A Not-So-Distant Love, page 7
Charlotte picked her way over the uneven cobblestone street. “And Fort Pitt was initially built as a stronghold against . . . Indians?” She said the word with a hint of trepidation, a subject so beyond her sphere of knowledge it was hard to imagine.
“At first, yes. It was the site of several bloody battles.” He gave her a knowing smile. “That’s changed though. The Haudenosaunee and Lenape now come here only for trade. The frontier and its many dangers have been pushed farther west. Well, most of them, at least.” He took her arm and guided her past the remains of Fort Pitt. “Let’s walk up to the Point, where the rivers meet. We’ll get you a glimpse of a steamboat or two.”
Charlotte’s eyes darted back and forth as she tried to take in every detail, her senses under constant assault. The smell of oakum and pitch, the grit of coal dust between her teeth, and the constant barrage of sound—anvils striking iron, the shrill whistles of steamboats, and the calls of porters and draymen. The entirety of it made up the constant hum of this growing city.
She turned and glanced back at Tavish, walking next to Mr. and Mrs. Magann. No doubt he was brimful of ideas, fueled by the energy that pulsed around them. He and Liam had all sorts of plans over the coming weeks—they would visit the glass works, Coal Hill, iron foundries, and the like. It felt as though Tavish were on the edge of something momentous and life-changing. And she was happy for him. But she also harbored a fear that as he pushed forward, taking steps toward his goals, she’d somehow be left behind.
She was still so uncertain of herself and her future and wondering what had brought her here.
Liam guided her onto the boardwalk. “It’s not as attractive or refined as Philadelphia, but America’s future is the industry here in Pittsburgh.” They approached the Point, and Liam pointed out a large multistory steamboat pushing upriver, passengers waving from the railings. “The competition between rival steamboat captains is fierce. We’ll have to make sure you see a steamboat race while you’re here.”
“A steamboat race?” Charlotte asked, thinking of the many steamboat accidents she’d read about in the papers back home. “Aren’t they dangerous enough without adding an element of competition?”
Liam shrugged unapologetically, a half smile on his face. “We are set on pushing ourselves to achieve the very best. It’s the American way.”
Tavish and the Maganns finally caught up to them, and they all quieted, taking in the view. The dusty gray of the Allegheny and the bluish green of the Monongahela River joined, forming the churning, muddied water of the mighty Ohio.
“Well, what do you think?” Mr. Magann asked in that booming voice of his, eyes crinkled with enjoyment. His question was more than an inquiry about the view.
“There’s opportunity here, no doubt,” Tavish said, nodding. “I’m itching tae begin.”
“And you, Lady Rowand?”
Charlotte pursed her lips. Up close, the docks were crowded and dirty, stevedores and keelboats huddled along the muddy bank, jockeying for position. Though she’d visited far bigger cities in Britain, she’d always stayed in areas that were beautiful and benign, the polished parts meant for the upper class. Here, at the very tip of Pittsburgh, with the movement of cargo and passengers, the chaos of trade and commerce, it felt as if she were in the very heart of this living, breathing city.
“I like it,” she declared, and she meant it. Despite her general distaste for the busyness and noise—she was a Highlander at heart, after all—she couldn’t help but admire the rawness of it. All of Britain had a timeworn feeling, as if there’d never really been a beginning, but here there was a sense of possibility, of what could be and would be, with a little hard work.
Mrs. Magann waved her fan, trying to waft away the sheen of sweat beading on her upper lip. “If anyone has any interest in my opinion of the city, I find Pittsburgh far too hot in August.”
“Ah yes, we’d best be getting you out of the sun. The carriage is waiting back on Market Street,” her husband replied, patting her arm. “It would be winter here year round if my wife had her way,” he explained to Charlotte, chuckling.
“She’d adore the Highlands, then,” Charlotte returned with a laugh, following the couple as they turned back the way they’d come. The rolling haar and whistling Highland breezes seemed a faint memory in this oppressive heat.
