to mind. The speaker of the assembly, Hendrik Stryker, looked Dutch as the statuary, and stood at a table facing the representatives’ desks. Porters were buzzing all over the room like gadflies.
“Mr. Horsfield, Miss Winship,” Stryker said. He was a jowly man, but the hand he extended in greeting was long-boned as a lady’s. Prue’s knees felt gelatinous, but supported her through a curtsy. Pearl remained a step behind her. “When your father applied for a license to distill—which, you may be surprised to hear, was only about fifteen years ago—I was the man to issue it. And glad, indeed; I have long been fond of your product. You know the Joralemons had tried just such a venture on your property before he arrived?”
“Yes, sir. It’s how we acquired our windmill.”
He nodded. “When your father opened that distillery back in ‘67, everyone said he’d fail within the year—and I believe he came close on a few occasions. But he persevered, and built an enterprise I count an honor to this state.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“When he passed on, I did not know how you’d fare.” His glance also indicated Pearl.
“That is Pearl, sir, unrelated to the distillery. Temperance is at Brookland, managing the works.”
“Ah, yes, Pearl,” he said, and winced at her, in what he must have intended as a smile. It was not the first time Pearl had encountered such treatment, and Prue heard her skirt fold as she curtsied. “You’ve defied everyone’s expectations, Miss Winship. The business appears stronger than at your father’s passing, and, if I may say so without disrespect to the departed, the quality of your product has even improved.”
“Hear,” someone said. Another hushed him.
Ben nudged her arm, and though she was uncertain why he’d done so, she said, “We have brought a cask of the wares, sir, for you gentlemen to enjoy; but we did not bring it with us this morning, lest our most honest assemblymen misconstrue a friendly gift as an attempt at bribery.”
All around, the legislators laughed, and Stryker bestowed on her an indulgent smile. “Very good, Miss Winship. We look forward to receiving it later. If your father has the good fortune to be watching from Heaven—as I pray he does—I am certain he is most pleased with your work.”
Prue said, “Thank you.” She did not know why anyone had to bring up her poor, cursed father’s whereabouts.
“It was with true curiosity Governor Jay and I greeted the proposal Mr. Horsfield has lately submitted; and the governor has charged this body to determine its worthiness. I confess I relish the opportunity to see the plans you have brought today. Do you wish to address the assembly, Mr. Horsfield?”
“Thank you, I do,” Ben said.
“Gentlemen?”
They sat down once more. Before Stryker’s table was a half-moon of open space, and handing off the small roll of drawings to another porter, Ben strode forward to stand slightly to Stryker’s side and before him. Pearl and Prue remained where they were, in the middle of the aisle; and Prue hoped the nerves that had beset her before her own neighbors would not trouble Ben here.
Ben cleared his throat and began. “Mr. Stryker, Mr. Willemsen, gentlemen of the assembly, I believe you all know the reason for my visit to you today. I have a plan to bridge the East River, which flows between the deepwater ports of Brookland and New York and is one of the busiest waterways in the nation. This bridge will increase commerce to and between the two ports without disrupting traffic upon the water, as it will arch over the straits in a single span. Land values on both sides of the river will rise; shipping in both ports will increase; and the state of New York will gain both in revenue and in prestige. The structure itself will employ the most modern methods of engineering. I humbly believe both bridge architects and sightseers will come from far and wide to study it.
“The bridge I have designed is founded upon the principle of the lever, by which means the very balconies above us are kept from crashing to the floor.” Some turned to glance at them, perhaps never before having considered how balconies were tethered. “This principle states that the end of a beam that appears to hang free—id est, the edge of the balcony—is not, in truth, unsupported. It may well hold some good amount of weight, so long as it is sufficiently strong to refer that weight back along its length to a perpendicular member—in this case, the wall of this building—that may in its turn carry it down into the ground. No structure of appreciable size has ever before been founded upon this principle; yet all natural philosophy shows clearly it can be done. I have experimented extensively on the properties of timber, stone, and iron, and have brought with me today a model of this bridge, one two-hundred-fiftieth the size of the proposed structure. By means of this facsimile, you may both appreciate the appearance of the bridge and begin to understand the magnitude of its eventual strength. I have also brought with me a large and detailed drawing of the bridge’s elevation as seen from the south, that even those of you who have never had the pleasure of visiting New York and Brookland may yet have the benefit of imagining the work in situ.”
