31 Bond Street. Ellen Horan

his hand along the salt marshes. “The dredged mud will be poured for higher land and roads. A railroad runs south from Hoboken, crossing this expanse of marsh, before it heads on to Philadelphia.” Emma was glad he did not suggest they get out of the carriage where the mud would be sucking at their shoes. “There are only two lots left,” he said. “You can see the best one from here—it ends at the Bound Creek, a freshwater stream that bisects this part of the marsh.”

      Since they were on a rise, she could see the shell mounds and a clear stream starting at Newark Bay, cutting into the marshland, a spiraling creek that made a demarcation going east to west. “Farther up, the Hackensack and the Passaic Rivers converge, so the coal barges pass by here as well.” He spoke with such authority that one would think that all the commerce in the harbor was waiting to berth in this spot where now there were only bugs and spiny creatures and enormous fields of useless grasses, swaying for miles. “Buyers have been discreet in purchasing these lots, but it will soon result in a frenzy of speculation once the builders and financiers come on board.”

      “Turn around, and head back,” Dr. Burdell ordered Samuel, directing him to turn back to Elizabeth Port. Samuel was familiar with the route and took little direction. They headed toward the village and stopped before a small wooden building that had a sign for a country notary. Dr. Burdell and Emma stepped inside, and the notary nodded a greeting. Dr. Burdell took papers from a satchel and spread them along a central table. He unrolled a map that had thin lines bisecting the furrows and marshes into rectangular plots. Emma studied the survey, trying to make sense of the markings. Dr. Burdell put his hand on her arm, and she felt his grip tighten as she hesitated. “That is the section I shall choose,” she said, finally, pointing to a dotted line that marked a plot along the water’s edge. She recognized a hook shape on the map that corresponded to a promontory she had seen from the boat ride; from the water it had looked like a bone that was raised out of the water, its dry ridge continuing like a highway through the wetland. The line of the freshwater creek was within its boundary. She hesitated again, and then nodded. “Yes, this is the one I will take.”