by Cat Cahill
“Come, let’s get some rest,” Emma finally said. But as she lay in bed and tried to think about how they would go about finding work tomorrow, all she could see was the wide open valley she’d left behind. And Monroe.
Could it be true, what Lily had suggested? Was it possible there was something that held him back from asking for her? She had left so quickly. Perhaps he’d come to speak with her the next morning, only to find her gone.
She turned onto her side, toward the small window with a view of the stars overhead. It was pointless to worry on it. After all, there was nothing she could do now. Monroe was part of her past.
But as she closed her eyes, his face was all she saw.
Chapter Thirty
Monroe had barely slept the night after he and Emma were dismissed, but when he’d gone to the house in the morning, Emma was gone. Mrs. McFarland had informed Monroe that her husband had taken Emma to Cañon City during the night. By the time Monroe had come looking for her, Emma was already on a train for Denver.
Monroe felt as if that train had run over him, hearing those words. He’d debated his options—he could ride to Denver to try to catch her, but it would be nigh on impossible to find new horses along the way and still make it before she left the city. He could write her a letter. Or he could board the next train and chase her clear back to Kentucky. He’d chosen the latter, which was how he now found himself standing, bewildered, in a depot in Louisville. At least he’d had the foresight to throw water on his face and comb his hair at the last stop in Indiana so he would not waste precious time here trying to pull himself together.
Now all he had to do was find her.
The entire way here, he’d searched his memory for anything Emma had said about her childhood home. It was near Broadway. It was red brick. And the family no longer lived there. It was not much to go on, but Monroe was determined to find a neighbor who might know where the Daniels family had relocated.
Outside the depot, the city chugged and churned, the sky filled with smoke from numerous factories, and the carriages moved to and fro. A line of hansom cabs bordered the depot, and Monroe made his way to the first one.
“This is Broadway,” the driver said, a cigar in his mouth. He gestured to the wide street ahead of them. “All you need to do is walk a little ways east of here. You’ll know when you’re there.”
Monroe gave the man a coin in thanks and started off in the direction he’d pointed. Immediately across the street, a hotel beckoned tired passengers from the depot. He moved quickly past it, so quickly, in fact, that he had to force himself to slow down unless he wanted to meet Emma drenched in sweat. That was looking inevitable, anyway. Monroe tugged at his collar to loosen it. The heat here clung to every inch of his skin, sealing it with a sheen of perspiration.
Not far from the depot, the scenery changed into fine houses and thriving businesses. People in fashionable clothes walked at a sedate pace past him, while even more journeyed past in carriages down the street. He turned at a cross street and let the imposing homes stare down at him. Glancing up at the nearest one, a three-story white house flanked with columns, he wondered at the wealth Emma’s family must have had before she’d lost her father. Next door stood one of many red brick homes. This was as good a place to start as any. He threw back his shoulders, fixed his tie, and stepped forward.
A harried maid answered the door at the first house. She looked down her nose at him, only after she glanced behind her as if his very presence took up too much of her precious time.
Monroe had never felt more out of place, but he held his ground. “Hello,” he said. “Do you by chance know of a Miss Emma Daniels or the Daniels family? They lived nearby until very recently.”
The woman adjusted her long white apron and narrowed her eyes at him.
Although he had spent time refreshing himself, under her steely gaze he became acutely aware of the fact that his clothing was not the height of fashion in this city. His coat had seen better days, and his suit was worn and wrinkled from travel.
The maid finally answered. “No, sir. I’m sorry, but I have not heard of such a family.”
Although he’d wished to hear otherwise, he was also more than happy to move beyond her condescending perusal. He thanked her and went directly to the next home. One by one, he stopped at each house, asking after the Daniels family. After exhausting a block of homes on both sides, he moved to the next cross street. An hour passed, then two, then three. He’d worked his way three blocks down Broadway on both sides. Frustration crept up inside him, but he refused to give up. If he had to knock on every door in this city, he would.
At the next cross street, he turned right and stopped at the first house, a friendly-looking whitewashed brick home. The front door opened just as he’d climbed the steps leading up from the street.
“Oh!” A young woman paused, parasol opened to guard against the sun, and an older woman directly behind her.
Monroe yanked the hat from his head and nodded at the ladies. “My apologies. I’m inquiring after a Miss Daniels, who lived nearby until recently. Might you know of her?”
“Emma?” The younger woman smiled. “I’ve known her for years.”
Monroe wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“She’s one of my oldest friends. But I thought she’d gone out West.”
“It’s a sad situation,” the older woman said. Monroe pegged her as the girl’s mother, judging from the similarities in their long, drawn faces. “It seems Mr. Daniels was not as well-off as he wanted everyone to believe. The mother fell ill, and the family ran low on funds. They moved house . . . oh, perhaps two months ago?” She looked to her daughter, who nodded.
Monroe gripped his hat tightly. He was so close. “You don’t happen to know where the family moved?”
The daughter nodded. “They’re in a small apartment on Campbell, near Adams. Second floor. It’s not . . .” She shifted the tiny beaded reticule in her gloved hands.
