Until the Dawn (27 page)

“Miss van Riijn has been monitoring the Dierenpark station for the past nine years,” Quentin said. “Everyone in the village is impressed with her dedication and attention to detail. I fear I may have caused a bit of unnecessary confusion last June when I sent a message to the Weather Bureau concerning the location of the station at Dierenpark.”

Sophie’s breath froze. The way Quentin had tattled on her to the Weather Bureau was still a raw wound and she feared his next words.

“The last person to live in this house, Karl Vandermark, was committed to using our fortune to serve the people of this valley. Miss van Riijn and her father, who is the mayor of New Holland, were merely following my great-grandfather’s intent by establishing the weather station here on the estate. Miss van Riijn’s work initiating and operating the station has been exemplary.”

Sophie sat a little straighter. There was no hint of cynicism or mockery in Quentin’s tone, no suggestion that she was a naïve, simple soul who couldn’t be trusted with a scientific endeavor.

Dr. Clark appeared most agreeable. “Not to worry,” he said, his attention entirely focused on the slice of lemon cake he examined on the Delft dish held beneath his nose. “Whoever baked this cake is to be commended,” he murmured. “Extraordinary.”

How nice he was! Sophie had been living in fear of this meeting ever since Quentin suggested it, but Dr. Clark’s gentlemanly demeanor put her at ease. She listened in fascination as Dr. Clark spoke of plans for the upgraded climatological observatories, thirty of which would be built along the East Coast in the coming decade. Each station would have eight to ten employees to coordinate data from the hundreds of volunteer weather stations in the nearby region, and then distribute the results.

Sophie’s hope grew as the discussion unfolded. Dr. Clark wouldn’t have come all this way if he didn’t intend to at least
consider her proposal, would he? With Mr. Gilroy’s help she had gotten the proposal professionally typed and hoped to present it to Dr. Clark this evening. If the Weather Bureau built one of those new stations here, it would be the culmination of all her ambitions. It would prove to her father and the rest of the village that she was more than a starry-eyed girl who would never amount to more than someone who could bake fine pies.

Late that afternoon, she escorted Dr. Clark to the roof to show him the weather station she’d created and her process for gathering data. He asked all sorts of questions about her work and the Hudson River, all of which she was able to answer with ease. Admiration was apparent in his gaze as he surveyed the river, his clever eyes absorbing every detail as Sophie pointed out the Mill Road promontory, the beauty of Marguerite’s Cove, and the clarity of the air here.

“We think the Mill Road would be an excellent location for one of the new climate observatories,” she said a little breathlessly. “The people of New Holland have drafted a formal proposal outlining our plan.”

“I look forward to reading it,” Dr. Clark said politely.

And for the first time, Sophie began to suspect that she was actually going to succeed in planting a climate observatory here in New Holland, and it was all because Quentin Vandermark had faith in her.

The following morning, Quentin walked the grounds with Dr. Clark. An hour remained before a carriage would take the Weather Bureau’s director back to the city.

He’d given the director Sophie’s proposal last evening, and Dr. Clark confirmed New Holland would be a competitive location for a climate observatory. Quentin wanted another chance to state unequivocally that the Vandermarks would be willing
to underwrite the project, provided that Sophie would be part of it. He took Dr. Clark on a brief tour of the grounds to have the discussion. It was hard to find privacy with so many professors conducting research at the estate, so he guided Dr. Clark to a spot in the meadow where they wouldn’t be overheard.

The air was redolent with warm earth, sweet grass, and the scents from Sophie’s herb garden. A meadowlark chirped in the nearby copse, the birdsong dancing in the air.

“Lord above, look at the carvings on that cabin,” Dr. Clark said as the old groundskeeper’s cabin came into view beyond an overgrown hedge of bay laurels.

