UNLIKELY PURSUITS
Novella Collection

I Am The Clay

Opening Scene

Bryn Sinclair curled her fingers in a fist beneath the folds of her skirt and clenched her teeth. She swallowed hard and fixed her steady gaze on her father. Preston Sinclair sat like a king on a throne, flicking his cigar ashes and scowling at his daughter.

But Bryn refused to cower under her father’s glare. “Father, neither Edgar or August has the slightest interest in running the Clarion. You’ve said yourself you wished at least one of your offspring would—”

“There is no need to remind me neither of my sons desire to follow in my footsteps.” Father snapped the words off like breaking glass. He rose and strode to the window. “Newspaper ink has flowed in my veins all my life.” The timbre of his voice modulated to a mutter. “A father’s legacy means nothing.”

The very thought of stepping into her father’s shoes as publisher and editor of the Clarion sent sparks of excitement coursing through her, but she had to convince him. She gulped and went on. “I’ve loved writing since I was a child, and tagged along with you to the Clarion office more times than I can count. Why shouldn’t I have a chance to prove I can be successful.

From her chair across the room, Bryn’s mother released a huff. She patted her upper lip with her dainty handkerchief.  “Why? Because it’s unseemly for a woman, that’s why. No proper suitor would have anything to do with you if you insist on pursuing a career o genteel woman in New England has ever held before.” Faye Sinclair sniffed behind her lacy handkerchief and leaned back against the red velvet cushion. “You be blackballed from every social event of the season.”

“So you’ve said repeatedly, my dear.” The impatience in Father’s tone communicated far more than his reply. “But this about more than your society friends.” He shifted his focus to Bryn. “This is about the reputation of the Clarion. A woman publisher? It’s unheard of.”

Bryn couldn’t let this discussion come to a close without one last effort to convince her father she could handle the job. “Father, there’s no rush to sell the Clarion, is there? You don’t have any prospective buyers on the horizon. All I’m asking for is a chance. How do you know I’m not capable?”

“Desire and ability are not the same thing.” He returned to his chair and set his cigar in a nearby bronze ash tray.

“But, Father.” Bryn scooted to sit on the ottoman in front of him. “Doesn’t it make more sense to keep the Clarion operating when you and Mother leave for Martha’s Vineyard?”

Mother sputtered and flapped her hand. “What do you mean, when your father and I leave? You are accompanying us, young lady. Why, I’ve already responded to a half dozen invitations to cotillions and garden parties, and the most eligible young men will be in attendance. I’ll not permit you to throw away this opportunity to make a suitable match.”

The prospect of a suitable match held no enticement for Bryn. She appealed again to her father’s business sense. “Am I right, Father? Wouldn’t the Clarion be much more attractive to a buyer if it was operating on schedule with a list of satisfied readers and advertisers?”

Father pressed his lips into a thin line and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He leveled an unblinking stare at her, as if scrutinizing her argument and motives. Oh, how she wished she could read his mind.

Just as Bryn thought she might go mad waiting for his answer, he finally interlocked his fingers and leaned forward. “When did you get to be so shrewd?” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, eyes narrowed as he formed his verdict. “If I entrust the Clarion to you during the time your mother and I are away”—he shot a look at Mother to halt any interruption and then returned his focus to Bryn—“I will expect a smooth continuation of publication in my absence. You will be named editor and publisher pro tem, and as such will have full responsibility, both literary and business decisions—”

“Preston, how can you possibly consider such a ridiculous notion?” The veins in Mother’s neck protruded and her face reddened as she turned to Bryn. “Imagine the gossip that will ensue. I’ll not allow you to bring disgrace on our family’s respected name.”

Bryn rose and held her ground. “How can pursuing the same respected vocation as my father bring disgrace?”

“Ah.” Mother fanned herself. “Do you see? She is determined to humiliate me and tarnish our family’s reputation.”

“Mother, I’m not trying to humiliate you. I’m merely asking for a chance to do what I love.”

“Bryn.” Her father’s voice gained an edge, and he cocked his head toward the door—her signal to go and leave her mother to him. But even as she slipped out the library door and up the spiral staircase, she knew Mother could be a formidable contender.