Prue was impressed by Ben’s apparent ease in addressing the assembly; yet she disliked listening to him claim credit for a theory she herself had devised. She knew this was the only way to get the bridge built, but it continued to bother her all the same.
“Miss Winship,” Ben said, “might you ask the gentlemen to bring in the view?”
Prue went into the entry hall and summoned the two men who still bore the heavy scroll upon their shoulders. They walked ceremoniously to the front of the room and placed it down upon its two flat ends. Ben said to them, “Once we have it set up, ask the others to bring in the model.”
“Yessir,” one said, and they both retired.
Ben took one end and Prue walked forward to take the other, though her knees still felt curious, no doubt from nerves. Ben nodded to her, and people murmured and shifted in their seats.
They began to draw the bridge open, and as its rainbow span cleared the three masts of the central ship, many of the company’s chairs screeched back across the floor, and the gentlemen erupted in a volley of exclamations. Prue saw Pearl close her eyes a moment, perhaps in some private pain or rapture. They kept unwinding the scroll, and the whole crowd drew to their feet. When Ben and Prue stood at its ends, supporting it like a pair of mismatched caryatids, their assemblymen began to shout. “Good God!” cried one, and “Jews Christus!” another. Someone burst out laughing, and Prue looked around for him, in a panic at the thought of being derided. When she singled him out, three rows back and wearing an odd red wig, he was obviously in a transport of joy. The other porters—nearly twenty of them, carrying the great model aloft by its base as if it were the spoils of war—came in with the representation of the bridge and laid it down at the foot of the elevation; this, too, provoked commentary. Someone was whistling clear down the scale, and Willemsen was gesticulating to his neighbor. Stryker began to rap on the table with a gavel.
“Order!” he called, but no one quieted. “Order!”
“Somebody get the senators!” a voice cried.
The assemblymen continued on volubly until their anger, indignation, delight, or surprise began to abate, and only then did they heed their speaker’s repeated smacks upon the table.
“Gentlemen!” Stryker called, his tone indicating good-natured astonishment at their behavior. The legislators did not sit, but most of them quieted, cleared their throats, and straightened their wigs and robes. In the back, a conversation continued in heated whispers. “Please.”
“But sir—” someone called out.
“No.” Stryker lifted his chest and resettled his ample robe. Prue thought it no wonder he remembered her father fondly—he resembled him, both in girth and in temperament. “You will take your seats, and ask questions according to protocol.”
Most of them complied. One who remained standing raised his hand.
“Assemblyman from Westchester County?” Stryker said.
The assemblyman was huffing a bit, as if unable to calm himself down. “Sir, I agree with whoever cried out just now: We should bring in the senators. They will wish to see this.”
“The senate has business of its own, Mr. Lancaster.”
But Prue could hear a faint knock at the door; and when the porters answered it, some of the senators, curious and bewigged, stood behind it, seeking admission. “Gentlemen,” Stryker called to them, “has not the lieutenant governor enough on his agenda to occupy you this morning?”
“Indeed he has, Mr. Speaker,” one said. “But when we heard the commotion in the assembly, we gathered your business might be more interesting.”
“This is most unusual,” Stryker said. “This is entirely out of the ordinary.”
The senators, however, did not budge, and some of their peers were lining up behind them.
“Does Lieutenant Governor De Lancey give you permission to leave off your own business?”
“I do, Hendrik,” a voice called from out in the hallway. “I’m curious myself.”
The assemblymen laughed, and even Prue could not suppress a smile.
Stryker shook his great head as if there was nothing he could do to control them. “Very well, then,” he said. “File in.”
The procession of senators seemed endless; Prue knew there were three score of them. Though they regarded the drawing and the model with as much evident disbelief as had the assemblymen, they chiefly whispered among themselves as they filed in to stand around the perimeter of the hall.
When the porters closed the doors again, a few assemblymen were still standing, one of whom looked familiar to Prue. After searching long through her memory, she thought she knew who it was: Hezekiah Pierrepont, that same staunch Loyalist who, at war’s end, had been forced into exile in some godforsaken barrens of New Jersey. Twenty years later, there could be no mistaking the Gallic hook of his nose, nor the slight cross of his dark eyes. He raised his chin.
“Representative from Ulster County?” said Mr. Stryker.
“Sir, what you see before you is no bridge,” the man said. It had to be Pierrepont—he had the same oleaginous voice. “This is, you will excuse me, a young man’s fancy. And in part, I understand, a young lady’s.” There was some quiet laughter among the desks. “In all my travels, and they have been wide, I have never seen any such structure. How would it stand?”
