Wash and I traded letters about our families for months before we had the courage to let them meet. Mother lost several children early on and protects the remaining six like a mama bear in a den of wolves, I wrote. His letters gave me the impression his family was big, boisterous, and intense, softened by a wicked sense of humor. I was a bit intimidated to meet them. However, he showed no fear of his father meeting Mother for the first time. Perhaps my stories were not sufficiently detailed.
That autumn, we decided it would be best for our two surviving parents to meet, then leave the siblings to collide at the wedding. Neutral territory was selected. As Mother and I were coming from Cold Spring and Wash and his father from Trenton, we desired someplace in the middle. Upon my request, GK sent Wash to an iron foundry in Ringwood, New Jersey, to discuss munitions contracts.
Abram Hewitt, a business partner of Mr. Roebling’s, offered to host our rendezvous at his estate near the iron mines. The Hewitts and their partners were the largest suppliers of iron on the East Coast, if not the country. As John Roebling was an inventor and manufacturer of iron rope, they were well acquainted.
The Hewitts’ three-story mansion seemed a mix of styles: strong, boxy lines of Federalist, an Italianate cupola in the center of the roof, and bays with many windows. The gambrel roof and dormers reminded me of my own childhood home.
Mr. Hewitt, a tall, lean gentleman, showed us around the grounds. Acres and acres of formal gardens, ponds of all sizes reflecting their beauty, and well-kept lawns surrounded the mansion, as well as many curious structures made from iron. A giant chain, each link over two feet long, stretched across the front lawn.
“The iron was mined right here, and this chain was used to keep the British ships from sailing up the Hudson River,” Hewitt explained.
“No, I believe the iron for the chain came from our side of the river, forged in Cold Spring,” Mother said, her debate muscles already warmed up.
As the two of them seemed content to argue, I wandered into the garden a few steps away, admiring the fragrant blooms. Soon, the crunching of gravel announced that a carriage approached.
Wash hopped out first, holding the door for his father. I had seen a photograph, but it did not prepare me for the man in the flesh. John Roebling had slightly receding hair and Wash’s ice-blue eyes, pierced by a frightful intensity. His salt-and-pepper beard came to a point at his shirt collar.
“Father, this is my beloved Emily.”
I held out my hand in greeting, and Mr. Roebling squeezed it so hard, it was nearly painful. “Welcome to the family. You must be quite the young woman to so dazzle my son.” Although he had a German accent, his English was rapid and nearly perfect.
Wash held out his arms to me. I was struck by how his usually well-fitted uniform hung away from him, and small lines had appeared on his face. We snuck in a quick kiss before following the others to a sitting area. Wash introduced Mother to his father.
Mr. Roebling greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Mrs. Warren, it is a pleasure.”
A breath caught in my throat. He hadn’t waited for her to first offer her hand. But Mother took Mr. Roebling’s hand, appraising him from head to toe. “It’s Phebe. We’re to be family.”
We settled into some intricate garden chairs, forged from iron, of course.
Mr. Hewitt opened a leather satchel he had at his feet and extracted a ledger. “If the ladies will excuse a bit of business, I’ve got the prices tabulated for you, Captain.”
Mr. Roebling and Hewitt looked over the ledger, running their fingers down rows of numbers. Curiously, Wash paid scant attention, even though he was there on army orders. The distraction seemed so unlike my focused, mission-oriented fiancé.
The horses, which had been unfastened from the carriages and left a few yards away in a nearby paddock, suddenly jumped and brayed loudly. Wash shuddered and covered his face with his arms.
“What is it, son? You survive a war and you’re frightened of a horse spooked by a rabbit?” Mr. Roebling chuckled, but my stomach clenched.
“Well then, as our business is complete, shall we go to the manor house for tea?” Hewitt said.
The others rose and headed for the manor house, but Wash remained seated, staring across the pond.
I lightly tapped his shoulder. “Wash, shall we go inside?”
“Hmm? I… We… No. We have only an hour or two…and a wedding to plan.” He stared at his hands, alternately stretching his fingers, then balling them into fists.
“Should we take a stroll around the gardens?” I desperately wanted to get that faraway look out of his eyes. He had been quiet and withdrawn the entire afternoon. Was this what he was like around his father? Or was it something else?
Mr. Roebling had doubled back. “Washington, come.”
“Yes, Father. I mean, no, we’re…”
“We need a moment to ourselves if you wouldn’t mind,” I said.
“It’s your fault.” Mr. Roebling looked straight at me, his face tight.
“Pardon?” The blood ran out of my face at his glare.
“You’ve been like this the whole trip.” He pointed at his son. “And ever since you met Miss Warren. Stumbling, indecisive, hardly the son I know. Is she doing this to you?”
Mother came to my rescue. “Come along, Mr. Roebling. Let the lovebirds have a moment.”
A chill ran through me, and I pulled my wrap tighter. Apparently, Wash being different around his father wasn’t the issue. But it certainly wasn’t me, was it?
The scent of a wood fire wisped from the manor chimneys. The thought of hot tea was very appealing, but time alone with Wash trumped the comfort of a warm room. As the others headed to the house, I guided Wash through the garden and toward the woods, dappled by the low autumn sun.
“I’m afraid your father doesn’t think much of me.”
Wash shrugged his shoulders. “He hardly knows you.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
He kicked the ground, sending a spray of leaves ahead of us. “Good God, Emily, we’re trying to win a war. I should be at the front right now, helping to keep your brother alive. He should have sent his quartermaster for this task. But he sent me so that you and I could have a moment together.”
Despite his harsh wards, relief flowed through me. He seemed to have snapped out of his queer mood, and I’d rather have a feisty man than a sullen one. A slight smile may have tugged at my lips.
He responded with a glare. “Don’t you see what a difficult position this puts me in? I would never have asked for such a favor. But you did. So I came here only to fall into a situation that could compromise my and my family’s reputation.”