“It isn’t a desirable area of town,” her mother finished.
“Is Emma home again?” the girl asked. “I visited her family once after she left, but I felt . . .” She looked again at her mother, but neither finished that time.
Monroe nodded. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you.” He replaced his hat and turned to leave, then paused. “And yes, she is home again. Though perhaps not for long. You should visit her.”
It took all of his self-control not to whistle as he moved down the brick street. It wasn’t until he was almost back to Broadway that he realized he had no idea where he was headed. He walked swiftly down the road until he came to a mercantile, where he inquired after directions. It would not be a short walk, but with no other mode of transportation and no cabs within sight, walking was his only choice.
He walked and walked and walked, thinking he’d give anything for his horse right now. Perspiration dripped down his face and dashed any hope of looking calm and unhurried upon arrival. By the time he reached Emma’s family’s new neighborhood, the sun had set and he felt as if he’d journeyed for days.
At the corner of Adams and Campbell, one dimly lit ramshackle building matched the girl’s description. Sucking in his breath, he removed his hat and smoothed his hair. Then he ran his hands down his coat and vest, brushing off any dirt.
The door that led to the second-floor apartments was locked. As he knocked, twenty different scenarios flew through his mind. Emma, answering the door and throwing herself into his arms as he vowed never to let her go again. Emma, spurning him and slamming the door in his face. One of Emma’s sisters, insisting he explain why he’d acted the way he had. Or maybe her mother, frail and suspicious of this strange man asking for her daughter after dark.
When the door finally opened, he had to yank his mind back to the present. A girl stood in front of him, the very image of Emma, only with lighter hair. She held a lamp and had on a dress that looked worn at the edges but was neat as a pin, and her hair wa
s pulled into a loose but flattering style. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she took him in, and he braced himself for the words that matched that look. She placed one hand on her hip and said, “Mr. Monroe Hartley, I presume?” in a voice that spoke of fine upbringing but was frayed around the edges, as if she’d been awake longer than she should.
“I am. How did you know?”
She made a hmpf sound and moved not a muscle. “Have you come to your senses?”
He choked back a laugh. This girl spoke her mind, perhaps a bit too bluntly. But he couldn’t help but admire someone who protected Emma the way he should have. “I have,” he said in all seriousness. “I made a terrible mistake, as I assume Emma told you. And now I’ve come to right my wrongs. May I . . .” He peered around the girl. “May I see her, Miss Daniels? You are her sister, correct?”
She nodded. “I am. However, I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see, my younger sister and I just returned from the factory only to find Emma gone. She disappeared from work earlier, and when we arrived here, we found she left us a note.”
“A note?” Monroe raised his eyebrows. Goose bumps covered his arms under his shirtsleeves, even in this heat. He didn’t have a very good feeling about this at all. “What do you mean? Is she all right?”
“Fine, I imagine. She’s on a train back to Colorado, to find you.”
Chapter Thirty-one
“I’m sorry, miss, but that route is a special run only right now. How about you come back in eight days? That’s when the line is set to open for passengers.” The older man pushed small, round spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose and smiled at her kindly.
“I see. Thank you.” Emma pushed the last of her money back into her reticule. She already felt terrible enough about using this money for her own purposes, even though she was the one who earned it. At least the apartment had been paid for the month and the larder was full. She had resolved to pay these funds back to her family at the first opportunity—somehow.
But for now . . . She stood helplessly on the wooden plank sidewalk in Cañon City. She was so close to her destination, but with no way to get there. A carriage moved slowly through the street, the horses’ legs covered in mud from a recent rain. If only she had a carriage, or even a buckboard wagon. She didn’t know how to drive one, but she could figure it out.
“Excuse me, sir?” She turned back to the railroad man. “Where is the livery?”
“Down that way and left.” He pointed.
Emma thanked him, picked up her skirts and tried to find a way across the street that wouldn’t end up with her legs covered in mud. It was a semi-successful task. Her shoes did not fare well, but at least her legs were, for the most part, mud-free. She’d take a brush to her shoes later. Where she would find that brush, she didn’t know. In fact, she didn’t even know where she would sleep tonight. It wasn’t as if the hotel would be open yet, even if she had enough money to lodge there.
She had to find Monroe. Once she did, she could then solve all of these other problems.
The livery was easy to locate. Inside, she wrinkled her nose at the scent of so many horses.
“’Afternoon, miss.” A short, round man greeted her and then promptly looked behind her for a male companion.
She squared her shoulders, gripped her carpetbag even tighter, and looked the man straight in his beady little eyes. If she’d come to Colorado on her own, twice, she could go about finding transportation to Crest Stone with no chaperone. “I wish to procure a ride south to the Gilbert Company property in Crest Stone.” When the man said nothing, she added, “I can pay.”
He scratched at his protruding belly. “Lady, I don’t know what to tell you. There’s a stage that comes through nigh on twice a week, but that ain’t till Tuesday. Why don’t you wait till then?”
“I can’t wait,” Emma said. “Please, don’t you know of someone who might take me? Today?”
He chuckled. “Truthfully? Not anyone I’d trust alone with my own sister.”