Stryker acknowledged another assemblyman. “Gentleman from Dutchess?”
He cleared his throat. “Bridges have supports in their middles, Mr. Surveyor Horsfield. Of all people, surely you should know it’s how they remain steady.”
Without waiting for permission, another called out, “And supports would block the free flow of traffic upon the river. So you see, a bridge won’t do.” Stryker shook his head and banged twice with his gavel, and the representative sat down, saying, “My apologies, sir, for speaking out of turn.”
Stryker turned to Ben and said, “Mr. Horsfield, can you allay the representatives’ concerns?”
Ben nodded once with his chin. “I can, sir.” He put his fingers in his collar and tugged it away from his throat. How Prue envied him his man’s figure—his squared shoulders and even his pointy, clean-shaven chin—for how it enabled him to stand up thus before them. She loved him dearly, and at the same time felt what seemed love’s opposite: a sickening jealousy.
“Gentlemen,” he began. “A simple bridge—say, a log thrown across a rushing stream—works on a simple principle. That is, the weight of a man walking across the log does not fall straight downward (or he would plummet into the current), but is rather distributed along the length of the log, and thence to the ground at both ends. If the log be sturdy enough, he arrives safely at the other side of the stream. If it be too delicate to support his weight, it snaps, and he goes for a swim. For this reason, bridges have hitherto been built with supports, or piers, at close intervals. If they are close enough together, a man’s weight need not be carried too far to be relayed safely to the ground; and the spans themselves need not be exquisitely strong to provide safe passage.
“You are correct, my esteemed representatives, that a bridge of this magnitude—its span forty-four hundred feet and its arch, at its center, one hundred fifty feet above high water, high enough to clear the masts of seagoing ships—would obstruct the flow of traffic intolerably were it supported by pillars with breakwaters. The piers would fill the entire waterway. This is why, for a river of the East River’s importance, a bridge such as that I here propose is not only a fine innovation, but an absolute necessity.”
He motioned to the porter who bore the smaller roll of drawings, and the young man approached and handed them to him. Ben drew out the diagram illustrating how a weight was relayed from the tip of a lever back toward its support. “This top diagram shows a man standing at the farthest extremity of a lever—and to be clear, two of them, tip to tip, form the chief structure of my bridge.” Pearl had drawn Isaiah—his expression serious, and all his buttons buttoned—bending the lever slightly downward. “If, as I earlier explained, the beam upon which he stands is strong enough, he shall return home this evening with his clothing still dry. For this to happen, his weight must travel back along the beam to here,” he said, tapping his finger over the top of the sheet at the lever’s support, “the point at which the beam makes contact with the earth. This illustration below”—in which a small circle represented a weight at the tip on which Isaiah stood, and circles of ever greater circumference represented that same weight as it passed down the lever toward the ground—“shows by what proportion that weight seems to increase as it moves along the lever arm. As you can see, any weight placed upon the center of the span is referred to the end of the span and appears to be magnified, thus.
“Therefore, two primary circumstances must obtain for the bridge to hold. First, the center of the bridge, where the levers meet, must be strong enough to support any weight likely to happen upon it—two teams of oxen, to give a simple example, crossing in opposite directions. Second, the abutments shoring up the twin levers must be heavy enough to resist the rotational forces exerted upon them from the intrinsic weight of the lever arms and from any persons or vehicles thereupon. What supports the bridge at the center of its span, I mean to say, is not some prop beneath it—which is rather a primitive solution to the problem—but the increasing bulk of the structure itself as it approaches the ground; this, and the solidity of the connection between the base of the structure and the earth. Hence”—he pulled off the next sheet, illustrating various potential types of abutments—“my designs for structures, from the fanciful to the mundane, to keep the ends of the bridge anchored to the ground.”
Mr. Stryker asked, “Is your question well answered, Ulster County?”
Pierrepont drew a breath and said, “I am uncertain.”
“May I give another example?” Ben said, but did not wait for anyone’s approval. “You will excuse me if it is of the grossest nature. How strong would you say this little bridge is before me? How much weight would you suppose it could support?”
“I couldn’t say,” Pierrepont sneered. “I should think my granddaughter would like to play upon it with her dollies.”
