“And you should also know, we’ve got Chinamen on the crew,” Les continued.
“That should be interesting. I’ve never met a Chinaman.”
Les and Pete both looked at him incredulously. “You don’t ‘meet’ Chinamen like you’re going to get to know them,” Pete said.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I get to know them? Aren’t they people, just like you and me, only from a different country?”
Les snorted. “Yeah, if you and me ate rats and dogs.”
Pete shook his head. “Just wait till we get to camp. You’ll see—they aren’t like us at all. Stick to the whites, Nicky boy. We’ve got each other’s backs.”
***
When Rachel walked downstairs the next morning with the other girls, she felt a shift in the atmosphere, as though a cloud had descended over the hotel. Miss Hampton stood in the lobby, as she always did, to instruct the girls in their day’s assignments and to prepare them for the morning train, but this time, she didn’t speak for a moment. She swallowed a few times, obviously trying to control her emotions.
“Girls, as you know, Mrs. Early has been sick for quite some time, and we’ve all taken turns sitting with her just as she would have sat with us if we had been the ones in need. I’m sorry to tell you that she passed away in the night.”
Rachel felt as though a vise had suddenly clamped around her heart. Agatha Early had filled a special need at the hotel—she was Elizabeth’s mother and Mr. Brody’s mother-in-law, but she acted as a confidante for every girl in the place. They’d come to rely on her quiet answers and gentle wisdom.
“Dr. Wayment is arranging for her to be removed before the train arrives. I invite you to take a moment before beginning your morning chores to visit her room and pay your respects, if you like. If you’d prefer not to, you may start mixing up cornbread and muffins in the kitchen.”
Without making a sound, every girl in the lobby turned, traipsed up the stairs, and gathered around Mrs. Early’s bed. She lay so still, so peaceful, her arms resting on the coverlet as though she had only taken a nap. Giselle looked at her curiously. “She has a very kind face. I would have liked to have known her.”
Emma nodded. As the other new waitress, she’d never met Mrs. Early either. “We shall rely on the rest of you to tell us stories about her.”
“She was one of the best women I’ve ever known,” Rachel replied. “I’m sure we’ll speak of her often.”
Sensing they had spent too long already, Rachel led the way downstairs, and the girls got busy preparing for the train. They didn’t laugh and joke as they ordinarily did, and when the passengers came, she wondered if they noticed the gloomy atmosphere. She and the other waitresses did their best to be friendly and cheerful, but it was all an act. It would take time for their hearts to heal from this loss.
Loss. Rachel shook her head as she washed the last plate and handed it off to Emma to dry. It was indeed a loss whenever someone’s bright soul was taken from the earth.
After she was done helping clean up from the first service, Rachel climbed the stairs to the attic bedroom and rummaged around in the suitcase she’d shoved under her bed. Most of her things were either hung on pegs or in the nightstand drawer, but the suitcase held all the little odds and ends she didn’t use every day—or the things she didn’t want to look at every day. She pulled out a bundle of letters, pushed the suitcase back under the bed, then sat down and untied the string binding everything together.
On top was the very first love note Daniel had ever written her. She’d been ten years old, and he was twelve. He’d found a piece of newspaper and scribbled on the corner, “I’m going to marry you someday, just so you know. Daniel Hardy.” She smiled when she looked at it now. At the time, she hadn’t been nearly so amused when she’d found it in her lunch. She remembered marching up to him on the playground and punching him in the nose. All the boys had laughed, but he’d just grinned, holding his nose with one hand and cupping the other to catch the blood. He’d been sent home, but the next day, he was back, sending her more notes. For some reason, she’d kept every one, even though she’d been annoyed with him.
By the time she was sixteen, she’d all but resigned herself to the fact that she’d be marrying him someday, and she’d overcome her pride to quite like the idea. She’d never expected to fall in love with him, but the feelings had been planted and then blossomed. She felt as though they were destined to be together from the start, and he’d just recognized it before she did.
But then there was Nicholas. He was two years older than Daniel, making him four years older than Rachel, and he was worldly and interesting to a young girl. Her head was turned, and she started paying him some attention. It was a foolish thing to do—she realized that now—but it had been exciting to have two very good-looking young men vying for her. She wished she could reach back in time and shake herself.
A moment later, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and she pushed the envelopes under her pillow. She didn’t want anyone else to see them—they were hers and hers alone, even though these girls were her friends.
Emma and Giselle appeared first, followed by the others. By the way they all gathered around, it looked like some sort of meeting had been called.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Emma said, proving Rachel right. “Giselle and I were just talking about Mrs. Early and how much she meant to all of you, and we want to do something to help out. The funeral is sure to overlap a train service, because things do tend to go that way. So we had an idea, and we wanted to talk it over with you first and see if you thought it had any merit before we approached Miss Hampton.”
“What is it?” Sarah asked, leaning forward a little.
“We thought that on the day of the funeral, we could serve sandwiches in the dining room,” Giselle replied. “Emma and I could handle that ourselves, and the rest of you could attend the funeral without worrying about the train.”
