She stopped dead, peering at the figure, trying to push down the instant rush of fear. There was a fleeting impression of some gigantic, two-legged spider, tall as a man, coming toward her. Then in a flood of relief, she realized she had come upon Abner Jenkin’s “ropewalk.” The last building on the east end of Canal Street was the Finger Lakes Hemp Company. But that was merely the warehouse. The actual making of the rope was done on the ropewalk, a path stretching almost a quarter of a mile eastward, out of the way of the traffic of the village. What Lydia saw now was the “rope spinner.” And as she looked more closely, she could see it was Abel Jenkins, Abner’s teenage son. “Ninety percent legs and ten percent freckles,” her father had once described Abel Jenkins, and that was what had startled her. The rope spinner moved slowly along the ropewalk, drawing hemp fibers from a large bundle of fibers wrapped loosely around his waist. He would twist the fibers into long, thin cords. It was the bundle of fibers that had looked like the hairy body of a spider, and Abel’s gangly legs only added to the impression.
Lydia veered to the left to avoid him. A few yards behind Abel she could see another figure, and assumed it was his father. The rope spinner was always followed by another person who would weave the cords together to form the thick rope which was so important to the canal boat traffic. But the last thing Lydia wanted right now was to meet someone who knew her. And both Abner and his son came in the store often. She averted her face and hurried on, feeling the boy’s curious stare on her back.
As she entered the main section of Canal Street, she slowed her step, staying close to the buildings so as to stay out of sight of any curious eyes that might look in this direction from Main Street. In a moment the smell of the street almost overwhelmed her, and she groped in her purse for a handkerchief and held it to her nose. She was the only woman in sight, and the curious looks or brazen stares of the men she passed frightened her a little. But she also felt a rush of excitement to be in this part of the village again. She had not been here since the canal had been finished two years earlier, and the rush of commerce had drastically changed its nature.
At the corner of Market Street she stopped and held Joshua’s note up to the last of the fading light. Go to Market Street, then two buildings more. Enter the narrow alley there, go back about fifty paces, and enter the door on the left marked “Erie Warehouse Company.” It would be unlocked for her.
As she took a breath and started to turn, she saw three men approaching. They slowed their step as they saw her. One leered hungrily at her, and again she felt a quick stab of fear. Then the other mumbled something. There was a burst of laughter and they passed on. Suddenly any exhilaration she felt was gone, and the foolishness of what she was doing hit her. And with it came a sudden burst of irritation that Joshua would ask that she venture into this part of town on her own. Just last week the
Wayne Sentinel
had reported that a wheat broker from Syracuse had been knifed and nearly killed. Joshua had brushed that aside, pointing out that the man had been down by the docks after midnight, for heaven only knew what reason. Joshua assured her that as long as she came before dark there was no reason to be nervous.
When Lydia had told Joshua she would be free this night, he had told her of his problem. The night watchman at the warehouse was sick and Joshua could earn another twenty-five cents a day by sleeping there after his regular twelve-hour shift. There was no way he could leave, but why couldn’t she come to see him? She shuddered a little. Canal Street was bad enough. To be in a building, unescorted, with a man was something else. To have those two unthinkables combined. If her parents ever found out…
She frowned, chiding herself. No one had made her come. And she was honest enough to admit it was partly the very daring required which had prompted her to accept Joshua’s invitation. Angry at her own hesitation, she thrust her handkerchief back into her purse, took a deep breath, breathing through her mouth, and moved on. In a moment she came to the alley. It was a narrow passageway between clapboard warehouses two stories high. The alley was in almost total darkness, and the smell of urine and something long dead assaulted her nostrils.
She chewed at her lip as she stared down the darkened passage, then peered at the instructions one more time. One part of her whispered with some insistence that if she had one lick of good sense she would bolt back the way she had come. Another voice jeered at her, reminding her that Joshua would know why she had not come. He had an uncanny ability to cut through any subterfuge, and she knew he would laugh quietly at her timidity.