“Very well,” Ben said. “But this model—an exact representation of the bridge I propose to build—is stronger than it may appear. Now, bear in mind that a model cannot predict the structural integrity of the edifice it represents; the eventual bridge would be both vastly stronger and vastly heavier than this one. But the facsimile does show that the principle behind the bridge is sound.” He rolled up the drawings again and with them still in his hand, stepped onto the center of the bridge. Prue winced, but the gasp the representatives let out showed her he had chosen a good course. He took a few small jumps—far less exuberant than those he’d taken in the countinghouse—but the model did not budge. “Miss Pearl, would you join me here?” he asked.
Pearl drew her skirts closer toward her as she walked forward to join him near the center of the span. Her lips were slightly pursed.
“And you, Miss Winship?”
Prue went to stand at Ben’s other side. She imagined she felt the bridge give under her weight, though it could not have. Now all three of them were standing on it, and it hadn’t even squeaked. She was relieved it hadn’t broken; they had, after all, tested it only minimally, and were unsure of its ultimate strength with its abutments thus moored to the platform and not anchored in solid ground.
Now the gentlemen were talking out of turn again. Mr. Stryker was once more asking for order.
“And if half the men in this room wanted to climb on, too,” Ben said, “it would support them. Are there any takers?” Not one of the men volunteered, but Ben waved to some of the porters. “Come, might as well. A number of you can fit.”
In fact, the bridge held every one of them; Prue imagined they must all resemble rooks lined up along the eaves of a barn. They stood there, some still and some hopping up and down; the fellow beside Prue was chuckling to himself, as was Mr. Stryker. “Have you further questions, Ulster County?” he asked.
“For the nonce, I have none,” Mr. Pierrepont said, and sat down.
As they climbed off and returned to their places, Prue felt a moment of exultation that it had held, and another stab of jealousy that it was not she presenting it. Pearl also looked bothered by something; perhaps she, too, who had given so much to the model and elevation, wished she might contribute to Ben’s exposition.
“Representative from Chenango?” Stryker said.
“Yes, sir. I seek to know by what method such a structure can even be built.”
“A good question,” Stryker said, and turned to Ben with an affable expression.
Ben did not appear the least bit nervous. This vexed Prue, though she was delighted he could present their case so eloquently. She recalled her own dry throat when she’d stood before the people of Brooklyn and she fumed at his composure. “A good question, indeed, Mr. Assemblyman,” Ben said. “As you perhaps all well know, each arch of a traditional bridge must be built over a wooden centering, which supports it until its keystone is set in place and can bear the weight of its two arms. Such a centering involves great expenditure both in timber and in labor. In a bridge of this size, once it was floated into place it would block off the river and both ports altogether.
“Some of the great bridge builders of our time have built admirable structures upon this plan. Mr. Telford and Mr. Pritchard of Great Britain have constructed numerous arched masonry bridges whose elegant lines bespeak their strength. Almost twenty years ago now, Mr. Pritchard, in connection with a metalsmith named Mr. Abraham Darby, successfully built at Coalbrookdale a similar bridge with its members made up entirely of cast iron—a feat many naysayers had thitherto pronounced impossible. Mr. Thomas Pope of Philadelphia is even now constructing a large-span timber and masonry bridge over the Schuylkill River. Need I ask if, as proud New Yorkers, we should allow Pennsylvania to be the first state to fund such a bold and salutary public works?”
“No, sir,” one of the assemblymen cried out, “but we should first bridge the cataract at Niagara Falls! That would put Pennsylvania to shame.”
Mr. Stryker hit his gavel on the table once more. “Representative from Niagara County, you will not speak out of turn!”
“Apologies, Mr. Speaker, Mr. Horsfield,” the assemblyman said.
Ben gave a gracious nod; Prue once again remarked upon his apparent ease. “Niagara’s claim is pressing indeed,” Ben said, “but I respectfully argue that the East River’s is even more so. The traffic to and from the deepwater ports at Brookland and New York is at present the greatest in the nation; if we can connect them by so magnificent a means, their allure to foreign and domestic shippers will surely increase.
“But I must return to the specifics of my plan, and to the impracticability of building an arch of such size over a wooden centering, thus blocking ingress to both ports. I ask you, esteemed assemblymen, to recall that unlike a traditional arched bridge, the two sides of my bridge do not thrust their weight in toward their central keystone, but outwards, toward the anchorages, exactly as a springboard thrusts its weight not toward its tip but toward its support. It should be immediately apparent from this circumstance alone that my bridge will require no centering crutch. Continue along this line of reasoning and you will deduce the method by which I propose to construct this bridge: which is to begin from its anchorages and to progress thence from the strongest parts of the levers out to their slender tips. During its construction it will be entirely self-supporting, from beginning to end. The two arms will grow out from the banks simultaneously, and one day simply meet in midair, high above the river. Traffic upon the straits will not be disturbed for a single day—unless you count the disturbance caused by the captains of ships pausing to gawp at such an awesome sight.”
