“Hello there,” Nicholas said when she entered his room. “Did you try some of Ho’s noodles? They’re delicious.”
“Not yet. I haven’t had the chance.” She turned to Ho, who sat on his pallet. “Did your wife teach you how to cook?”
He smiled. “I teach my wife.”
Rachel chuckled. “I will definitely try some in a few minutes. How are you feeling, Nicholas?”
He managed a smile. “Achy all over. Very sleepy. But you know what helps keep my mind off things?”
Rachel sat down next to his bed. “No. Tell me.”
“I was thinking about last winter.”
“Oh? What was so special about last winter?”
“That was the first time I realized I was in love with you.”
Rachel moved to stand up. “I told you—I don’t want to talk with you when you’re on pain medication.”
Nicholas held up a hand. “Please, sit back down. I’m fully alert right now.”
She looked over to the corner of the room. Ho had left—he had quite the tendency of doing that. “If you’re fully alert, you should remember that I actually don’t want to talk about this at all.”
“And I’d like to know why.”
“Why? Do I need to give an explanation?”
He looked at her solemnly. “I’d like one, yes.”
She was about to give a snappish retort when she remembered the letter she’d just sent off to her mother. She hadn’t understood her mother’s actions, and she felt she was entitled to an answer. Nicholas didn’t understand why she was behaving the way she was. Didn’t he deserve to know what she was thinking and feeling?
She took a deep breath. “When I chose Daniel, I was doing what I thought was the most honorable thing. I’d promised to marry him, and it was important to me to keep my word. Now he’s gone, and I need to stay away from you. That seems like the right thing to do.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Why do you need to stay away from me? Why is that right?”
“Because it’s justice—don’t you see? It’s fair.”
“Just slow down there a minute, Rachel. I don’t understand. Justice because of what?”
A tear ran down her cheek. She hated that it was there, and she wiped it away angrily. “If I come running back to you, if I get to have you after all because Daniel died . . . I deserve this. It’s only right.”
Nicholas’s eyes turned thoughtful. “Are you saying you wish you’d chosen me instead of Daniel?”
Rachel couldn’t hide the truth anymore, especially when he asked her so directly. “Yes.”
“And now you’re refusing even to be my friend because you think destiny somehow created this situation, and you’re supposed to be miserable for the rest of your life?”
She nodded, the tears coming freely now. “I lied to Daniel. I lied to you, and I lied to myself. No, Nicholas, we can’t be friends. We can’t be anything. I’m sorry.” She got up and ran from the room, determined never to go up there again.
Chapter Seventeen
The next week went by smoothly. Rachel didn’t visit room two, and she put the resident of that room far from her mind. No additional thefts were reported. Ho’s noodles were delicious, and he made another batch a few days later. Sarah concocted a new flavor of cake, and there were no incidents whatsoever in any area of the hotel.
Until the following Thursday, when Rachel’s mother walked in.
Her eyes fell on Rachel immediately. “There you are,” she said by way of greeting.
“Mother?” Rachel blinked a few times. She’d never imagined that her mother would come out here. When she’d sent the letter telling where she now lived, she imagined that at the worst, she might get an unkind letter in return. A visit? It seemed too farfetched.
“As you see.”
“We’re about to serve a meal to our guests. Will you come and be seated, and I’ll talk to you afterwards?”
Mrs. Smith looked anything but pleased with the suggestion, but she went into the dining room anyway, thankfully seating herself at one of Emma’s assigned tables and not one of Rachel’s. This gave Rachel the chance to collect herself as best as she could, although complete calm was not something she was going to achieve.
As soon as she’d finished up her tasks and turned the meal tickets in to Mr. Brody, she found her mother in the small parlor off the lobby. Mrs. Smith was wandering around the room, examining the pictures on the walls.
“I must say, this place is nicer than I imagined,” she said, turning at last to face her daughter. “I envisioned holes in the walls, rats running here and there, perhaps a drunkard asleep on the porch. I might even fancy staying here tonight, if you have a free room.”
“I’m sure we do. Margaret can help you with that.” Rachel moved to call the other girl, but her mother shook her head.
“We can take care of that in a moment. First, I want to talk to you.”
Rachel pressed her lips together. “What would you like to talk about, Mother?”
Mrs. Smith sat in one of the upholstered chairs in the corner. “The letter you sent me. It was very abrasive. I don’t know why you feel entitled to demand things of me, but you obviously do. And I noticed that Hardy girl in the dining room—you’re still associating with that family, after everything that’s happened?”
“Yes, I am, Mother. And Nicholas is upstairs in one of our guest rooms as well. I don’t see why this bothers you so much.”
“It bothers me because you cast a blight on our family name. I can’t go into town or sit in a church pew without hearing the whispering, seeing people nod in my direction. I might as well be holding a sign—‘My daughter is a . . . a . . .’ I can’t even say it.”
“I’m glad you can’t say it. It’s not true.”
Mrs. Smith looked at Rachel with narrowed eyes. “And how I am supposed to believe you?”
“How am I supposed to refute your so-called proof when you won’t even tell me what it is, when you won’t even tell me who accused me? Gracious, Mother. How many times are we going to have this conversation? Why can’t we just discuss it openly and call an end to it?”