Behind her, a man came around a corner. He was smoking a cigar and carried some kind of bag slung over his shoulder. In the semi-darkness he looked big and foreboding. Lydia made her decision. Gulping in a quick breath of air, she plunged into the foul smell of the alley. She walked quickly, fighting the rising panic, wanting to dart a look back over her shoulder. What if the man chose to follow her? Or what if Joshua weren’t at the door? Her breath exploded from her lungs, and as she drew in another, she nearly gagged. The stench was overpowering.
There was the door! She nearly flew to it, and knocked sharply, fighting back the overwhelming desire to batter at it with her fists. It opened almost instantly and Joshua was there, standing large and strong in the doorway. Never had there been a more welcome sight. She fought back the panic, fought back the overpowering temptation to throw herself into his arms. She smiled demurely, then curtsied slightly. “Hello, Joshua.”
“Hello, Lydia.” He stood back, opening the door wider and bowing low as he motioned her in. The smell of wheat and flour, hemp rope and molasses was heavy on the dusty air, but after the alley it was like the breath of cherry blossoms in spring, and she breathed it in deeply.
Joshua shut the door and secured it with a cross beam. He turned back to her and grinned. “I about decided you weren’t coming.”
She laughed lightly, catching her breath quickly now. “Isn’t being late part of a woman’s way?”
He laughed with her, obviously happy she had come. A whale-oil lamp sat on a table and another burned from its holder on the wall, giving the windowless room a warm and cheerful glow.
He pulled out a crudely made wooden stool and she sat down. He leaned back against a table built into one wall of the small office. “I know this is a bad place to have you come, but I’m glad you did.”
“I can’t stay long, Joshua. If anyone sees me before I get back to Elizabeth Ann’s house, I’ll be in more trouble than I even want to think about.”
He nodded. “I know, but it’s been almost two weeks since we had a chance to be together. And they found out the watch-man has tuberculosis. It could be another week or so before they find someone to take his place.”
She nodded, studying him as he talked. He had changed noticeably in the three months since he had left his family and moved into town. Much of that was attributable to the heavy dark beard which covered the lower part of his face. Normally, Lydia didn’t care much for beards, but Joshua’s was neatly trimmed, and she found it enhanced his narrow face and prominent features, making him even more handsome than usual. He had also filled out under the rigorous demands of dock work. He was still lean through the waist, but his upper body was more muscular, his shoulders broader, his step more firm and sure.
But the changes ran deeper than just the physical differences. When he had first come into the store the previous fall, he had still been a mostly gawky, awkward boy, fumbling for words, quick to blush. Now most of that was gone. He spoke quietly for the most part but with a surety of word and purpose. He rarely blushed anymore, a trait Lydia had watched disappear with a trace of longing. He was confident, sometimes almost brash, moving out to grasp life before it slipped through his hands. Two weeks ago he had kissed her for the first time. It was the only hesitation she had seen in him in almost a month.
He was watching her with a sardonic grin. “And what is going through that pretty little head of yours?”
Startled that she had gotten lost in her thoughts, she shook her head quickly. “I was just thinking how much you’ve changed since you started working here.”
He hooted softly. “What? Turned from a man into an ape?” He hunched over, scratching under his arm pits and making grunting noises.
She laughed.
“That’s what the foreman here wants. Apes. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Don’t even sweat. Just keep moving them bales of cotton. Keep them bags of wheat moving onto the barges. Here comes another wagon. Up and at it you animals.” His voice had gone from light humor to heavy bitterness.
She slowly sobered. “If you hate it that badly, why don’t you get something else?”
He shrugged.
“I saw where Stephen Phelps is looking for a store clerk.”
“Yeah,” he retorted. “At half the pay I’m making.”
“Half the pay but twice the working conditions.”
He shrugged. “I can take the working conditions.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice a little, though they were alone. “I send the family two dollars a month to help out. It costs me two more for room and board. The other six dollars I’m putting away.”
That was the first Joshua had ever talked about savings, and it surprised her. “Good for you, Joshua.”
He sat back, openly pleased with himself. “I figure a year, maybe a year and a half, and I’ll have enough to buy me a wagon and a team of my own. There’s real money to be made in the freight business.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” It occurred to Lydia that being a teamster might be fine for a man but not quite as wonderful for his wife and children, but she didn’t say anything. It pleased her that he had plans beyond the noise and filth of Canal Street.
