by Jody Hedlund
Marianne couldn’t answer the woman. She was despicable for having lied about something like a baby. She shouldn’t have done it. She’d known from the moment the words were out. And she’d been miserable with her lie. She should have trusted God to find a way for them to survive without resorting to deception.
And now what good had the lying done? She’d only hoped to keep them safe, yet it looked like they would be homeless after all.
“You and your sister cannot stay another night here. I won’t allow it.” Tante’s voice rang with finality.
“Where will we go?” Marianne hated that her voice trembled, that she wasn’t strong like Elise. “What will we do?”
“You go to the real father of your baby—if you even know who that is—and tell him to take care of you.”
Marianne took a step back and clutched the table. There was no sense in arguing with Tante about her innocence. The woman was too angry to listen to reason. And why should she? After the way Marianne had lied, she didn’t blame Tante and Mrs. Weiss for not trusting her. If only she didn’t have the children to think about.
She glanced around the room again. The children weren’t home. If they had been, at the first sign of the fighting they would have crawled out from hiding and clung to her, frightened. “Where are Olivia and Nicholas?”
Tante picked up her mending again but didn’t respond.
“What have you done with them?” Marianne demanded.
Tante took her time poking her needle and thread into the square patch on the frayed knee of a pair of trousers. “They deserve to have a better influence than you. They need to have a wholesome family. They’re still young enough to be saved from moral degradation.”
Marianne started toward the door, frantic with the need to find them, especially before Sophie discovered they were gone. “Where did you take them?”
“I dropped them off at the train depot to leave with a group of orphans from the Children’s Aid Society. They’re gone and you won’t be getting them back.”
Marianne whirled around, her desperation exploding. “How dare you?” She was shouting, but she didn’t care. “They’re like family to Sophie and me! You had no right—”
“You had no right to come here and live off our good graces. No right at all.” The steel in Tante’s tone stopped Marianne’s tirade. She would get no compassion, no understanding, no more help here. It was time to leave.
She had no idea where she would go or what she would do, yet one thing was certain. Sophie would be heartbroken.
At the long blast of the train whistle, Elise wiped her hands on her apron. Against her better judgment, she slipped out the back kitchen door, making sure it closed softly behind her. She ignored the way the wind cruelly slapped her cheeks and attempted to wrestle her skirt from her bunched fists. As she drew nearer the train, she slowed her steps and peeked around the building toward the platform.
She’d told herself she would be perfectly fine without seeing Thornton one last time before he left. But the whistle had beckoned her outside to see him even though she knew she shouldn’t.
In the two days since the fire, since his kiss and declaration of love, she hadn’t spoken to him except for a few words in passing. He hadn’t sought her out either. He’d clearly been busy. And of course they’d clearly put an end to any notion of having a relationship. So it was best if they kept their distance from each other, at least until they could overcome the attraction that pulled them together. He may have said he loved her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, had tried to convince herself he’d only said it as a reaction to their kiss.
Even so, her heart betrayed her with the need to see him again. She shivered as she waited for him to come out of the depot.
Yesterday he’d spoken at length to Fanny, who was finally sitting up in bed. After talking with her, he’d disappeared for several hours. Elise heard rumors from customers at the restaurant that the sheriff and Mr. Quincy had not only fired Mr. Kraus for attacking Fanny, but they’d arrested him as well.
Last night, when Elise had climbed into bed and told Fanny, the young woman wept at the news. “It’s the first time anyone’s ever done anything for me,” she’d said through broken sobs. “No one’s ever been so kind.”
Elise hugged her and wondered how it was they’d ever been enemies. They were simply two hurting women who’d lashed out at each other in their pain. Fanny then opened up and shared how she’d been tricked by a dandy of a man who’d promised to marry her and take her away from her life of drudgery in Lower Manhattan. But after she’d given herself to him, he left and hadn’t returned.
“I was wrong about Mr. Quincy being like that,” Fanny whispered into the warmth of the tent they’d made under the heavy comforter in the night. “He’s a true gentleman.”
Elise hadn’t disagreed. Even now she couldn’t stop from thinking about all the things about him that were admirable. Surely if she and Fanny had grown to see his true character, the others in town had too.
She stared at the platform and the depot door, her anticipation mounting.
“Elise?”
She spun around.
Thornton stood before her, wearing a thick wool overcoat and a top hat. She couldn’t stop herself from taking him in from his hat to his shoes and then admiring his cleanly shaven jaw and cheeks. His tanned face was much too appealing.
At her obvious perusal, he gave a lopsided grin. “Let me know when you’re done admiring me.”
She did her best to appear neutral and not to shiver from the cold. “I’m not admiring you. I’m merely making sure you’re properly attired for your trip.”
“What are you doing out here peeking around the corner. Are you on a spy mission?”
“Yes. How’d you guess?”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping you were waiting to say good-bye to me.”
“I thought we said good-bye after breakfast.” It had been a brief exchange, nothing more than a quick wave. Her chest constricted painfully at the thought that this truly was good-bye, that when she saw him again he’d be engaged to another woman.
