When he reached Denver, he was exhausted to the bone. Trying to sleep on a train car was a feat only accomplished by small children who had a mother’s soft lap to rest on. When he stepped off the train, he realized that in order to be effective, he needed a good night’s sleep and a couple of hot meals, and there were plenty of hotels nearby that could offer him just that.
He checked in to the Dorchester Arms—such a fancy name for such a humble little place—and washed up thoroughly, irritated by the thin layer of grime that had built up on his skin while he traveled. Then he went down to the dining room, where several small groups were seated randomly here and there, utensils clinking against the dinnerware.
He ordered the pot roast, wanting something hearty and filling, and then, on a whim, he asked the waitress if she’d ever seen Lydia.
She studied the picture for a long moment. “This was about how long ago, you say?”
“Eighteen months or so.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I only came to Denver about eight months ago myself. Let me get Doris, though. She’s been here longer’n any of us.” She bustled away, and Bradley was left to wait for Doris.
She came a few minutes later, definitely older than the first girl—by a few decades—and with considerably less patience. “I’m told you’re looking for a certain girl.”
“That’s right. I fear she may have gone missing.”
Doris looked at the picture. “She doesn’t look too unique, do she? I mean, if she had missing teeth or something, I could remember that. A million girls look like this here picture—how’m I supposed to remember something like that?”
Bradley nodded. “I agree, it would be difficult. Thank you for looking.”
She went off in a whirl of cotton skirts, obviously too busy for making small talk.
The meal was adequate, although not as satisfying as he’d hoped for, and he climbed the stairs to his room. He knew nothing more than he did when he started out on this adventure—nothing except that she hadn’t settled in any of the small towns between Ames and Denver. In the morning, he’d visit the police station and a few stores here, and he’d talk to the station master as he prepared for the next leg of the journey.
He pulled out the list of stops Mr. Abernathy had given him. From Denver, Lydia would have gone south through a town called Creede. From there, she would continue on west toward the coast. He imagined he would have inquired in every stop in Colorado by the end of the next day, and while that was progress, it also felt disheartening because he’d accomplished so very little. He’d hoped for any sort of clue by now, but there was nothing.
He wasn’t going to give up. Not until his toes dipped into the Pacific Ocean and he still hadn’t found her—and maybe not even then. Something in his gut wouldn’t let him—something told him this would be worth it.
He pulled out a map and studied the route. Creede was canyon country—well, Colorado in general was canyon country. He’d best prepare himself for a queasy stomach once they started traversing those winding roads.
After kicking off his shoes and hanging up his shirt, he lay back on the bed and studied the picture of Lydia. He’d looked at it every day when she first left, and then he’d realized that wasn’t the best way to go about moving on, so he’d put it in the back of his drawer. He’d always known exactly where it was and located it immediately when he was ready to leave.
The soft expression in her eyes belied her inner strength. He’d never known a girl as strong and determined as she was. She wasn’t afraid of anything—that was evident by the way she’d gotten on a train and crossed the country by herself.
He allowed himself a moment to remember dancing with her at the Christmas ball two years ago—she fit into his arms perfectly, and when the song ended, it was all he could do to let her go. And he let her go again when she told him she was leaving, and he’d regretted it ever since.
He shook his head. He needed to stop this downward spiral of melancholy. First, he would sleep, and then he would resume the search. He had to push onward with the faith that he would indeed find her.
***
“Honestly, my dear, I’ve never seen that man and his wife before,” Mrs. Deveraux assured Lydia for the third time that morning, even though Lydia hadn’t asked. “And I can’t believe that they just waltzed in here as bold as you please and paid me with fake money. It’s theft—that’s what it is. Absolute theft.” She punched the air with her finger for emphasis. “If I ever get my hands around their necks, I’ll demonstrate some of my fine chicken-strangling skills. Ah, that surprised you, didn’t it? You thought my talents were limited to dressmaking. No, I’ve strangled quite a few chickens in my day.”
Lydia grinned. “I always suspected there was more to you than met the eye.”
“Everyone is made up of multiple layers, I’ve found. No one is just who they appear to be on the surface.” She paused in her strolling around the room. “Lovely work on that pintucking, my dear.”
“Thank you.” Lydia looked down at the dress she was making. When she got settled in her new job, she would need several nice dresses like this—she supposed that waiting a little while before leaving wouldn’t be so terrible because she could earn a little extra money toward things like a new wardrobe. She still chafed at the thought and hadn’t quite forgiven Madeline for spoiling her plans, but she had decided to go along with it, so she might as well look for the best in it.
As she was walking home an hour later, Mr. Redfern stepped out of the bookstore and met her on the sidewalk. “Miss Pullman, I wondered if I might have a word with you. Not a long one—rather brief, actually—but a word. If that’s all right.”
He reminded Lydia of a bird, the way his head was bobbing back and forth. “Of course, Mr. Redfern.”