“Perhaps she would,” Mr. Magann said. “Liam purchased some property near Glencoe, you know. We’ll have to visit next summer as we oversee the construction of our residence there.”
“I’ve a few questions about the iron foundries for ye, Liam,” Tavish said from somewhere behind Charlotte, and she knew they would quickly be lost in a tedious discussion about the price of a pound of coal or some such thing.
Their group exchanged the boardwalk for the cobblestone street, avoiding the wagons and carts hurrying toward the wharf.
“Dr. Galloway!”
Charlotte raised her head at Mr. Magann’s unexpected call to find the doctor striding toward them, his face all business. He continued forward, not even slowing to greet them. “Forgive me. There’s a man down at one of the docks whose leg was crushed while unloading cargo. I must go.”
Charlotte’s gaze followed him as he disappeared into the crowd, his tousled curls lifting in the soft breeze coming off the water.
Mr. Magann shook his head. “He’s a good man, that one. Willing to help anyone in need, whether or not they’ve the means to pay him.”
More likely he offered his services because he enjoyed ordering people about, but Charlotte kept that thought to herself. “That’s very kind of him,” she said. “I believe you said he’s a close friend of the family. Have you known him long?” Though Dr. Galloway was maddeningly overbearing, she couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the man.
Martin smiled. “Ah yes. I was good friends with his father. I met Leith during the war. A stalwart man if ever I knew one. We had both joined Philadelphia’s militia.”
Charlotte’s tongue brushed over her lips as she remembered the pointed comment she’d made to Dr. Galloway about the Americans winning unfairly, and she felt a twinge of regret. How many times had Mother quoted Ecclesiastes 5:2 to her? “Be not rash with thy mouth.” She repented a little, silently vowing to recite that scripture before speaking another word to the man.
Mr. Magann smiled, warming to the topic of the militia. “That was 1780. We were both assigned to the First Battalion, Second Company. He was an excellent marksman—served as a lieutenant under me.”
“Oh now, don’t go into all that,” Mrs. Magann teased. “She’s from the losing side, you know.”
Charlotte cracked a smile. “A fact I’ve been reminded of more than once already.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t bringing it up to boast, my dear,” he said loudly as a donkey cart clattered over the cobblestones. “Only explaining the roots of our friendship with the good doctor.” He turned back to Charlotte. “We went our separate ways after the war—I, a land surveyor, with an eye toward the West, and Leith, a blacksmith, stayed . . .”
Though Mr. Magann kept talking, Charlotte’s mind had frozen. A father who’d been a blacksmith. So that explained Dr. Galloway’s shoulders. She dragged her attention back to what Mr. Magann was saying.
“ . . . both awarded tracts of land west of the Allegheny. Good, bounteous farmland. But I was no farmer, and I saw potential in Fort Pitt. Which is why I sold my land and invested here.”
“It was an inspired move, it would seem. You’ve done very well for yourself,” Charlotte observed.
“All thanks to the bounteous Lord. And the support of a good woman.” He looked to his wife, who gifted him a smile.
“The very best,” she returned pertly. Charlotte had at first believed Mrs. Magann to be rather quiet. And she often was, but it had quickly become apparent that whenever she did speak, it was always with a fair amount of spunk.
Mr. Magann looked both ways before he guided the two of them across the street. “I’ll continue, if I’m not boring you.”
“Not at all. Please, go on.” Strange how on the walk here Charlotte had taken in every detail of bustling Pittsburgh, but now she was too engrossed in the story to notice her surroundings.
“Leith had lost a leg in the war, but he worked with his father and found ways to accommodate for his lack of a limb. His work consumed him, and he didn’t end up marrying until he was nearly forty. Sadly, his wife died in childbirth less than a year later, leaving him with a motherless boy and an aging father.
