Joseph had been watching the two carefully. He climbed up beside LisBeth and took up the reins while introducing them. “LisBeth, seems I’ve forgotten my manners. I forgot to introduce you two. This here’s my friend, Jim Callaway. Jim, meet LisBeth Baird. Guess she’s your landlord now, Jim.”
Jim Callaway! The name hung in the air while LisBeth stared, disbelieving. It couldn’t be! Not Jimmy Callaway from Fort Kearny. Jimmy Callaway had been a fat little brat who had made LisBeth’s life miserable, pulling her braids, boasting of his future as a soldier, and constantly reminding LisBeth that his father was an officer while she didn’t even have a father. Once, Jimmy Callaway had even called her that name. The word had made her cry, but she had run quickly away before he could see the effect of his taunting.
LisBeth stared at Jim in disbelief. He had taken his hat off to reveal a thick shock of unruly auburn hair. Even sun-bleached, the red in his hair stood out in stark contrast to the snow-white beard. The eyes were solemn, and they seemed to hold a question. They looked directly at you, but never rested long on one thing, as if not wanting to intrude for very long. Surely this couldn’t be that Jim Callaway. No, that Jimmy Callaway couldn’t have grown up to be so—so distant!
Jim nodded and said mechanically, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He paused, searching for more words. “And . . . and thank you for hiring me on.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Callaway.” The humor in the coincidence won over childish hurts, and LisBeth added with a mischievous grin, “Joseph left out part of my name, Mr. Callaway. I’m LisBeth King Baird. I believe we may have met before—at Fort Kearny?” She watched carefully for a reaction. When it came, it was not what she had expected. Jim frowned slightly and stepped away from the wagon. He looked quickly about the farmyard and cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Finally, Jim cleared his throat again and almost whispered, “Your ma was Mrs. King, Mrs. Jesse King? Joseph said she just passed on, ma’am. I’m real sorry.” He looked up at LisBeth and squinted his eyes. “I remember meeting her. She was always real kind to me,” Jim’s voice faltered, “even when I didn’t deserve kindness.” He paused again, and LisBeth began to regret having broached the topic of their childhood acquaintance. It seemed to be causing him so much difficulty.
LisBeth hurried to fill the silence. With a forced chuckle she tried to lighten the discussion. “I remember you as a chubby redheaded officer’s son who teased me mercilessly.”
The man standing before her held little resemblance to the Jimmy Callaway who had so tormented her as a child. Jim Callaway, the adult, shuffled his feet in the dust and looked over her head to the fields beyond as he said quietly, “I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Baird. I truly am. I was a mean little cuss.” LisBeth was beginning to feel embarrassed by the earnest tone in his voice. “Please, ma’am—I never meant any harm. Guess I just didn’t think how it must have hurt to be made fun of. Sure hope you don’t hold it against me.”
LisBeth held up a hand and interrupted him. “Heavens, no, Mr. Callaway. I was just enjoying teasing you a bit, that’s all. Please don’t go on about it. It’s just odd, meeting up with someone from Fort Kearny after all this time. . . . I always thought you’d be a military man too. You were sure set on it back then, as I recall.”
Jim looked at Joseph and pleaded without words. Joseph answered the plea, interrupting the conversation. “Well, now, it’s high time we started back to town—think I smell rain in the air. I’ll be back next week with some garden seeds, Jim,” Joseph added quickly. “You can try that fall garden you was talkin’ about.”
With relief Jim nodded a reply and headed for the barn as Joseph pulled the team out of the farmyard. LisBeth was unusually quiet for several miles of the ride. At last, she asked Joseph, “What do you think of him, Joseph? He sure didn’t want to talk much about his past, and when I mentioned the military—”
Joseph shook his head. “Don’t know, LisBeth. But I’m sure it ain’t nothin’ that we need to be worried about. That boy’s had plenty of chances to steal you blind and run for it since he come. He’s honest and a hard worker. I guess I’m content to leave him alone about things he don’t want us pryin’ into.”
Joseph’s comments prevented any further speculation from LisBeth. The two rode back to Lincoln in comfortable silence, LisBeth wanting to know more about Jim Callaway, and Joseph wanting to comfort the boy for whatever horrible thing he had endured in the military.
