Chapter Text
Ephraim Templeton was a gentle and perceptive sort of fellow, and so he could often be found quietly nodding to another person’s impassioned speech, even those which aimed to scold him. As such, Ephraim could get along with any kind of person if he so wished. Most people, Ephraim had found, would be more than happy to simply be listened to and told they are correct, and that made socially satisfying others an easy task for him. The exception was, unfortunately, those who Ephraim most wished he could simply acknowledge and win over; his own parents.
In all his forty years, Ephraim felt unable to please them, the Nova Scotia coal barons Obadiah Templeton Sr. and Ada Templeton. When he returned home from Europe after twenty years of traveling between the great capitals, he found himself being lambasted as if he were still a child.
There had been a cave-in at one of the mines owned by the Templetons, and the senior Templetons used that to demand Ephraim return home to prove his merits to the family. Between November of 1867 and February 1868, Ephraim attempted to solve problems associated with the cave-in, including much of the public relations, some of the deals with investors—though that was dealt with largely by his older brother Obadiah Jr.—and very few of the actual infrastructure issues of the mines, as he was thwarted at each step by the frugality of his parents.
However, there was just one issue, unrelated to the mines, which most concerned Ephraim’s parents, and which Ephraim dreaded to even speak about. Indeed, this issue had been brought up in every letter addressed to Ephraim from his parents, and each time it had been dismissed with the phrase, “We will speak of that when we next meet in person.”
“Ephraim, it isn’t too late. Your own grandfather did not marry until he was forty. But you cannot put it off for any longer; Noah and Charity have been married for over ten years, and you haven’t even courted a woman.”
Ada was leading this onslaught, desperately appealing to her son, as Obadiah Sr. sat next to her with a grim expression, holding a glass of scotch in one hand and clutching his knee in barely veiled frustration with the other. The family—half-complete though it was—was in the manor’s fine but momentarily bleak sitting room, soaked in the cold morning sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows. The lighting made the already fair-complexioned and gray-haired senior Templetons look like sunbleached ghosts.
Ephraim himself was a physical reflection of his father, save the air of severity and intensity of his wrinkles, though they differed much in attitude. Obadiah Sr. once had the same sandy brown hair, with gray only beginning to take up residence at his temples, though Obadiah’s was now shot through with so much gray that it was the color of dirt and ash. He and Ephraim looked at each other with the same dark hazel eyes, shadowed by a strong brow. Obadiah Sr.’s most prominent feature was an aquiline nose, Ephraim bearing a straighter version of it.
Ada Templeton was older than Obadiah Sr. by a couple of years, but looked no older. Her hair had only whispers of blonde still remaining, and her face bore deep crows feet. She had blue eyes, though the lighting cast them a dark, steely gray. She had a refined face, and was still one of the most beautiful women Ephraim had met, though perhaps his memories of her colored such a judgment.
The fireplace was unlit, and seemed as if it stared with one soot-blackened eye between the two parties, the parents and the son, where they sat on sofas on either side of the room. Civility and the round, mahogany coffee table were the only things stopping Ada from leaping across the room and shaking Ephraim by the front of his shirt. The very same might be the only things stopping Obadiah Sr. from strangling his disgraceful second son.
“My brother and sister have written to me, and they do not seem bothered by my being unmarried,” Ephraim said weakly, knowing very well that would come nowhere near placating his mother, but having no better defence.
Obadiah Sr.’s stare narrowed with his concealed anger. Ada sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, fingertips clutching into her neatly done-up hair. “This isn’t between you and them, Ephraim, please. This is between us. You’re embarrassing yourself by remaining unmarried. You know what people think.”
“What people? Who have you deigned to tell of my existence?” Ephraim asked. “And what do they think, mother? Will you tell me that?”
“Friends of the family, Ephraim! People who care about us!” Ada implored. “And you know what they think, don’t make me say it, please.”
Ephraim stood up. “Have I become such a disgrace to you, simply by inaction, that you can’t tell me?”
“Ephraim, please—“ Ada cried, only to be interrupted by Obadiah Sr..
“They think you’re a sodomite. Everyone that knows where you’ve been for the past twenty years. Everyone that we told you were going to school in Berlin, the last time we were proud of you.” Obadiah put his glass of scotch on the coffee table, leaned onto his elbows as he stared down Ephraim. “At any time you could have married some woman over there, and still you haven’t. What else could you be doing but wasting your life with deviants? That’s what they think.”
Ephraim sat back down silently. “And what of freedom? I don’t want to be married and have children and spend the rest of my life unhappy that they are independent of me,” he said, and gestured to his parents.
“You aren’t independent, Ephraim,” Obadiah Sr. snapped. “On whose fortune did you travel to Europe? On whose fortune did you learn to speak their languages? On whose fortune did you attend one of the best schools they could offer?”
Ephraim diverted his eyes to the fireplace, unable to meet his father’s glare.
“And we aren’t unhappy that you’ve made your own choices,” Ada added softly. “We’re unhappy that you’ve made such poor ones.”