She stepped inside and was immediately impressed by how nice everything looked. He had finished shelving the books, and the crates were nowhere to be seen. The floor was swept and mopped, everything was dusted, and he’d even hung a few pictures on the walls depicting scenes from moments in literature. There was the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, the Trojan horse entering the city, and Samson pulling down the pillars where he’d been held captive. Everything was welcoming and inviting, and she turned to Mr. Redfern with a smile.
“You’ve done a wonderful job here. I’m quite impressed.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, Miss Pullman. You see, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said . . . about being an employee here.”
“That’s a flattering thought, Mr. Redfern, but I’m not even sure—”
He uncharacteristically interrupted her before she could tell him she was leaving town soon. “Miss Pullman, I admire you a great deal, and I enjoy your company immensely. I . . . I love you, Miss Pullman, and I would like to do me the honor of becoming your wife.” His cheeks colored, and he became even more flustered. “I mean, I would like it if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife. And then you wouldn’t be an employee, you see. We would work together. Side-by-side.”
Gracious. He skipped right over courting and went right to proposing. That was a little more impetuous than she had expected from him. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her as she tried to figure out what to say. “Mr. Redfern, I can’t tell you how flattered I am that you would choose me out of all the pretty young ladies in Creede.” She swallowed. There actually wasn’t a great number of girls, but pointing that out probably wouldn’t help her point. “I need to be honest with you, though—I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be in town.”
He blinked. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I am. When I first came here, I was on my way to California, and I only stayed here long enough to earn money to continue on. I have that money now, and I’ve been making plans to be on my way.”
“And . . . and there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“I’m sorry, but no.” Her thoughts flickered to another young man who had tried
to get her to stay. Bradley Murdoch . . . She never let herself dwell on his memory because it was too painful, but he did cross her mind at least three times a day and sometimes more. Each time, she packaged him up and pushed him back into the recesses of her brain, which was the safest place to be. If he couldn’t convince her to stay, Mr. Redfern certainly couldn’t. “These are dreams I’ve had my whole life.”
“I see.” Mr. Redfern nodded a few times. “I wonder if I might make you a present of a few books to read on your journey, then.”
“You’re already given me so many—I couldn’t possibly keep taking from your inventory,” she protested.
He held up a hand. “When you’re ready to go, come see me. I’m sure you’ll find something that would suit for a long train ride.”
“Thank you, Mr. Redfern. I appreciate it.” She paused. “I appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve been very kind.”
A look of sadness passed over his face. “I do wish it could have been more than friendship, but you’re welcome, Miss Pullman.”
Why did relationships have to be so complicated? It was just as well that she’d sworn them off because she hadn’t a clue how to navigate them properly. They should offer it as a lesson in school and give everyone half a chance to do it right before they bumbled around in the world hurting people’s feelings and tripping over their own feet.
Now more than ever, she was eager to be on her way, but Madeline had promised her that something amazing was on its way. Patience was a virtue, she reminded herself. Gracious, how she disliked that saying when being patient was the very last thing she wanted.
Chapter Seven
Bradley ate a hot breakfast of bacon and eggs the next morning, then headed out onto the streets of Denver to see if he could find any trace of Lydia. A chat with the counter clerk at a nearby general store didn’t yield any information, and neither did stopping by a bookstore on the corner. If Lydia had decided to remain in Denver, he was sure she would be a frequent customer of a bookstore. The difficulty was the size of the town—it was larger than the others he’d visited so far, and there could be any number of bookstores or general stores in the area. If she lived on the other side of town, for instance . . .
The police station was his best bet. He asked directions from a man walking past and headed down the street, hoping beyond all hope that this would be his lucky day. Even with the sleep and the hot food, he was wearing thin—he recognized that he was emotionally exhausted rather than physically. The stress and worry eating away at him was worse than if he’d run a mile in the hot sun.
“No, sir. She doesn’t look familiar,” the sergeant on duty at the desk replied. He tilted his head as he studied the picture. “She is a pretty thing.”
“Yes, she is. And you’re certain you’ve never seen her?”
“Well, sir, I’ll put it to you this way. When it comes to young ladies, I tend to notice them all, and if she had ever crossed my path, I’m certain I’d remember.”
Bradley nodded and moved on to his next question. “Is it possible for you to look at your records for the last year and see if her name is listed? Perhaps as an arrest or a missing person, or maybe she filed a complaint?”
“You think she’s in trouble, do you?”
“That’s what I’m hoping to disprove.”
“Well, sir, I can do that. It will take me a little time, though. Please write her name on this piece of paper, and I’ll start pulling the records from last year.”
Bradley did as he was asked, and the sergeant told him to come back in an hour.
An hour—what could a person do in one hour? Bradley decided to head back the way he’d come and show Lydia’s picture to a few more merchants and public officers. He doubted anything would come of it, but he wasn’t going to spend this time lollygagging around.
