as she never had before, how rare it was to create something as monumental as the Brooklyn Bridge. It was the work of a lifetime. It was a castle in the sky for the industrial age ⦠a monument. This was an age when engineers like Wash were the men of the hour. They and their creations were lauded and honored and marveled at as never before. Things were changing fast as inventors and engineers raced to create things like electric lights and telephones and horseless carriages. But unlike these things, which would change again, almost as fast as they were invented, the bridge would last. Millions would cross it, use it, admire it, and on a Sunday, strolling on the promenade, simply enjoy it. Not one man in a million has the chance to build something like that, and Washington Roebling had done it ⦠they had done it. Such things were worth sacrifice.
Emilyâs carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Astor Library, at 415 Lafayette Place. She stopped her daydreaming and looked out the carriage
window as Hughes their butler and driver set the brake and stepped down from the driverâs seat. This had been a fashionable part of town at one time. Walt Whitman had once lived across the street in the row of town houses called La Grange Terrace after the country seat of the Marquis de Lafayette. But that was many years ago, and the street, although still respectable, was no longer home to the wealthy and famous. They had moved farther uptown. It seemed everyone wanted to live near Central Park now.
Hughes opened Emilyâs door, and she stepped down to the blue slate sidewalk in front of the new north wing of the library. For a moment she stopped to look up at the elegant Italianate brownstone façade. There was still the slightest scent of cut lumber and concrete to the place. The north wing had been completed just a few months before.
Something attracted Emilyâs attention to the street behind her. Thinking back on it later, she could never recall exactly what made her turn and look at the long row of columned town houses across Lafayette Place. She had admired those buildings before. They were so different from most of the new buildings going up now and had a classic, Greek revival style that she thought timeless. Legend had it that inmates from Sing Sing had done the stonework, but that was fifty years ago. Most had been divided into apartments now.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with an imposing mustache caught her attention for no reason she could explain. She supposed it was the way he walked, but it was hard to put her finger on it. He moved toward the front door of the Grange with an easy stride. She watched him. There was no swagger, just an ease that spoke of a man at home with who he was. He tipped his hat to a woman leaving the building. Emily liked the way he did that, especially the brief glimpse of his smile and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Emily wondered idly about the man as he took a first step toward the front doors of the building. Then he hesitated and stopped, turning toward her. She had been surprised to find herself staring at the tall stranger across the street. Staring at strange men was definitely not something she did. Still, he was quite handsome, she noticed as she flicked her skirt and turned up the stairs to library. Wickedly she couldnât resist one last glance before she went in the front door. To her amazement, the man was still watching her, the ghost of a smile playing on his face. She couldnât help but smile too. Thank God Hughes hadnât noticed. It was embarrassing enough to be caught staring like some streetwalker. But in truth she rather enjoyed it. He had looked at her in a way she hadnât been looked at in some time. She had the feeling that somehow they had known each other before. Odd, how a glance from a strange man across Lafayette Place could do that.
Her step was light as she entered the big central hallway of the library. Emily
Emilyâs carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Astor Library, at 415 Lafayette Place. She stopped her daydreaming and looked out the carriage
window as Hughes their butler and driver set the brake and stepped down from the driverâs seat. This had been a fashionable part of town at one time. Walt Whitman had once lived across the street in the row of town houses called La Grange Terrace after the country seat of the Marquis de Lafayette. But that was many years ago, and the street, although still respectable, was no longer home to the wealthy and famous. They had moved farther uptown. It seemed everyone wanted to live near Central Park now.
Hughes opened Emilyâs door, and she stepped down to the blue slate sidewalk in front of the new north wing of the library. For a moment she stopped to look up at the elegant Italianate brownstone façade. There was still the slightest scent of cut lumber and concrete to the place. The north wing had been completed just a few months before.
Something attracted Emilyâs attention to the street behind her. Thinking back on it later, she could never recall exactly what made her turn and look at the long row of columned town houses across Lafayette Place. She had admired those buildings before. They were so different from most of the new buildings going up now and had a classic, Greek revival style that she thought timeless. Legend had it that inmates from Sing Sing had done the stonework, but that was fifty years ago. Most had been divided into apartments now.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with an imposing mustache caught her attention for no reason she could explain. She supposed it was the way he walked, but it was hard to put her finger on it. He moved toward the front door of the Grange with an easy stride. She watched him. There was no swagger, just an ease that spoke of a man at home with who he was. He tipped his hat to a woman leaving the building. Emily liked the way he did that, especially the brief glimpse of his smile and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Emily wondered idly about the man as he took a first step toward the front doors of the building. Then he hesitated and stopped, turning toward her. She had been surprised to find herself staring at the tall stranger across the street. Staring at strange men was definitely not something she did. Still, he was quite handsome, she noticed as she flicked her skirt and turned up the stairs to library. Wickedly she couldnât resist one last glance before she went in the front door. To her amazement, the man was still watching her, the ghost of a smile playing on his face. She couldnât help but smile too. Thank God Hughes hadnât noticed. It was embarrassing enough to be caught staring like some streetwalker. But in truth she rather enjoyed it. He had looked at her in a way she hadnât been looked at in some time. She had the feeling that somehow they had known each other before. Odd, how a glance from a strange man across Lafayette Place could do that.
Her step was light as she entered the big central hallway of the library. Emily
Similar Books
