1812 – Utopia, Pennsylvania

Chapter One

Bridget marveled at the small docks as she disembarked the Artemis II. A huge, noisy machine lifted bundles of wooden casks and set them lightly on a barge. She imagined the barrels were filled with whiskey, the chief export of Utopia, Pennsylvania.

She had traveled a long way to get here, this frontier town on the edge of nowhere. She had heard stories of the marvels – moving boardwalks, machines that plowed the fields, processed the grain and transported it to the biggest distillery ever constructed – even in New York.

The Artemis II had been marvel enough, when it landed in Harrisburg. It was a one of a kind vessel that used a giant water wheel to move it through the water. One of the ships crew, a handsome young man who was quite willing to part with his pay, had shown her the wind up mechanism that powered the ship. Bridget had noted it was like a giant pocket watch.

Bridget walked along the dirt path near the docks. Even at this distance downstream of the great Wheelhouse she could hear the massive waterwheel churning – could feel the slight vibration beneath her feet – and gears turning far away. This town was unlike any she had ever visited, an experiment in what they called “mechanization”. She didn't really care about that, she was here for the boom town money filling men's pockets.

Bridget stepped onto the conveyor, as she had seen others do. It was an odd contraption, wooden planks pulled along some type of metal rails, but very convenient. It moved a little slower than she normally walked. In fact, some men she saw were briskly walking ahead on the platform, the conveyor adding to their speed. She was content to stand still, not at all sure she could keep her balance if she tried to walk forward.

The town went slowly by – shops, warehouses, a few fine homes. Ahead she could see the bustling center of town. The conveyor ended at a platform – turning under on itself - and she almost tripped. Some of the men she had seen rushing ahead were already on similar conveyors, quickly moving away in other directions.

Directly before her was a huge statue of two men, slowly revolving on its pedestal. The platform vibrated almost as badly as the conveyor. She had heard there were massive gears beneath the city which provided the mechanism for all of its marvels.

“Those are our founders,” a soft masculine voice spoke from behind.

Bridget had stopped on the one step, from the platform to the boardwalk, gazing at the revolving statue.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, realizing she was blocking the path. Bridget stepped out of the way.

“No, need,” The handsome gentleman assured her, moving to her side. “Is this your first visit to Utopia?”

“Tis that, indeed,” she replied, surveying the stranger inconspicuously. He was tall, a good head and shoulders more than her petite five-three. He wore no hat, but had his wavy brown hair pulled back tight in a neat bow. He dressed as most colonial men, but she could tell there were strong muscles beneath his woolen coat. “I just arrived on a boat from Harrisburg.”

“Allow me to welcome you to our little city, then. If I am not being too forward.”

“Not forward a'tall, sir,” Bridget smiled brightly. “I do feel a little lost and could use a strong arm to guide me.”

“Are you here alone?” he seemed a little shocked.

“Quite alone, sir,” she confessed, letting here eyes say more than her lips.

The man seemed suddenly nervous. “That is scandalous. What man could leave such a lovely young woman alone in an unfamiliar place as this.”

“Actually,” she confided, “I traveled here on my own. I am quite unattached.”

The gentleman seemed to study her, curiosity in his eyes. Bridget smiled again, warmly - seductively.

“Ahem. Yes. I see.” He returned the smile, though his eyes still seemed nervous and unsure. “Could I be so bold as to offer myself as your guide. I can, perhaps, explain some of the oddities of our city.”

“I'd like that, sir. Such a gentleman you are.” Bridget took his arm, without him offering. He was strong. She could feel his huge muscle as she wrapped her arm around his.

“I'm sorry. I have quite forgotten my manners. My name is Jeremy Hatcher. I am a professional mechanic.”

“Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. I'm Bridget Nightingale.”

“That is a strange name,” he said. “But very beautiful.”

“It is my stage name,” she chuckled. “I performed in the theater, back in New'ork.”