The humor faded from his face as if he’d read her thoughts. “I probably won’t be back to Quincy until after the New Year.”
“So long?” Her voice came out more stricken than she intended.
“If I’m able to secure the loan, I’ll wire the money to my suppliers in Chicago. Hewitt will oversee the rebuilding. As long I get the loan, and as long as the winter weather holds off, we may make it in time with the rebuilding.”
“You’ll do it and you’ll win.”
He nodded and lowered his sights to his shiny black leather shoes. “The other part of the competition won’t be as easy,” he said softly.
She knew what he was referring to, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Not anymore. It was far too painful.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forget you.” His voice turned gravelly. “But if I want a blasted chance at attempting to fall for Rosalind, then I’ll need to stay away from here. From you.”
“I understand.” She didn’t like it, but she did understand. She didn’t meet his eyes for fear he’d see her desperate plea for him to stay, to never leave her.
Silence stretched between them like the vast prairie, followed by the blare of the train whistle. The sound jarred them and seemed to push him into motion. He surprised her by touching her arm. “Good-bye, Elise.”
She swallowed past the ache in her throat. “Good-bye.” When she glanced at his face, his eyes were wide and radiated a question. Are you sure?
No, she wasn’t sure about anything. But she quickly looked away before he could see her true feelings. Then she nodded.
He bent down, pressed a kiss against her head, and walked away.
Chapter 21
“Any telegrams, Mr. Hewitt?” Elise stood on tiptoes and attempted to peer into Thornton’s office, where Mr. Hewitt was working.
“Now, Elise,” Mr. Gray s
aid from the opposite side of the ticket counter, his ledger spread out in front of him. “I told you I’d come get you if we heard anything from Mr. Quincy.”
“But it’s been an entire week.” She didn’t like the whine in her tone, but she was going mad with the waiting. “Mr. Hewitt, if you’re purposefully withholding information, then—”
“Then what?” Thornton’s young assistant stepped out of his office, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, his hair slicked back, his face as smooth as a baby’s. “What are you planning to do to me, Miss Neumann?”
She fisted her hands on her hips and leveled a glare at him.
“Are you going to lock me out of the dining room?” He turned an invisible key in the air.
“Now that you mention it, I just might.”
“Any defiance and you’ll force me to make a deduction from your paycheck.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He pointed first at her, then at his chest. “Try me.”
She sighed and let go of the counter. She and Mr. Hewitt hardly ever saw eye to eye on anything. Without Thornton there to intervene, she would lose every time. She was a pawn in the greater scheme of town-building. Even if her dining room was continuing to bring in more eager customers every week and more revenue as a result, it was still an insignificant amount compared with what the town needed.
“I want to help Thornton—Mr. Quincy—the same as you,” she said. “Can’t we work together?”
“If I remember right,” Mr. Hewitt said, touching his head with both index fingers, “he hired you to be an overpriced cook in his restaurant. And he hired me to help develop this town. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I could keep it that way if you were doing something—anything—to help him win the competition. But this past week, you’ve seemed more than content to sit back and let the time pass without making any effort.”
“You’re forgetting one important fact, Miss Neumann. I can’t do anything when I have no money. My hands are tied until I get a telegram with the amount of the loan.”
“Is there a problem, Elise?” Reinhold’s voice behind her rumbled with warning. When she turned, she saw that he was glaring at Mr. Hewitt. He stood with his feet slightly apart and his thick arms crossed, ready to defend and protect her as always.
He was unswerving in his devotion to her and she loved him for it. Could she ever put aside her attraction to Thornton and allow herself to develop feelings for Reinhold other than just friendship? Could she, like Thornton, work at forging her life with someone suited for her—someone like Reinhold?
“She’s anxious to help Mr. Quincy win the competition he’s having with his brother,” Mr. Gray said. “We all are.”
Word had spread around the community regarding the competition. Elise wasn’t exactly sure how. She’d told only Mr. and Mrs. Gray. And Reinhold and Fanny. And the other women workers. Maybe they’d shared the news as well. Whatever the case, almost everyone in Quincy now knew Thornton was losing against his brother and had gone east in an attempt to gain funds to continue building the town.
“If we don’t hear from him soon,” she said, “we’ll run out of time to do anything before the deadline.”
“Why do we need to hear from him to do something?” Reinhold asked.
“Because we need the funds.”
Reinhold shook his head. “No, we don’t. We can work just fine without any funds.”
“We can?”
“Mr. Quincy has sacrificed these past months for everyone in this community.” Reinhold’s eyes grudgingly reflected admiration for Thornton. “He’s labored and sweated and blistered right alongside with us. The least we can do is come to his aid when he’s most in need.”
For a moment, Elise could only stare at Reinhold with both surprise and growing anticipation.
“I’ll join in doing whatever needs to be done to help Mr. Quincy,” Mr. Gray said, smoothing down his meticulous mustache and beard. “And I have no doubt everyone else feels the same way.”
