shouts. “Hurrah!”
I watched, horrified, as Elias drained his glass in a single gulp. Another man flung his over his shoulder, where it smashed on the floor. As Elias reached for a decanter of treacle-colored liquor, I was reminded of the broken glass the morning after Elma arrived and the puddle I had assumed was water. While our beliefs did not expressly prohibit drink, I had never known Elias to partake. His features were rigid, his expression unreadable as he swigged another glass.
A commotion broke out. “This city’s water is no better than that of a common sewer!” a man yelled, his voice quivering with age and drink. “I want to know who’s going to fix it.”
“Lispenard’s right,” a portly fellow bellowed, then belched. “The rich buy water and leave us drinking filth.”
Whiskey spilled as the fellow named Lispenard slammed his hands on the table and pulled himself to his feet, grimacing. Squat and bald, his face looked sallow in the hazy light. The lapel on his coat was unfashionably wide, and his shirtsleeves were frayed at the cuffs.
“Worse than filth,” he said. “It’s poison. That’s my land by the Collect, a swamp of pest and plague. Every glue factory and tannery in town has set up shop practically at my dining table. I can smell the rotting hides on me now.”
An elegant man in a finely tailored topcoat stood. “Lispenard,” he said, “surely you know that Colonel Burr has closed those places down.”
Huddled in the doorway beside Richard Croucher, I felt conspicuous and stranded. I had expected him to spare me the embarrassment of announcing myself to a room full of men, but he seemed equally out of place, hanging back, shuffling his feet, removing and replacing his hat—an annoying tic.
“That’s Ezra Weeks,” he said, more timid than I had ever heard him.
Ezra was shorter and stockier than Levi, cut from a coarser cloth than his younger brother but more distinguished. His thick hair was more silver than gray, as if he were surrounded by a halo of good fortune.
“I saw him at the water pump the day we met,” I said, half-expecting Croucher to deny it.
“I’ve done some work for ’im. But ’e’s too good for the likes of me these days,” Croucher spat. “ ’E and his brother both.”
“The factories are closed now,” Lispenard was saying, “but what’s been left behind? I’ve seen pits of standing water, animal carcasses, and decaying hides. Everyone knows foul water’s to blame for yellow fever. Killed my son last summer, days before he was to wed.” He hung his head. “We buried him in his wedding jacket.”
The mention of yellow fever and the thought of Elma sick in bed made my heart skip. “We are here to get Elias,” I said, nudging Croucher forward.
Croucher let out a low whistle. “And that’s the devil ’imself.”
“Who?”
“Burr.”
Marching across the hazy room, puffing a fat cigar, Burr did resemble the devil. He was a small man, five foot six at best, dark, with a receding hairline. In a rich brown coat and a white silk waistcoat, he was tastefully dressed without being showy. His heavily lidded eyes could have seemed indolent, but Burr’s gaze was completely alive, taking in the bustling room with a single sweep. Smoke curled from the end of the cigar as he raised his hands, and the raucous crowd grew still.
“Mr. Lispenard, surely you know my Richmond Hill property abuts yours. We’re neighbors.” Burr smiled as if the statement were slightly ironic. “Pray tell, would I settle my loved ones on polluted land?”
“Your estate and my farm are worlds apart,” Lispenard said. “I don’t have your view or your influence.”
Burr nodded sympathetically. “What man here has not worried about our city’s water and the cost to remedy the problem?” he asked. “I am here tonight to announce that I am founding the Manhattan Water Company, whose sole purpose will be to provide our parched city with pure and wholesome
I watched, horrified, as Elias drained his glass in a single gulp. Another man flung his over his shoulder, where it smashed on the floor. As Elias reached for a decanter of treacle-colored liquor, I was reminded of the broken glass the morning after Elma arrived and the puddle I had assumed was water. While our beliefs did not expressly prohibit drink, I had never known Elias to partake. His features were rigid, his expression unreadable as he swigged another glass.
A commotion broke out. “This city’s water is no better than that of a common sewer!” a man yelled, his voice quivering with age and drink. “I want to know who’s going to fix it.”
“Lispenard’s right,” a portly fellow bellowed, then belched. “The rich buy water and leave us drinking filth.”
Whiskey spilled as the fellow named Lispenard slammed his hands on the table and pulled himself to his feet, grimacing. Squat and bald, his face looked sallow in the hazy light. The lapel on his coat was unfashionably wide, and his shirtsleeves were frayed at the cuffs.
“Worse than filth,” he said. “It’s poison. That’s my land by the Collect, a swamp of pest and plague. Every glue factory and tannery in town has set up shop practically at my dining table. I can smell the rotting hides on me now.”
An elegant man in a finely tailored topcoat stood. “Lispenard,” he said, “surely you know that Colonel Burr has closed those places down.”
Huddled in the doorway beside Richard Croucher, I felt conspicuous and stranded. I had expected him to spare me the embarrassment of announcing myself to a room full of men, but he seemed equally out of place, hanging back, shuffling his feet, removing and replacing his hat—an annoying tic.
“That’s Ezra Weeks,” he said, more timid than I had ever heard him.
Ezra was shorter and stockier than Levi, cut from a coarser cloth than his younger brother but more distinguished. His thick hair was more silver than gray, as if he were surrounded by a halo of good fortune.
“I saw him at the water pump the day we met,” I said, half-expecting Croucher to deny it.
“I’ve done some work for ’im. But ’e’s too good for the likes of me these days,” Croucher spat. “ ’E and his brother both.”
“The factories are closed now,” Lispenard was saying, “but what’s been left behind? I’ve seen pits of standing water, animal carcasses, and decaying hides. Everyone knows foul water’s to blame for yellow fever. Killed my son last summer, days before he was to wed.” He hung his head. “We buried him in his wedding jacket.”
The mention of yellow fever and the thought of Elma sick in bed made my heart skip. “We are here to get Elias,” I said, nudging Croucher forward.
Croucher let out a low whistle. “And that’s the devil ’imself.”
“Who?”
“Burr.”
Marching across the hazy room, puffing a fat cigar, Burr did resemble the devil. He was a small man, five foot six at best, dark, with a receding hairline. In a rich brown coat and a white silk waistcoat, he was tastefully dressed without being showy. His heavily lidded eyes could have seemed indolent, but Burr’s gaze was completely alive, taking in the bustling room with a single sweep. Smoke curled from the end of the cigar as he raised his hands, and the raucous crowd grew still.
“Mr. Lispenard, surely you know my Richmond Hill property abuts yours. We’re neighbors.” Burr smiled as if the statement were slightly ironic. “Pray tell, would I settle my loved ones on polluted land?”
“Your estate and my farm are worlds apart,” Lispenard said. “I don’t have your view or your influence.”
Burr nodded sympathetically. “What man here has not worried about our city’s water and the cost to remedy the problem?” he asked. “I am here tonight to announce that I am founding the Manhattan Water Company, whose sole purpose will be to provide our parched city with pure and wholesome
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