A Promised Heart

by Kate Marie Clark

  Charlie flinched. “Yes, I will be leaving straight away.”

  “I have asked Anders to pack your things already.” The elder Mr. Ellison walked to the door.

  Charlie’s mouth dropped. “But how did you…?”

  “I have never yet been able to persuade you differently than you wish. I foresaw the unfortunate conclusion. Now, make haste so that you may return all the sooner.”

  Warmth washed over Charlie. For all his badgering and demands, his father cared far more than he let on. Charlie jumped to his feet and embraced his father. “Thank you. Knowing you approve makes all the difference.”

  “Approve?” His father pulled back, but his lips hinted at a smile. He was four inches shorter than Charlie, and he craned his neck to meet his son’s gaze. “I won’t haggle you about exact meanings. So, I’ll just say this: You are a better man than I could ever hope to be.”

  “Thank you.” Charlie smiled before bolting out the door.

  Chapter 3

  December, 1876

  Hattie straightened the front of her skirt and smoothed her hair in hopes of calming her racing heart. The bustle of the restaurant and hotel never ceased to surprise, or rattle, her. Not even Christmas slowed the trains. If anything, more people travelled. In her past two months working for Mr. Brody, Hattie had grown increasingly proficient in her duties until, now; no one would have suspected she was anything other than a working woman. Certainly not a wealthy heiress.

  She paused at the window. The previous night’s snowfall danced across the wind, pelting the faces of the travelers scurrying to the hotel. The four o’ clock train brought the usual crowd, and the travelers hurried across the snow-blown street.

  “Are you well, Adele?”

  Hattie jumped at the sound of her name—or that of her pretend name. She had yet to grow accustomed to the sound. She turned toward the porcelain face staring back at her. “Yes, Eleanor, just surveying the number of customers. Seems we’ve quite the run to make. Happy Christmas to us.”

  Eleanor peered past Hattie and nodded. “I wonder how my feet continue to carry me on days like today.” Her gaze grew distant, the way it often did. Eleanor’s blue eyes were hauntingly troubled. “That wind is blowing something fierce. At least it looks like Christmas.”

  Eleanor had arrived in Topeka the week after Hattie. The recollection sent shivers down Hattie’s spine. She rubbed her hands along her arms, trying to forget the image of Eleanor in her nightdress on the first night, purple bruises dotting her light arms.

  “Girls, our tables,” Emma, another one of the waitresses, said.

  “Yes, I suppose we should return to our tables,” Hattie said.

  But Eleanor lingered near the window, staring into an invisible abyss.

  The four o’ clock passengers began filing through the restaurant entrance, and with their arrival came an icy blast. Mr. Brody stood alongside the crowd, gesturing to the empty tables. His hair was dusted in snow. Considering the biting chill, Hattie thought the act went well above his duties as hotel and restaurant owner. To venture to the station and greet passengers on such a day exemplified Mr. Brody’s character. He could have asked the handyman, Tom.

  Mr. Brody’s eyes lit when he saw Hattie. “Miss Carlson, will you accompany our first guest to a table? I’m afraid this man has been all about the country and is in dire need of a warm meal and a comfortable night’s sleep.”

  The man at his side was just shorter than Mr. Brody, but equally as handsome. The passenger’s blond hair was matted from his hat, and his downcast blue eyes did not meet Hattie’s warm expression.

  Hattie nodded to Mr. Brody. “Right this way, sir.”

  She was used to seeing handsome men; many passed in and out of Topeka, but few stayed or cared enough to inquire after a working woman. She led the passenger to a corner table, far from the door and closest to the wood stove.

  “Will this do?” she asked, offering another warm smile.

  The man sat without a word. His coat was covered in snow, and his shoulders hung heavy. Travelling alone, and at Christmas, was enough to dampen any man’s spirits.

  “Sir?” she asked, this time leaning closer.

  He startled, running a finger across his brow. “Pardon me. I am afraid I am distracted. Did you ask me something?”