“Very well. Sit down so I don’t have to shout at you across the room—I for one don’t want everyone in this hotel overhearing.” She waited until Rachel had taken the chair next to hers, and then she leaned over. “I’m the one who accused you. I’m the one who saw.”
Rachel shook her head. “Who saw what, Mother? I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was outside feeding the chickens. I looked toward the barn and I saw you coming out of it, shaking straw off your skirts. Daniel was right behind you. He called out, you turned around, and he pulled some bits of straw from your hair. Then he kissed you. And it wasn’t some quick little kiss, either—I could have mixed a batch of biscuits before he was done.”
Rachel suddenly remembered the day her mother was talking about, and she nearly chuckled. “That’s your evidence? That’s what you think you saw?”
Mrs. Smith sat up straight. “What more do you want? Isn’t that enough?”
“No, it’s not. You’ve got it all wrong, Mother. Our barn cat just had kittens, and I was showing them to Daniel. I bent over to pick one up, lost my footing, and tumbled into the straw. That’s it. As far as the kiss . . .” Rachel smiled. “It was a very nice kiss. But that’s all there was to it. Now, you can choose to believe me, or you can choose to hang on to this misunderstanding forever. I’m going to be perfectly fine either way because I’ve decided that you can’t make me happy or unhappy—that comes from within me. In the meantime, let’s get you checked into a room and settled.”
Mrs. Smith’s jaw dropped. Rachel didn’t know the cause, and she didn’t much care. Instead, she led the way to the counter in the lobby and motioned for Margaret to come over. “Margaret, this is my mother. She’d like a room for . . . is it just one night, Mother, or longer?”
Mrs. Smith held up one finger.
&nbs
p; “One night.”
“We’re very glad to have you with us,” Margaret said. “Let’s see. Room five is free, and it has a nice view of the town.”
“Room five does sound just right,” Rachel said. It was one of the nicer rooms, and her mother shouldn’t be able to find too much to complain about.
“Perfect.” Margaret quoted the rate and brought out a room key.
Mrs. Smith dug in her reticule and placed a few wadded-up bills on the counter. “Now, where is that other quarter?” she muttered, continuing to dig. “I know that waitress gave me two just now . . .”
Rachel touched her mother’s arm. “What did you say?”
“I said the waitress gave me two quarters. I can only find one—it must have slipped down here. Oh, there it is.” She fished it out and placed it on the counter as well.
“A waitress here, at the Brody?”
“That’s right. When I paid her for my lunch, I got two quarters in change. Gracious, Rachel, what on earth is wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Margaret, would you mind showing my mother to her room? I need to speak with Mr. Brody.”
“Of course. Mrs. Smith, if you’ll follow me, I think you’ll be very pleased.”
***
Rachel stood by Mr. Brody’s desk, her hands clasped in front of her. Elizabeth stood on the other side, and Mr. Brody sat in his usual chair. When the rap came at the door, Mr. Brody called out, “Come in,” and Rachel’s stomach clenched.
Emma stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, I did. Please have a seat.”
Emma took the chair that had been placed in the middle of the room, then glanced from side to side at Rachel and Elizabeth. Rachel thought she saw a flicker of fear in her eyes.
“Emma, I’m not going to use a lot of fancy words and try to trick you into a confession. Instead, I’m just going to ask you flat-out. Have you been stealing money from this hotel?”
Emma looked down at her hands, which were twisted up in each other on her lap. “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “How . . . how did you know?”
“At first, we didn’t. We were perplexed as to how money could still go missing when I was keeping it in my coat pocket. But you made a rather large mistake today, Emma. When you asked your customers to pay you directly instead of paying me, one of those customers was Rachel’s mother, and she commented about it.”
A tear fell from Emma’s eyes and landed on her lap.
“It was a very clever scheme, I have to admit,” Mr. Brody said. “The only thing I can’t figure out is this. How did I not see those passengers leaving without paying me? I feel almost culpable for this crime.”
“I came up with a way to distract you when they were leaving,” Emma said. “The coughing fit last week, and then today, when I told you I saw someone outside peering into the dining room windows.”
Mr. Brody settled back in his chair and looked at her. “Why would you do something like this, Emma? I offer a fair wage, I’m kind to my employees, and we’ve given you a home here. I don’t understand.”
Emma sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “My father said the only way he’d let me leave home was if I sent him money, and he wanted quite a lot of it. My wages are fair, but they still aren’t quite enough.”
“I wish you had told me this from the beginning, Emma. I would have spoken with your father—I can be quite persuasive when I want to be. As it is, you leave me no choice. The marshal is waiting on the front porch—he’ll have some things to say to you.”
Emma nodded, stood, and left the room, walking out the front door.
Rachel let out a huge sigh. “I just can’t believe it was Emma,” she said. “I wanted so badly to help her get a fresh start.”
“So did I,” Mr. Brody said. “But people have to want to change—we can’t just want it for them. She fell back on old teachings and habits rather than trying to approach her problems the honest way, and that’s the biggest shame of all.”
