The Work and the Glory (19 page)

“I know what you’re thinking.” He addressed Nathan, but he really spoke for Lydia’s sake. “But if I’m going to make my own way, I’ve got to earn my own keep. This is more than what I could make doing day labor, and it’s steady too.”

Nathan nodded, trying to push back some of the disappointment. “I suppose.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joshua noted that Lydia seemed unconvinced too. Irritated, he changed the subject. “How’s the family?”

“They’re fine. Matthew wants you to see a racoon’s den he found down by the creek. Becca said to send her love. Melissa is especially worried about you. She said to tell you she’ll not point out all your faults if you decide to come back home.”

Joshua smiled, warmed by the simple report. He had not really expected he would miss them quite like he had. The smile slowly died away. “And Pa?”

Nathan took a deep breath. “He knows I’m here. He told me to bring the mule.”

A puzzled look crossed Lydia’s face at the reference to the mule, but Joshua understood exactly what it implied. It was his father’s way of telling Nathan it was all right to go. He took a quick breath. “I’m not going back, Nathan.”

“I know.” He looked away. “Ma knows too. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come see the family. Ma wants you to come for supper next Sunday.”

Joshua considered that, knowing the difficulty it would be to face his father again, and yet wanting to be back, to sit around the table after the dishes were cleared, listening to Matthew’s chatter, watching Becca’s face which always mirrored whatever she was thinking, feeling the soothing spirit of his mother. He finally shrugged. “Maybe I could.”

“Think about it. It would be good.”

“Tell Ma I feel bad about not being able to come out and help. But I’ll be sending out some of my wages. Pa can use it to hire enough help to make up for it.”

They had come around the barn and now came to where the mule was tied. As Nathan began to get the stuff out of the saddlebags, he stopped, his mouth turning down into a slight frown.

“What?” Joshua asked, noting his expression.

“Pa fired Joseph and Hyrum.”

It startled Joshua, but his reaction was quick. “Good for him.”

“Joshua!”

“Well, it is. People in town were starting to talk.”

For the first time Lydia spoke up. “Joshua’s right, Nathan. Even my father, who doesn’t believe in stepping into other people’s affairs, was real pleased to hear your father had ended his agreement with them.”

Nathan shot her a look, then turned back to Joshua. “Joseph and Hyrum were good workers, Joshua. As good as they come. It ain’t fair to fire them on account of wild stories being told around.”

“They’re not wild stories,” Lydia said earnestly. “The parents of a friend of mine heard it straight from Joseph’s father. ‘Bout him going into the woods and seeing the devil.”

“He never said he saw the devil,” Nathan retorted.

Joshua leaned forward, peering at his brother. “How do you know what he said? Did Joseph finally say something?”

Nathan was caught. It showed on his face.

“Well, did he?”

Nathan sighed. “Yes, he told me about his experience when he was trying to find out which church to join.”

Lydia stepped closer, suddenly eager. “Really, what did he say?”

Reluctantly, Nathan began. He related briefly what Joseph had said. It was obvious as he spoke he was feeling guilt, as though he were betraying a confidence.

Joshua threw back his head in a derisive laugh when he finished. “And you believe that?”

Nathan just stared at the ground.

Lydia reached out and touched his arm. “Do you, Nathan? Do you really believe such a fantastic story?”

He looked at her, then at Joshua, then back at her. “I don’t know,” he finally said lamely.

“Well, I know!” Joshua blurted. “That’s the kind of talk you hear down at the asylum, and I say Pa is wise to be rid of them.”

Nathan’s head shot up, his eyes angry. “If you’re so worried about people talking, why are you staying with the Murdocks?”

Joshua shot a quick look at Lydia, but she looked away. He felt a sudden anger at his feelings of defensiveness. “Till I earn some money, I can’t be affording no room in town,” he snapped. “The Murdocks have a place in their barn. They’re not chargin’ me anything for it.”

“They’re no good, Joshua,” Nathan said flatly. “Joseph Smith’s ten times the man Will Murdock is.”

