8
Kiernan’s gut roiled with frustration. At himself.
With a curt nod, he handed off his mount to one of the lads who worked at the brickyard. He couldn’t remember the kid’s name, since there were several who had already been employed when he’d taken over the ownership.
With his usual long stride, Kiernan made his way toward the kiln, the tall rectangular brick building that rose above the others in the brickyard.
Even at the early hour, the morning sunshine was hot and the humidity heavy, and he was already perspiring beneath his coat and vest. Actually, he’d been hot since the moment he’d stepped into the summer kitchen, and he couldn’t blame the heat emanating from the stove, although he’d tried.
No, he was an honest and direct man, and he had to be honest and direct with himself. The truth was, his body temperature had climbed the second he’d laid eyes upon Alannah, maybe even as he’d been crossing the yard and envisioned the way she’d looked in the moonlight with her nightgown clinging to her body.
He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to imagine her, didn’t want to desire her. But every time he was around her, he couldn’t seem to control his reactions. He liked her too much, especially her independent spirit that somehow seemed to challenge him.
He should have walked directly past the kitchen. But he’d had to insist that she not go out at night. As homesick as she might be and as much as he wanted to allow her the freedom to sit and read, she wasn’t safe alone and her reputation could suffer if he was there with her. Besides, he didn’t want to lead her on and certainly didn’t want to take advantage of her in any way.
The pounding of hammers and the slicing of saws filled the air on a patch of land a short distance away, just beyond the enclosed yard where stacks of bricks awaited transportation to the city. The shell of the boardinghouse was already well underway, the newly cut beams gleaming in the sunlight.
Beyond the construction site lay a small town of tents, simple canvas held up by ropes. The campfires scattered among the tents had been doused, but a haze lingered in the air along with the scent of smoke.
The entrance to the clay mine was on the opposite side of the brickyard in the hillside where thick four-by-four slabs framed the dark chasm. The main shaft wasn’t long, and it sloped gradually down into the shale deposits. A miner was exiting with a team of oxen pulling a wagon filled with buckets of the excavated reddish clay.
The shale deposits, which were fire-resistant and made the sturdiest of bricks, weren’t as close to the surface as some of the other types of clay. Even so, that shale layer wasstill easy to access with a depth of not much more than a hundred feet down.
Thewinning, as the process of extraction was called, was done by free Black laborers who were willing to do the dirtiest of the jobs. Not only was it the dirtiest, but it was also the hardest and most intensive of the work. The clay had to be shoveled by hand, then loaded into buckets and hauled to the surface.
From there, a different group of laborers—primarily Irish immigrants—took over the process of hand-packing the clay into wooden molds. After the bricks were formed, they were stacked in one of several drying sheds, which were roofed but had open sides to ensure the necessary circulation. Finally, after about a week or two of drying, the bricks went to the kiln, where they were heated and cured in another weeklong process.
Kiernan had put Torin in charge of the heating process in the kiln, where the fires had to be maintained at 1600 to 2000 degrees. It was hot work, but Torin had claimed he could maximize the process so they could cut back on the amount of coal they were using as well as the time necessary to cure the bricks.
Since Torin had already proven himself to be resourceful at the glass-cutting factory, Kiernan had given the young man permission to tinker all he wanted with any of the machines and mechanisms. And tinker he did—at all hours of the day and night, creating new devices and always planning for more.
Torin had also brought with him a group of new immigrants eager for employment. Some were helping with the construction of the boardinghouse. Others were workingwith an architect to build another kiln. Still some were digging a new shaft to reach more of the shale deposits.
Whatever the case, Torin was easily the smartest and best worker Kiernan had. He’d always liked the fellow, even from the first day Torin had shown up at the glass factory asking for a job.
As Kiernan drew nearer the kiln, the dirty scent of coal smoke filled his nostrils. Torin was outside the kiln beside one of the loading doors. He was on his back, head poked into a section, a level in one hand and a hammer in the other.
Kiernan halted beside the fellow and waited for him to finish his task. A short distance away, a group of new workers leveling out the area for the new kiln cast him curious looks.
Maybe they were accustomed to working someplace where the owner never got involved in the operations. But they would learn soon enough that Kiernan wasn’t like that. He took a vested interest in every aspect of his businesses.
After a moment more of fiddling, Torin slid out and peered up at him. Even though his spectacles were dusty, there was no hiding the blue that was the same shade as Alannah’s. Pale blond hair that also matched Alannah’s fell over a scar on Torin’s forehead and curled around his ears and at the back of his neck. The scruff covering his jaw and chin was lighter too.
“Mr. Shanahan.” Torin sat up, took a rag from his coat pocket, then wiped the grease from his fingers. “What’s the issue today, sir?”
“There’s no issue, Torin.” Kiernan assured the young man. “But I do need to speak with you about a personal matter.”
Torin’s brows gathered together like storm clouds. “Is she all right?”
Kiernan slid a glance toward their audience, the men now leaning against their tools and watching the two of them openly.
Torin stood, tossed his rag to the ground, and then nodded at the group. “Keep working.”
The half a dozen men resumed their raking and shoveling at double the speed. Regardless, Kiernan led the way toward a private area near one of the drying sheds that was half full of drying bricks.
Once they were alone, Torin’s eyes took on a wildness that never failed to move Kiernan. He appreciated how the young man cared so deeply for his sister.
“What is it?” Torin’s question was low and quiet, his gaze darting around as though he feared Shaw or someone else from the Farrell gang would jump out on him.
