Stella West's artistic talent made her the toast of London, but when her beloved sister dies under mysterious circumstances she abandons everything and heads for Boston. With single-minded determination she fights to pierce the ring of secrecy surrounding her sister's death. Upon meeting Romulus White, a publisher with connections into every important power circle in the city, she quickly realizes he could be a valuable ally in navigating Boston society.
I absolutely loved this story of the early days of Boston and the engineering of the first U.S. subway system to alleviate traffic and pedestrian safety.
An accident begins to mend relationships between characters as physical and emotional need supersede a separation that has lost meaning from its onset, making it obsolete. I loved how they worked together being supportive through rough times to bring their lives to a better place, not giving up hope for a future; doing what was needed to bring their aims to a renewed day-by-day strength by bonding together and not giving up.
Resiliency. Unhampered, construction continues. New beginnings.
There is mystery in this story as a plot to uncover treachery is underway. I was surprised and unsuspecting. Great writing! Livid characters with depth and caring beyond themselves. I'd love to tell you more but do not want to take away from your discovery firsthand. Love Elizabeth Camden's works. Fascinating historical subjects and a storyline that takes off on its own while everything is going on around them.
Rich in history, a very enjoyable read and "what happens next" whodunit. Thank you, author Elizabeth Camden!
for review and to author Elizabeth Camden for her tremendous writing! This review was written in my own words. No other compensation was received except for a continuing memory of this story.***
~ Chapter 1. You will want to read more.
1
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
MARCH
1897
Romulus White stood motionless in the crowded ballroom,
staring at a woman he’d once longed for more than his
next breath of air.
It was not a pleasant experience, especially since
Laura stood
alongside her doting husband. Even from a distance,
her copper-red hair gleamed in the candlelight and made her stand out
from the crowd.
It had been several years since Romulus had last seen her. He
braced himself for the blinding wall of anguish that was sure to
clobber him, but surprisingly, it didn’t come. He waited, holding
his breath, but the only emotion Laura’s presence summoned
was a cloudy swirl of bittersweet memories, an almost-pleasing
sort of ache. Wasn’t that strange? But perhaps that
was the
nature of a first great love. If such a profound experience didn’t
leave the trace of a scar, it would be disappointing.
“Are you going to say hello to her?” His cousin Evelyn drew
up alongside him, pressing a glass of mulled cider
into his hand.
He took a sip before responding. “Who?” he asked casually,
but Evelyn sent him a shrewd look. Evelyn was three
years
younger than his thirty-two years, but she’d already perfected
a disapproving stare that could terrify lesser mortals. They’d
grown up together, and she knew all about his epic
fit of despair
when Laura broke their engagement ten years ago. It
was not his
proudest moment. He’d rather think of anything—a plague of
locusts, perhaps enduring a public execution—anything other
than those ignominious few weeks following Laura’s
rejection.
“You know who I’m talking about,” Evelyn said pointedly.
“It might be nice to exchange a few words to let her know there
are no hard feelings.”
“I’m here on business, not to make pleasant chitchat with
Laura Rittenhouse.”
Tonight’s gala was in celebration of the next round of funding that had just come through for the greatest engineering
project in Boston’s history. Hosted in the lavish country club
overlooking one hundred acres of rolling woodland,
this was
an unprecedented gathering of the city’s leading politicians,
engineers, bankers, and businessmen, all of whom had joined
forces to create the nation’s first subway, which would soon be
running beneath the streets of Boston.
Romulus intended to shake as many hands as possible
tonight. His career as the editor and publisher of
Scientific World
depended on his ability to capitalize on friendships with the
engineers and scientists who were forging the new era of invention. He’d spent more than a decade cultivating these alliances,
and he was good at it.
“You haven’t stopped staring at her since she entered the
ballroom,” Evelyn observed.
“Laura no longer means anything to me,” he said, relieved
there was no stirring of those turbulent emotions that had once knocked him flat. In hindsight, Laura had been right
to cut him
loose. He would have been a terrible husband, and she was
surely better off with Dr. Rittenhouse.