There it was again. Somebody always trying to tell him how to live and who to live with. He shouldered Nathan aside and took the things from the saddlebag. He stood there for a moment, then looked into the sack, smelled the wonderful aroma of the bread, fingered the crock of pickles, letting the anger die. He knew Nathan meant well and it was his frustration at his father’s stubbornness that triggered this reaction in him. When he turned back around his face had softened a little. He held up the sack. “Tell Ma thank you. And Melissa too.”

Nathan was anxious now to back away from the near confrontation too. “I will. What shall I tell her about Sunday?”

Joshua shook his head, thinking about the ugliness of the previous Sunday. “I don’t know…”

“You need to go, Joshua,” Lydia said, stepping to look up into his eyes. “It’s not right to cut yourself completely off from your family.”

He smiled suddenly. Like he said, everyone was trying to get into his life and run it for him. But he couldn’t be angry with Lydia. Not when she looked up at him like that. “All right,” he said, “I guess I could come.”

“Good.” Nathan untied the reins and swung up into the saddle. He looked down at Joshua. “You don’t have to wait until then, you know.”

Joshua grinned up at him. “I know. But I’m a working man now. I can’t just be goin’ places any time I feel like it.”

“I know.” Nathan reached out and gripped his hand. “Take care, Joshua.”

“I will, Nathan.” He hesitated for a moment, then softly added, “Tell Pa I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

Nathan grinned. “I will.” He swung the mule around and dug his heels into its flanks, waving to both of them as the animal jumped into a trot and turned north onto Canandaigua Road.

It was almost full dark when Lydia waved good-bye to Joshua and went back into the house. As she shut the door, she stopped and leaned back against the door frame, smiling wistfully.

Across the room her aunt was on the sofa, working on a needlepoint cushion for one of the sitting room chairs. Her uncle was in the next room at the table, supposedly doing the books for the farm, but he had fallen asleep, his head on his chest, mouth partly open, snoring softly. As Lydia straightened, her aunt gave her a sharp look.

Lydia noted it and smiled, moving over to sit next to her favorite relative. So unlike her mother, Aunt Bea was easygoing, quick to smile, filled with gentle patience and wisdom. Lydia reached out and took her hand. “What was that look for?” she whispered, not wanting to awaken her uncle.

“What look?”

Lydia laughed softly, not fooled. “Come on, Aunt Bea.”

She looked at her niece sharply. “Sometimes the forbidden fruit is the sweetest on the tree.”

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise. “What does that mean?”

“Your father is not going to look upon a dockworker as the ideal beau for his only daughter.”

“Oh.” So her aunt had already heard.

She went back to her needlework, fingers flying. “If your pa finds out…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence.

For a moment Lydia was tempted to brush it aside with a quick laugh, but it hit too close to her own concerns. “I know,” she finally murmured.

Aunt Bea put her sewing aside. “And there’s something kind of exciting about knowin’ he will be furious with you for encouraging this Joshua Steed on, isn’t there?”

Lydia was caught off guard. “It’s not that, Aunt Bea. I—”

“Isn’t it? You be honest with yourself, child.”

Lydia leaned back, closing her eyes. Joshua was tall, and she found the combination of his rugged handsomeness and his bold manner exciting. But she had to admit there was something a little bit titillating about knowing her father—and especially her mother!—would highly disapprove of her relationship with Joshua Steed. Not that she didn’t love her parents. She did, sometimes fiercely. But they were so…She sought for a good word. Traditional. Yes, traditional. They were so set on having her do things as they saw fit. Sitting in the parlor with your hands folded in your lap as you sipped tea from the china service. A proper courtship, a socially acceptable marriage.

“Don’t ever forget the folly of perversity.”

Lydia opened her eyes, startled by her aunt’s statement. She raised one eyebrow, questioning.

“Sometimes we do things just to be perverse. Not because we enjoy it. Not because it’s right. But just for the sheer joy of being perverse. But it’s folly, pure foolishness.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Aunt Bea.”