“Now, wait one minute.” Mr. Hewitt’s voice rose in defiance. “Everyone needs to perform their regular duties. I won’t stand for anyone shirking their work.”
But already Mr. Gray had rounded the ticket counter and was exchanging ideas with Reinhold. Elise turned her back on Mr. Hewitt and his naysaying. Thornton had pushed aside his own wishes, had sacrificed a future with her so he could become the leader he was destined to be. What good would it do if he fell in love with Rosalind only to lose to his brother because his town was in disrepair?
Elise had to make sure his sacrifice was worth it, that she helped him succeed in his town at the same time he worked at succeeding in falling in love.
Thornton sat stiffly in his chair at the dinner table. His frock coat with its wide velvet lapels, the fine white shirt with its high starched collar, and the tight bow tie all seemed to imprison him.
The silver candelabras in the center of the table stood like the bars of a jail cell, hemming him in. The guests on either side of him, the butler standing at attention against the wall, and even Bradford across the table conspired to block his escape.
He shouldn’t feel this way, especially with Rosalind at his side looking so beautiful in what was likely a new gown just for the occasion—an occasion he’d hinted at when he met with her the day after his arrival home.
He’d put off proposing to her as long as he could. But after spending a week with her, he couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. He wasn’t being fair to allow her so little time to plan a wedding, although he’d heard rumors she’d already been preparing for it all autumn.
“Are you feeling well this evening, Mr. Quincy?” Rosalind’s soft question penetrated the lonely cell in which he found himself, even though the table was full of guests.
He glanced at her sideways, at the gentle lines of her face, the sweetness of her lips, the ringlets of her silky brown hair dangling by her ear. His gaze dipped to the scooped neck of her bodice, to the generous show of flesh meant to entice him. . . .
He consoled himself that he still had a week and a half to fall in love with her. Their social calendar was packed with dinner parties, operas, and other engagements to allow them to be together so he might truly come to love her the way he ought to.
The pretty bloom of pink in her cheeks, along with her faint smile, told him she’d noticed his perusal and was pleased by it.
“You haven’t touched your soup.” Rosalind moved her spoon gracefully, just the way a lady was taught, scooping from the side of the bowl furthest away and raising the spoon to her mouth rather than leaning in.
Thornton stared down at the watercress soup garnished with crème fraîche. It was the picture of perfection, a bright green swirled with a lovely white and set against the backdrop of a rich tablecloth, and yet all he could think about was Elise’s chicken noodle soup with its homemade noodles and delicious dumplings.
“I’m afraid my late afternoon tea has diminished my appetite,” he explained, then picked up his spoon to at least make an effort. Wasn’t that why he’d come? To put forth his best effort at winning the competition? You’re doing it for the people of Quincy, he reminded himself yet again. You’re doing it for their good and others like them.
Even if he had nobler aims now for winning the competition, even if he wanted to lead so he could make a difference in the lives of others, there was still a part of him that longed to know he’d made his father proud of him. If he could just hear his father say it once, that was all he wanted.
Bradford leaned toward Dorothea, and she whispered something into his brother’s ear. He chuckled and straightened, clearly enjoying her company. They’d made their engagement official in November, which put Bradford in the lead, not only in his town but also in matters of love. Thornton couldn’t help but notice how Bradford doted on Dorothea, the tender way he regarded her—the same way their father had always treated their mother.
“You’ve had a great deal to d
o this week,” Rosalind remarked sympathetically. When her gloved fingers brushed against his hand resting on his lap under the table, he started.
She quickly retracted her hand, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink that made her even more becoming. He couldn’t fault her for trying to encourage his affection. She’d been flirting and doing everything within her power to win him over since the moment he arrived in New York City last week.
If anyone was to blame for the distance between them, it was him. He’d allowed other urgent matters to vie for his attention since coming home. Of course, he’d been busy meeting with Mr. Morgan, his father’s lawyer, hoping to free up more funds for the town of Quincy.
He’d also sought out Miss Pendleton of the Seventh Street Mission. Discovering her whereabouts had taken some ingenuity, but when he finally located her, Thornton offered her a sizable donation, including paying off the rest of her loan. He’d had to sell two of his yachts in order to do so. But the effort had been long overdue in light of the promise he’d made to her that summer. While tearfully grateful, she only accepted his gift with the stipulation that he be part owner of her venture due to his investment.
The truth was, though he’d been occupied lining up funds for Quincy and the Seventh Street Mission, he spent the majority of his time trying to track down Elise’s sisters but was too embarrassed to admit it to anyone.
His private investigator had gone door to door in the tenement Reinhold’s family once lived in and had finally located the family now living in a room in the basement of the building. However, there was no sign of Marianne and Sophie and the two little children. Unfortunately, the woman who answered the door had spoken only German and wasn’t able to tell the investigator where Elise’s sisters had gone.
Thornton had made the trip to the tenement for himself with a translator to see if he could discover anything more but had come away no further along. The German-speaking women didn’t know what had become of Elise’s family. He had the investigator search the nearby asylums and shelters but with no luck.