Some of the gentlemen chuckled again. Prue did not know how Ben had brought them to this point, but knew she could never have done so herself, even had she been a man.
“The timber for each day’s work can be floated by barge to its appropriate location and, by means of a crane operated by the strength of one or two men, hoisted to its position.” They did not yet have a drawing of the crane; it was their good luck no one asked to see it.
Mr. Pierrepont continued to nod, as if he had been called upon to concede some point. Prue looked around to see if she could intuit the opinions of those around him; and while some still appeared angry or bewildered, many were scanning the drawings with interest. “Mr. Horsfield,” Pierrepont said, “has it not occurred to you that were it possible to build a bridge upon your plan, the great architects would have done so long ago?”
Prue was glad Pearl was not taking part in this discussion, and equally glad Tem was in Brooklyn.
“Quite the contrary,” Ben said with ease. “Had no one ever attempted to build something that had not been built before, there should be no great bridges, nor cathedrals, nor the Pyramids at Giza. It is through experimentation that science progresses; and the same is true for these homely arts that follow in science’s wake.”
“But it is all well and good to build a doll-model,” Mr. Pierrepont said. “How do you know the thing itself would stand?”
Ben paced back and forth before Stryker’s desk. Prue thought he must have been catching his breath. “As King’s County’s surveyor, I believe I have more ability to judge the plan’s practicability, if you will excuse my saying so, than any other man present. I have myself surveyed the site, examined the quality of the soil, rock, and sand on which the foundations are to rest, projected the bridge’s course, and measured the speed and strength of the winds and currents in the vicinity. I have conducted numerous experiments to determine the relative strengths of timbers in tension and compression, and conclude that my calculations will allow me to build a bridge to withstand any stresses likely to be placed upon it by traffic, the structure’s intrinsic weight, or exigencies of weather. The model itself cannot prove that such a bridge would hold; the actual bridge would be two hundred fifty times the length of the one you see before you, but its weight would be exponentially greater. My design accounts for this, of course. I propose that my next step in realizing the bridge should be to build one at a twenty-fifth the size of the eventual structure—ten times as large as the model you see before you. This would allow me to test the methods of construction and to ascertain that the principles hold true at a greater magnitude.”
“Further questions?” Stryker asked.
Garret Willemsen stood. “What do you reckon this bridge will cost, sir?”
Ben cleared his throat. “As you know, Mr. Willemsen, most of Brookland’s great timber was harvested during the late war by our enemies, for their fortresses and ships. Thus, timber will have to be floated downriver, and the costs in that regard may prove high. But the New York and Brookland Bridge should prove a veritable boon for the timber merchants of northern New York.” He smiled around to the assemblymen and senators; he was surely correct in supposing this was how some of those present had made their fortunes. “Assuming the workers to be paid a fair wage for the proposed period of two years, the total sum, in timber, iron, and men, should be in the vicinity of three hundred thousand dollars.”
The legislators burst out with more complaints and questions, and Stryker banged his table again. “Order!” he called, more irritably than before. It took a moment, but the representatives complied. “If the men of this assembly agree to pass your request along to the governor, how much of that sum will you ask him to supply?”
“I would ask him to supply it nearly entire, sir.” Ben took a deep breath, straining the new buttons of his coat. “It is a public work, for the public weal. It must be funded with public money.”
“But sir,” Mr. Stryker said, his face showing real concern, “we cannot even agree on an appropriation to build ourselves a state government. And believe me, that would require a far smaller sum than the one you seek.”
“I understand,” Ben said. “But in truth, a bridge is a matter of pressing importance, and if it is to be built, there is no other way. Miss Winship has graciously agreed to donate land for the bridge’s Brookland footing and to assume a share of the costs. I myself shall do the same, though my assets as a private man are perforce smaller than those of Winship Gin. Beyond that, I propose to sell subscriptions in New York and Brookland, that interested parties might contribute to the cost of the works and reap the profits in tolls later on.