One thing sure, Joseph pondered, whatever it was, it’s still with him. He’s got to learn to put it behind him and get on with life. The faces of his own lost family interrupted his concerns. Joseph burst into song so abruptly that LisBeth jumped. Together they rode along the road to Lincoln, singing words that carried them both to their own hurts.
“We’ll meet again” —how sweet the word! How soothing is its sound!
Like strains of far-off music heard on some enchanted ground.
We’ll meet again. We’ll meet on “the evergreen shore.”
We’ll meet again, yes, meet to part no more.
One voice abandoned itself to the words and found healing in the anticipation of a wife and two lost children he would someday meet again. But the younger voice quavered uncertainly and found little comfort in the song, for questions crowded in to drown out the message of hope.
Chapter 8
. . . her own works praise her in the gates.
Proverbs 31:31
T he moment Jacob Winslow disembarked from the dinner table at Hathaway House and waddled up the stairs to the room “with windows that open to the north please—I always sleep better when my head is pointing north,” Augusta swooped down on the table and loaded every dish onto her tray. She balanced her load carefully, barely making it to the sink before LisBeth rescued the glass that was rolling off one edge of the tray.
“Thank you, dearie!” Augusta smiled.
LisBeth teased, “Aunt Augusta! ‘Take two trips if necessary, dear. We can’t afford new china every week’!”
Augusta smiled again. “Goodness, did I make that speech that much?”
Sarah called out, “You still do, ma’am.”
Grabbing the evening paper, Augusta settled into her rocker. “Shame on you two young girls, ganging up on me like that! All right, all right—I confess. I broke my own rule.” But, listen to this, ladies!
For Centennial tickets, address or call on R. P. Miller, O Street Union Block, sign of Buffalo head, and get a ‘Centennial Guide’ now ready for free distribution, giving map and detailed statement in relation to route, rates, etc., to the Great Centennial Exhibition. Bear in mind that by this route, you reach Philadelphia hours in advance of any other lines, and that there is but one change of cars from Lincoln, and that is at the Union Depot in St. Louis, where you simply step from one train to another. . . .
Augusta stopped reading abruptly. “LisBeth, we’ve simply got to go. John Cadman took out a huge ad in the paper—here it is—fully three columns wide. All it says is: ‘John Cadman has gone to the Centennial. He will return September 1.’ Just like a man—he has to let the whole world know he’s rich enough to stay all summer in Philadelphia. And he’s so secure about his hotel that he can leave it, and it’ll run itself. It just rankles me to think of him being there to see all the new inventions. Why, who knows what ideas he’ll come home with to implement over at Cadman House. And besides,” Augusta rattled the paper for emphasis, “if Lincoln is going to grow into the twentieth century—” Augusta interrupted herself, “Oh, I know, I know, I’ll probably not see the twentieth century, but you will,” Augusta called out over her shoulder, “and so will you, Sarah Biddle. We must know the newest and best ideas around. There’s no better place to do it than Philadelphia! What do you say, LisBeth—will you go with me?” Then, in characteristic fashion, Augusta talked on without giving LisBeth a chance to respond.
“Oh, I’m an old one to have as a traveling companion, I know. . . .”
I’ll no doubt have trouble
keeping up, LisBeth thought.
“. . . and Philadelphia is a long way off . . .”
I’d love to get away from here, LisBeth thought.
“. . . and, of course, it will be more work for Sarah . . .”
She already knows more about running a hotel than I’ll ever know. . . .
“. . . but I feel it my civic duty to keep up on things.”
Finally, Augusta paused long enough for LisBeth to interject, “I’d love to go, Aunt Augusta.”
Augusta didn’t hear at first, and went on, “It certainly won’t hurt to look into accommodations, then if we just can’t get away, we’ll just—” Augusta looked up at LisBeth.
“Did you say something, dear?”
LisBeth grinned. “I’d love to go.”
“You would?”
“I would.”
“But the hotel—”
“Sarah could run this hotel without either one of us, and you know it, Aunt Augusta.”
