The Lady of Bolton Hill

Chapter 23





Daniel stared at the paper work before him on his immense walnut desk. Placing his signature at the bottom of that document would represent his complete and total surrender. It meant that Alfred Forsythe would be free to gorge himself on as many of Daniel’s innovations as he could devour. Forsythe’s company would grow fatter and richer. Daniel could feel the eyes of Lou Hammond, his lead attorney, on him, almost gloating as Daniel signed the last of the documents.

“I imagine Ian Carr will be delighted about this,” Hammond said as he waved a document in the air to dry Daniel’s freshly inked signature. At the mention of his partner’s name, Daniel’s face darkened. Ian would not be celebrating anything in the near future. In one of the most difficult conversations of his life, Daniel had told Ian of Jamie’s machinations. When he finally comprehended the magnitude of what his only child had done, Ian had sobbed like a baby.

“Just file the paper work with the county attorney. I’ll have my secretary draft an offer of licensure to be sent to Forsythe Industries on Monday.”

Daniel was surprised at how easily the command had rolled from his tongue. He never thought he would live to see the day when his company offered their technology to Alfred Forsythe. Over the past years, each time Daniel learned that Forsythe had to replace his rails early or had his trains damaged due to the use of inferior equipment, Daniel could imagine his father reaching out from the grave to twist the knife in Forsythe’s gut. That image had sustained Daniel for over a decade.

Now it was time to let his father rest in peace.

Daniel waited for his attorney to leave with the all-important documents, then pushed back from his desk and turned to watch the late afternoon sun from his office window. Clothing was strewn about the office, and a brand-new shaving case rested on a filing cabinet. He’d been living here in the three days since he had left Clara’s house. Lorna was puzzled as to why he would not return to her home. His sister Katie had been there ever since the fire, and it was the logical place for him to go. “After all, you did pay for the place,” Lorna had told him.

How could he explain to his sisters that he needed solitude? They believed the sun rose and set on him, that he was some sort of invincible hero who could snap his fingers and all his problems would be magically solved. He would not bring his struggles before his sisters, who would try to cheer him up or dismiss the demons that were eating at him.

For what is a man profited, if he should gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

The words came unbidden to his mind. Daniel was not much for scripture and verse, but he’d certainly heard the phrase enough in his life to know it applied directly to him. For years he had lavished wealth and attention on that house, and it had burned to the ground in less than an hour. Was the artwork and crystal worth yelling at Clara over? He had just signed papers that would bring him more wealth than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, and yet it brought him not an ounce of joy. Nothing. What he craved was to feel peace, and that could not be bought with riches or nurtured by living in a fine mansion. Neither could it be obtained by grinding Alfred Forsythe into the dust. Indulging his vengeance had brought him a sense of triumph, but never had it brought him peace. Now all he wanted was to find a way to quench the thirst in his soul.

His gaze was caught by the church on the corner of the street two blocks down. For years Daniel had been looking out this window, yet never once had he been tempted to set a foot inside. To do so would force him to confront raw, open wounds that were easier to ignore. It would have been the height of hypocrisy to sit in a church pew while his heart was roiling with vengeance. But he was surrendering his quest for revenge. He still felt polluted with the stain of bitterness, but the battle was over. He had let Forsythe win. Now that he was no longer plotting acts of aggression, would the bitterness fade and heal with time?

He had always demanded his sisters attend church. He wanted them to know the solace and grounding so many people found through abiding by the principles of Jesus. Daniel had always known his thirst for vengeance disqualified him for a godly life. He hardly needed to step inside a church to find that out.

Memories crowded to the forefront of his mind. It was hard to even remember who his mother had been before she became the hollow-eyed shadow of a woman, but once she had been a vibrant Christian who had taken joy in her family and her faith. Who had failed whom during those final years? It was his mother’s horrific choice to put a rope around her neck and choke the life from her own body while her daughters were in the next room . . . and yet, Daniel could not stop believing that God had failed his mother. Wasn’t the love of Jesus supposed to have saved her? Held her in the palm of His hand through the terrors of the night?