“Let me be clear, however, that before we undertake such a vast expenditure, we shall begin with a smaller one: the building of the second model bridge at the aforementioned scale. While this project too will come at its cost—fourteen thousand dollars, if I reckon true—it is only a fraction of the cost of a bridge itself, and I believe the most prudent course of action, as it will allow a more detailed and intricate study of the laws of natural philosophy as they pertain to such a structure. If you gentlemen and Governor Jay would consent to grant me monies sufficient for that endeavor, I would have far more solid evidence of the plan’s feasibility when the time comes to request funding for an actual bridge.
“If I may add one thing more: The citizens of Brookland are strongly in favor of this project. When Miss Winship and I presented it to them a few weeks since, they were packed tight as salt cod in a barrel, and offered hundreds of their signatures in testimony, which we have since submitted for your perusal. Mayor Varick and the aldermen of New York City have likewise written to you of their support. I know that Niagara County and others to our state’s far north may wonder why they should allocate such vast sums to a project their constituents will never see. I argue that the New York and Brookland Bridge will redound to the honor of every man in this state; that it will stand as a monument to our fortitude, and that it will increase revenues so greatly, it will improve the fortunes of every New Yorker. That is all I shall say in my own defense, though I shall remain in Albany, should you wish to question me further on any aspect of the proposal. I thank you for taking the time to hear our cause.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Stryker said. He placed one long hand on a sheaf of papers that looked to be the petition. “Are there further questions?” he asked once more of the room. A younger representative stood and raised his hand. “Representative from Saratoga?”
“I only wish to say, sir, that although I represent the north, I think the bridge beautiful.” He nodded and sat back down.
“Thank you, Mr. Gannon.” Stryker turned to Ben and said, “We shall begin discussion of this matter this very afternoon. May I ask you to leave this facsimile and these plans here, that we may observe them during our discussion?”
“By all means, sir,” Ben answered.
“If that is all, gentlemen?” Stryker said, and people began to rustle and murmur as if it was. “Thank you, Mr. Horsfield, Miss Winship, Miss Pearl. I promise you nothing, but you will have word from us as soon as is feasible.”
Pearl and Prue curtsied again, and followed Ben back out to the hall. The senators who stood nearest the door made way for them; and many of them, as well as the assemblymen, grumbled as they passed. Few would meet their eyes. Willemsen, however, nodded to Prue as she walked past him; she wasn’t certain she could read his expression, but she thought his acknowledgment a good sign. Willemsen’s driver and beautiful horses had gone off to wherever they were stabled, and it seemed to have become an ordinary, sunny day in a busy district.
Ben waited until they were well out into the street to turn to them, grinning, and shout, “It went admirably, do you not think?”
“You did not allow me a word,” Prue said, and quickened her stride.
“Prue?”
“And never once mentioned Pearl’s contribution. Why in Heaven’s name do you suppose they thought she was standing there? For the pathos of it?” She was mortified that this had been her original reason for desiring Pearl’s presence.
Ben caught up to them, and interposed himself between them. “I am sorry, Prue, Pearl; but you must agree with me, it went well. They were impressed by the proposal. I should not be at all surprised to find it on Governor Jay’s desk in the next few days.”
“It is not entirely a question of how the interview went,” Prue said, charging ahead into an intersection. A man driving his team swerved to avoid her, and shouted curses at her over his shoulder. “I agree, Ben: You explained my dreams as eloquently as I could hope. The assembly’s decision is their own, and depends upon circumstances none of us can envisage, let alone control. I simply hadn’t reckoned on feeling such jealousy as you made the presentation.”
Ben walked along in silence a moment, which Prue knew did not bode well. “I don’t think I understand,” he said. “We discussed this long ago, and determined it was the wisest course of action.”
“I know, Ben,” she said. Her eyes were hot, but she would pitch herself into traffic before she allowed herself to cry. “I still believe it to be so. Yet it is also the idea dearest to my own heart. Can you imagine how it feels to watch another assume credit for it?”
“Your dearest friend,” he said, without recrimination. “Your future husband.”
She felt nearly as bad for having wounded him as for the wound she herself was nursing, but she could not retract her words. She simply said, “I wish I could have spoken,” and remained silent the rest of the way back to Mrs. Finley’s. Pearl walked slightly apart from them. Prue wanted to write the morning’s news to Tem, so Ben and Pearl agreed to go walking, and to meet her later.