“I’ll never believe that my passing through Philadelphia shortly thereafter wasn’t divinely inspired. I stopped to visit my old friend and found him mourning his recently passed wife.” He swallowed. “After all we’d been through, both in the war and since, we both understood the pain of loss, and we grieved together. But beyond that, he was suffering from complications of amputation so many years before. He was unsure how to care for his son and was uncertain whether he could continue the demanding work of a blacksmith.”
“And you persuaded him to relocate here?” she guessed.
“Yes, though it didn’t take much convincing on my part. Pittsburgh was desperate for blacksmiths back then, and—”
“But what of his leg?” she interrupted. Curiosity had bubbled up in her like boiling water in a teakettle.
“He did well enough at first. He eventually chose to specialize in smaller implements, things he could make while sitting: nails, locks, hinges, and the like. And he was successful at first. But as Pittsburgh grew, people frequented smithies where the blacksmith could make all the tools they had need of. Leith struggled to provide for his father and son, refusing any offers of help.”
Charlotte’s middle tugged with worry.
“And, believe me, we did try,” Mrs. Magann interjected.
Mr. Magann gave his wife a soft smile before his attention returned to Charlotte. “As I’m sure you know, you Scots are a stubborn lot. Leith’s pride would not allow for our help.” Mr. Magann’s walking stick continued to echo off the cobblestones.
“So Dr. Galloway’s family is Scottish?” Charlotte asked. “I wondered.”
“Yes. Alec’s grandfather came over from Scotland, though that’s a story you’ll have to hear from him.”
Charlotte nodded politely. Inwardly she laughed at the thought of the two of them ever having a civil enough conversation to discuss his ancestry.
“Much was expected from Alec,” Mr. Magann went on, “even at a very young age as Leith scraped out a meager existence for the three of them. But Leith’s condition slowly worsened. He died from further complications of his amputation when Alec was only eleven.”
Charlotte hadn’t expected that. Her heart pressed painfully against her ribs as she imagined a young and orphaned Alec Galloway. Thinking of him at eleven, alone and fatherless, made him much more pitiable.
“His grandfather died just three years later, leaving him completely on his own. We would have taken him in if he’d let us, but Alec was determined to make his own way.” Mr. Magann sighed. “He has just as much of the Scots pride as his father did, you know.”
Living on his own at fourteen? Such a thought was beyond Charlotte. “But how did he manage medical school, his training?”
“Once orphaned, Alec apprenticed himself to a local blacksmith. By twenty-one he’d reached the status of journeyman and was talented at doing intricate iron work. He became quite sought-after for his sophisticated pieces. If he’d wanted to, he could have made a good living as a blacksmith, but he’d wanted to be a doctor ever since his father’s passing. Alec worked and saved for years, until he had the means of putting himself through school.”
A self-made man. Grudging admiration took root in Charlotte.
Mr. Magann nodded, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Once he began his schooling, he went at it doggedly. He made quite a name for himself at the University of Pennsylvania. After he graduated, he was invited to stay on and teach, but he felt that his roots were here and chose to come back. We’re lucky to have him.”
“He’s a very good doctor,” Charlotte said, uttering words she never thought she’d say aloud.
Mrs. Magann peeked her head around her husband. “He is that. But, once, there was more to him than just doctoring. Since his wife died, he’s thrown himself into it and given little thought to anything else.”
Wife? Charlotte halted midstep. Dr. Galloway seemed so . . . solitary. She recalled the first time she’d caught sight of him, making his way through the congested reception room. Even then, surrounded by a crowd of people, he’d somehow managed to hold himself apart from everyone else.
A wife. Had her death broken him so thoroughly that he’d become callous and unfeeling? An unexpected pain scored Charlotte’s heart—one she had no right to feel, for she was nothing to the doctor.
And he was nothing to her.
She looked up to find the Maganns waiting up ahead. “How very tragic,” she said softly, taking a few quick steps to catch up to them. “I didn’t know he’d been married.”
The two of them fell back into step beside her. “Ah yes,” Mr. Magann said. “It’s been three years now. He blames himself. Wrongfully, of course. But despite all our efforts, he continues to keep us at arm’s length.”