Coming to terms with these awful memories was the price Clara wanted him to pay in order to start a family with her. The outward motions of granting Forsythe access to his inventions had been done—now came the hard part.


The walls of the office were closing in on him. Impulsively Daniel grabbed his jacket and headed outside. He felt drawn to the church, as though the answer to his questions could be found inside the building.

The heavily paneled doors of the church creaked open, and Daniel slipped inside. As he sat in the back pew, a torrent of thoughts crashed through his mind. He would do or say anything for Clara, but how could he persuade his soul to accept something he instinctively rejected? He signed the papers that relinquished his vendetta against Forsythe, but the bitterness still smoldered. He had allowed Bane to be treated and walk out of Clara’s house a free man. How much more would Clara need from him? He was sitting in the pew for several minutes before a minister walked down the center aisle toward him.

“Sir? I don’t believe I know you. I’m Reverend Lewis.”

“I don’t attend here,” Daniel said. “I was just passing by and had the impulse to step inside.”

“You are more than welcome for as long as you wish. Or if I can answer any questions for you . . .”

The minister’s offer dangled in the air. He clearly did not recognize Daniel, which is how Daniel wanted it. This minister was a stranger whom he need never see again, so perhaps he could speak frankly. “There is a woman I wish to marry,” he began. He had never spoken of his intentions toward Clara to anyone, and the words echoed in the cavernous church. He drew a ragged breath and began again. “She is a devout woman, one who will insist on a commitment to the church before any kind of marriage would be considered.”

The minister smiled knowingly. “Is there something preventing you from moving forward with your faith?”

His mother’s image floated in his mind, and his hands clenched into fists. “My mother committed suicide,” he said weakly. Even saying the word sounded foul, a repulsive word in this sanctuary of peace.

“I’m very sorry for that.”

Daniel looked at the minister and voiced the thought he had never been able to say to another human being. “She believed in Jesus her entire life, but if I accept the Christian doctrine, it means I will have to believe my mother is burning in hell.”

The minister’s eyes widened, then dimmed in sorrow. “I’m sorry you have been led to believe that,” he said. “I can’t pretend to say I understand the grief that led your mother to reject the gift of life, but Jesus died on the cross for our sins, and that includes the sin of suicide. And nothing, not even your mother’s own destructive actions, can separate her from God’s eternal love. Do not let thoughts of this cause you to turn away from the gift of the Lord’s light.”

And as the minister spoke, sunlight broke through the clouds that had been blanketing the city all day and streamed through the stained-glass windows of the church, bathing the sanctuary in warm amber light. It could have been a freakish coincidence or the Lord sending a message—or it could be that the sunlight was a gift sent from his mother, letting him know that she was home.

Daniel gazed at the light, shades of gold and saffron blazing, and just as quickly as it appeared, it faded away into the twilight of the evening. The glimmering light had lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough. It had purified the memories of his mother that had always been stained with despair. He knew his mother now lived in a glow of sunlight. Relief washed through Daniel. If the love of Jesus extended even after those awful final minutes of her life, then his mother was living within the shelter of the Lord at this very moment.

Reverend Lewis did not notice Daniel’s distraction. “The signs of the Lord’s love may not always be obvious,” the minister said, “but throughout your life, the Lord will seed your path with many blessings. If you can learn to spot them, perhaps it will not be so difficult to sit beside your fiancée in good faith when you come into the church on Sundays.”

The minister’s words sparked a chord in Daniel. The Lord had blessed him. He had been blessed by being born into a loving family and possessing a sound mind and body. In his gritty world of steel mills and tenements, a sudden burst of inspiration had guided Daniel to Clara Endicott’s doorstep, where he was given the immeasurable gift of her friendship. Throughout all the years and the ocean that had separated him from Clara, the Lord continued to nurture the bond that had woven them together. And surely, even when Clara had been temporarily besotted with a man who was not worthy of her, the Lord had sent her the warning signals which Clara had heeded.

