A Twisted Fate

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Another honorary aunt. You’ve been blessed with good women in your life,” Giselle said contemplatively. So had she, when she paused to count them up. When she’d left home, she’d never dreamed she would be surrounded by so many adopted sisters and aunts. The Brody had given her so much.

  “I have been blessed.”

  “Which aunt taught you about pansies?”

  “That would be Auntie Coral. She grows them in the flower boxes on her porch. I confess, I did a little borrowing, but I think she’d approve.”

  Giselle pretended to be shocked. “You gave me stolen flowers?”

  “They were obtained without advance permission, yes. But I’ll confess at my first opportunity.” Jesse paused at a gate. “Here we are.”

  “What? Oh!” Giselle looked up to see that they were back at the hotel. “I’m sorry—I was so caught up in what you were saying that I didn’t pay any attention to where we were going.”

  Jesse smiled. “That’s a high compliment. I’m glad you weren’t bored with my company.”

  “Not at all. Remember how I told you that I feel compelled to be completely honest with you? If I were bored, I’d have to tell you, wouldn’t I?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you would. And now I have to ask another question, relying on your honesty to answer.”

  His face was suddenly so grim, Giselle felt a flash of worry. “I’ll do my best.”

  Jesse rested his hand on the top rail of the gate. “Does it bother you that I associate with Indians, that my sister is an Indian?”

  Giselle pursed her lips. He’d asked for an honest answer, and she owed him the courtesy of some real thought. “I don’t have much experience with Indians,” she said at last. “I only know what I’ve been told, and those stories frighten me. Wars between tribes, wars between the Indians and the white men, scalpings and worse—and I’m sure that those stories have been dramatized because no one can simply relay news anymore. It must be made as horrific and thrilling as possible.”

  Jesse chuckled. “You’re right about that.”

  Giselle smiled too, then continued. “I don’t feel that I know enough to be bothered or not bothered. You’re a kind and gentle man—I mean, you’re strong, too. Look at how you handled that deer. Although I probably shouldn’t be commenting on how strong you are—that seems a bit personal.” Gracious. She needed to stop talking. “What I mean is that I’d rather judge you on your merits alone than form an opinion based on rumors about your associations.” That sounded a little better, she hoped.

  “So you’d like to judge me on my strength? Very well, I accept. Yes, I did lift that deer up onto my saddle and I lifted it back down again. It’s not the largest deer I’ve ever transported, either. I’d say I could lift another fifty pounds or so. A demonstration—”

  “Stop! That’s not what I meant at all!” She didn’t think it was good for her, blushing so much in the course of just one conversation. “I meant that I wouldn’t hold the rumors I’ve heard about Indians against you.”

  Jesse grinned. “I know what you meant, and I appreciate that. But you must know that you’re rather fun to tease. I spend a lot of time by myself, whether hunting or taking odd jobs here and there on various farms, and having the chance to talk with someone else, especially someone with your kind of wit, is a treat for me.”

  “Teasing me is a treat?” She put one hand on her hip.

  “Absolutely. And I wonder if I might have a repeat of the entire experience on Monday night. Assuming, of course, that the chicken fat dilemma has been resolved by then.”

  “It most certainly better be!” Giselle said, taken back. “I can’t go to church smelling like this.”

  “Then let’s plan on it. Monday night at eight?”

  Giselle raised an eyebrow. “That’s perfect. How did you know how perfect that would be?”

  Jesse grinned again. “I might have asked Mr. Hoover at the station for the train schedule.”

  “What?” She was dumbfounded. “That’s just . . .”

  “Brilliant?” he finished for her.

  “Well, I was going to say nosey, but I admit, it was rather smart.”

  He fixed her with a look. “The train schedule is available to the public. How is my making note of it being nosey?”

  “I don’t know. It just is.”

  “I will beg your forgiveness for being nosey and bid you a good night. I’ll see you on Monday, Giselle.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled, even though she was smiling. “I’ll see you then.”

  He waited at the gate until she was safely inside. Then she peeked through the parlor window and watched him stride away, whistling. He sure thought a lot of himself, with that swagger in his walk.

  Or maybe he was just happy with how the evening had gone.

  She knew she was.

  Chapter Six

  Jesse smiled as he walked back home. There was something about Giselle Hardy that spoke to him in a way he’d never been reached before. Some of the Kaw girls had tried to catch his eye, and there had been a few pretty girls in the white school, and while he didn’t exactly hate their attention, none of them had particularly stood out to him. Giselle, on the other hand—she had a sparkle to her, a combination of humor and beauty and intelligence that intrigued him.

  And what exactly did that mean?

  That’s what he needed to figure out.

  Chances were that the more he got to know her, the more he’d like her. And the more he liked her, the more he’d want to get to know her. And if that happened, he’d probably want to marry her, and that meant a house and a solid job.

  Both of which he didn’t have.

  Neither of which he’d particularly wanted.