“Where is the evidence that I’m a sodomite?” Ephraim asked, voice wispy. “At most I can see selfishness, that I refused to give you another daughter-in-law after you asked nothing else of me all these years.” He met his mother’s gaze with a furrowed brow. “But sodomy? Can you not simply deny it? It’s a bold and baseless claim.”
“Then you aren’t?” Ada asked hopefully, “You’ll promise us you aren’t?”
“Can you promise us you’ll live and die celibate as a monk, and when you’re dead and gone, God will know no better than us?” Obadiah Sr. interrogated.
“Yes,” Ephraim said lamely, “I promise you have nothing to worry about. I’ve been focused on my career, and on tourism, and that is all. I swear on my life that I have done nothing to make you ashamed of me or worried for my soul.”
Obadiah Sr. wordlessly picked up his glass of scotch, drained it, and set it back down, before getting up to leave the room. “Tell him about the deal with Yap,” he grumbled, and closed the door behind him.
“I guess we aren’t done here,” Ephraim muttered.
Ada took a deep breath, then sat back in her seat, more relaxed than before but still alert. “There is one more thing. A favor.”
Ephraim held his tongue, though he silently wished to be back in Paris, writing to a friend as he sat in a sunlit cafe and nursed a cup of coffee for an hour. The sun felt better in France; at home it felt like an ever-watching eye. “What is it, then?”
“Your brother, your father, and I, are busy negotiating with Canadian investors. We have one investor in New York City who we are due to meet with soon, and we need you to go in our place,” Ada said. “Edward Yap is who you will be meeting with, next month, in April. He’s not a major investor, but he could be; he has enough money. That isn’t your goal, though. Just attend a dinner with him, and maintain our good image. That’s all we ask.”
Ephraim sighed. “I can do that much.”
By the next week, Ephraim was on a boat out of Nova Scotia, admiring the view of the sea. Days later, he was in New York and organizing a meeting with Edward Yap through a butler. Yap was eager to meet him, and currently on a break for the month preceding Easter, so scheduling was not an issue. Ephraim had a night to ready himself to meet Edward, but spent much of it completely unconcerned. He had dealt with more difficult customers than an investor that already had a good opinion of the Templetons.
Being the son of a coal baron prepared Ephraim Templeton with robust persuasiveness. He knew when to lie or hold his tongue, knew exactly how to behave to ingratiate others towards him. However, Ephraim never had to put his patience to as rigorous a test as Edward Yap.
Edward Yap was a man of average height, shorter by a few inches than Ephraim, though appearing shorter for his stockier build. He had thinning and graying auburn hair on his head, and a thick mustache to match. His eyes were rather deep set and a brown that ambered in the warm lighting of the restaurant. Most notable was his voice, for he loved to speak, which was hoarse and projected well.
Edward was very well mannered as he and Ephraim spoke over their first drinks and appetizers. He expressed in a long winded way that he was a loyal man, and a reasonable one, and he would surely be continuing his deal with the Templetons, so Ephraim need only enjoy his dinner.
“I really am grateful to be meeting with you instead of your parents, Mr. Templeton,” Edward had confided in Ephraim, between the appetizers and the entrées, “those two are all business. Which I admire, of course,” he interrupted himself, flinging up a hand in a gesture of dismissal.
Ephraim only watched Edward gesticulate with a polite disinterest. “Of course.”
“But I’m sure you understand,” Edward continued, “I much prefer to meet with my partners in a more friendly environment. Over the—oh, how long has it been?” He chuckled. “We’re getting old. Over the thirty or so years I’ve dealt with your parents, your father never even looked at a glass of wine. When I offered anything but water and tea, he would pretend not to hear me! Old Obadiah was shrewd, that’s for sure.”
“Well, he and my mother only speak of you fondly,” Ephraim said. In truth, he was recalling that he had been warned of Edward’s talkativeness before departing from Nova Scotia. “They would be here today if not for the cave-in.”
“Oh, yes, horrible business, that. I’m sure your investors in Canada are quite worried, even after the months that have passed. Not me. Terrible shame that some people were injured, but it’s just a reality of mining,” Edward said. He paused for a moment, a brief but blissful moment, to sip his wine, before continuing on, “If people want coal power, they get coal risks, too. No way around it.”
“Yes,” Ephraim said, hands folded in front of him, though he wanted to rub the gradually increasing ache from his forehead. “We are very grateful for your pragmatism.”
Ephraim was the one to write to the families of the deceased and he was the one to give empty platitudes about mitigating danger to miners. The mine collapse was an impossible situation, a bitter competition between moral choices and economical choices. Every suggestion that would help the miners cemented him further in his familial reputation as the naive and financially useless outcast. To put it simply, Ephraim was not at all impressed by pragmatism anymore, not when lives were at risk.