He remembered the sight of Clara racing down the pier, hand in hand with Bane as the docking exploded behind them. Perhaps the Lord had even dropped that horrible, nasty boy into their midst as a lesson to him. If a hardened criminal like Bane had the insight and ability to make a change in his life, surely Daniel should have the fortitude to do the same.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. Reverend Lewis was sitting in the pew beside him, his face riddled with concern, and it would be horribly inappropriate to laugh. Under no circumstances should he give in to the hilarity that was welling up inside him, but the idea of Bane being a gift from God was too amusing to suppress. He knew he was grinning like an idiot and the minister likely thought he had lost his mind, but Daniel found that he just didn’t care.





Clara’s father returned from New York with successful legislation in his pocket. Lloyd had listened with a combination of horror and pride as Clara recounted what had happened over the past week. There was no point in attempting to keep the incident quiet, as Jamie Carr’s arrest was major news and she had spent an entire morning providing statements to the police.

About Bane, she had said as little as possible, and omitted the episode on The Albatross entirely. She had taken Bane’s warning to heart about the danger she and her family would be in should the extent of her involvement with the destroyed opium ever be discovered.

“I think this would make for an interesting story,” her father said as they relaxed in his study. “The downfall of Jamie Carr is a classic example of the dangers that a sense of entitlement can bring to our youth. It could prove to be a most instructive story, should you choose to write about it, Clara.”

Clara sat curled up on the window seat in her father’s study and looked at Lloyd in mild horror. The tragedy of what had befallen Ian Carr was not something she would ever race into print, no matter how instructive it might be. “I couldn’t do that to Daniel,” she said. “He looked physically ill when he realized what this would do to his partner.”

Clara nearly bit her tongue when she saw her father’s sour reaction to Daniel’s name, and she turned away to watch the wrens building their winter nest outside the window. It was true that Daniel had been less than gentlemanly over the last few weeks, and lately he seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. It had been almost five days since he had said good-bye to her on the sidewalk, and the only thing they heard from him came in the form of a single letter from his lawyer, noting that Daniel’s lawsuit against them had been rescinded. Other than that, there had been nothing. That her father still harbored doubts about Daniel was obvious, but he was too cautious of treading on their fragile reconciliation to bring it up.

“This isn’t about Daniel, this is about your career as a writer. Clara, you have a talent for communicating to an audience that is astounding. You must not shove this gift away.”


“I’m not shoving it away. I just don’t want to exploit this situation for my own gain. Daniel would not want his friend’s personal tragedy splashed around in public any more than is necessary. I won’t invade that family’s privacy by taking advantage of my connections. I won’t ever write anything that will exploit my connections with Daniel again. I learned my lesson the last time I tried to meddle in his business.”

Her father raised one eyebrow, a single action that could always quell her into obedience when she was a child. “Clara, the true romance of your life is your writing, not Daniel Tremain. Your flair for communicating to the people and influencing public opinion must not be squandered.”

Clara stared at her father. All her life she had sat at his feet and absorbed the words he spoke as though they were from on high. What an enormous force for good her father was, and what an odd sensation to realize that sometimes he could be wrong.

“Father, I admire you and I respect you for all the tireless work you have done, but I am not a lump of clay you can mold into one of your masterpieces. I’ll write when the spirit moves me.” She turned back to the wrens working a piece of ryegrass into the lining of their nest, and smiled at the simple domestic task that was a universal trait among all living creatures. “And you are wrong about the love of my life. Writing is important to me, and I don’t think I’ll ever give it up . . . but I met the love of my life when I was eleven years old. It might be nice to have international acclaim like Aunt Helen, or be as valiant as Clyde . . . but if I strip all the trappings away, what I truly want is to be Daniel Tremain’s wife. I feel as though we have been called to be together. No other yearning in my life has been as strong or as sustained as that.”

Skepticism was written across her father’s face. “If this man is your destiny, then where is he?”