The cabin truly was unique. Begun by the Vandermark brothers in 1635, over the centuries it had been added to and improved by generations of Broeders who tended the land. The skill for carving wood ran in the Broeder family, and over the years, many of them adorned the pillars, railings, and moldings with remarkably lifelike carvings. A lush vine had been whittled along the top railing of the fence enclosing the front porch, with flowers, dragonflies, and squirrels carved into the woodwork. Most impressive were the columns supporting the roof overhang. He recognized a lion, an ox, and an eagle carved into the columns. The only non-animal was a powerful-looking man who was probably supposed to be an angel, given the halo and the wings attached to his back.

“Astounding,” Dr. Clark murmured as he ran a hand almost reverently along the carving of the lion. “Who is the artist?”

Quentin shrugged. “No one knows for sure, but my grandfather said they’ve always been here. The Broeder family has lived in the cabin ever since Caleb moved into the main house. I gather that woodworking has run deep in the Broeder family for generations. The carvings look like they’ve been done by different artists over the decades.”

The features of the ox were more exaggerated and a little
cruder than the delicacy of the lion, a testament to the different men who had lived in this cabin. He shifted at the niggling feelings of guilt that prickled across his skin. He’d terminated Emil Broeder without a second thought, and yet the man had spent his entire life in this cabin, likely adding his own carvings to the menagerie. Emil was a simple man who never aspired to anything more than tending Vandermark land and raising his family. He was glad Nickolaas had ordered the Broeders’ return. Even now he could hear Emil’s wife inside, soothing a fussy child.

“Whoever carved them must have had a genuine and deep sense of faith,” Dr. Clark said.

“How so?” Quentin asked, curious how Dr. Clark could draw such a conclusion merely from looking at a few carvings.

“The animals symbolize the evangelists,” he said. “Mark the lion, Matthew the angel, Luke the ox, and finally we have John the eagle. Here they all are, standing in silent witness over this little patch of land. Quite charming.”

Quentin was not conversant enough with Christian symbolism to have ever spotted such a detail, for religion had always been distasteful to him. It smacked of superstition and his grandfather’s endless parade of spiritualists, palm readers, and soothsayers.

Dr. Clark’s footsteps thudded as he mounted the wooden steps to examine another carving above the front door. It was of a dove, her wings extended and surrounded by sunbeams. “Look, the dove has the twig of an olive branch in her beak. The symbol of enduring peace. Absolutely delightful,” he said.

Nickolaas had once said there were more carvings inside, but Quentin was reluctant to barge in on the family who had so recently moved back home. Before he could mention it, the door opened and Claudia Broeder stepped outside, patting a baby on her shoulder. She looked bedraggled and tired, but welcoming enough.

“Come on inside,” she said. “Emil loves showing off the carvings.”

Dr. Clark eagerly followed Claudia inside, but it took Quentin far longer to grasp the railing and mount the steps one leg at a time. By the time he entered, Claudia was showing Dr. Clark the carving of a lamb nestled onto the windowsill.

It was warm in the cabin, and Quentin left the door open to help move the air. He glanced at his pocket watch. Dr. Clark was to catch the midday train back to New York, and Quentin still needed to make clear that the Vandermark support of a climate observatory was contingent on a role for Sophie, but Claudia was still speaking to a rapt Dr. Clark.

“Some people think these carvings are amazing, but I’ve seen better in the city,” she said. She gave a little roll of her eyes. “I think
everything
is better in the city. Emil swears the air at Dierenpark has some kind of calming ability, but I’ve never felt it. Then again, maybe I’ve just been too sick and weighed down with babies to notice.”

The comment made Quentin pause. He’d certainly felt better ever since coming to Dierenpark, and a couple of the bodyguards had said they loved it here. Which was odd. All of them had traveled throughout the world, but Ratface and Collins had both said they’d never experienced anything to compare with Dierenpark. And yet the other guards shrugged and thought it was nothing special, just a rustic old estate far from the superior comforts of the city. Apparently Claudia shared their disinterest in the natural splendor here.

The squalling from another baby in one of the bedrooms caught her attention. “I’d better go tend to that one,” she said with a sigh, disappearing down the hallway. Dr. Clark continued to study the carvings, and Quentin knew this might be his last chance to put in a good word for Sophie.