After half an hour of no success, he took a seat at a table in front of a café and spread his map on the table in front of him. Denver to Creede, Creede to Utah . . .
Or he could go back home.
The thought came unbidden and unwanted. He recognized it as the voice of skepticism that always seemed ready to keep him from taking risks or trying new things. He supposed it was there to keep him safe, but safety never got a person anywhere if they wanted to live a remarkable life, which he did.
A waitress approached the table and set a glass of lemonade in front of him. “You look rather worn out,” she commented.
“I am, to be honest. I’ve been traveling quite a bit this last week.”
“Oh? Where are you from?”
“Ames, Iowa.”
“That’s where the university is, right?”
“Yes. I graduated five years ago. Are you familiar with it?”
She shrugged. “I have a cousin who went there. And what’s this? A map of your further travels?”
“Yes, but I’m trying to decide if it’s worth it to go on.”
She put one hand on her hip. “You’ve come all this way, and now you’re thinking of going back? If I had the chance to travel, I’d go wherever I could and see the world. How many opportunities do you expect to have to do this sort of thing?”
He chuckled. “You’re right. If nothing else, I should enjoy the sights along the way.”
“Exactly. Before you know it, you’ll be too busy for travel, and you’ll regret not taking the chance now.” She squinted at his map. “Oh, you’re heading into some really pretty country. You’ll enjoy the journey, I promise you.”
“All right, I’ll do it.” He looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you for your advice.”
“I wouldn’t call it advice—just someone sharing an unsolicited opinion.”
“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you this afternoon?”
He blinked as another waitress stepped up to the table. “I’m all right. She’s helping me quite well.”
“She?” The new waitress looked around. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about, sir.”
Bradley pointed to the spot where the first waitress had been standing, but she was no longer there. “She must have gone back inside. She brought me a lemonade.” He indicated the glass on the table.
“We’ve been out of lemons since Friday,” the girl said, a confused look on her face. “And I’m the only waitress here this afternoon. I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea who you were talking to.”
“How strange,” Bradley mused. He looked around again, but it seemed that the mystery waitress had simply vanished. He was sure it was all a misunderstanding—the grocer probably delivered lemons while the other girl was distracted. At any rate, no harm had come of their conversation, and in fact, he felt even more committed to his quest now. And who doesn’t enjoy cool lemonade after walking around for what felt like miles?
When he returned to the police station, the sergeant shook his head. “I looked over all our records, sir, and her name simply doesn’t appear anywhere. I even checked our Jane Doe file, and the only woman with her same physical description was roughly forty-five years old. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“You did what you could, Sergeant, and I appreciate it. Time for me to move on to Creede.”
“Creede? Are you sure you want to go there, sir?”
Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”
“No reason in particular. We just get reports from there every so often—they have some strange goings-on from time to time.” He picked up a telegram from the desk. “Like this one here from Marshal Murray, wanting to know if we’ve had any incidents of counterfeit money as of late. If you’re going there, I suggest you be careful with whatever change you get in stores and so forth. Make sure it’s all genuine.”
“I will, Sergeant. Thank you for your time.”
As Bradley walked back to the hotel to collect his things and prepare for the train to Creede, he thought about what the sergeant had said. Strange goings-on, eh? For some reason, instead of that information making him nerv
ous, it made him all the more determined to proceed.
***
It had been another long, dark night. Lydia thought to herself with wry amusement how dark nights seemed to come around quite regularly. The wind had picked up and howled against the house, making her heart thump and her hands tremble, but Madeline had come and soothed her through it.
“You’re so brave,” she’d said over and over again. “You can do this.”
Once the sun came up, Lydia’s courage returned and she was able to laugh at her fears of the night before. She just wished she had that ability at midnight. She’d often thought about leaving a candle burning or a lantern lit all night long, but her mother had instilled in her a healthy respect for flame, and she didn’t want to run the risk of causing a fire. Besides, her history with fires wasn’t as pleasant as she would have liked either.
As she stepped outside to begin her walk to work, Willie Meeks came riding up in the wagon he used for store deliveries. “Morning, Miss Pullman! Mrs. Fontaine asked me if I’d mind bringing this to you.” He handed her a note, leaning down from his high driver’s seat.
She took it and thanked him, and he continued on his way.
The note was simple. Lydia, I’d be more than happy to meet with you today. I’ll be in town visiting and running errands until the train comes. Would you like to meet me at the tea shop at eleven?
That sounded perfect, actually. Lydia would go in to the dress shop and explain to Mrs. Deveraux that she need a little time off, which she was sure wouldn’t be a problem because she’d gotten quite a lot done the day before. The only thing wrong with this plan was the way her stomach had started roiling as soon as she heard Willie say Julianne’s name.
She made arrangements with Mrs. Deveraux, and a few minutes before eleven, she left the shop and walked down the street, taking in deep breaths and forcing herself to be calm. She could do this—she absolutely could.
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