“Well, I suppose you know what this means,” Elizabeth said, turning to her husband with a smile.
“I know, I know. Time to place another advertisement.” He chuckled and picked up his pen. “We go through waitresses like water through a sieve.”
“Don’t forget that we’re replacing Harriet too,” Elizabeth said.
“That’s right.” He made a quick notation, then turned to Rachel. “We want you to know how much we appreciate what you’ve done here, Rachel. You kept your head during a time of great pressure, and you figured out what was going on.”
“In addition to that, you’re doing a very good job with the dining room,” Elizabeth chimed in.
“You’ll find a bonus with your next wages,” Mr. Brody concluded.
“Oh, thank you,” Rachel said, struggling to find her voice. “Thank you so much.”
“Nothing to thank us for. You’ve earned it. Now, is it just my imagination, or did I just hear the train whistle?”
Rachel hurried out of the office and grabbed a clean apron, hearing Mr. Brody’s warm chuckle the whole way.
***
“All right, so I wasn’t going to come see you, but here I am,” Rachel said, striding into Nicholas’s room. “Are you happy?”
Nicholas looked up from his book. “I’m always happy to see you. What brings you here now?”
“Good news. And bad news. And . . . well, good news.” She took a seat and exhaled. “Remember how you’ve been trying to get me to make amends with my mother? Well, I sent her a letter several days ago, and she came. Here. To the hotel. That’s right—she’s here now.”
“That’s certainly a surprise.” Nicholas’s voice sounded interested, but his eyes looked so tired.
“She finally told me why she thought what she did about me and Daniel. It turns out that she saw me leaving the barn one day shaking straw out of my dress. I had taken a spill into a pile of hay, but she never even thought to ask—she just jumped to the worst possible conclusion. I told her that, and she’s in her room right now moping and trying to decide if she believes me. Thankfully, she’s leaving on tomorrow’s eastbound train.”
“What do you think she’ll decide? About believing you?”
“I wish I knew. I hope she chooses to believe me, but if the past is an indicator of the present, as it often is, she’ll decide I’m lying. Either way, I have my answer.”
Nicholas tried to shift up on his pillows, but he grimaced and fell back. “Let me help you,” Rachel said. She slid an arm behind his shoulders and used her other hand to bring the pillow where it should be. “How’s that?”
“Better,” he said, although the expression on his face didn’t agree. “You said you had good news.”
“I do.” She quickly told him the story of what happened with Emma. “She’s with the marshal right now. I don’t know what will happen from there, but I’m so glad it’s been resolved.”
“It was quite a burden for you,” Nicholas said.
“It was. I feel like I can breathe now.” She paused, and then laughed. “I’m sorry. That was a very inconsiderate thing of me to say, when you can hardly breathe at all.”
“It’s all right,” he said with a slight chuckle of his own. “I can’t expect you to watch every little thing you say. That would be exhausting and unfair.” He reached out and caught her hand. “Thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot.”
“I wish I could stay, but I have a lot of work to do. I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? And maybe we can really talk, like friends.”
“I’d like that.”
Chapter Eighteen
The throbbing, the pounding, the pain . . . hour after hour of gasping for breath . . . Nicholas couldn’t take it anymore. He hated to do it—he hated the compulsion, feeling like he had no other choice, but he really did have no other choice. If this pain didn’t stop, he would lose his mind.
Watching Ho for a moment to make sure he was asleep, he
then hoisted himself up onto his crutches and toddled over to the cupboard. He didn’t even know how many times he’d done this—he hadn’t been counting because he’d always told himself this was the last one. And then every time he did it again, he felt like a failure, a liar, and a thief. There had to be another way, another solution, but he didn’t know what it was, and Dr. Wayment didn’t seem to have any solutions either. Of course, he hadn’t told Dr. Wayment he’d been taking extra laudanum.
He put the lid back on the bottle and then returned to his bed, feeling alone, desperate, and full of loathing. Yes, he loathed himself, his weakness, and his pain. The cycle seemed never-ending, and he had no way of making it stop.
***
“Miss Rachel! Miss Giselle!”
Rachel sat upright as the voice reached her subconscious. Was that Ho calling from downstairs? She stood up and grabbed her robe, noticing that Giselle was also waking up. They both scurried down the stairs to find Ho waiting for them in the hallway, clearly upset.
“Nick—something’s wrong.”
The two girls ran into Nicholas’s room. At first, he just looked like he was sleeping, but then it became apparent that he was unconscious.
“Ho, do you know where Dr. Wayment lives?” Rachel asked.
He shook his head.
“All right. Go out back to the cottage and wake up Tom. Tell him to get the doctor.”
Ho nodded and disappeared. Giselle had draped a cool cloth over Nicholas’s forehead and was chafing his wrists. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, her panicked gaze meeting Rachel’s. “What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. But maybe we could loosen his bandages a little. He might not be breathing well.” Rachel lifted his shirt and untucked the end of the bandage, but then realized she couldn’t loosen it if he was lying down. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer of the table and snipped every other band, hoping that would loosen the constriction without taking away the support his ribs needed.
A Careless Wind (Kansas Crossroads Book 7) Page 9