Mrs. Magann chimed in, echoing Charlotte’s thoughts from a moment ago. “He keeps everyone at arm’s length.”
Why, for Charlotte, did those words sound like a challenge?
“I do hope whoever he was rushing off to see isn’t too badly injured,” Mr. Magann said, looking back in the direction they’d seen the doctor go. Liam and Tavish still lagged, heavily engrossed in conversation.
“Yes, poor soul.” Mrs. Magann gave her husband a saucy look. “But I also hope whoever he was rushing off to see won’t make him late for dinner.”
“Dinner?” Charlotte echoed.
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Magann answered. “Alec has a standing invitation for dinner every Thursday. I suppose we should have told you, but I didn’t think much of it since he’s like family to us. You don’t mind, I hope?”
What could she possibly say? That she’d rebuff the man they held in such high esteem?
Impossible. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said.
But that wasn’t true at all. Her mind was still whirring, wondering which version of Dr. Alec Galloway would make an appearance this evening—the man who’d thoroughly insulted her on her first night in Pittsburgh or the self-made man, struggling through the wounds of a tragic past.
Perhaps, tonight, Charlotte would find a way to reconcile the two.
Chapter Eight
Tempting as it was, Alec couldn’t, in good conscience, miss another dinner engagement with the Maganns. If he was absent for more than one or two in a row, there were always questions. Hints of concern. Better to endure a good meal and a few short hours of small talk than deal with a confrontation of that nature.
That didn’t mean he regretted being late. He’d come home covered in blood and the grime of the wharf, probably smelling of it as well. After shedding his soiled clothing, he’d taken his time scrubbing himself clean, finished trimming his beard, and dressed, and by that time, dinner was already half over.
The late-August evening was a sultry one. The lazy heat that rested in the air made it hard to instill any urgency in Fargo. Instead, Alec settled for a trot, taking in the late-summer sunset’s hues of peach and gold. By the time the Maganns’ sweeping riverfront home finally came into view, some of the day’s strain had melted away.
He was escorted into the dining room to find only Martin, Liam, and Mr. Stewart still within. “I was hoping you’d still come,” Martin said, as the three of them got to their feet. “Shall I have your dinner brought in?”
Alec’s place setting sat in its usual spot, untouched. “Yes, please. I dared not offend Alice by arriving both late and without an appetite.” Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
Martin chuckled. “Smart man.” He stepped over to speak with one of the footmen, giving quiet instructions.
Alec took his seat. “Liam, Mr. Stewart.” He nodded at each of them. “I take it you were out touring the city today?”
Liam grinned. “All the way to the Point and back.”
Alec settled back into the cushion of the chair. It felt good to sit. He turned to Liam’s friend. “’Twas a long day for you, then, Mr. Stewart.”
“The day sped by, and tomorrow there is more tae come.” His angular face broke into a smile. “And call me Tavish, if ye will.”
He nodded. “Tavish, then. And you may call me Alec. So tell me, what do you think of our fine city?”
Tavish traced the stem of his wine glass. “Pittsburgh is all that Liam promised me. I’ve no doubt I came tae the right place.”
“And where do your interests lie?”
Tavish was difficult to read, his face much less expressive than his cousin’s. “I’ve studied the British railways extensively. As impressive as the steamboats on yer rivers are, they’ll soon be replaced by the coming of trains. It may take a few decades, but with the hard push west, there’ll nae doubt be a transcontinental railroad.”
Tavish’s answer only served to further Alec’s belief that the man would be a good partner for Liam. He was hungry for success, but unlike some others, it didn’t seem to make him shortsighted. His ability to visualize and plan for a far-distant future would make him invaluable.
Martin joined them at the table, and a footman followed, pouring a glass of madeira for each of them in turn. Soon after, Alec’s dinner was served, and he ate while the other three discussed more of Pittsburgh’s potential growth.
