There wasn’t a job in the yard he couldn’t perform if needed. I saw him do everything from cutting clay from the hillside to sitting up at night to keep watch over the fires in the kilns.” Laura handed Ewan the list of names she’d prepared.
“Thank you for this.” He nodded toward the piece of paper. “I agree that it’s a wise man who knows every measure of his business, but my uncle brought me along so he doesn’t have to worry about those details.”
Laura raised her eyebrows and pushed away from the desk. “I hope you don’t let him take undue advantage, Mr. McKay.”
“Laura! What are you doing here?” Winston Hawkins strode toward them. “I’m surprised to see you alone in the hotel lobby with Mr. McKay.”
Laura’s cheeks flamed a bright shade of pink as other guests in the lobby turned toward them. “You need not worry over my whereabouts, Winston. I believe my mother still claims that duty.”
Winston’s features went slack, obviously surprised by Miss Woodfield’s terse reply, while Ewan fought off the urge to laugh aloud. He doubted Mr. Hawkins would be pleased by any form of levity.
Hoping to lighten the mood, Ewan hastened to explain that he and Laura had met by chance outside the general store.
He planned to tell Winston how they’d arrived at the hotel, but Laura interrupted him. “No need for all this explanation, Mr. McKay. We are conducting business in a public place in the presence of many people. We’ve not breached any rules of etiquette.” She looked up at Mr. Hawkins. “And should someone think my behavior improper, it does not concern me.” Turning around, she picked up her pen. “Now, where were we?”
Ewan hoped her remarks would be enough to send Mr.Hawkins on his way, but the lawyer did not budge. Instead, he pulled a chair to Laura’s right and sat down.
Lofty sycamores and poplars shaded the hillside where Ewan and Laura stood. Their position offered a clear view of the towering banks along the Tygart River, where the clay cutters he’d hired only days ago had begun their work. Ewan walked down the hill a short distance and shaded his eyes against the sun. No Irishman could slice into the face of a clay deposit with any greater skill. These brawny West Virginia clay cutters he’d hired were a sight to behold. They stomped on the rims of their razor-sharp hand shovels, and with the precision of acrobats, they balanced themselves just long enough for the shovel to cut through the layer of clay. The strokes were as fast and neat as those of an expert surgeon. Then, with a strong flip of the wrist, the heaping shovelful of clay would land in the dump cart. The driver held the reins taut, careful to keep the horses steady while the cart was being filled.
“They’re good men. Treat them fair and you’ll get a good day’s work. When you begin production next spring, most of them will work an extra stint. They’re always glad for the added wages.” Laura stepped closer and pointed toward a muscular Negro man. “I’m pleased to see Jessie Sprolls down there. He’s the best clay cutter in the state. I thought maybe he went to work over at the coal mine.”
“He did. But when I told him I wanted to hire him, he said he’d rather work at the brickyard. Said working in a coal mine didn’t suit him. He’s the best cutter I’ve ever seen. Where’s he from?”
Laura hiked a shoulder. “He just showed up one day looking for work. If you’re wondering if he was ever a slave, I don’t know,but I do know he fought in the war. He left Bartlett about the same time as my father. He has several children. They sometimes came and brought him lunch.” When Ewan made no move, Laura touched his sleeve. “We should begin going over the books. I don’t think Mother will want to stay here too long.”
He gave a slight nod. “I’d much rather go down and shovel clay, but you’re right. I need to begin learning.”
Laura’s mother had settled in a chair near
“Thank you for this.” He nodded toward the piece of paper. “I agree that it’s a wise man who knows every measure of his business, but my uncle brought me along so he doesn’t have to worry about those details.”
Laura raised her eyebrows and pushed away from the desk. “I hope you don’t let him take undue advantage, Mr. McKay.”
“Laura! What are you doing here?” Winston Hawkins strode toward them. “I’m surprised to see you alone in the hotel lobby with Mr. McKay.”
Laura’s cheeks flamed a bright shade of pink as other guests in the lobby turned toward them. “You need not worry over my whereabouts, Winston. I believe my mother still claims that duty.”
Winston’s features went slack, obviously surprised by Miss Woodfield’s terse reply, while Ewan fought off the urge to laugh aloud. He doubted Mr. Hawkins would be pleased by any form of levity.
Hoping to lighten the mood, Ewan hastened to explain that he and Laura had met by chance outside the general store.
He planned to tell Winston how they’d arrived at the hotel, but Laura interrupted him. “No need for all this explanation, Mr. McKay. We are conducting business in a public place in the presence of many people. We’ve not breached any rules of etiquette.” She looked up at Mr. Hawkins. “And should someone think my behavior improper, it does not concern me.” Turning around, she picked up her pen. “Now, where were we?”
Ewan hoped her remarks would be enough to send Mr.Hawkins on his way, but the lawyer did not budge. Instead, he pulled a chair to Laura’s right and sat down.
Lofty sycamores and poplars shaded the hillside where Ewan and Laura stood. Their position offered a clear view of the towering banks along the Tygart River, where the clay cutters he’d hired only days ago had begun their work. Ewan walked down the hill a short distance and shaded his eyes against the sun. No Irishman could slice into the face of a clay deposit with any greater skill. These brawny West Virginia clay cutters he’d hired were a sight to behold. They stomped on the rims of their razor-sharp hand shovels, and with the precision of acrobats, they balanced themselves just long enough for the shovel to cut through the layer of clay. The strokes were as fast and neat as those of an expert surgeon. Then, with a strong flip of the wrist, the heaping shovelful of clay would land in the dump cart. The driver held the reins taut, careful to keep the horses steady while the cart was being filled.
“They’re good men. Treat them fair and you’ll get a good day’s work. When you begin production next spring, most of them will work an extra stint. They’re always glad for the added wages.” Laura stepped closer and pointed toward a muscular Negro man. “I’m pleased to see Jessie Sprolls down there. He’s the best clay cutter in the state. I thought maybe he went to work over at the coal mine.”
“He did. But when I told him I wanted to hire him, he said he’d rather work at the brickyard. Said working in a coal mine didn’t suit him. He’s the best cutter I’ve ever seen. Where’s he from?”
Laura hiked a shoulder. “He just showed up one day looking for work. If you’re wondering if he was ever a slave, I don’t know,but I do know he fought in the war. He left Bartlett about the same time as my father. He has several children. They sometimes came and brought him lunch.” When Ewan made no move, Laura touched his sleeve. “We should begin going over the books. I don’t think Mother will want to stay here too long.”
He gave a slight nod. “I’d much rather go down and shovel clay, but you’re right. I need to begin learning.”
Laura’s mother had settled in a chair near
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