The Potter's Lady
Authors: Judith Miller
© 2015 by Judith Miller
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6947-8
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by LOOK Design Studio
Cover photography by Aimee Christenson
Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency
To Rosie Curran-Benger,
my dear friend Down Under.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Special Thanks to . . .
About the Author
Books by Judith Miller
Back Ads
Back Cover
But now, O Lord, thou art our father;
we are the clay, and thou our potter;
and we all are the work of thy hand.
Chapter 1Isaiah 64:8
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
May 1872
R
ose McKay stared out the narrow window of the Philadelphia School of Design for Women. Her gaze darted between passing buggies and wagons before perusing the pedestrians traversing Broad Street. Where was Ewan? Her brother said he’d be here by two o’clock. If he didn’t hurry, they’d miss their train.
“Why don’t you sit down, Rose? Staring out the window isn’t going to make your brother appear any sooner.” Mrs. Fisk, director of the school, nodded toward one of the perfectly arranged chairs in the sitting room.
Inimitable paintings and sculptures, all of them fashioned by students who had attended the school, adorned the entry hall and sitting room where visitors were received. To have a creation displayed in either place was considered the most prestigious award any student could achieve. Each year, one student received the Excellence in Design Award. Along with the plaque came the honor of having one piece of work on display. Rose’s heart warmed at the thought of her own work joining those of the previous students. This year, she had been the award recipient. Though Rose had been honored by the announcement, her fellow students had resented the choice and had been quick to make their feelings known to her.
Rose had never been truly accepted into their ranks. She was, after all, an Irish immigrant who never would have gained entry into the prestigious school had it not been for the influence and money of Frances Woodfield, Ewan McKay’s mother-in-law. Still, the harsh comments of the other students when she’d received the commendation, as well as during the remainder of the year, had been painful.
“I do wish the upholstery had been completed prior to your departure, Rose. You must return so that you can see the divan when it is completed.” Mrs. Fisk motioned to the west side of the room. “We’ll place it over there in front of the fireplace, where it can be seen to full advantage.”
The hours Rose had devoted to designing the divan’s upholstery had been innumerable, and seeing the completed project would have given her great joy. Yet not enough to remain any longer than required. Although she’d done her best to remain cheerful and kind during her two years at the school, she no longer wished to endure the pranks and unkind remarks of the young women here who considered themselves to be above her. Returning home would relieve her of future ridicule.
She rubbed her arms and shuddered as she recalled the spring dance. Rose had never had an escort for any of the parties or dances at the school, a matter Melissa Bonsart insisted upon resolving by arranging an escort for Rose. When Rose didn’t immediately accept the secondhand invitation, Melissa had resorted to an angry diatribe, stating the young man, Matthew Skilling, was from a fine Philadelphia family. When Rose could listen to no more, she’d relented and fallen headfirst into Melissa’s trap. A trap that had served to undermine any remaining trust she’d had in these false friends.
Raucous laughter and unkind remarks had followed the arrival of an Irish lad dressed in tattered clothing. When Rose discovered the girls had convinced the young Irishman he would be welcomed at their party, Rose’s anger swelled. There had been no “Matthew Skilling.” Not only had they embarrassed her, they’d also humiliated the young man who, like Rose, had done nothing to deserve their callous treatment.
Truth be told, the conniving behavior of those girls reminded Rose of her Aunt Margaret. Their meanspirited actions had awakened Rose to a sad understanding: There were far too many scheming people willing to abuse others for their own pleasure, power, or greed.
“Did you hear me, Rose?” Mrs. Fisk nodded toward the fireplace.
“Yes. I think you’ve chosen a perfect space. If I ever return to Philadelphia, I’ll be sure to stop here first.” Rose, however, secretly doubted she’d ever return to Philadelphia. Though she’d received an excellent education at the design school, the young women she’d encountered during the past two years had imbued Rose with a distinct distaste for Philadelphia and its social mores.
“I’m saddened to see my very best student returning to the hills of West Virginia, where I doubt you’ll ever use your education. I want you to write to me if you’re unable to find employment that satisfies your creativity.”
Rose strained forward for a glimpse outside. “Thank you, Mrs. Fisk. I’ll keep your offer in mind, but . . . Ewan’s arrived!” She jumped up from her chair and rushed toward the front door. Before he had an opportunity to knock, Rose yanked open the door. “I thought you would never get here. What kept you? We’ll have to hurry, or we’ll miss our train.”
Ewan arched his brows and chuckled. “Good afternoon to you, too, Rose.” The scent of blooming lilacs wafted through the open door. Had it not been for the long, cold winter, the two flowering bushes outside the front entrance would have bloomed six weeks ago.
Rose grinned and took a backward step to allow her brother entry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assail you the moment you arrived, but I’ve been worried, and I missed you so.” She turned to look at the grandfather clock that stood sentry in the hallway. “We could miss the train if we don’t hurry.”
“We have plenty of time, Rose.” Ewan stepped inside and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “I didn’t realize you were so eager to leave.”
“Mr. McKay. It’s good to see you. Your sister has been quite worried about you.” Mrs. Fisk stepped closer. “I’ve tried my best to convince Rose she should remain in Philadelphia, but she seems to think a return to West Virginia is best.” A frown creased the older woman’s forehead. “I truly do not believe she’ll be able to find employment that will lend her an opportunity to use the skills she’s acquired.” She shook her head and
tsked
. “Such a shame to have talent waste away, don’t you agree, Mr. McKay?”
“Aye, ’tis not good to squander a God-given talent, but I think Rose will discover a way to use her abilities.” His lips tilted in a grin. “Civilization does not begin and end in Philadelphia, Mrs. Fisk.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”
Ewan held up his hand. “No offense taken, Mrs. Fisk. Just like the rest of the family, I know Rose intends to find a way to use her talents. Should she have any trouble, I’m sure she’ll set pen to paper and let you know.”
Rose tugged on Ewan’s arm. “We shouldn’t keep the carriage waiting, Ewan. I had my baggage delivered to the train station, but we’ll need to make certain it arrived safely and purchase our tickets.”
Ewan patted the pocket of his jacket. “I’ve already purchased the tickets.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Do you have no friends you wish to offer a final good-bye?”
Rose shook her head. “No. I’m ready to be on my way.”
Gray skies loomed overhead as Rose looped arms with her brother and descended the front steps of the three-storied brick building. She was thankful for the education she’d received inside the large second-floor classrooms but glad she would no longer inhabit one of the third-floor sleeping rooms.
Rose lifted her gaze to the third floor. Several of her former classmates stood at one of the bedroom windows. They were laughing and pointing toward the carriage. She hoped their laughter wasn’t a signal they’d played some final trick she hadn’t yet discovered.
As her brother assisted her into the carriage, Rose glanced over her shoulder. “How are Laura and the girls? I’m eager to see all of them.” Rose had been determined to pursue further education, but being away from her younger twin sisters, Ainslee and Adaira, had proven more difficult than she’d anticipated. And she’d sorely missed Tessa, Ewan and Laura’s young daughter. She was eager to reunite with all of them.
“They are doing quite well and are every bit as impatient to see you.” Her brother maintained a close gaze on her as they rode to the train station. His brow creased with concern as he reached for her hand. “You don’t seem yourself, Rose. You’ve said no more than a few words since we left the school. Is there something bothering you that you have not told me about?”
“Nay. I’m pleased to be going home, but I am a little worried about locating employment.” She tipped her head to the side and peeked from beneath her bonnet. “And before you tell me to leave my cares at the Lord’s footstool, I’ve already tried. I’m not as successful as you when it comes to turning loose of my worries.”