Sarah turned to look at LisBeth with a grateful smile, and LisBeth winked at her. “What do you think, Sarah. Can you get along without us?”
“I’d ask Alma Dodge to come stay. The two Cortland sisters just finished school and are looking for extra work. If Joseph will keep me in firewood, I can handle the cooking.”
Augusta was doubtful. “Don’t you want to see the Exposition?”
“No, ma’am!” Sarah blurted out. “I seen all the big cities I ever want to see in my life. You go on and have yourselves a high time. I like it just fine here in Lincoln.”
“Well, we’ll go then,” Augusta said. “But only if you’ll agree to take a vacation when we get back.”
Sarah protested. “I got nowhere I want to go, Aunt Augusta. I don’t need no vacation.” Thus only two travelers represented the Hathaway House Hotel at the Centennial in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
“See here, young man,” Augusta announced loudly. “I don’t know what kind of establishment you think you are running here, but a hotel simply does not fail to accommodate those with reservations—”
“But, ma’am, you were late.”
“The train was late, young man. I could hardly be expected to control that, now could I? We have paid for two adjoining rooms, and I expect to get two adjoining rooms!” Augusta punctuated her demand by thumping the tip of her parasol on the highly polished floor of the elegant Philadelphia hotel.
The desk clerk bobbed his head sympathetically and turned red. “Yes, ma’am, I understand, but Mr. Braddock himself demanded these rooms, ma’am, and when you didn’t come—”
Augusta interrupted him. “And just who is Mr. Braddock, that he thinks himself so important as to throw two women traveling alone out into the street for his own comfort?”
The desk clerk looked over Augusta’s head and blushed even more fiercely. His head bobbed up and down rapidly as a rich bass voice called out, “I am Mr. Braddock, madame.” Augusta turned to face her adversary as he added smoothly, “And you may be assured that my hotel will not turn you out in the street.”
Even with his silk top hat removed, Mr. Braddock towered over Augusta and LisBeth, who had been doing her best to become part of the wallpaper during Augusta’s outburst. The tall stranger continued to talk to Augusta, but he looked only at LisBeth.
“Hanley,” he began, as the desk clerk snapped to attention and peeped, “Yes sir!”
“Hanley, there’s been a misunderstanding. Kindly send a note across town to my mother.” His eyes never left LisBeth’s. “Tell her I’ll be staying at home, after all. Send Thompson up to remove my trunk from those rooms I requested, and,” he finally turned his gaze to Augusta and offered a winning smile, “order fresh flowers for our guests with apologies from David Braddock for failing to live up to the name of our ‘city of brotherly love.’ ”
David Braddock doffed his hat, bowed gracefully to the two women, and was gone before Augusta could sputter her thanks. LisBeth took a deep breath and watched the broad shoulders exit the hotel lobby and climb into a carriage outside. She was brought back to the moment by Augusta’s satisfied voice, “Now, LisBeth, you see what I mean. Just let me do the talking and we’ll get along fine. I mean to see that we have a lovely time at the Exposition!”
The two women were led up the grand winding staircase that swept guests from the lobby to the rooms above. Just as they arrived at their rooms, Thompson exited with a gentleman’s trunk in tow, and someone else entered with a massive bouquet of fresh flowers.
LisBeth peeked into her own room and took in a sharp breath. It was small but elegantly furnished with a massive carved walnut bed and matching marble-topped washstand and dresser. A small writing desk stood in an alcove created by tall bay windows along one wall. The sun streamed through the windows and reflected off the silk drapes and bed coverings, bathing the room in rosy light. It was a cool day, and a fresh breeze came in through the transom at the top of each window.
“I know why that Mr. Braddock wanted these rooms for himself,” Augusta called from the next room. “They’re facing just the right direction to catch the cool breeze.”
Augusta was in the middle of a favorable critique of their meal when she noticed that LisBeth had flushed and developed an unusual interest in the details of the china pattern used by the hotel.
“What is it, dearie?”
“I beg your pardon, madame,” interrupted a familiar voice. David Braddock bowed and introduced himself. “Please forgive my forwardness, but lacking a mutual acquaintance, I have elected to breach custom and introduce myself. I am David Braddock, the owner of this establishment. I sincerely regret the manner in which you made my acquaintance. May I enquire as to whether your accommodations are satisfactory?”