“Speaking of your family,” she said, “they were in the store last week.”
He frowned a little. “Nathan too, I suppose?”
Lydia did not miss the sudden petulance. She had mentioned Nathan once or twice in their recent conversations, and learned quickly that Joshua was jealous of any attention his younger brother paid to her. She was pleased she could shake her head. “No, just your mother and the other children.”
What she did not add was that Nathan had come in by himself just that morning, something that was happening with increasing frequency.
Joshua didn’t say anything.
“They asked about you.”
“And did you tell them everything was wonderful?”
“Joshua,” she said softly, “why are you so bitter about this? It’s not your mother’s fault you and your father don’t get along.”
He softened immediately. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He took a quick breath. “How were they?”
“Melissa gets prettier every day. And blushes to the tips of her toes when I suggest it to her.”
Joshua smiled at that. “Melissa is a special girl. She’ll make someone a wonderful wife.”
“Rebecca is an imp and Matthew is adorable. I can’t help but slip those two a piece of candy each time I see them.”
He laughed, the hardness completely gone from his face. “Those two I do miss.”
“Your mother said the harvest is looking very good. It’s been a good year for everybody.”
“And Pa? Did she say anything about him?”
“She said if I saw you I was to tell you he sends his greetings and hopes all is well with you.”
“Hmmmph!” he snorted. “I’ll bet that’s just Ma’s way of trying to smooth things between us.”
Lydia let it pass, watching the emotions working across his face. She found herself comparing him to Nathan. There was a softness in Nathan which at first had seemed like weakness, but which now she found intriguing. She had been around his mother enough to realize Nathan had inherited her gentle nature. That was a good word. Gentleness. Not weakness. Nathan was gentle, but there wasn’t much that was gentle in Joshua Steed.
Lydia thought of their father. Benjamin Steed had also been into the store several times now, and Lydia had no trouble understanding why there was bad blood between the father and his oldest son. They were so much alike in some ways—unbending, proud, quick to take offense at anything perceived to be a threat.
“Have you thought about moving back?” she asked, knowing she was moving onto sensitive ground. “You could still come here to work, and it would save you paying two dollars a month room and board.”
He shook his head quickly in disgust. “Two dollars a month is worth it not to have to face Pa every day.”
“But you could put that away too. That would get you out of here all the sooner.”
He looked at her sharply. “Working the docks is honest work.”
She realized she had touched a nerve, and backed away quickly. His mother had also raised concerns about the environment of the docks, and he was getting to be more and more defensive about it. But his determination to stay with it had also clinched any feelings Lydia’s own father had about Joshua. A farmer was hardly what the McBrides had in mind for their only daughter, but at least it was an honorable profession. When her father had learned Joshua was working on Canal Street he had absolutely, irrevocably forbidden Lydia to have any more contact with him.
Lydia sighed. “It’s not that, Joshua, and you know it. But it’s just not right, you being separated from your family and all.”
“Well, I ain’t going back. So let’s talk about something else.”
Nodding, she stood and moved away, looking past him into the dark recesses of the warehouse. She had pushed him enough and knew he would not be pushed any more on the issue of his family. Joshua stood too, and offered to show her around the cavernous building. It was safer ground, and she immediately accepted. They moved slowly among the organized clutter, Joshua pointing out the various stacks of bales and boxes and barrels that constituted his working life. Next to a towering pile of crates he stopped. A faint fishy smell came from the boxes. She read the stenciled label. Dried cod from Boston on its way westward to the Ohio River valley.
They were standing close, and Joshua reached out and took her by the shoulders. He turned her to face him. She smiled up at him, but it was forced and faded quickly. For some reason she was suddenly depressed. The rush of adrenalin which had sent her plunging into the alleyway was gone now. The folly of her rashness hit her heavily, knowing what it would mean if her father ever learned of this. And coming to Canal Street alone at night had taken more out of her than she had expected. What if someone had been waiting there in the darkness of the alley?