Besides, it was quite possible that no man in Boston enjoyed bachelorhood more than Romulus M. White. He adored
women and had cut a wide swath through their ranks over the
past decade. Someday he would marry, but not anytime soon.
The woman he married would be a good mother and suitable
companion. His future wife would make him smile, but never
roar with laughter. She would be capable of holding an intelligent conversation, but she would not hold him spellbound and
entranced. Nor would she have the ability to make him weep
in despair or plunge him into melancholy merely because she
withdrew her favor. He had already dipped his toe into that
particular pond and had no desire to sample it again. Ever.
He didn’t want to think about Laura tonight. A far
more
fascinating woman had just arrived in Boston and captured his
professional interest. He had never even met Stella
West, but
his letter to her was burning a hole in his pocket.
He leaned down to whisper in Evelyn’s ear. “After t
he speeches
are concluded, I need a few minutes of your time to
discuss
business.”
Evelyn was not only his cousin, she was his business partner
and the managing editor of
Scientific World. They shared ownership of the magazine on a fifty-fifty basis, so he was legally
obligated to gain her consent before major decisions. Although
they usually worked smashingly well together, there had been
tensions over the years, and the envelope in his pocket was
not
going to make Evelyn happy.
“Dare I hope you are about to tell me you’ve approved the
list of technical articles for the April issue?”
“Completed just before I left and already on your desk. You can get everything on the production schedule first thing Monday morning. There is something else we need to discuss.”
And it was going to have to be handled delicately.
Evelyn ran
a tight ship at the magazine, and she was likely to
fight him
tooth and nail over his suggestion.
Scientific World
would have
crashed into insolvency years ago if Evelyn had not been there
to reel him in from his more extravagant indulgences, but on
this issue he intended to remain firm.
“Are you wearing a
pink
vest?” The voice belonged to Michael Townsend, the attorney general of Massachusetts and
Romulus’s weekly sparring partner in the boxing ring. With
patrician features and prematurely gray hair, Michael was a
handsome man despite his bland taste in fashion.
“It’s coral,” Romulus corrected. “I’m wearing it in
honor
of the marine life exhibit currently at the Smithsonian. We are
featuring it in next month’s issue.”
Michael looked skeptically at the vest, but his tone carried
a glint of humor. “It looks pink to me.”
Like most men in the ballroom, Michael wore a black swallowtail coat and vest, but Romulus had had an appreciation
for style from the day he was old enough to understand the
concept of complementary color schemes. Standing over six
feet tall, with black hair and a face that turned heads, he never
shied away from a dash of color or a sparkly gemstone to liven
up his wardrobe.
“Brace yourself, the speeches are coming,” Michael
said,
and a balding man with a walrus mustache stepped up
to the
podium in front of the orchestra.
The music came to an end, and the clinking of forks
on
champagne glasses caused a hush to settle over the
crowd. Henry
Whitney was the improbable hero of the evening. A businessman
with a lifelong interest in railroads, Henry was intrigued by the
possibility of creating a railway that ran beneath
the streets.
Two years ago, he had finally cobbled together the necessary
financing, technical plans, and political clout to begin building
America’s first subway.
Traffic congestion had always been bad in Boston, with its
narrow, twisting streets first laid out in the seventeenth century.
More than half a million people now lived in a city
whose streets
were choked by lumbering streetcars, wagons, and pedestrians
darting among the potholes and horse-drawn carriages. It had
been even worse for the past year as streets had been torn up
for the digging of the subway tunnels, but the first
leg of the
subway was due to open soon.
As the applause settled down, Henry began speaking. “My
friends, it is surely no coincidence that the first
attempt at a
project as technically challenging and politically
risky as a subway should happen in Boston. Our city has been blazing trails
into the unknown since the first settlers arrived in
America. We
carved a great society out of the raw wilderness, and now our
factories, publishing houses, and universities are
the envy of
the world. Our colleges support the research that is fueling the
innovation that will lead us into the twentieth century. Our ships
sail to ports all over the world, and our buildings
are rising high
into the sky. Soon we shall expand into an entirely new realm,
deep beneath the city itself, to launch the first underground
subway in America.”
A hearty round of applause greeted the words.