Good question! Clara straightened her shoulders. “Daniel has a few issues he needs to work through. His house burned down . . . issues with Ian . . .” Her voice trailed off. Daniel ought to be here beside her, and his continued absence was making her want to tear Baltimore apart in search of him. She had already been to Lorna’s house, where she had been told that Daniel had moved out last week. She had tried his office, where the employees told her he had stayed a few nights, but they’d seen precious little of him since. She was tempted to camp out in his office and wait for his return, but somehow that seemed a tad desperate. Daniel knew where she lived and was perfectly capable of finding his way to her door when he was ready.





In one hand she held the still-wriggling fish, and with the other Clara tried for the third time to extract the barbed hook from its mouth. Such a tiny little hook, but getting a grasp on the thin piece of metal as she pulled it through the rubbery fish was beyond her. She winced and turned her face away as she tugged one final time, but it was useless. She was a pathetic failure at fishing.

Clyde would be visiting for another week before returning to the Southwest, but lately he had been complaining of feeling hemmed in by town life. He had dragged her to this park for what was supposed to be a relaxing day outdoors, but Clara had forgotten that Clyde’s boundless aptitude for country living was not a transferable skill.

She met Clyde’s gaze in desperation. “I give up. Mercy. I’m waving a white flag.”

Clyde took the fish with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Since the dawn of time, mankind has been snatching fish from the waters and managing to get them into the cooking pot. Our entire civilization would have ground to a miserable death through starvation were it up to you.” Clara watched in amazement as Clyde removed the hook, flashed a tiny paring knife across the side and belly of the fish, and quickly filleted the trout before he had even completed his annoying little speech. “Think of that, Clara. All of mankind . . . dead, just because you’re a squeamish girl.”

Clara dried her hands on her skirt. “I’m a girl who knows where the nearest fish market is and how to purchase exactly what I need to put food on the table. Far more efficient than this venture into the wilderness.”

Clyde eyed the park benches, the manicured pathways, and the low brick wall that rimmed the park. “Wilderness, is it?”

Clara had to hold back a smile. Perhaps a walled park on the outskirts of Baltimore was not such a terrible wilderness compared to the jungles and deserts that Clyde had mastered, but it was the limit of what Clara was capable of handling today.

Clara let Clyde bait her hook with a minnow before she cast it back into the stream. She had come with him today to get her mind off Daniel, whose continued absence was no longer worrying; it was infuriating. It had been a week since he had left her on that sidewalk. Reading the newspaper brought a fresh torrent of thoughts about Daniel. The stock price of Forsythe Industries had almost doubled when it was announced they would begin replacing their rails with the steel manufactured with Daniel’s technology.

Not that she could share her concerns with anyone. Her father was convinced Daniel would only prove a distraction from her true calling in life, and Clyde was suspicious of any man who showed a romantic interest in her. Even though Clyde and Daniel had formed a truce during the horrific few days while she had been kidnapped, Clyde still had the irrational belief that no man was good enough for his baby sister.

Clara felt the distinctive tugging at the end of her line and sighed. “I had hoped it would be at least another ten minutes before I would have to go through this ordeal again.” She pulled up the fish and watched it flop on the grass.

Clyde knelt beside her and guided her actions. “Get a good grasp on the fish,” he said. “That’s half your problem, which is causing . . . Well, here, why don’t you let me do it.”

“That’s okay; I want to learn,” she protested. All morning she had been trying to foist it off on Clyde, and now when she was finally ready, he took the fish from her hands.

Not that Clyde was making much progress, either. He squatted down beside her on the bank but seemed unusually distracted as he fumbled with the fish. Twice he started to remove the hook, but then hesitated and kept glancing behind her. Finally Clara turned around. It was hard to see because she was looking directly into the late afternoon sun, but it looked like a man on horseback was headed straight for them.

And the man on horseback looked like Daniel.

Clara stood, her heart surging in relief.

“Your father said you would be here,” Daniel said as he dismounted. Clara’s gaze swept across his broad shoulders and his skin flushed with health. Daniel was smiling broadly and his eyes were brimming with mirth as he glanced at the pile of fish at her feet. “Why, Clara, are you responsible for that massacre?”

She was absurdly relieved to find him among the living, but her ire quickly resurfaced and Clara tossed her rod on the ground. “Clyde slaughtered the fish,” she said casually. “I’ve been sick with anxiety over you, but since it appears you are bright-eyed and the picture of health, I suppose I should stop worrying.”