She smiled and patted Lydia on the hand. “I’m not sure of what I’m trying to say either, dear. Don’t pay any attention to an old lady’s ramblin’s.”

Lydia smiled, knowing her aunt never rambled. “Well,” she said, standing, “I’ve got to be up early if I’m going to get the store straightened before Mother and Father return on Saturday. I think I’ll go to bed.”

She reached down and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Good night, Aunt Bea.”

“Good night, Lydia.”

As she started up the stairs, her aunt called to her again. She turned. “Yes?”

“Did you know the brother is your age?”

Lydia looked at her sharply. “What brother?”

“Joshua’s brother. Nathan.”

“Oh.”

Her aunt looked up, her face full of innocence. “Seems like a nice boy. Doesn’t have the fires of rebellion burning inside him that his brother seems to have.”

Lydia frowned at the accuracy of the assessment about Joshua, then smiled fondly. “Good night, Aunt Bea.”

She turned and went up the stairs, thinking about Joshua Steed. And as she stood before the mirror brushing out her hair, she found her thoughts turning to Nathan Steed. She thought about his gentleness, the way he had of saying some-thing with almost a droll somberness that would instantly make her laugh. Without thinking, she began to sing softly as she counted the brush strokes.

In London city where I once did dwell,

There was a fair maid dwellin’.

Made every youth cry, “Well-a-day.”

Her name was Barbara Allen.

Erie Canal, Palmyra

Chapter Eight

If a village of less than five thousand could be said to have an unsavory part of town, for Palmyra it would certainly have been that portion of the village which paralleled the Erie Canal. Barely a block north of the more sedate Main Street, Canal Street was almost like another country butted up against Palmyra. Each had its own distinct citizenry, its own set of mores and traditions, even its own language—that of Canal Street being considerably more profane than that of the rest of the village.

With such close proximity, it was difficult for the more respectable residents of Palmyra to totally ignore Canal Street and its denizens, but they did their best. Merchants and farmers had to go to the docks frequently to keep the flow of commerce moving, but they went only when required, and they rarely lingered once the transactions were complete. Women of any reputation at all totally avoided it, would blanch at the prospects of intermingling with the canawlers, the mule skinners, the dockworkers, and the bawdy women who served them. More than one child had his bottom warmed for heeding the siren call of such a forbidden and fascinating world.

This was not a place of picket fences, green lawns, or neatly tended gardens. The alleyways and fence lines were lined with trash, blown along with the dust whenever the wind blew. Empty lots were littered with shards of rope, shattered crates, or even an occasional wagon box or broken wheel. The street itself was filled with the droppings from hundreds of ox, horse, and mule teams, filling the hot summer air with stench, breeding flies by the thousands, and making it imperative to step carefully.

And yet this evening, just at dusk, Lydia McBride was heading for Canal Street. In her hand she clutched Joshua’s handwritten directions on how to find the Erie Warehouse Company. She was coming back into the village from the east. Even with her natural daring she had not had the courage to cross directly over to Canal Street from her home—a matter of a hundred yards or less. Her parents were at a dinner social sponsored by the Palmyra Merchants Association and had given her permission to stay overnight at the home of her best friend, Elizabeth Ann Rowley. Elizabeth Ann’s mother was in Ithaca awaiting the birth of a new grandchild, and her father was at the same meeting as Lydia’s parents. Elizabeth Ann, coconspirator in the evening’s plan, watched wide-eyed, half shocked, half envious, as Lydia exchanged the white shawl she wore for a dark one, put aside the parasol and gloves, and stuffed her long hair up under a drab-looking bonnet that shadowed her face.

With a whispered thanks and a promise to be back before nine, Lydia had set out, continuing east on Main Street until she left the last of the village houses behind. Only then did she turn north and cut across the open fields to the canal and start back toward the main section of town. But as she approached the banks of the canal she gave a start. There was still enough light in the western sky to see by, and about twenty or twenty-five yards ahead a strange apparition appeared.