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Virginia had much choice in the matter. Perhaps Carolina could burn in the same misery of lost desires and passion that haunted Virginia’s every waking moment. Pouring another half-portion of sherry, Virginia replaced the glass stopper and contemplated what should be done.
    Their mother might not be much help in the matter, she reasoned. Margaret had her good moments along with her bad, but Virginia knew she could not depend upon anyone but herself for accomplishing her plans.
    “I’ll make you pay, little sister,” she whispered bitterly. “I’ll show you what it means to see an end to your dreams.”

4
Hampton’s Pursuit
    Carolina secluded herself in the library and warmed her hands periodically over the blazing hearth fire. It was a cold December morning, and the wind outside seemed to howl relentlessly. Insulated by layers of woolen petticoats and a long-sleeved gown of dark rust-colored wool, Carolina still found it difficult to get warm.
    Her father and Hampton were taking a tour of the plantation slave quarters and workshops, which in turn freed her to read and be left to her own devices for a time. She’d met the opportunity with a sigh of relief and giddy anticipation. Avoiding Hampton’s attention was something she’d not quite yet perfected, and with her father seeming to promote their courting, Carolina felt herself backed into a corner. She would never willfully hurt her father by being disobedient, but neither could she give serious consideration to a man she didn’t love. And she most certainly didn’t love Hampton Cabot.
    She took up a seat at her father’s expansive desk and began to study the proposed charter for the Potomac and Great Falls Railroad. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her name as one of the proprietors of the proposed line. The charter itself, however, drafted in the terminology of legal proposals and bureaucratic nonsense, left her restless and bored. She wanted to see iron rails and puffing steam engines, not words such as “wherefore witnesseth” and “interdependent escrow.” Putting it aside, she picked up her newest copy of the American Railroad Journal and began to peruse the articles. Sometimes it was frustrating that her only link to the railroad was words on paper. But if that was all she had, then she intended to make the most of it.
    “Of particular difficulty,” she read, “is the problem of properly venting the excess boiler steam. Without allowing the steam a means by which to escape, the container in which the steam is held will eventually burst. The current safety valves are inefficient, for, in allowing steam to escape, they often do not close in a timely manner with a proper fit. Thus boiler pressure is lost.”
    Carolina read with some fascination about this problem. It seemed that safety valves were absolutely necessary, and that when engineers and firemen sought to circumvent their use, explosions and deaths occurred. Among the most impressive examples cited was an account of the 1831 demise of the engine Best Friend . It seemed that the fireman, having dismounted to attend to hitching up additional cars, grew annoyed by this constant hiss of steam and tied down the safety valve. The pressure built inside the boiler, and inevitably, an explosion took place that resulted in the boiler being thrown twenty-five feet into the air. The fireman died from his injuries, and the engineer was badly burned by the scalding water.
    Carolina toyed with her father’s quill pen while reading about the desperate need to improve the basic design. How she would love to go to the B&O shops in Mt. Clare and see for herself the mechanism in question. A picture was a poor substitute.
    “I thought I might find you in here,” Hampton Cabot said from where he stood at the now open door.
    Carolina inwardly groaned but outwardly smiled as politely as she could manage. “I presumed my father’s business would keep you amply occupied.”
    “We’ve finished for