“You see, Giselle and I never knew Mrs. Early, so missing the funeral wouldn’t sadden us like it would you,” Emma concluded.
Rachel blinked back the tears that had suddenly come to her eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “I think you should mention it to Miss Hampton right away.”
“As do I,” Sarah said.
Harriet too blinked rapidly. “That’s the kindest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And I’m in agreement as well,” Margaret said. “I believe that’s all of us, so it’s unanimous. Thank you, girls.”
Emma and Giselle both blushed. “It really seemed like the least we could do,” Emma replied, looking down at the floor.
“Let’s go down and talk to Miss Hampton before the next train,” Giselle said, nudging Emma’s elbow. “We want her to have one less thing to worry about.”
The girls left the room one by one until only Sarah and Rachel were left. Sarah reached out and touched Rachel’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Almost time for the train.”
Rachel smiled. “I’m fine. Just a bit lost in my thoughts.”
“See you downstairs.”
As soon as Sarah was out of sight, Rachel pulled her suitcase back out and tucked the letters away. She had every intention of reading them over, but that would have to wait until she had just a little more time—and privacy.
Miss Hampton approved the sandwich idea, and after the second train for the day had come and gone, she called the girls together.
“I’ll need your help to bake enough bread for all the sandwiches, and I believe we should have cakes prepared as well. I’m more grateful than ever that our ovens can hold so many things at once. Let’s begin first thing tomorrow, as the funeral is the day after. Tonight, please focus on the linens and making sure we have everything we need on hand. Sarah and Rachel, please take stock of the larder. I believe I know what we have and what we need to obtain, but I’d appreciate an extra set of eyes. Thank you, girls, and now let’s get busy.”
The next day and a half were
a flurry of flour and frosting. When they weren’t making food for the train, they were making it for the funeral.
Pastor Osbourne held a beautiful service for Mrs. Early. Rachel kept her handkerchief wadded up in her hand and needed it several times to make it through. It seemed as though her mind was dredging up the memories of every funeral she’d ever attended and every person she’d ever lost and was parading them in front of her. With a start, she realized that she hadn’t attended any such service for Daniel, and the thought troubled her.
As soon as she reached the hotel after the funeral, she went and found Giselle outside, where the girl was scrubbing napkins in the large metal tub.
“How did the sandwiches go over?” she asked as she untied the ribbons on her hat.
“Well, the passengers seemed a little disappointed at first, but we explained the situation, and they understood. Many of them even gave us their condolences.”
“That’s sweet. I’m glad it went well.” Rachel set her hat on the edge of the wraparound porch and picked up a napkin. After plunging it into the hot water, she asked, “Did your family have a funeral for Daniel?”
Giselle didn’t answer for a minute, seeming to choose her words carefully. “We held a memorial for him in our backyard. We didn’t hold a funeral because there was no burial. With the explosion . . .”
“There was nothing to bury,” Rachel guessed when Giselle didn’t finish.
“That’s right,” Giselle all but whispered.
Rachel touched Giselle’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened. I’ve never actually known.”
Giselle sighed and stepped back from the washtub, taking a seat on one of the steps leading up to the porch. Rachel sat next to her, wondering if she really wanted to hear the story, but also knowing that she’d get no peace until she did. It was better to know the truth.
“Part of the work of building a railroad is clearing the land where the tracks will go. Daniel sent home letter after letter telling us about the land surveys and so forth—I confess, I skipped most of those parts, although Nicholas and my father found them fascinating. Once the determination was made for where the track would go and they had maps and whatnot, they had to clear any debris out of the way. Sometimes it was simple, like pulling away some bushes. Other times, they’d chop down trees or move boulders.
“Well, on that day, they needed to remove a particularly large tree. The foreman decided they should use a small stick of dynamite rather than chopping it down because they were running short on time, and if they put the stick close to the ground, that would help level the stump as well. Daniel was the most skilled with dynamite on their crew, so he was the one to drill the hole close to the ground, put the stick in the hole, and light it. Something went wrong. His friend—the one who wrote to us and told us what happened—wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe the fuse was too short or something. But the dynamite exploded far sooner than it should have.”
Rachel closed her eyes, trying not to envision it.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel. It’s such an awful thing to talk about, and even more awful to know.”
Rachel nodded several times while she blinked. These tears would never stop, would they? “It’s all right. That’s reality, and we must accept it. I just wish I could have come to the memorial. I was most likely here by then.”
“What did happen to you, exactly?” Giselle asked. “I’m not sure I know.”
“Well, Daniel sent for me, telling me he’d found a good position with the railroad and they were paying him enough to get married. Of course, I left as soon as I was able. But when I got to the train station nearest his work, they wouldn’t let me go any farther. They told me there had been an accident and put me on the first eastbound train that came through.” Rachel remembered that day far too clearly—the unbelief she felt, the shattering pain, sitting on the train feeling so numb, she might as well have been dead herself.
“I don’t remember how long I stayed on the train. I just remember getting off and finding myself in Topeka. And now I’m at the Brody.” She smiled, lifting a shoulder as if to say that everything was all right, that nothing would ever be wrong again.