  He wasn’t against having a house necessarily—he just preferred to come and go as he pleased, sometimes sleeping under the stars when he was out hunting. Auntie Coral had learned years ago not to worry if he didn’t make it home at night. He carried a pistol and he knew how to take care of himself. He also wasn’t against having a job, but again, he liked freedom. A job meant that he wouldn’t be able to leave town for a week at a time and paddle his canoe down the river or track a herd of buffalo. But wives needed those things, and he was starting to think he needed a wife.

  He ran a hand through his hair and squeezed it at the roots, trying to stave off the headache he felt forming. Most of the time, he considered himself fully white, but at moments like this, he realized just how much Indian he actually had in him, and he would never consider that a bad thing. It was just inconvenient when he thought about taking a white wife.

  Of course, the conversation he’d had with his father and Martha came back to mind. They had it all figured out—he’d take a Kaw wife, live near them, and hunt and fish as much as he liked. That sort of freedom appealed to him, but he also wanted things that would be harder to get in Indian Territory—access to new books, for instance. Universities for his children. And safety.

  The Kaw were at some sort of war with almost every other Indian tribe in the area, except the Osage. Jesse had no idea what was different in that relationship. It seemed that every time he spoke with his father, he’d hear stories of this raid or that attack—most likely not helpful in raising the number of Kaw left in the tribe—and he feared that soon, the tribe would be wiped off the earth entirely.

  Not the kind of fear he wanted to carry with him for the rest of his life.

  And not the kind of fear he wanted for a wife and children.

  So, where did that leave him? Too white to be Indian, too Indian to be white, and floating between the two like a tuft of dandelion on the wind, unsure which way to go and feeling influenced by both sides.

  He closed the front gate and climbed the steps of Auntie Coral’s house, then let himself in. It was right on ten o’clock—he’d just made it. Their agreement was that she locked the doors at ten fifteen every night, and if he didn’t happen to make it home before that, he’d sleep out in the small barn behin
d her house. That suited him just fine, but his bed was a little less prickly than straw.

  He had a lot of thinking to do, no doubt about it. But he also needed to figure out if he wanted to pursue this new relationship. He chuckled to himself while he took off his shoes. The girl had smelled like chicken fat and someone’s old grandmother, and he’d still found her attractive. Something told him he’d be in this for the long haul.

  ***

  Giselle crept into the kitchen and found a bottle of vinegar on the shelf. There was nothing wrong with her using it, but she moved quietly because she didn’t want to wake anyone. The Brodys lived on the first floor of the hotel, and Rose had been teething. Sleep was a precious commodity.

  She wrinkled her nose as she splashed some of the liquid on her hands. That was almost as bad as smelling like chicken fat, but after she rinsed, she had to admit, it wasn’t so bad.

  “Oh! Hello, Giselle. I didn’t know anyone was down here.” Nora hovered in the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. I’m just working on my little chicken fat problem. Can’t you sleep?”

  “No. I thought I’d see about a snack.”

  Giselle motioned to the low shelf to the left of the stove. “Sarah and Ruth leave the leftovers there for anyone who’d like them. Help yourself.” She paused. “Are you settling in all right?”

  “Yes, I’m very comfortable here, and you’ve all been so kind.” Nora opened her mouth as if to say more, but then she closed it again. “And I’m sure I’ll be fine after a snack. That bread looks like it will do the trick.”

  “There’s butter, too,” Giselle offered, and Nora thanked her.

  Giselle thought about that little exchange as she climbed the stairs to the attic. She hated to see the girls homesick or feeling alone, but it was all too common. Each of them had a story to tell, some reason why they could no longer live at home and had to fend for themselves.

  Giselle and her brother Nicholas left by choice to ease the burdens on their family, but of course, in an ideal world, that choice wouldn’t even have arisen. She smiled, thinking about Nicholas and how he found love with Rachel, a waitress here at this very hotel. They were now living in the exotic land of China. She’d heard from them twice, and they sounded so happy. Fate did have a way of bringing people together and putting them on paths they might not have expected.

  She dressed for bed, trying not to disturb the other girls, then lay under her blankets and stared toward the window. She could see a handful of stars through the pane of glass, blinking down on her as though promising to keep their vigil throughout the night. Fate. Destiny. Were those concepts even real? She’d heard many people argue against them, saying that nothing was created except through men’s choices, but she didn’t think that could be entirely so. Too many wonderful things happened that could only be explained by crediting a higher power.

  Just as she drifted off to sleep, Jesse McVey crossed her mind again—if he’d ever really left it. What did he believe about fate? And where did their meeting fall on the great continuum of destiny?

  Chapter Seven

  “When we have a full staff, we try to rotate the shifts on Sundays so the girls who would like to attend church may go,” Giselle explained the next morning as the girls dressed for the day. “We need to bring on two more girls before that’s possible. I appreciate your patience.”

  “It’s a terrible thing to say, but I’ve always found sermons to be . . . well, boring,” Carrie said as she fastened her left shoe. “I haven’t gone much in the last year or so.”

  “I think you’d enjoy hearing Pastor Osbourne. He’s a lot easier to understand than the other pastors I’ve met, and he’s a good friend of the hotel—in fact, he married one of the waitresses here.”

  “That’s interesting,” Nora said. “Do they come in for meals very much? I noticed that not all of your customers are from the train.”