“London may have been the first city in the world to build a
subway,” Henry continued, “but the London subway runs on
steam, and ours shall be powered by the miracle of electricity.
It shall be a clean, well-lit, and well-ventilated subway, a model
for all future projects.”
Mr. Whitney proceeded to introduce the mayor, the chief engineers, and the bankers who had pulled off the latest round
of funding that would permit breaking ground on the
Tremont
link. If all went well, digging on the Tremont leg
would happen
within the month, and the subway would be ready for business
by the end of the year. Henry continued introducing
key players
in the Boston subway while Romulus fought the temptation to
let his gaze wander back to Laura Rittenhouse on the far side
of the ballroom. Then Henry’s voice interrupted the struggle.
“And I would be remiss if I did not recognize Mr. Romulus
White, whose magazine,
Scientific World, has done so much to
educate the public about the subway project.”
Romulus felt pole-axed. This kind of recognition was unexpected and stunning, but not to be taken lightly.
“Romulus? Where are you?” Mr. Whitney asked from the
podium.
“Here, sir!” he called out in a hearty voice. The crowd around
him parted enough for the renowned financier to spot him.
“Egad,” Mr. Whiney burst out. “A pink vest!”
Romulus raised his glass. “Only the best for a night like
tonight!”
Applause mingled with laughter as every face in the
room
swiveled in his direction.
When the laughter settled, Mr. Whitney continued in
a sober
voice. “We could not have commenced this project without
the support of the public.
Scientific World
has done more to
ease fears about safety and stoke excitement for the coming
subway than an army of politicians could have done.
We are
grateful, sir.”
This time the applause was mingled with foot-stamping and
some good-natured cheers. Michael clapped him on the back,
and Evelyn beamed.
He swallowed hard. Oh, this felt good. Was Laura still in
the ballroom to hear? Ah yes, there she was, standing by the
ice sculpture and politely clapping.
He bowed his head in acceptance, when what he really wanted
to do was shout from a mountaintop. For a man who had barely
graduated college, floundered with finding a career,
and whose
glittering wardrobe disguised a lifelong sense of insecurity, this
was nice. For a few seconds, he had the esteem of every person
in this room.
But they didn’t really know him. Not like Laura did.
He pushed away the thought. These misgivings rarely
plagued
him anymore, for he had launched a magazine with scientific
influence that reached all four corners of the globe. By the time
he managed to draw a breath, Mr. Whitney had moved
on to
congratulate the team of geologists whose work charting the
terrain beneath the Charles River was a vital step for the next
leg of the subway.
He turned to Evelyn and kissed her on the cheek. Evelyn
was an attractive woman, with glossy black hair and a willowy
figure that belied the backbone of pure steel that had propelled
her into a field normally closed to women.
“None of this would have happened without you,” he murmured, and Evelyn sent him a grateful smile. It wasn’t fair that
he received all the acclaim for their magazine’s success, but he’d
always been the public face of
Scientific World, while Evelyn
quietly labored behind the scenes to keep the operations humming like clockwork. The two of them had been inseparable
since childhood, and what a miracle that they’d found a way
to turn their unique talents into a profitable career for both of
them. He only hoped the letter in his pocket would not throw
a bomb into their sometimes contentious relationship.
“Enough with the boring speeches,” Mr. Whitney intoned
with a nod to the orchestra. “Let the dancing begin!”
~*~
Romulus had no interest in dancing. He needed to win Evelyn’s consent regarding the letter in his pocket. It took some
maneuvering, but he managed to lead her out to the enclosed
patio overlooking the wide expanse of lawn. The March evening was chilly, and there were fewer people out here, but some
had gathered amid the potted palms and flickering lanterns
that cast circles of warm light into the evening. Soft laughter
mingled with a violin sonata, and the air was perfumed by night-blooming jasmine. He guided Evelyn into a secluded
corner,
for he didn’t particularly care to be overheard.
“Stella West is in Boston,” he said. “She is the final missing
piece we need to make
Scientific World
soar.”
It was hard to mask the excitement leaking into his
voice, for
Stella was an artist of extraordinary skill. He’d been trying to
hire her for years. They had never met, but he could tell merely
by looking at her illustrations that they were kindred spirits.