  Sympathy coursed through her. His eyes, so blue and charming, held a soulful sadness in them that she had yet to witness. Hattie cleared her throat. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? Perhaps a plate of today’s special—roasted beef with a side of potatoes?”

  He met her gaze for the first time. His eyes, framed in dark lashes, widened, and his mouth dropped open. A momentarily silence ensued, as the stranger stared in her direction. “Yes, that sounds like just the thing.”

  Hattie swallowed. “Will you be wanting tea or coffee, sir?”

  “Coffee.” His lips twitched on one side, but he did not smile. Yet, his glance continued to flood her.

  “Just staying for the night?” Hattie asked, suddenly aware of the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. Goodness, his stare unraveled her. “Mr. Brody mentioned you will be wanting a room for the evening.”

  His brows flickered up and down. “I imagine I will need one for a few days, until I can get my bearings.”

  “I will speak with the front desk. After your meal, you can inquire at that desk. Someone will show you to your room.” She wanted to ask more questions—like the reasoning behind his downcast expression or why he was alone during the holiday—but she refrained and retrieved a pot of coffee from the kitchen instead.

  The train was much like a library, loaning the restaurant customers at each hour, in turn presenting Hattie with glimpses of stories. Much like most novels she had read, Hattie had become skilled in guessing at the ending of her customers’ stories.

  Only, the passenger seated at her current table…there was something different about him. His discouragement was evident for all to see—that was common enough—but there was something more. For the past almost three months, Hattie had found comfort in her cover. No one, except for Mrs. Elizabeth Brody (and she had proven a trustworthy friend), had suspected Hattie of being anything other than a waitress.

  But…the way the man at her assigned table looked at her unnerved her. For a brief moment, she felt her identity exposed, her future happiness in jeopardy once more. She passed the kitchen doorway into the dining room and sneered. The idea was ridiculous. Whomever this stranger was, there was little chance he could have an inkling as to Hattie’s true identity.

  “Another plate of roasted beef and potatoes,” Hattie told the cook, Ruth, before turning back to the dining room.

  Perhaps she was growing paranoid. She returned to the table and set the mug of coffee in front of the stranger. “Your coffee. I’ll return with your meal in a moment.”

  He took the mug in his hands, and his lids lowered as he visibly swallowed. “Thank you.”

  His voice was deep and slightly cracked, the way her father used to sound after a long day at the office sorting out trade schedules and payments. Hattie’s shoulders relaxed. She smiled. “If you should need anything at all, I am happy to assist you. My name is Adele.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I appreciate the offer.” He rested an arm on the back of his chair, and his light eyes lifted in perfect sync with a devastatingly heartbreaking smile. “I have been in search of a missing person, a young woman actually. I am led to believe she is lost forever—at least until she wishes to be found—but I might as well ask around.”

  “A missing person? Are you a private investigator then?” Hattie’s chest hitched and clamored in a jumbled battle against reality.

  “No, not a private investigator.” He shook his head. “The situation is complicated.”

  “So it sounds.” Hattie forced a smile. “I did not catch your name.”

  “Mr. Anthony Ellison, but I prefer Charlie.”

  Hattie jumped at the sound of crash
ing dishes behind her. Christmas was made for surprises, but this was one she could have done without.

  Eleanor had collided into another waitress, and the mess of plates and food on the floor served as a welcome distraction. Hattie took to Eleanor’s side, bending to wipe the splash of mashed potatoes from her arm. Hattie’s stomach had twisted into one large knot, and she was desperate for distraction.

  “Dear, let’s get you washed up,” Hattie said, leading Eleanor out of the room.

  “Adele, I’m well enough. What are you—”

  “Please.” Heat overtook Hattie’s senses. Her forehead dripped of perspiration, and she felt a bout of nausea climbing her throat. “Please.”

  Eleanor grasped Hattie’s shaking hands. “What’s happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  They reached the kitchen doorway, and Hattie nearly collapsed against the table. Mr. Ellison. He shared the same name as her fiancé. That fact was coincidence enough, but he was in search of a missing person too?