  “That’s right—I’d say that we get about five townspeople per meal, and the Osbournes come in once a week or so. They aren’t extravagant people and don’t have much to spend on dining out, but we do give them a discount because . . . well, he’s the pastor.” Giselle finished braiding her hair. “Everyone ready?”

  Sarah and Nancy Ann, who were married and lived away from the hotel, were downstairs waiting when the other girls came downstairs. Ruth had already been in the kitchen for an hour getting things started, and all was well in hand when the first train of the day pulled into the station.

  “Tell me, young lady, do you have any more of that delicious venison?” one of the older gentlemen asked when Giselle moved to his table. “I was here a week ago and told myself that on my return journey, I would have to ask.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t. I can offer you some roast beef and vegetables, though, or chicken and dumplings.”

  “I suppose the beef will do, although you really should keep the venison on the menu permanently. I can’t remember the last time I had anything so tasty.”

  “I’ll pass that along.” Giselle gave him a smile, then took the next order. That was a rather pleasant surprise, after the irritable couple she’d dealt with and their superior ideas about Denver. She had nothing against Denver, actually, but it was so disheartening to be thought of as less when Topeka was a whole four years older than Denver and was growing at an astonishing rate.

  “I’ve had a request for more venison,” she reported to Sarah and Ruth when she entered the kitchen.

  “That makes five since we used up the last of it,” Sarah replied. “We should see if Elizabeth wants to buy more.”

  “I wonder how often we’d be able to get it,” Giselle mused as she set a plate of butter on her tray. “It’s not like beef or chicken where you keep the animals on a ranch and butcher them as needed.”

  “Isn’t that an odd thought, to think of deer on a ranch?” Ruth put a serving of roast beef on Giselle’s tray. “Poor things. I’d hate to see it.”

  “But you don’t mind seeing cows and chickens on a ranch?” Giselle asked, humor in her voice.

  “Deer are pretty. Cows and chickens are just weird-looking,” Ruth replied, grinning as she turned to take Georgia’s order.

  Giselle thought about Georgia as she carried her tray back out to the dining room. The girl was awfully quiet, and Giselle forgot she was there half the time. Obviously, she was the kind who needed to be drawn out more, and Giselle decided that would be her focus for the next little while.

  She was contemplating ways to do that when she glanced up and saw Jesse enter the dining room. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon—not until Monday—and suddenly her hands became shaky. She wasn’t paying much attention on her next trip into the kitchen, and she ran right into Nancy Ann, whose tray was fully loaded. Food flew up into the air and spattered both waitresses, making a huge mess.

  “I’m so sorry,” Giselle gasped. “My mind was somewhere else.”

  “Obviously,” Nancy Ann teased.

  “I’ll clean this up if you want to get replacements for the food,” Giselle said. “Can you serve my table too? It’s table four, and they have chicken and dumplings all around, four plates.”

  “Of course.” Nancy Ann scurried back into the kitchen, and Giselle crouched on the floor and began scooping food back onto plates. She was the dining room manager—she wasn’t supposed to be causing accidents and making huge messes. She couldn’t remember ever being more embarrassed in her entire life.

  But then it got worse—Jesse crouched down beside her and started to help.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “I’m fine. You don’t have to do this,” she replied.

  “Yes, I do. I feel somewhat responsible.”

  “What do you mean?” She kept her eyes turned away from him and tried to sound casual.

  “I think I startled you in some way—you jumped a little when you saw me.”

  “You didn’t startle me. I was just thinking about s
omething, that’s all.”

  “Well, from where I was standing, it looked like I flustered you.”

  She rocked back on her heels. “Mr. McVey, I don’t think you have that much power over me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get this back into the kitchen.” She stood, picked up the tray, and walked through the door, asking Georgia to grab a towel and wipe up the gravy still left on the floor. She’d intended to do it, but she was now so rattled, she needed a minute.

  “That was quite the crash,” Sarah said good-naturedly. “How many dishes broken?”

  “Just three.” Giselle tossed the pieces into the trash bucket and scraped the food into the separate food waste bucket. Then she grabbed a rag and tried to blot the food from her dress, but it was no use—she’d just have to wear it this way the rest of the meal.

  “Are you all right?” Ruth asked.

  “I’m fine. Really. It was just one of those silly things.” Giselle gave a bright smile and headed back out to see what tables needed attention. Jesse was still there, but he hadn’t taken a seat at a table—he was standing in the back of the dining room, chatting with Mr. Brody.

  What? And they were talking about her, no doubt. She took a deep breath and approached her last table. “I’m so sorry for the delay. How may I help you?”

  “Whatever you can bring us that’s quick,” the woman said with a smile.

  “If she’d been doing her job, we wouldn’t have to settle,” her husband grumbled.

  The faces of their four young children looked up at her expectantly. She didn’t imagine they cared much—they were probably just hungry.

  “We have some delicious chicken and dumplings dished up and ready to go,” she said, her smile starting to hurt.

  “That sounds wonderful. We’ll each take a plate,” the woman replied over her husband’s protests that they’d had chicken and dumplings the night before at his mother’s house, and no one made them better than his mother, so no one else should even try.