Scientific World
was the most prestigious science magazine
in the country, but they’d never been able to produce full-color
illustrations on the amazing topics they covered. Developments
in lithography now made high-speed reproductions of
color
artwork possible, but it required an artist of both
technical and
artistic mastery. Stella could do it. Her illustrations could capture the translucent quality of a butterfly wing or
the breathtaking colors of the Grand Canyon. No grainy photograph could
capture the wonders they covered, and Stella’s artwork hinted
at an exuberant love of the natural world that had captivated
Romulus from the moment he’d seen her fantastic lithographs.
“I thought she lived in England,” Evelyn said. “And that she
told us it would take a barbarian horde armed with pitchforks
and a battering ram to pry her out of London.”
He held up a letter. “This was my latest offer begging her to
work for us. I sent it to her London apartment, but
her landlord
wrote a forwarding address to Stella here in Boston.”
Evelyn’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “So how did
you
get it?”
Romulus grinned. “The post office made a mistake and returned it to me rather than Stella’s forwarding address. So now
I know where she lives. I’ll need you to set aside eight thousand
dollars to make her a tempting salary offer.”
Evelyn nearly choked. “No, no, no,” she sputtered.
“
Noooo.”
Her voice was a swirling mass of disapproval, but Romulus
had anticipated resistance and kept his face a pleasant mask.
“I’ve always admired how you can pack an entire kaleidoscope of disapproval into a single word. Now that we’ve got that
out of the way, let’s proceed with a salary offer for Miss West.”
“No. Absolutely not. We’ve got a perfectly adequate
illustration team.”
“We need better than
adequate; we need the best.”
Two spots of color appeared on her ivory skin. Ever
since
they’d been children, Evelyn’s porcelain complexion
had betrayed her when she was upset, and there they were,
the visible signs of agitation sneaking out from beneath Evelyn’s iron
control.
“We can’t afford her, and she’s already rejected every offer
you’ve ever made to her. Quite colorfully and persistently.”
It was true, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. After he’d
seen Stella’s work on display at a gallery, he’d instantly known
she must be recruited to work at his magazine. He sought out
everything he could learn about her. She was an American,
the daughter of a New York physician, and she had studied at
Cornell University. She left before completing her degree when
the London art world beckoned, and her reputation had been
on the rise ever since.
He and Stella West had enjoyed a lively correspondence over
the years. She was blunt and funny and wisecracking, but one
thing was always the same—she refused to leave London.
Which made him exceedingly curious about what had lured
her back to the United States. It didn’t matter, for the thrill of
the hunt had seized him. Stella West had wandered into his
city, and he’d go after her with the speed of a comet hurtling
through space.
“All I need to do is figure out what she wants, then
offer it
to her,” he said. “Pearls from the bottom of the ocean, rubies
from the Far East, whatever it takes. I want her onboard at the
magazine.”
“How long have you been trying to lure her to
Scientific
World?” Evelyn asked.
“Three years. That means we have published thirty-six issues
without the best illustrator gracing our pages. Don’t ask me
to tolerate a thirty-seventh.” He snatched the envelope back
from Evelyn.
“Stella West is a luxury we can’t afford.” She was about to
launch into a classic Evelyn tirade but stopped when a group of
ladies wandered onto the patio to admire the jasmine. Evelyn
nodded politely to the ladies, then turned her attention back
to him and spoke in a calmer voice. “We can’t afford
it,” she
said. “I’d rather finish paying for the office renovation first. We
overspent shamelessly on the main office.”
Evelyn was still prickly over the parquet floors he’d installed
in the editorial wing of the building. He’d designed the oak
parquet floor himself, modeled on the geometric pattern found
in quartz crystal structures. Hardly anyone noticed
the similarity, but their magazine was founded on the principles of
scientific wonder, and if he wanted to spend a fortune on a
parquet floor that mimicked the six-sided prism of a quartz
crystal, he would do so. The same went for the artwork in
the magazine.
“Art can move people in a way no written words can
do,”
he said. “I want to inform and inspire anyone who h
as ever
dreamed outside the limits of their own daily life.