  “Adele?” Eleanor’s voice grew louder.

  “I am afraid I am terribly unwell.” Hattie clasped her hands to her chest, laboring to catch her breath.

  “Unwell?” came a deep voice.

  She lifted her chin, meeting the glance of Mr. Brody. “Yes,” she said, wiping the edge of her napkin against her forehead. “I am terribly sorry.”

  He nodded. “Take to your bed, Miss Carlson, for we will need your assistance in the morning as usual.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “I will be recovered by then.”

  Hattie removed her apron and hurried through the dining room and to the staircase leading to the attic. Her feet carried her with surprising speed. She reached the threshold of the shared room in a breathless panic.

  The wind howled against the windows, and Hattie wrapped herself in blankets. Her head throbbed.

  She never imagined Mr. Anthony Ellison as handsome. His letters were dull, and Hattie had convinced herself the man must be as dreadful as the words themselves—boring, uptight, utterly uninteresting, and short, maybe even balding.

  Her assessment could not have been more inaccurate.

  Mr. Ellison must think her a dastardly coward. Hattie closed her eyes and allowed the tears to slide. Her heart still raced in an irregular way, her cheeks still burned, and a sharp realization overtook her. This new life she had created was only a ruse; she was not free yet. And not even Christmas brought her peace.

  Two full months of searching had resulted in nothing. In fact, Charlie felt worse for wear—drained of all hope, inexplicably irritable, and uncommonly rundown. Living out of one trunk, and a smaller one at that, left much to be desired. For one, Charlie had grown sick of his own company. His thoughts circulated around the same concerns, over and over, until he thought he might go mad.

  Perhaps he had. For a moment, Charlie imagined he saw Miss Montgomery’s profile in a waitress’s features. The woman’s chin and nose especially resembled his fiancée’s. That, or he was losing his mind completely.

  Charlie rubbed his eyes and took another swig of the coffee.

  His most recent correspondence from Mr. Montgomery made one thing clear: his daughter did not wish to be found. In each of the letters she sent home, she spoke of her health and safety and begged her father not to worry.

  Two separate private investigations had turned up next to nothing.

  How did Miss Montgomery manage the letters home without getting caught? Her father claimed to inspect each one for a return address to no avail. No city stamp or local post markings. No mention of famous landmarks. No clue to her whereabouts.

  Charlie suspected his fiancé travelled under another name, perhaps in a different social crowd. There was no other way of explaining her disappearance. A single and young woman of Miss Montgomery’s wealth and reputation would have attracted a following, certainly leaving behind social footprints.

  “Will you be wanting anything else, sir?” a woman asked, setting his plate of food in front of him.

  He scanned the room. Where had the previous waitress disappeared to?

  “Sir?” the new one asked.

  Charlie cleared his throat and nodded. “Another cup of coffee and then I shall turn in for the night.”

  She refilled his mug without a word.

  Charlie sighed. His previous waitress had been uncommonly lovely. Her dark hair, with the slightest gleam of auburn, paired beautifully with her olive complexion. Adele was a sight for sore eyes. Charlie supposed many travelling men had agreed.

  “Thank you,” he said after the new waitress refilled his cup. He swallowed and dared to ask. “Is Adele well?”

  The woman folded her arms, holding the pot of coffee to one side. “Miss Carlson has finished working for the day, and I will be your waitress for the rest of the meal. My name is Kate.”

  Charlie ate in silence, contemplating his meeting with Miss Carlson. Her glance had met his for a brief moment—just long enough for him to ascertain her eye color. Dark brown, with the slightest hint of orange.

  What was he doing contemplating another woman? Here he was on a mission to find his fiancé, a lady that had fallen into unfortunate circumstances because of Charlie. He grunted and cut into his beef.

  Miss Montgomery had chosen to run, but the reality did not lessen his guilt.

  Charlie finished his dinner and checked in at the front desk. After a decent night’s rest, he hoped to collect himself. He would send inquiries to the investigators, his location to his father and Mr. Montgomery, and wait for word in return. Mr. Montgomery had promised to send the entirety of his daughter’s letters to Charlie in hopes of their contents providing a previously looked-over clue.