She did write to Tem, but this took only a moment. When she’d finished her letter, she sat at the tidy desk thinking through the events of the day, though the bustle of the household downstairs kept interrupting her thoughts. She wanted to reconcile herself to the present state of affairs; had Mr. Stryker invited her to present her case, the assembly’s reception would have been even more equivocal. She knew this should have been some consolation, but couldn’t accept it. She decided to write a second letter, which she would send by express boat down to Beacon. A shipment of Winship gin was due to that town that very week, and she wished to divert it to Albany; the small amount of liquor they had brought with them would never do to bribe a hundred assemblymen and sixty-odd senators. She also wrote again to Tem to tell her she’d appropriated the gin, and to ask her to send more to their customers.
When she went downstairs a few hours later, the sun had moved considerably westward in the sky. Prue had not eaten her breakfast and the presentation had lasted through midday, and she was now famished. She heard the rhythmic whirr of eggs being beaten in the kitchen, and the rasp of a knife along the skin of some fruit or vegetable; and she considered asking for some bread and jam, or whatever might have been left over from dinner. But when Mrs. Finley called out, “Miss Winship, is that you?” Prue did not think she could abide her eager questioning or the sullen stare of whichever daughter sat with her. She made her way out the door without stopping to talk.
She walked straight to the docks, which resembled the bustling wharves at home, but she could not grow accustomed to their pond-scum smell. She knew the natives of the place had called their river Muhheakantuck, or the river that flowed two ways, as it was half salt water traveled up from New York Bay, and half fresh water from the far north; yet still it seemed uncanny to see little transport smacks and hag boats going about their business and not smell the sea. Prue could not help imagining a bridge of her own design spanning the North River here; and in the next instant felt the pang of knowing that even were it possible, it would never be known as hers.
Well, hang it, she thought. If two people are said to become one before God and the law, perhaps they have only one set of ideas between them. Her own parents had done things otherwise, but she and Ben might manage.
Some questioning found her a schooner bound for Beacon en route to New York, and she entrusted her letter to its captain along with a shilling and the widest smile she could muster. Along the river, hawkers with buckets and clam knives sold what looked a fine meal; but much as Prue would have liked to slurp shellfish from her hands, it was easier done in work britches than a dress. Elisha Green’s establishment was not far off, and she made her way along the busy wharves as far as possible to reach it. The moment she arrived, she saw Ben and Pearl through the open door. Pearl still looked sullen, but waved her hand as if it was possible Prue might not have seen them. The tavern was full, though who knew how so many Albanians had leisure to drink tea and ale on a weekday afternoon. “Hello, Prue,” Ben said, standing and turning to face her as she entered the smoky room. He didn’t seem to want to risk his earlier enthusiasm.
Prue kissed his cheek, then Pearl’s. She hoped this would stand for an apology. She sat down beside her sister and put her elbows on the sticky table.
“We have some news,” Ben said, and Pearl began riffling through her knitting bag. “Not altogether good, I fear.”
The proprietor’s daughter came to take Prue’s order. She was a girl no older than twelve, the spit and image of her father, and crowned with a mop of woolly blond hair that took up more space than she. She told off her menu by heart. Prue’s ears must have been ringing, because the child sounded far away. Prue cared only for the news, but she managed to order some smoked sturgeon and a pint of beer. Though she almost couldn’t bear to look at Ben, Prue was keenly aware of what was going on outdoors. A milkman drove past with his empty buckets clanging in the back of his wagon, and a child slipped in the road and began to howl. His brother dragged him up to the curb and wiped off his knees. The stage flew by, its driver shouting to clear sluggish pedestrians from his path.
“Hoy, Prue,” Ben said. She only then realized her mind had wandered off. “Willemsen sent word to Mrs. Finley’s. Pearl has the letter.”
Pearl at last extracted the paper. Prue went to break the letter’s seal but saw it was, of course, already broken; for who was the bridge architect but Ben? She reminded herself it must have cost them both some effort to hold their peace and allow her to read it for herself.
Mr. Willemsen reported that the gentlemen of the assembly were deeply divided in their initial discussion about the prospects for the bridge. New York County’s representative, as well as many others from downstate, wished to approve the $14,000 appropriation; many of the upstate members were vehemently opposed. The senators had, further, been sufficiently riled by the proposal to wish to debate it themselves; and they had voted to make their own suggestion, regardless of the assembly’s, to Governor Jay. Willemsen could not conjecture how long it might take to reach a decision on the matter, but he thought there might be some use in Ben remaining in Albany until that time, in case his skills of persuasion might be put to use.