At least Daniel had the good grace to appear a bit embarrassed. He shifted on his feet and his gaze flicked to Clyde, then back to her. “I told you I needed to be on my own for a bit.”

“Seven days,” Clara muttered. “The entire earth was created in seven days, but I’m glad it was sufficient time for you to accomplish what you needed.”


Daniel’s grin broadened. “Thank you, it was!” He moved closer to her, and Clara felt a little of the strength go out of her knees. His face was radiating optimism, and that reckless smile made it so hard to resist him. “Let’s go for a ride, Clara. Your brother’s knife is making me nervous.”

“Clyde’s little paring knife has you spooked?”

“Not really, but courting the woman I love in front of her brother tends to put a damper on things. I thought we could ride over to the old Music Conservatory. You heard they are tearing it down today, right?”

She had seen the preparations for demolition all week as a work crew had lined up equipment and began stripping the old building of its valuables. A pang of nostalgia tugged at her. “Yes,” she said slowly. “The thought of watching it being torn down is rather sad for me. I don’t think I can bear to actually watch.”

“Are you telling me you would not go to the funeral of an old friend?” Daniel asked.

“Funeral, yes,” Clara said. “Execution by wrecking ball, I’d rather pass.”

And yet that enigmatic gleam was back on Daniel’s face. The sheer joy that was radiating behind Daniel’s eyes was curious . . . and Clara realized she had not seen him so unabashedly happy since before his father had died. “Clara, I’m trying to sweep you off your feet and carry you away somewhere we can be alone for a moment. You are being terribly uncooperative.”

Clyde sighed in exasperation. “Just get on the horse and go with the man. If I thought for one second his intentions were not honorable, he would not live to see another sunset.” Clara looked at the growing pile of fish along the side of the stream, then at Daniel’s magnetic smile.

“I suppose it beats gutting fish,” she muttered as she shrugged into her jacket, “but just barely.” Especially since leaving with Daniel meant a ride on his enormous black horse.

“Excellent.” Daniel mounted his horse and Clara tamped down her anxiety as he leaned down to pull her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around Daniel’s lean waist as the horse’s gait picked up into a trot. Somehow she always felt safer when she was snug against Daniel. There would be time later to rake him over the coals for the seven days of sheer anxiety he had caused her, but for now she let relief trickle through her knowing that he was safe. She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I really did miss you, Daniel.”

One of his warm hands covered hers. “I missed you, too. Lately I’ve been plagued with the strangest urge to do something really nice for you.”

She tightened her arms around him. “That must have been a shock to your system.”

“Yes, and it took a little time to arrange, so pardon my tardiness.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Clara, where would be the fun in spoiling your surprise?”

She nudged him in the back. “I’m surprised I’m sitting with you on this horse at all.”

“Patience is a virtue, Clara.”

The conversation continued in such a fruitless vein for several miles. As they traveled down the thoroughfare toward Bolton Hill, the wide swaths of grassy meadow that lined the road became dotted with shops and homes. Riding double on a horse was simply not proper, and a few matrons looked askance at Clara clinging to Daniel as they trotted down the street. Clara had been through too much over the last few weeks to care about the opinions of others, and she pressed her face closer against Daniel’s back.

At last they were back in Bolton Hill, and Clara could see the Music Conservatory at the end of the street. Several empty wagons were already lined up in front, probably to begin carting the rubble away as the demolition progressed.

As soon as they both dismounted, Clara stared at the old building. Beneath the steeply pitched roof she had spent the best hours of her life, and she tried to etch every line and detail of its beloved image into her memory. There was pounding coming from inside the building. No doubt they were knocking down some of the interior supports before the major wrecking would commence.

“I don’t think I want to watch this,” she said.

Daniel clasped her hand in his. “Let’s go inside.” He gave her no chance to refuse as his long legs went striding toward the building, pulling her along behind him. Before they had gone even five steps she heard crashing sounds coming from within. She winced, wondering which of the cherished old walls or beams had just been torn from its moorings.

