The Potter's Lady Read Online Free

fowl of the air and the lilies of the field, wouldn’t He care enough to provide Rylan with a job? The thought offered a modicum of comfort as he turned away from the table and removed the ledgers from the office safe.
    At noon Mr. Bancock decided to skip his usual lunch at the restaurant near the train station. Worried that Mr. McKay might appear while he was away, the owner asked Rylan to fetch him a sandwich. By two o’clock, Mr. Bancock had walked to the front door more times than Rylan could count.
    Mr. Bancock dropped into his chair and rested his chin in his palm. “Maybe there was some confusion about what day he was scheduled to arrive. Or maybe he missed his train.” He murmured several other possibilities, but his mutterings were mere speculation. “Don’t know why I’m worrying so much when I know the future of this pottery is in God’s hands. Just seems hard to always keep that thought clear in my head.”
    “I could go over to the hotel and see if Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan wanted to do something to help ease the older man’s anxiety, something tangible that might give Mr. Bancock a little much-needed information.
    The older man massaged his forehead and stared toward the door. “I think that is a good idea, Rylan. Don’t tell the hotel clerk your name or where you work. I wouldn’t want him to tell Mr. McKay I was inquiring about him. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m too eager.”
    Rylan nodded. He doubted Mr. McKay would jump to such a hasty conclusion, but he would heed his employer’s admonition. Grabbing his cap, Rylan headed for the door and walked outside. After depositing a half-inch of rain, the thunderstorm had passed. Stepping off the boardwalk, Rylan lifted his nose and inhaled the fresh scent of spring. The earlier gloom had departed, and cerulean skies now framed the jagged mountains. Careful to avoid the muddy roadway, he walked the short distance to the railroad tracks.
    The pottery sat across the tracks and about a half mile south of the hotel on a triangular plot of ground along the western edge of the Grafton rail yard. The B&O Railroad owned the hotel, so the hotel lobby also served as a depot station. Rylan stopped outside the hotel and cleaned the mud from his shoes on the cast-iron boot scraper. The hotel clerk made certain the lobby’s decorative tile floor remained spotless, and he looked askew at those who failed to clean their boots before entering.
    Stepping inside, Rylan gazed around the expansive room. A train had arrived not long ago, and the lobby hummed with activity. Along the east side of the combination lobby and depot, there were several wooden benches, which were occupied by passengers awaiting the arrival or departure of a train.
    Printed signs advising gentlemen that they should not expectorate on the floor hung above metal spittoons that had been strategically placed throughout the room. A small ticket office was situated to the rear of the benches. On the west side of the room, a glass-enclosed cabinet displayed boxes of cigars and sundry items that might interest travelers or hotel guests. Beyond the display of goods was a walnut registration desk in the shape of a half moon that wrapped around the clerk like a protective shield.
    With his gaze set upon the hotel clerk, Rylan strode past the wooden benches and stopped at the desk. The clerk was a tall man with a neatly trimmed mustache and balding pate. He lifted his long narrow nose high in the air and pinned Rylan with a hard stare. “Train tickets are purchased at the desk across the lobby.”
    “Aye, but I’m not here for a train ticket. I’m wonderin’ if you’d be so kind as to check your book and tell me if a Mr. McKay has registered.” Rylan forced an amiable smile. “If all went as planned, Mr. McKay should have arrived last evening.”
    The clerk shook his head. “We aren’t in the habit of giving out the names of guests registered in our hotel, young man.” He hiked his nose