When the girl arrived with Prue’s fish, Ben ordered a second pitcher of beer. “You’ll have to return to the distillery, will you not?” he asked.
Prue looked blankly at her sturgeon. A moment since, it had interested her—as it was fished from fresh waters, it was a rarity in Brooklyn—but now she wondered if she could eat it. “I promised Tem I’d return in a fortnight at most. I don’t know how she will fare without me.”
Pearl placed one hand on top of her sister’s. Ben said, “As I thought.”
“But I cannot leave you here, either. It is my bridge, Ben. I am willing to share the credit with you, but not to turn it over to you entire.”
“It is your decision,” he said.
Prue did not like the wary look in his eyes. She took a long pull from her beer and tried to settle down to eat.
She did not think she could go back to Brooklyn before the bridge’s fate should be decided. If that meant residing in Albany another month, then so be it. The first bite of fish reminded Prue she was ravenous with hunger; she resolved to eat quickly, and to write to Tem and Isaiah as soon as she finished.
The days wore on, and the two houses of the legislature continued to squabble; Prue read both sides of the argument in the Albany papers. Both the assembly and the senate called Ben back on various occasions the next week; and in the evenings, he took Prue and Pearl to the quarters of one assemblyman and the next, where Prue understood she was to make polite conversation with the womenfolk. On one occasion the young representative from Saratoga asked about her contribution to the plan, and listened with interest as she recounted a straitened version thereof. The shipment that had been meant for Beacon arrived early in the week. Prue asked Elisha Green to introduce her to a glassblower, that she might portion the gin out for the various representatives. This occupied at least some of her time. Pearl used up her embroidery silk and, growing restless in the house, set out to wander the city in search of more. Prue fretted about her sister’s welfare, out in the streets thus unattended, but knew she could not stop her going. Late in the week a letter from Tem arrived, full of ill-spelled vituperation; another, from Isaiah, told Prue the second shipment had gone off to Beacon and that all else was well.
After two weeks of heated debate—during which Prue came to pity Mrs. Finley’s daughters, though she remained grateful for their good cooking—Mr. Willemsen at last wrote to report that the assemblymen had taken a vote, and had come out fifty-seven to fifty-one in favor of funding the model at one twenty-fifth the scale of the eventual bridge. This was a small majority, but sufficient to send their recommendation to Governor Jay. Mr. Willemsen cordially invited Ben, Prue, and Pearl to sup at his quarters that evening.
The letter reached them at Mrs. Finley’s, just after the tea dishes had been cleared. Ben began whooping as soon as he read the document, which caused the mousy Finley daughters to retreat to the kitchen. Prue had to read the letter twice to understand its import, and even then was not certain if she should feel disappointment or delight. Ben took her in his arms and kissed her, then pulled back and shook her gently when she did not break into peals of laughter. “Come now, woman,” he said, beaming at her. “Fifty-seven to fifty-one. I’d say that’s nearly unanimous.”
Pearl whistled her disagreement.
“Both of you, dark-minded as your mother,” Ben said. He was still smiling, but Prue did not find this amusing. “We shall have our small bridge; and if all goes as well as I wager it will, we’ll bridge the East River next. Oh, I can just picture Hezekiah Pierrepont’s scowl as the ballots were tallied.”
I think it fine News, Pearl wrote on her book, though less ecciting than if the Legislature had simply writ’ you a Gigantic Draught.
“I know you’re right, Ben,” Prue said, though she considered Willemsen’s letter only a halfhearted vote of confidence.
“Write Tem immediately,” Ben said. “She’ll be eager to know”
Prue did write her, and continued to wonder how she fared at the distillery. She supposed she would have heard had anything gone amiss; then again, letters took days to go up or down the Hudson, and anything might have happened since last Tem had written. Prue had to trust her sister could manage.
In the meanwhile, Garret Willemsen had laid in a prodigious store of Madeira wine, “intending no offense,” he said, “to our local geniuses of grain alcohol,” and they made their way through bottle after bottle that evening. Prue was not certain they had cause to celebrate in any earnest. Even if Governor Jay approved the plan, it would be a long time in the building, especially with the state overseeing it. Prue reminded herself, however, of the justice of Ben’s assessment: It had indeed always been her habit to take the darkest possible view. Perhaps on this occasion, she might persuade herself of the rectitude of what was actually transpiring. She might praise God for what was instead of begging Him, with uncertain result, for something yet to come.