Don’t you
see it, Evelyn? Our magazine is reaching people in sod houses
in Kansas, in frozen villages along the Yukon River. We just got
our first subscriber in Mongolia. Those people will
never see
the Grand Canyon or the inside of a museum, but they see our
magazine and it opens the entire world to them.”
He couldn’t afford to pay for a new artist unless Evelyn loosened the purse string, so he chose his words carefully. “Stella
West is one of us,” he said, barely able to control
the undercurrent of passion in his voice. “I can tell merely
by looking
at her artwork. She captures the radiance and the immensity
of God’s creation. She can immortalize it in brilliant color. If
we can get her on our team, our subscription rates will soar.”
Evelyn still looked skeptical. She rarely made a decision without triple-checking every conceivable angle, but on
this move
he knew he was right.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said grudgingly, and
he breathed
a sigh of relief. The magazine was the most important thing in
the world to him. On his deathbed he suspected he would still
be strategizing ways to polish its content, recruit
better writers,
improve their circulation rates—
“Hello, Romulus,” a soft voice murmured.
He stiffened. Laura must be standing directly behind
him, for
he’d recognize that honeyed voice anywhere. In front of him,
Evelyn winced in understanding and sent him a sympathetic
smile. This wasn’t going to be too horrible, was it
? In any event,
it seemed there was no escaping it. He plastered an
agreeable
expression on his face and turned to greet Laura.
“Mrs. Rittenhouse,” he said with a slight bow. “You
look
as lovely as ever.”
She made a polite reply and introduced her husband. He’d
met Dr. Rittenhouse many times before, of course. Romulus
made it his business to attend the conferences of scientific organizations throughout New England to keep abreast
of developments in the field. Dr. Rittenhouse owned a pharmaceutical
company that produced a drug for immunity against tetanus.
It was real work. Not like what Romulus did . . .
Laura proceeded to chat with Evelyn about her new house
in Beacon Hill. Apparently people paid handsomely for the
doctor’s tetanus drug, for no house in Beacon Hill
could be
purchased cheaply. She probably wouldn’t think much
of the
hotel room where he lived, but why did he need a house when
all he did at home was sleep? The hotel suited him
perfectly fine.
Evelyn elbowed him, and he realized Laura had asked him a
direct question. “My apologies. Could you repeat that, please?”
“There is a gaggle of young ladies near the punch bowl who
wondered where you disappeared to,” Laura said. “I
gather they
were hoping for a dance. Greta Fitch was particularly interested
in securing a waltz with you.”
Was Laura trying to play matchmaker? It was totally unnecessary, as he tended to enjoy women’s company far too much
as it was. And Greta Fitch was becoming a problem.
They’d
enjoyed a brief flirtation last summer, but she was reading far
too much in to it, and he’d been trying to avoid her. She was
a nice lady, probably too good for him, but her pursuit was
becoming a little awkward.
“I’d prefer to remain out here and enjoy the night
air,” he said.
“Why?” Evelyn asked. “Greta is remarkably intelligent and
has a genuine interest in natural science. I think the two of you
might make a go of it.”
“And you consider yourself an expert on matrimonial
bliss?”
Evelyn raised her chin and shot him an icy glare. “Don’t be
small,” she warned.
But on this particular issue he
was
small. And annoyed and
disappointed in Evelyn.
Evelyn was his best friend in the world. They were only first
cousins but had always been as close as any brother and sister.
They’d been through difficult times together, they’d
built a
world-class magazine together, and their friendship
was the
bedrock that grounded his entire world.
With one notable exception. Ten years ago, Evelyn had married Clyde Brixton, the best friend Romulus had ever had, but
the marriage had collapsed after only a few years. Evelyn had
even reverted to using her maiden name on the masthead of
the magazine, which Romulus thought was both petty and inaccurate, but he could hardly dictate to Evelyn on
this point.
Evelyn and Clyde had been separated for the past six years, and
he doubted they’d ever mend the chasm between them.
