The Potter's Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

employer leaned close to his ear. “Did you know Mr. McKay already visited the brickyard earlier today?”
    Rylan nodded his head. “He told me at the hotel.” A look of defeat shone in the old man’s eyes. “He hasn’t purchased the brickyard yet, so don’t give up hope. I think his sister is more interested in the pottery.”
    Before Mr. Bancock could ask anything further, Mr. McKay looked in their direction. “Your process is somewhat different from the process we use for making bricks, but there are some similarities. I see you use a pug mill to work the clay.”
    Mr. Bancock nodded. “We do, but before we place the clay in the pug mill for kneading, the excess water must be strained in the filter press.”
    Rose wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. No doubt she hoped to ward off the dampness that permeated the slip house. Her gaze darted around the room and settled on several burly men hefting huge rectangular blocks of clay across the room. When they thrust the large hunks of clay onto the wedging table, the crashing thud was so powerful, she took a backward step and bumped into Rylan.
    Rylan grasped her shoulders as she struggled to gain her footing. He dropped his hold the moment she’d steadied herself. From the heightened color in her cheeks, he was certain of her embarrassment.
    “I’m still startled when I come in here and the men make that first toss of the clay onto the wedging board.” He hoped his words would ease the awkward moment.
    The hint of a smile curved the corners of her mouth as she continued to watch the men work their clay. “Wedging reminds me of kneading bread.” Her smile intensified. “Of course, the clay is much more difficult to work.”
    Rylan nodded and returned her smile. “I hope your bread would not be so heavy as those wedges of clay.”
    “I must admit that it has been a long time since I’ve made any bread. If I tried to knead and bake a loaf, it might turn out even heavier.”
    Her brother glanced over his shoulder when she chuckled. “Was there a joke I missed, Rose?”
    She shook her head. “No, Ewan. I merely mentioned that kneading clay reminded me of making bread.”
    Although Mr. McKay’s brows dipped and his eyes registered confusion, he didn’t ask for further explanation. Instead, he returned his attention to the pottery owner. “Where next, Mr. Bancock?”
    “The clay shop.” Mr. Bancock directed them toward the brick building. Once inside, he opened his arms in a sweeping gesture. “This is the largest department of the pottery. You will see about a quarter of the pottery workers in here.” He motioned Mr. McKay to one of the work stations, where the jiggermen and their helpers worked in harmonious movement. “About one-third of these workers are skilled.”
    Ewan moved beside one of the jiggermen and watched for a moment. Without looking up, the man nodded toward his machine. “I make seven-inch plates.”
    “And how many plates do you make in a day?” Ewan asked.
    “On good days when my helpers are here, I can make fifty dozen a day.” He pulled down the mold lever and swiped away the excess clay before dipping his hand in a pot of water. “There are jiggermen who may be faster, but no one can make a finer plate. We all take pride in our work, whether we’re making cups, plates, or special orders for urns and vases.” He spoke with a hint of bravado, almost as if he expected Ewan to challenge his worth.
    Rose moved a bit closer to the owner. “Do you have difficulty maintaining workers, Mr. Bancock?” When he shook his head, she continued. “I heard this man say something about not being able to work at full capacity because his helpers aren’t always here.” Without waiting for his answer, Rose turned toward her brother. “We need to be certain we won’t experience a shortage of workers.”
    Mr. Bancock cleared his throat. “To answer your question, Miss McKay, I have no greater difficulty maintaining employees than