Augusta sipped her tea before responding. “The accommodations are quite satisfactory, thank you,” she said coldly.
LisBeth felt the color rising in her face. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Aunt Augusta! That’s not like you at all.” Looking up at Braddock, she said quietly, “Aunt Augusta is all prickles and quills—by her own admission, Mr. Braddock. But, really, she’s harmless. The rooms are lovely, thank you. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”
Braddock interrupted her. “Not at all, Miss—?”
Augusta replied for LisBeth. “Mrs. LisBeth King Baird, Mr. Braddock.”
LisBeth rose from the table and offered her hand, repeating “Thank you, Mr. Braddock, for giving up your rooms for us.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Baird, it was a pleasure.” With a masterful bow, David Braddock smoothed down Augusta’s prickles and quills by bending low to brush the back of LisBeth’s offered hand with a continental kiss. Augusta stood up, reached for LisBeth, and literally herded her out of the dining room. Braddock smiled to himself and returned to his own table, finishing off an entire roast hen while completing the details of his plan to learn more about Mrs. Hathaway and Mrs. Baird—with the emphasis on Mrs. Baird.
Both LisBeth and Augusta were awake at dawn the next morning, reading over their Centennial guidebook and planning how best to attack the massive Exposition. As they planned, a small envelope was slipped under the door. LisBeth stooped to retrieve the envelope and read the note with evident pleasure. Augusta smiled too and congratulated herself on coming up with the trip. It was good to see LisBeth happy and smiling, her mind diverted from her troubles.
LisBeth read, “Mr. David Braddock requests the honor of supplying a carriage to transport the ladies from Nebraska to the Exposition. Reply to Hanley at the front desk.”
Augusta bristled. “It appears to me that Mr. David Braddock has done quite enough for the ladies from Nebraska. And he’s been snooping about, or he wouldn’t know we’re from Nebraska! We can catch a streetcar right around the corner and make the run in less than an hour, with only eighteen cents spent. Although . . . a carriage would be more comfortable.”
LisBeth smiled hopefully. Augusta saw the smile and changed her mind. “But it’s best not to be beholden to str
angers.”
“Mr. Braddock seemed harmless enough, Aunt Augusta.”
“Mr. Braddock is very interested in you, Mrs. Baird.”
LisBeth protested. “Nonsense! He’s a gentleman, that’s all.”
“With the emphasis on the man part, LisBeth. And, just like any man, he’ll be expecting us to fall all over ourselves thanking him for helping us poor, defenseless creatures, and while we’re doing that, he’ll be stealing his way into your affections and—”
“Aunt Augusta!” LisBeth was angry. Her eyes blazed. “What do you take me for? My husband has been dead less than a month.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Augusta retreated, flustered.
“Oh, my dear—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you would ever do anything to blight dear MacKenzie’s memory. I just don’t think we should—”
LisBeth snapped back, “Then tell Hanley that we won’t require Mr. Braddock’s carriage, and be done with it.” She handed the note to Augusta and walked briskly into her room, closing the door behind her just a bit too firmly.
Augusta scribbled a reply. A soft knock sounded at the door, and when she opened it, she was astonished to see a bellboy waiting patiently in the hallway. He tipped his hat respectfully before asking, “Will there be a reply, madame?”
“Goodness! Have you been waiting all this time?”
“Mr. Braddock gave orders to wait for a response, ma’am.”
Augusta handed him the note and abruptly closed the door, wondering how much of her exchange with LisBeth the bellboy had heard and how much would be repeated word for word to Mr. Braddock.
When LisBeth emerged from her room a few moments later, her efforts were not wasted on Augusta. She wore her most simple mourning gown and had drawn her hair back into a tight bun that allowed no tendrils to escape to soften her profile. No jewelry adorned the gown, and her face reflected the fact that grief had once again arisen to dominate her life.
Augusta reached out to her imploringly, “LisBeth, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply—”
Soaring Eagle (Prairie Winds Book 3) Page 6
