“Irma’s never had any children of her own. She won’t like them. You’ll see.”
“Ma, I have to do something. And I’m not moving back in with Travis.”
“How are you going to pay for your room? Irma’s charity is only going to go so far.”
“Well, that’s another thing. There’s a man at the boarding house, one of the federals. He’s offered me a job.”
“A job?” Her mother frowned, suspicious. “Did he say doing what?”
“He needs help signing people up for the electricity.”
“What do you know about that?”
“I don’t know anything. He just thought I might could help.”
Her mother side-eyed her, skeptical. “You watch yourself girl. I don’t like the sound of this, not one bit.”
“It’s a real job, Mama.”
“Why mess with that when you and the children can just live here? I’ve been thinking. We could get another bed in here. There’s room back there in the bedroom for two of them, if they’re small.”
Claire laughed at this. “We’d be at each other’s elbows in this place,” she said. She was taken aback when she saw the wounded expression on her mother’s face. “Now, Mama. You can’t really want us. I’ll bet the kids have been running you half crazy.”
“We been getting along.”
Claire sat back and scrutinized her mother.
“What are you up to, Mama? Two weeks ago you didn’t like us on the front porch. Now you want us to move on in here?”
Her mother sucked in her chin with affront. “Can’t a grown woman change her mind?”
“Did Travis ask you to?”
“Now, Claire,” her mother said, but Claire already knew that she had nosed out the right track from the way the old woman avoided her eyes, busying herself with setting her spoon on the table.
“Nan, honey, why don’t you go find Tom?” Claire said, easing the girl from her lap. “He might need some help.” She waited until the child was out the door, then turned once more to her mother. “This is his idea, isn’t it? If I moved back out here, he figures I’d be halfway back to him. And I’d have you in my ear everyday, coaxing.” This last thought touched flame to her temper and she stood, incensed. “Why are you taking his side?”
“Why are you so mule-headed? That man is the father of your children. He’s trying hard to change.”
“What he did to me, Mama. What he did. There’s no going back after that.”
“You can’t raise those children alone. Go back. Men make mistakes. They’re mostly just good for two things, giving you babies and breaking your heart, but it’s Christian to forgive.”
“He made me sick!” Claire said. “Struck me down the same as if he’d beat me.”
“Claire, you turn the other cheek. It’s in the Bible.”
“I won’t run back to him, Mama.” She turned and strode out the open front door past Tom. She showed the boy a weak smile, but continued on, her anger fueling her quick legs. No one pursued her, nor were there any calls for her to come back and talk. Taking hold of her skirts to give her legs more room, she continued on.
She hadn’t rested nearly enough. That was clear before she was out of sight of the house. Her breath took on a medicinal taste, a sharp note that echoed the scent of her perspiration. She was a fool not to have sat longer, but her mother siding against her, trying to wheedle her into going back to Travis, it made her want to spit. Claire covered a good bit of ground while lost in her silent arguments, until at last, her anger flagging, she began to perceive her predicament. Beneath her skirts, her legs had gone slippery and her heart beat against her ribs at a panicked, runaway pace. She wiped her brow with a sleeve and tried to keep on, but her strength was suddenly gone vaporous, dissipating into the afternoon air. A wave of nausea struck her and she stopped, resting her hands on her knees until it had passed. A group of pines stood nearby, where a creek cut across the road. When she reached their shade she dropped against one of the larger trees.
Her rest was short-lived. Before she had even full settled herself amidst the pine needles, there was the whine of a mosquito in her ears. She swatted it, and another appeared. Glancing up, she found a cloud of the insects descending upon her. One gave her a prickling bite at the neck, and she forced herself up, began walking again.
Nathan was working on a long line of figures, calculating load balances in a cribbed, neat hand. It was his second time to tally the figures. The first set of numbers had been rejected by Maufrais, who had glanced at them and said they were off. The head engineer had been sullen since, waiting.
Nathan surprised himself when he arrived at a new set of sums, and then set about checking them. He took them to Maufrais, who looked them over and gave a gruff nod.
“That’s more like I expected,” he said. “You double checked these?”
Nathan nodded, and Maufrais stubbed out his cigarette.
“All right. Tomorrow morning, first thing, start on the next set for the west branch. They’re going to be shipping the ceramics and steel at the end of the month.”
The others had departed with the five o’clock whistle, and the room had the hushed quiet of a library in the early evening. Nathan gathered his hat and coat. Maufrais remained at his desk, his head down over a set of papers.
He had submitted the first of his extra assignments to Maufrais the day before. Fitzsimmons had been sent east to bring to heel a supplier who’d twice sent copper wire that had visible impurities. It’d been a minor boon for Nathan to turn his work into Maufrais himself, although if Maufrais was forming an opinion about the quality of his work, he was reticent about sharing it.
“Goodnight, Mr. Maufrais,” Nathan said. He expected no response and received none. He retrieved his hat from the peg near the door. When his hand was on the knob, Maufrais spoke.
“You don’t like it, do you?”
“Sir?”
Maufrais looked up now. “Taking orders. It rankles you. I thought it was Fitzsimmons at first, but I see now that it isn’t it.”
“I’m not sure that I understand,” Nathan said. “If I’ve done something, Mr. Maufrais—“
“Remind me, Mr. McReaken. What was your previous position?”
Nathan stilled his pulse. “I was a senior draftsman, but the supervisor let me design the wiring diagrams from time to time.”
“You don’t take orders like a senior draftsman, though, do you? You want to be in charge.”
Nathan considered the question and the
