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right and its rays lanced through clouds above Manhattan, the towers seemed to frame the cities beyond in an almost religious way, and it was hard not to see the hand of God in it. It was altogether appropriate that the bridge was called the Eighth Wonder of the World.
    Tom could see the top third of the New York tower from where he sat. It loomed over the tops of the nearby buildings. He was no engineer, of course, but he found it hard to believe that the slender cables were strong enough to support the weight of the steel-framed roadway, let alone the trains that would be running across it. Tom wondered about all the weight it was supposed to hold, the horses and carriages and freight wagons and pedestrians. A team of draft horses and a loaded wagon could top seven tons. At any one time dozens of them could be driving across the span. How could they be so sure the bridge could stand that? Sometimes in winter the East River froze nearly solid;
and the surging currents and massive chunks of ice mangled docks and even iron-hulled steamers. The press had speculated that a strong northeaster could carry the span away. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspension bridge had collapsed from the weight of the elements. The river could be a vicious place to fight the winds that were funneled by Brooklyn Heights and the man-made canyons of Manhattan. Once a mass like that flying roadway began to twist in the wind, no cable would be strong enough to hold it.
    â€œIt’s amazing, isn’t it?” Sam said. Tom turned and saw Sam looking past him out at the bridge tower. It was as if Sam had read his mind. “You know, each of the main cables has three thousand five hundred fifteen miles of wire in it, and they’re designed to have a strength of sixty thousand tons. I’ve read somewhere that old man Roebling designed them to be six times stronger than needed.” Obvious wonder filled his voice. “Those four cables are each attached to twenty-three-ton anchors, and they’re buried under a hundred twenty million pounds of stone at each end of the bridge.”
    Tom looked close at Sam. Enthusiasm lighted his face in a way Tom hadn’t seen in a while. “Sam, sometimes you scare me. How the hell do you know that?”
    â€œNo great trick. Just got to read the papers. Over the years I’ve picked up about everything there is to know about that bridge.” Sam motioned toward it with his beer.
    â€œYeah, well, I’ve read the papers too, but I don’t remember that stuff.” Tom frowned.
    Sam took a sip of beer, then said, “Tom, it’s probably the most spectacular thing I’ll ever see built in my lifetime, that’s for sure, and I just feel kind of lucky, I’d guess you’d say, to be here to see it. I want to be able to tell my grandkids someday all about how it got built … all the technical stuff that most folks won’t remember. I tell you, Tom, what you’re looking at is like science and art all rolled into one thing.” Sam paused for another sip. “You know, the truly great thing is that it’ll bring people together and help get them from place to place with—” He stopped for a moment, looking out at the tower as if seeking just the right words. “I don’t know how to put it.” He thought for an instant more, then shrugged. “Maybe a sense of … of wonder almost. In three months you’ll be able to cross the river while the tallest ships pass under your feet. That’s a gift, Tom.” Braddock could tell that Sam meant that quite literally.
    â€œAnd you know, it will outlast us all. It will still be here when our children’s children’s children are old and gray … just as beautiful as it is now.”
    Tom just stared out the window, trying to see what Sam saw so easily.
    â€œI wish I could have made something like that,” Sam said almost reverently,
“something people