  “Oh, you must be the man my husband informed me would be staying with us a few nights.” The woman’s smile was welcoming. She offered her hand. “Mrs. Brody. And you are?”

  “Mr. Anthony Ellison.”

  Mrs. Brody nodded, writing his name in the ledger. “I have you down for Room 4, on the second floor. You’ll find the stairs just down the hall.”

  Mr. Brody joined his wife’s side, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Elizabeth, Rose is asking for you.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll be there after I help Mr. Ellison.”

  He exhaled. “I am fortunate to have found such a generous woman. Please, Mr. Ellison, if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

  Charlie nodded, looking at the key in his hand. Envy stabbed at his stomach. He had long wished for marital bliss but had accepted the fact that betrothals hardly made for such neat endings. He dipped his chin. “Thank you, Mr. Brody. There is one thing I wanted to ask you, concerning the matter we discussed earlier.”

  “The missing woman?” Mr. Brody’s brows drew together. “Yes, I told Elizabeth already. We are willing to do anything we can to help.”

  “May I question your staff?” Charlie asked. He pushed his hands into his pockets. “Nothing improper, I assure you. But I would like to ask around. I plan to go into town tomorrow too.”

  The hotel owner smiled. “Gladly, mind you ask them between rushes.” Mr. Brody paused, stroking his chin. “Come to think of it, I planned on sending Tom into town. He can give you a ride.”

  Charlie smiled. Out of all his travels, he had never been met with such kindness. “I am much obliged. When will Tom expect me?”

  “Noon.”

  “I’ll meet him at the stables then,” Charlie said before turning in for the night.

  He laid awake for hours, contemplating the next day—who he would see first in town, what questions to ask, where respectable ladies roomed, what he would say if he were to run into Miss Carlson again…Charlie turned in his covers and commanded those thoughts to cease. He had a task to fulfill, and Miss Carlson had nothing to do with it.

  Chapter 4

  The Brody Hotel was known for its impeccable presentation of all things. Dishes sparkled; floors shined. The staff washed and pressed sheets, napkins, ta
blecloths, and aprons daily. No corner of the lobby—or any room for that matter—was left untouched long enough to collect dust.

  Such practices were rare for a train-stop restaurant and hotel, but Mr. Brody himself was unique. He insisted on providing the best service, but his strict demands of cleanliness were softened by his kindness. Not many employers were so generous. Although working at the hotel was Hattie’s first job, she had seen enough of the world to believe herself fortunate. And after speaking to the other girls, Hattie was sure Mr. Brody was better than most. Some of the waitresses had worked in multiple locations, and each claimed Mr. Brody to be the most caring employer.

  Hattie tied the freshly pressed apron around her waist. She silently plead for added composure, especially if she were to run into Mr. Ellison again. Her bout of faintness had been humiliating, and Hattie was grateful that she had been able to hide beneath the excuse of illness instead of the shock she truly felt.

  Yet, knowledge was power—protection in this case. Whereas Mr. Ellison’s introduction had startled her yesterday, Hattie was prepared on this morning. She glanced into the mirror and slicked down a stray hair.

  Silently, Hattie repeated her new life’s story, over and over again until she was confident she would not succumb to his suspicions. Adele Carlson. Born and raised in Kansas City. Only child of Roger and Clementine Carlson. Sends home money to ailing mother.

  Regina Lockhart, another recent hire, scooted beside Hattie. She sprayed perfume up and down herself, catching Hattie in the cloud of lilac.

  Hattie coughed, fanning the fumes from her face. “Regina!”

  The dark-haired beauty laughed, knocking her head against Hattie’s. “You should be thanking me for sharing. I just received this as a gift from a recent customer.”

  “A gift?” Hattie scowled. Regina’s suitors were likely to run into one another if she was not careful. “Was the perfume from Mr. Johnson or Mr. Carlisle?”

  “Or was it Mr. Conley?” Miranda asked from across the room.