Carnegie’s Maid: A Novel

August 8, 1866

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Fairfield echoed emptily in the weeks following the wedding. The younger Mr. Carnegie was a quiet, placid man, and I did not expect the house would grow still without him. But when he and his bride left for their extended European honeymoon, the exhilaration of the wedding planning departed with them, leaving behind a deflated Fairfield.

The frequent business trips taken by Mr. Carnegie, Andrew as I’d been trying to think of him, made Fairfield seem even more desolate. President Johnson had recently authorized the construction of seven bridges across the Mississippi River and down the Missouri River to Kansas City. Given the profit they had made on bridge construction from both Keystone Bridge and Union Iron Mills, Messrs. Thomson and Scott relented to Andrew’s ambitions and agreed that Keystone Bridge should compete for those bridges. Knowing about this arrangement, I wasn’t surprised when Andrew and his silent partners decided that he should put all of his energies into the pursuit of these contracts. This meant Andrew had to travel to the Midwest, Washington, DC, and New York City to get commitments from railroad companies to build the bridges and to raise capital to pay Union Iron Mills for the iron by selling bridge bonds and stock. He returned to Pittsburgh only to consult with engineers and iron makers over the actual construction of the bridges. In his absence, I worked on business structures and ideas in the evening when I finished with my duties to Mrs. Carnegie, but I felt disconnected from him and the hope I felt with him. And I wondered when the stock money would come in, as Eliza’s latest letter described their Galway City situation as “bleak at best.” But how could I ask Mr. Carnegie without revealing my real situation?

“Mother, I think a trip to New York City is in order,” Andrew announced from behind the Daily Morning Chronicle, a Washington, DC, newspaper. A pile of discarded sections of the New York Times and Pittsburgh Daily Gazette sat at his feet, and the Daily Morning Chronicle was the last of his reading material. From the size of the pile, summoning the courage to proclaim this trip must have taken him some time.

My mistress tried to peer around his paper before answering, which left me scrambling to slacken the line of knitting wool that connected us. He refused to lower his Daily Morning Chronicle a single inch, so she was forced to talk to the political page, which covered some legislation President Johnson proposed. “That bastion of vice? With Boss Tweed in control of the government and those corrupt financiers Fiske and Gould in control of the money? I am not keen, Andra.”

“Keystone Bridge cannot compete in the Mississippi River projects without additional funding, and you know that New York City is where the investors are located,” he said, lowering his paper just enough to allow his eyes to peek over the top. He caught not only her eye but mine as well. “And you know that Tom and Lucy need some time alone in the house to make it their own.”

Was Andrew planning on handing over the ownership of Fairfield to his younger brother? Perhaps the occasion of his marriage merited a new home for Tom, but did it have to be Fairfield? What would happen to me? Andrew and I rarely talked about any topic other than business and certainly never broached his mother and brother.

She looked startled, and knowing my mistress as I did, I guessed that she’d never really considered that Tom and Lucy would take over Fairfield in any way, although the pattern was not unusual among their acquaintances. Fairfield belonged to her and, to a lesser extent, Andrew. In her mind, Tom and Lucy would simply fall into the existing structure. Or get their own house.

“Why must we be supplanted, Andra?”

“It seems to be the way of these wealthy American families. Anyway, I think you and I should experience more than just Pittsburgh. Why don’t we stay in New York for the fall season? That should give the newlyweds time to adjust to a new home and schedule, while we enjoy all the culture and entertainment New York has to offer.”

I tried to keep my hands still as Mrs. Carnegie continued to pull thread from the skein I held, but they trembled with excitement at the thought of accompanying the Carnegies to New York City. I would have more opportunity to connect with Andrew on our business efforts and more access to information as well. Might I have the opportunity to increase my holdings? I almost chuckled aloud, thinking about how my aspiration had grown to match Andrew’s ambitions.

My mistress did not immediately reply. Knots formed in my stomach as I awaited her reaction, and I prayed a silent Hail Mary that she would agree.

“Mother?” Andrew asked impatiently. “Did you hear what I said about traveling to New York for the fall season?”

“Of course I did, Andra. You’re talking so loudly, how could I not hear you?” Her knitting needles clicked. “I’ve been thinking on your proposal, as is a mother’s right. New York, giving up the house to Tom and Lucy—you are asking me to make major changes. I deserve the time to think through these matters.”

While proclaiming her mother’s rights was a favorite tactic of my mistress when she wished to shame her Andra into silence, I would have demanded the same in her shoes.

She continued, “Not to mention we have many social obligations here in Pittsburgh, Andra. We have to introduce Tom and Lucy to society.”

“No social obligation would hold back a trip to New York. Imagine, Mother, experiencing the real season among the elite of America, not just Pittsburgh.”

The clicking of the knitting needles stopped. He knew precisely how to play to his mother’s weaknesses. “I suppose we should give Tom and Lucy the space necessary to make a place for themselves in society. And the Colemans will be on hand for any necessary guidance. The trip to New York would only be for a few months, and we could leave after the party introducing them to society.” I noticed that she did not concede to giving the newlyweds the house, only to traveling to New York.

“Excellent decision, Mother,” Andrew said, as always allowing her to claim the resolution about the trip as her own, instead of his.

“I need an uplifting tea,” she declared. “Clara, tell the kitchen that we would like our tea now instead of the usual time.”

As I entered the servants’ hallway to the kitchen, I thought about how my mistress adored issuing orders to me. She had a button at her footstep to summon the kitchen staff, but she preferred watching me scurry about on her command.

I expected to see Hilda in the kitchen, but only Mr. Ford was there, preparing the evening meal. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ford. I know it’s a bit early, but the Carnegies are ready for their afternoon tea.”

Without a word or his hallmark warm smile, he lumbered over to the battered center table, where he had meringues, apple tartlets, and trout finger sandwiches ready. Reaching for the teapot, he took it over to the fireplace, where he kept hot water boiling throughout the day.

“How is your day going?” I asked him. But he did not respond. He simply shook his head.

I did not know what to say next. Ever since Mr. Ford had caught me and Andrew in the embrace, he would only speak to me when necessary. I had tried to explain that the hug was innocent, an instinctive reaction to good news that Mr. Carnegie had brought me, but Mr. Ford was unmoved. He simply closed himself off to me. Losing his friendship meant losing my only friend in this house, indeed in this city, aside from Andrew, and that relationship was too complicated—fraught with too many stakes—to regard as friendship.