“Daniel . . . do you think it is safe?”

“Trust me” was all he said. There was no front door—it had already been taken off its hinges and removed, making it easier to cart rubble through the opening. “I loved that old door,” she said. It had been a gorgeous door, with leaded windows set inside elegantly wrought iron scrollwork. The way the sun used to flash prisms of light off those beveled windowpanes each time she entered the building made her feel like the old building was welcoming her inside.

“I know you did; that was why I had them remove it so it would not get damaged. The workers will hang a temporary door by nightfall for the duration of the renovation.”

They stepped into the foyer, and Clara’s gaze was amazed at the activity inside the building. It was swarming with workers, like bees inside a hive. So distracted was she at the sight of a man pulling out a section of the hand-carved staircase that it took a moment for Daniel’s words to penetrate. Her gaze flew to his face.

“Renovation? Don’t you mean demolition?”

Daniel turned her to face him, both his hands resting on her shoulders and the softest, gentlest look gleaming in his eyes. “I meant renovation. I’ve bought the place.” Her mouth fell open and she couldn’t even draw a breath to speak, but her heart filled with relief knowing that Daniel cared enough about those golden memories of their youth to save the building.

“But I thought the new Opera House is where most of the town’s music is going to be played.”

“It is. I bought this as a place to live,” he said. “My own house burned down, you know.”

“But, Daniel, you hate old buildings. I thought you liked everything to be new and modern.”

“I do, but I know you have a fondness for this place, so I’m willing to compromise. If you are willing to live here with me, that is.” She froze. She stood within the circle of his arms as the sound of hammers banging and workmen’s voices echoed throughout the bare rooms. Daniel cupped the side of her face in his hand. “Clara, I’ve come a long way in the past few days. I have you to thank for hounding me about getting my life in order. I was a foul-tempered bear every time you brought it up, because it was easier to keep charging forward without stopping to re-open old wounds. I know you would not have pushed if you hadn’t cared enough about us to brave it, and I thank God that you did. I’ve been able to accept that God has been working in my life. He did not abandon my mother, either before or after her death. And He didn’t abandon me, even though I spent more than a decade congratulating myself on my brilliance, never giving proper credit where it was due.”

It seemed almost too much to believe, but here was Daniel, her wise-cracking, irreverent friend speaking about God with warmth and ease. “If we were married, you would come to church with me?”

“Of course.”

“But would it be more than that?” she pressed. “I wouldn’t feel right about raising children together if you were merely going through the motions. They need the example of two believers.”


He smiled down into her face, his eyes meeting hers, and there was no subterfuge and no hesitation. “Clara, let me be very clear. I believe that God chose us for each other before we were even out of the cradle. He made it possible for two people of starkly different backgrounds and temperaments to share a bond of such strength that no span of ocean or length of years or even meddling relatives could tear us asunder. How else could I have found my way out of that steel mill and straight onto your doorstep? That was God’s doing, not ours.”

Clara folded her hands around his. This moment was so perfect she could barely dare to breathe. “I’ve always known that.” But now Daniel did, too, and the pieces of her life were falling into perfect place.

“I want to be married to you so I can kiss you whenever I want. So I can pull all those ridiculous pins from your hair and watch it spill across a pillow. I want to be married to you so I can roll over in the middle of the night and watch you sleep. I want to have children with you, so we can spoil them with as many musical instruments as we can fit into this wonderful old building.” He clasped her hands between his and pressed a kiss to her trembling fingers. “How about it, Clara? Are you game?”

Longing was carved onto every plane of his beloved face. There was the barest hint of a tremble in his hands, and the way he held his breath let Clara know that he was nervous. Her brash, overconfident Daniel was harboring just the tiniest fear that she might actually turn him down.

She smiled up into his eyes. “I’m game.”

Before the words were even out of her mouth, she felt herself being lifted off the floor and twirled in a circle. In the middle of the construction, surrounded by a dozen workmen and with the clattering of hammers, Daniel kissed her full on the mouth as though there were no tomorrow.