“You are from New York? Delightful. I have always wanted to visit.”

“You're not missing much,” she quipped. “So where will you guide me, Mister Hatcher. I place myself in your capable hands.”

The suggestion was obvious. Jeremy blushed slightly.

“What do you know about Utopia?”

“Not much, really. We have heard stories, back east.”

He began to stroll forward, along the boardwalk around the great Gear House. This was the nexus of the small city. People were scurrying about, stepping off one conveyor and moving around to another, then off they went again.

“This is the Gear House,” Jeremy beamed. “It is a marvel of modern engineering. The great Waterwheel turns a colossal iron shaft that runs from the river all the way here, then the massive gears within turn the four shafts that travel out into the quarters of the city.”

“Is that what makes the ground shake so?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “You'll get use to it. I hardly notice any longer.”

“What's the purpose?”

“All over the city people connect to the shafts through belts and pulleys or gears, to power what ever devices they wish.”

“Like them strange moving boardwalks?”

“Exactly.”

“Who are those gentlemen?” Bridget pointed at the huge statues revolving over the Gear House.

“That is Robert Southey and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. They envisioned a colony here, along the river, but it was Efrem McIntyre who made it a reality. They wrote of a perfect social structure,the “Pantisocracy”, but had no way of supporting it. Efrem built the Distillery along the river, which provided a marketable commodity. The town grew and prospered around it.”

“I have heard that the whiskey runs like water in Utopia,” Bridget chuckled innocently. “What brought about these mechanical marvels?”

“He harnessed the river to power his machines, when he built the Distillery. Then he constructed an even larger waterwheel as the city grew. In order to provide power for the grain mills and farmers he constructed the Gear House and our present Waterwheel. He later devised the moving boardwalks to cover the trenches where the massive iron shafts spin.”

They had returned to where they started.

“I have seen a few shops, but where are the taverns and the theater – if your progressive city indeed has one.”

“Each of the conveyors lead to a different part of the city. The one ahead, there, leads to the entertainment quarter.”

“And this one?” Bridget referred to the nearby conveyor which seemed much nicer than the rest. It's planks were nicely stained, it's railings freshly painted.

“That conveyor leads to the residential quarter.”

“I would enjoy seeing the entertainment quarter,” Bridget purred, stepping in front to face him and placing her free hand lightly on his hip. “Unless you would like to show me your residence?”

“It would not be in the residential quarter, m'lady,” he said almost apologetically. “I live along the conveyor leading to the waterwheel.”

“Oh, I assumed everyone lived in the residential area.”

“Alas, no. Only the very wealthy. Most can not afford to be even as close to a conveyor as my modest home lies. I need to be on the shaft, to power my inventions, or I would not live there.”

“You are a tinkerer, then?”

“Aye, in my spare time, though working on the machines here keep me very busy.”

There was a long, uneasy pause. Bridget knew she had pressed as far as she might. A professional girl could find herself in a lot of trouble if she made her intentions too clear to the wrong man. She wasn't sure about this one. She had been rather overt, but he had neither taken the bait nor shied away from it. So they stood...

“Shall I escort you to the theater, Miss Nightingale?” he said almost reluctantly.

“I would love to see your tinkerings, Jeremy.” She was stepping over the edge. She had found herself in stocks for less in one of the smaller villages of Pennsylvania. Standing here, so close, she didn't even care if he paid. A night in his bed, maybe a warm meal, would be a plenty.

“That would not be very proper,” his voice caught, and he looked around nervously. “We have only just met.”

“I'm not a very proper lady,” she whispered seductively, pushing closer.

Jeremy blushed. “Can I offer you supper? Perhaps a evening at the Theater. Then perhaps you would enjoy seeing the mechanisms I am working on.”

“I'd enjoy that very much, sir. I am yours for the evening,” Bridget replied with a broad smile.

Jeremy managed an embarrassed grin, then led Bridget to the conveyor.