“The Vandermark family has been neglectful of New Hol
land since my great-grandfather died,” he said, trying to broach the subject with the finesse it deserved. “I am eager to advance scientific progress and would be happy to help fund one of your new climatology stations, provided it could be located here in New Holland.”

Dr. Clark’s face grew pensive as he continued to study the carvings of dogwood blossoms along the top of a windowsill. “Money isn’t our problem,” he said. “The government has been generous in funding our initiatives. It is finding trained and reliable men to staff the stations that is problematic.”

Quentin resisted the urge to smile at the perfect opening. “Miss van Riijn is both trained and very reliable. I can attest to her care and diligence in overseeing the local monitoring station.”

“Miss van Riijn is typical of our volunteers,” Dr. Clark said as he ran his palm along a trail of vines carved into the molding of a window. “They are farmers and the like. Simple folk who can be depended upon to submit their reports on time each day, but of whom little
real
intellectual work is demanded. Our upgraded stations will require men with degrees in meteorology and the analytical rigor to calculate thousands of data points. You would be far better served keeping Miss van Riijn making her extraordinary lemon cake. I think that would be a better place for a woman of her aptitude, hmm?”

Quentin’s fist clenched around the handle of his cane. It didn’t sit well to hear Sophie dismissed so casually, but he could hardly argue with Dr. Clark about the qualifications for a climatologist. That didn’t mean New Holland wasn’t a suitable location for the station or that there couldn’t be a role for Sophie.

“Miss van Riijn has no formal training, but she has an innovative mind that can solve problems. She learns quickly and would be an excellent addition to any team, perhaps in a clerical role.”

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Here’s
the thing. Yesterday she showed me the rooftop station and it was clear to me she did not understand the difference between humidity and atmospheric pressure. She mispronounced hygrometer. Someone of her caliber won’t be taken seriously by the other scientists, and that isn’t good for building an effective team. She is a sweet girl, but so is my golden retriever, and I wouldn’t hire my dog, now, would I?”

Quentin stiffened. “You should treat your dog better.”

“Ha! No doubt.” Dr. Clark continued scanning the woodcarvings spanning the interior of the cabin, but resentment simmered in Quentin. This man was a government bureaucrat who’d clawed his way to the top by currying favor like he had been doing ever since arriving at Dierenpark. Sophie and the other volunteers did the heavy lifting, making Dr. Clark look good with their unfaltering, unpaid service. Quentin wanted to deliver one of those fancy climate observatories to Sophie on a silver platter, but it wasn’t something that could be purchased with a bank check.

“I will ask Mr. Gilroy to drive you to the train station. I believe it is past time for you to be on your way.”

Nothing Dr. Clark said about Sophie was untrue, but it annoyed Quentin anyway. There was a difference between book learning and life wisdom, and it wasn’t until he’d met Sophie that he fully appreciated it. He held his breath against the tightness in his chest. He’d set Sophie up for this failure and didn’t know how to break the news to her. This was going to hurt, and he wished he could step in front of the wall of disappointment that was hurtling straight toward her. This was all his fault.

When he followed Dr. Clark onto the cabin’s covered porch, a bit of movement from behind the hedge caught his attention. He blanched as he saw Sophie, her skirts kicking up behind her as she dashed toward the house. She carried a basket over
one arm, clippings of parsley and rosemary dropping from the basket as she ran. His heart froze. She had been gathering herbs in the garden and overheard every word of Dr. Clark’s blunt dismissal of her abilities.

He lumbered down the cabin steps to follow her, but the jarring flash of pain as he landed on the bottom step stopped him cold. He fumbled to grab the lintel post, clenching his teeth and waiting for the spots to clear from his vision. He collapsed onto the bottom step, hoping he wasn’t about to pass out. He focused on taking deep breaths until his vision cleared. He’d dropped his cane when he’d grabbed the lintel post and it had rolled a few feet away, but he was as incapable of retrieving it as if it had rolled to California.