Her face warmed, but she stood her ground.
“And it’s three o’clock. To make a journey like that, you’d need to leave at dawn. Else your driver would be returning after dark.”
Emma pushed her lips together. “Fine. Then what do you suggest? It’s of the utmost importance that I arrive today.”
He shook his head. “Miss, I don’t know. Short of riding a horse, there ain’t no way down there today. Now if you can wait—”
“A horse?”
“Now, I don’t know about that. I was just saying—”
“I’d like to have a horse, then.” She opened her reticule.
He looked her up and down. “You’re dressed awful fine for this.”
“Don’t you worry about my clothing.” She gave him a look that she hoped put the fear of God into him. This man was far too presumptuous.
Another man entered the wide open door behind them, leading a horse. The proprietor raised a hand in greeting, and Emma watched as the man disappeared into the darkness of the stable. If a man could ride for several hours at a time, so could she. It wasn’t as if she had never been on horseback. It had simply been some time ago, and not for nearly as long. But she knew how to handle a horse.
“How much?” she asked. “To borrow a horse?”
“Now, I’m not in the habit of lending out horses,” he said. “But if you’re in the market to buy, I might be able to make you an offer. If you’re dead set on doing this, that is. Which I advise against.”
“How much to buy a horse, then?” She sent up a quick prayer that she’d have enough money. She was so close. There were only another forty or fifty miles between her and Monroe now.
The man studied her reticule, as if looking at it would tell him how much she had to spare. “Two hundred dollars.”
Emma fought to keep her expression in check. Whatever made the man think she had that much? “I can give you seventy-five.”
“Seventy-five?” He threw his head back and laughed, his large stomach heaving with the effort. “Lady, the only one I could part with for anywhere close to that is my old work horse, Samuel. And even he would cost you a hundred.”
“I’ll take him.” Emma fished every last bill from her reticule and held it out to the man.
He stilled. “You serious?”
“Absolutely.”
He ran a hand over the short, scraggly beard that covered his face. “Then perhaps you ought to see him first.”
He led her back into the darkness. The small windows set high up on the walls were filthy and let little light through. Emma paused, uncertain if she should continue, until the man stopped to grab a lamp from a nail on the wall. When the flame took, the stable came into sharp relief. Horses peered over short wooden gates, straw lined the floor, and the smell grew even stronger back here. Emma’s eyes watered at it as she followed the man to a small open area halfway through the stable. There, standing calmly and chewing on hay, stood the saddest-looking, slouch-backed, old gray gelding Emma had ever seen.
Emma closed her eyes and questioned her sanity. Then she opened them and spoke to the man. “I’ll take him.”
The man shook his head. She could see that he wanted to ask whether she was certain, but instead he untied the animal from its tether, grabbed an old set of tack hanging from the wall and an ancient saddle—“won’t charge you for this,” he muttered—put it on the horse, and handed her the reins. In turn, she handed him the money—the last she had left.
She tilted her head and looked at the horse. The horse looked back at her with droopy brown eyes. Then he snuffled and nosed at her sleeve.
“I’d offer you a hand, but . . .” The livery proprietor gestured at her skirts.
Emma glanced down. Her skirts were too long and too bulky to sit astride. She supposed she could ride aside, although that would grow uncomfortable quickly in this saddle. Yet another thing she hadn’t really thought through.
“I’ll figure it out,” she said.
&
nbsp; The man raised his scrawny eyebrows and laughed a little.
“Thank you for your help,” Emma said, ignoring the laughter. She reached for the animal’s reins, and then made her way to the front of the livery. Scanning this way and that down the street, she decided her best bet was to find a secluded place and deal with her skirts since she couldn’t exactly hoist herself onto the horse to ride sidesaddle out of town without help.
She led the gelding to the west of town so as not to have to retrace her steps. He complied, and she decided she could at least be thankful for a cooperative horse, even if he might not have the stamina to make it all the way to Crest Stone. She was also thankful for having traveled this route several times with Mr. McFarland to attend services. At least she wouldn’t become lost. She only had to pray the horse wouldn’t collapse immediately.
About a mile or so after leaving town, a copse of trees flanking the Arkansas River beckoned. She tied the horse to a tree and set about doing the most unladylike thing she’d ever done in her life: stripping away the layers of petticoats under her skirt. One by one, she carefully piled them on the ground, until all she wore on her bottom half were her underthings, her stockings, and her skirt. She felt strangely light and free as she gathered up the discarded clothing.
Holding the fabric in her arms, Emma surveyed the area. She’d have to leave it all here since it wouldn’t fit into her small carpetbag. Traveling alone, she’d had to leave her trunk behind at home. She could always come back to this spot and retrieve the clothing, so long as she hid it well. She finally decided upon a treacherous rock outcropping. Balancing herself on large, precariously placed stones, she buried the petticoats under even more rocks. When she finished, she dusted off her hands and smiled at her handiwork. She probably looked quite the sight right now without the petticoats under her dress, but she had more important things to worry about.
And with those on her mind, she used a rock as a stepping stool and mounted the horse. Clucking to him, she urged him along the river to the west.