“‘Pragmatism,’ now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while,” Edward scoffed into his wine glass. He took another sip, and set down the glass with a sigh, weariness overtaking him. “I recently took a few weeks off from the business side of things. You know, Easter’s coming about, and what better excuse does a man get? I was, unfortunately, reminded why I so prefer the company of businessmen to my wife and my son. My only son. It’s a tragedy. They both think I’m irrational.”
Ephraim nodded attentively, one hand straying to his wine. He wondered how many more refills would get him through this.
“You see, for the past few years Allan—that’s my son—has been going to gambling halls any chance he gets. I can’t even remember how long, at this point, just how much money we’ve lost to his betting. It’s to the point where I can’t give him a cent without him spending it on booze or games, and if I cut him off he starts stealing things from the house to pawn.”
“That’s horrible,” Ephraim said sympathetically. “Vices like that can really take a toll on a family.”
“You don’t know the half of it. He used to be so promising,” Edward lamented. “He was never all that interested in running the Meadow Rose Company, not at all, but he was always a bright kid. He made friends easily. He did well in his studies, even complaining as he did. I figured one day he’d come around. Not so. After his older sisters moved away, he turned on a dime.”
Despite it becoming clear that Edward was more displeased with his son’s disobedience than he was sympathetic to his son’s burgeoning addictions, Ephraim was far more interested in this conversation than anything to do with business. Indeed, Ephraim was more used to being a shoulder to cry upon than a competent salesman.
“How old is he?” Ephraim asked. “Perhaps he’s acting out in a last grasp at youth. I’ve seen it happen with many men my age.”
“Not so. Allan is only twenty-six.” Edward sighed, rubbed his creased forehead, and stared down into his wine. “I thought he just needed better influences, now that his sisters have married and moved—my oldest, Lenore, is living in Virginia with her husband, and darling Madeline has moved to Italy to be with her beloved—so I contacted my local partners and friends, and organized a hunting club for our sons. Then the rumors started, God, the rumors…”
Edward clenched his eyes shut and pinched his lips together as if he was near to tears—surely he would not cry, he had not drank nearly enough for that, but the display of emotions made Ephraim as uncomfortable as he was curious. What rumors could possibly be so bad? Ephraim dared not ask, wary of coming off as a gossip himself.
“I thought I could surely come up with a solution. I had heard of men curing diseases on the Santa Fe Trail. The change in lifestyle and diet was fortuitous for their health. But as soon as I suggested that, my wife was absolutely horrified, went on about Allan getting robbed or kidnapped or murdered by Indians. I told her that would never happen, not with the bases along the way, but she wouldn’t hear it. What else am I supposed to do?” Edward paused to down the rest of his wine. After swallowing, he continued. “Allan, of course, thought I was being tyrannical and trying to ruin him. I’m trying to save him! At this rate, Allan is going to drink and gamble and ruin my name until there isn’t a nickel left to it, and his mother is going to protect him the whole way through.”
“That is… truly a difficult situation, sir. I’m very sorry,” Ephraim replied. As lengthy and miserable Edward’s mourning was, it was certainly more interesting than the self-praise he was spilling earlier. “Maybe the Santa Fe plan could still work. Your wife may change her mind if she can be sure Allan will be in good company.”
Edward looked up with shining eyes. “You’d do that? You hardly know me, let alone my family. I couldn’t reasonably ask this of you.”
Ephraim was shocked to stillness, as if even a slight movement would tip Edward off. He had not intended to implicate himself. His training as a negotiator hadn’t prepared him to respond to this kind of situation effectively.
“You’re really an upstanding man, Dr. Templeton,” Edward said, and reached across the table to grip Ephraim’s shoulder in camaraderie. “I’ll tell you what; if you can do this for me, I’ll stop buying coal from anyone but the Templetons. You’ll never have to worry about your Canadian investors again. You’ll be a hero for both me and your parents.”
Just then, the waiter came by with their entrées. Ephraim was grateful for a moment to think of what to say, though his mind floundered. The waiter refilled his wine glass, and he wasted no time in giving his thanks and taking a drink.
“I… Thank you, sir,” Ephraim said, after the waiter left, and tried to convince himself it was true. He was trapped in this now. He couldn’t turn away a deal like this when his family’s success was on the line. “What can I say? I enjoy traveling and if I can help a good man such as yourself… It’s my honor.”
Edward grinned, patted Ephraim on the shoulder, and sat back in his chair. “You can come by and talk to my wife tomorrow. Does tomorrow work? Say, at noon?”
“Tomorrow at noon is just fine,” Ephraim said. “When do you suppose we’ll be departing? Next year, maybe? So planning can be done?”
“Planning won’t take that long, boy, don’t you worry,” Edward said happily. “I already have connections in Independence, I used to send wagons between there and Santa Fe years ago. You see, I stopped because of news that railroads were to be built, and redirected my funding there… But, enough about that. I could have you and Allan on your way to the trail in less than a month, easily.”
Ephraim felt the air knocked out of him.
“Of course you have connections,” Ephraim muttered into his wine glass.
“What was that?”
“Nevermind, sir. Have I mentioned that it is just… an honor working with you?”