“Nicholas tried to find you,” Giselle said softly. “He went out to see your parents, and he wrote a few letters, but . . . nothing. Don’t your parents know where you are?”
Rachel looked down at the ground. “They know I’m well, and they know I’m in Kansas. Beyond that, no, they don’t.”
Giselle nodded, not pushing the issue. “They must have heard from you after Nicholas stopped by, then. At any rate, please know that we wanted you with us. You were about to become a member of our family—we wanted to share that experience with you and help lessen the pain. You would have been a great comfort to us as well.”
“Thank you. That’s much appreciated.” Rachel needed something to do, something to take her mind off what she’d just heard. She stood up and began scrubbing again. Nicholas had come looking for her. Had he done that of his own accord, or was he acting for the whole family? And what did it matter? That was in the past, although the recent past, and there was no reason for her to be wondering about it now.
After a few more minutes, she left the napkins to Giselle and went inside. All she was doing was scalding her fingers—she wasn’t sure she was even getting all the spots out of the fabric. She changed into her work dress, then went down to the kitchen and mixed up some bread and set it to rising. If her hands were busy, her mind couldn’t wander too far.
Chapter Three
Nicholas groaned when he tried to sit up. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief. He’d give anything for an hour’s soak in a hot tub. He’d spent the last few days performing the most back-breaking labor he could have imagined, and yet it seemed they’d accomplished very little. When he looked at where they started compared to where they were now, he couldn’t imagine that they’d ever have enough land cleared and leveled to lay track.
“Get up, Nick.” Les kicked his feet, and Nicholas sat up in his bedroll. He could tell from the dim light that filtered in through the canvas of the tent he shared with some of the other men that it was barely dawn. Along with a bath, he’d love the chance to sleep late.
But thinking that way was counterproductive. If he spent all his time thinking about what he didn’t have, he’d be flat-out miserable all the time. Best to focus on what he was creating—not just a level surface for the train, but a foundation for his future.
Half an hour later, with his stomach full of biscuits and coffee, he picked up his shovel and joined the other men as they walked out to their work site.
“Nick!” Mr. Jensen bellowed from the front of the line.
Nicholas had learned early on his first day that if there was anything in all the world that Mr. Jensen didn’t like, it was to be kept waiting. He trotted over as quickly as he could. “Yes, sir?”
“Nick, I was watching you yesterday, and I’m pleased with your work. I’m putting you in charge of a crew.”
“You are?” Nicholas blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be given a responsible position for some time yet, thinking that he’d need to prove himself first. “I mean, yes, sir. Whatever you need.”
Mr. Jensen motioned toward the small group of Chinamen who stood together in a huddle off to the side. “Those are your men. I want you to clear this section of ground from here to there.” He pointed to two spots on his map with a grimy finger. “Needs to be done by nightfall Friday. Think you can handle it?”
Nicholas studied the map, then looked up to eyeball the actual land the map represented. It was covered with rocks and scrub brush, and the terrain was definitely not level. It was quite a distance, too, for such a short amount of time. Then he glanced at Mr. Jensen’s face and realized that this was his test of leadership. How he handled this assignment would determine how he was seen by everyone on the crew the remainder of his time here.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I can do it.”
“Goo
d. Let’s get to work.”
Mr. Jensen led the other men to a different section of ground, and they began the arduous task of removing the shrubs that grew in their way. This land was desolate and dry, but the sagebrush and other desert plants certainly didn’t seem to mind the lack of water. They were everywhere.
Nicholas stayed where he was for a moment, studying the lay of the land. A few of the other men glanced over their shoulders at him as they worked, smirks on their faces, and he was tempted to smirk back. Yes, he knew exactly what had just happened. He’d been given the roughest patch of ground and the crew no one wanted to work with. Now it was time to make the best of it.
He turned to the Chinamen and addressed them as a whole. “Good morning. My name is Nick. I’ve been asked to lead your crew today.”
He was greeted by a sea of blank stares.
“Um, do any of you speak English?”
Again, there was no reaction.
Nicholas wiped his brow with his forearm. The sun had just barely begun to climb the sky, but it was already hot. “Speak English?”
Finally, one man in the front took a step forward and nodded. “Speak English. Little.”
Thank goodness. “What is your name?”
“Ho.” The man touched his chest and nodded.
“Ho, I’m Nick.” Nicholas imitated the gesture, hoping he’d be understood. “We need to clear this section of land. Let’s get busy.”
The men followed him to their assigned site and began to work. Nicholas guessed they did it because they understood his gestures and not his language—this was going to prove tricky if he ever needed to communicate something complicated.
As they worked, he couldn’t help but look around and wonder about these men. China was so far away. What would induce a man to leave behind his home and travel halfway around the world to work out here in the sweltering sun, being treated like less than a human? Then he shook his head. Of course he understood—while not on such a grand scale, he too had left his home in search of work. Taking care of one’s family was a huge incentive indeed. He wondered if these men had been able to bring their families with them, or if they were separated by the vast expanses of ocean that lay between China and America.
A Careless Wind (Kansas Crossroads Book 7) Page 2