Which was a problem, since rumor had it that Clyde
was
back in Boston. Whatever happened, Romulus intended
to stay
out of the line of fire should Clyde be preparing for another
go at winning Evelyn back. There had been a time when Romulus had tried to be a coolheaded mediator between
the two
of them, but he had finally given up in despair. The
collapse
of Clyde and Evelyn’s marriage only confirmed every
one of
Romulus’s misgivings about romantic love. He wanted
nothing
to do with it.
“I enjoy women’s company far too much to settle down with
just one,” he said. “Greta is perfectly charming and intelligent,
but if I married her, she’d soon be a millstone around my neck.
I’m simply not cut out for marriage—”
“Thank you, Romulus. You certainly have a way with
words.” Greta Fitch stood at the far end of the patio, hands on hips,
fire in her eyes.
He froze, horrified at what she’d just overheard. “My apologies, Greta. I truly didn’t mean—”
“You certainly
did
mean it!” Greta called out, her voice full
of artillery fire. She advanced toward them with measured
steps. Laura and her husband both politely stepped
a few feet
away, but everyone on the patio had noticed. Everyone was
listening. More than a dozen pairs of eyes watched
as Greta
marched toward him, and she did not bother to lower
her
voice as she flung the barbs at him. “I think you are so terrified of genuine emotion that you flee any woman who
gets
too close,” she said. “You’d rather set yourself up
asking of
your precious magazine because it lets you hide behind your
subscription lists and sycophants begging to be profiled. That
magazine is nothing but a stack of papers! And you
sacrifice
your entire life to it.”
He tried again. “Greta, I said I was—”
“Sorry? Yes, you are! Don’t worry, Romulus, I won’t
impinge
on your time or the sanctity of your precious magazine. I know
how much those pages stoke your over-inflated vanity. I hope
that someday a woman trounces your heart so hard you’ll have
a little taste of what you’ve been dishing out all
these years. I
hope she rips away every artifice and illusion you hide behind,
because underneath it all, I don’t think she’ll find very much.”
Greta whirled away before he could speak another word.
The door to the ballroom slammed so hard it made everyone
on the patio startle. Excruciating silence hung in the night air.
Well, he supposed he deserved that kick in the teeth. He’d been
honest with Greta from the outset, but she’d simply
ignored
all his warnings.
After a few moments, the clusters of people who’d stopped
to stare in drop-jawed amazement turned back to resume stilted
conversations, but he sensed their surreptitious attention.
He looked at Evelyn, who did not have much sympathy
in her
eyes. Which was ironic. She’d survived a miserable
marriage,
so why should she nudge him toward the same matrimonial
inferno?
Romulus asked, “So when can I expect you to come up with
an appropriate salary offer for Stella West?”
“Romulus! Aren’t we going to discuss what just happened?”
“I think Greta was quite thorough in her assessment.” Not
too far off base, either. He moved closer and lowered his voice
so no one could overhear. “I’m not going to rush to
the altar
just because Greta Fitch has a nesting urge. The only woman
I’m interested in courting right now is Stella West. Frankly, I
hope she has the face of a barnyard door and the personality
of a python, because I don’t need any more trouble with overly
emotional females.”
It really didn’t matter what Stella looked like. He
’d been
dazzled by her from the instant he’d seen her artwork, and he
would move mountains to get her onboard at
Scientific World.
Elizabeth Camden, From This Moment
Bethany House, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2016. Used by permission.
Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania Love Birds ~ an exposed secret can exploit and weaken trust. Lloyd's dat said his hobby was prideful, being excelled from what he had been taught as a boy by his daadi. Ellie wanted to exuberantly share his talents with the shopkeeper at Bird-in-Hand Gifts and Treasures, across from the Farmers' Market. With communication and hearing, this story is one of overcoming and learning to lean and share their hearts as close bonds continue to develop between families and community.
Meet Katie Kauffman:
![By Walker [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons](https://i0.wp.com/upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f9/1883_Walker_map_Boston.png "Map of the Scollay Square Area, Boston - 1883")
***Thank you to Bethany House for sending me a copy of From This Moment for review and to author Elizabeth Camden for her tremendous writing! This review was written in my own words. No other compensation was received except for a continuing memory of this story.***
