Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

Mrs. Hunter nodded and gave Tora a demure smile, obviously knowing exactly where her maidservant was. “Thank you.”

  Tora shut the door and led the way to her sitting room. “Please join me in the parlor. Can I interest you in a refreshing glass of water? It’s very warm outside.”

  “That would be fine,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

  Tora left her to retrieve the glasses of water, wishing for the thousandth time that week for her customary lemonade. Why, she had become known for it! Mrs. Hunter would be blabbing the news all over town, no doubt, that Tora Anders could no longer afford lemons from California. The old biddies would take delight in the news! Oh, how they’d feast upon it! With an angry sigh, Tora pulled out two crystal glasses, retrieved some chips of ice from the cellar as fast as she could, and poured the water.

  She paused. There was one lemon remaining in the icebox. If Mrs. Hunter was thinking what she thought she was thinking, a slice of lemon in her water would squelch those malicious rumors immediately. Perhaps even take her down a notch, since she would think Tora had the lemons but did not deem her worthy of lemonade. Smiling for the first time in a week, she ran down the cellar steps again, returned, and put a nice, fat, picture-perfect slice on the edge of each glass. It looked rather elegant, actually.

  Taking a moment to straighten her hair, she composed herself, casting away all her self-abasing thoughts, and strode down the hall and into the parlor. “No doubt you wonder why I asked you to drop by, Mrs. Hunter, so I’ll get right to the point. I wish to lease this home for a while. I have business out west and will not be returning for some time. Of course, I’d like the house to go only to the finest family available. No children, please.”

  “None?” Mrs. Hunter asked, her look telling Tora that might be impossible.

  “At least not under school age,” she quickly amended. “I don’t want any ragamuffins tearing up my fine furniture.”

  Mrs. Hunter nodded, obviously trying not to look about at the furniture which was of good quality, but nothing to fret over. “Very well. May I have a tour of the home so I may make some notes for possible clients?”

  “Yes, of course. Please, follow me.” She led the way through the three-story building, pointing out the finer aspects such as two indoor water closets with running water, gas lighting throughout the house, and decorating that only the finest citizens could fully appreciate. Tora dearly wanted someone who would take care of this house, to love it as she did, so that someday she could return. It was the first place she had felt was hers, hers alone, and she didn’t want to lose it, nor did she wish anything damaged.

  When they sat down again in the parlor, she paused to choose her words. “So, Mrs. Hunter, now that you’ve seen the house, can you give me some idea of what would be a fair monthly lease amount?”

  “Do you anticipate keeping on your gardener and a maid?” Mrs. Hunter asked over the rim of her glass.

  “I believe that the lady of the house would be more comfortable hiring her own help. It is such an individualized process, I find. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mrs. Hunter gave no suggestion that she doubted the sincerity behind Tora’s words. “Yes. Of course. And the gas bill? It would be part of the lease?”

  “I think it would be cleaner if we simply changed the name on the account to the leasing party. Then I do not have to fiddle with it from Washington Territory.”

  Mrs. Hunter glanced up at her quickly. “My goodness. You intend to go that far?”

  Tora smiled demurely. “There was a day that I thought Montana sounded terribly far.”

  Mrs. Hunter returned her smile, nodding. “I too.” She looked down at her notes, apparently in thought. “I do have a fine family in mind. A businessman, his wife, and their two sons. They’ve been at the Cosmopolitan Hotel for a month now, unable to find a home suitable for their needs. They enjoy entertaining, and from what I understand, have a home similar to this in Minnesota.”

  “Minnesota, you say? What part?”

  “Minneapolis, I believe. Or perhaps it was Duluth … He doesn’t intend to stay here forever. Probably an investor. I understood from him that it might be six months to a year.”

  Tora smiled. “That sounds perfect! Perhaps then.” She let her sentence drop, knowing she should play the game out to her best advantage. “May I meet them?”

  “I could probably arrange that.”

  “And would they consent to a monthly correspondence, keeping me up to date on the house?” She laughed. “I assume it would be a short note. As mistress of your own home, I am sure you can understand my feelings. It is as if I’m giving away a ch-child.” The words were out before she knew what she was saying, and it made her stumble. Quickly, she coughed, hoping to cover up her mistake.

  Mrs. Hunter frowned a bit and then went on. “Certainly. I see no harm in a monthly update. It might make you feel a bit less homesick. Would you be available tomorrow afternoon, say, around three, for a tour of the house and a chance to meet the family?”

  Joseph Campbell escorted his wife up First Street, delighted at this turn of events. Upon arriving in Helena, he had casually mentioned Tora’s house as an example of what he sought for his family. Now she was renting it out, and with a monthly check due, as well as the desired “status note” she had requested, Joseph would be able to keep tabs on the woman. He would know where she was, at least on the first of every month. And his family could stay in one place while he followed Tora on her explorations. Who knew where she might go now?

  It was not a surprise when Mrs. Hunter came calling. Joseph, through some careful detective work, had discovered that Tora’s mining investments were failing, and the checks from Storm Enterprises had ended in June. He knew Tora had been living the high life for some time, and she had to be nearly broke. In addition, after a few covert interviews with some of the leading socialites in Helena, he discovered that Tora was on the outs with Helena’s high society. A move was clearly in her future, since Helena had turned its back on her.

  Had she not been misusing his employer’s name and credit, Joseph might have felt sorry for her. As it was, he relished taking this, her prized home, from her, even if it was temporarily. How could such a fine man as Trent Storm fall for a vixen like her? he wondered for the thousandth time.

  Joseph pulled Mary closer as they drew near the gate. He was thankful for his good, solid wife and the two delightful sons they shared. Mrs. Hunter awaited them, just inside the gate.

  “Right on time. Thank you. It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “Mrs. Hunter,” Mary said with a nod.

  As they went in the front door, Joseph tried not to stare too much at Tora. This was the first time he had seen her in close proximity. She was making introductions, when the banker Andrew Aston arrived, followed by five burly men.

  “Why, Andrew,” Tora sputtered, trying to close the door halfway. “I am afraid this is not a good time.”

  “No it is not,” he said, pushing the door open again. He handed her a folded paper. “We are foreclosing on this house, Tora. You have five days in which to vacate. The furniture will have to go now.”

  Tora blushed a crimson red, and studiously looked at no one but the banker. “There must be some mistake—”

  “Certainly not. You knew as well as I that this day was coming.”

  Joseph studied the two, instantly aware by their intense gaze that more had transpired between them than the typical banker-client relationship. Had she played this one as she played all men?

  Tora took a deep breath as if to gather herself. Determinedly, she shut the door between Andrew and the men behind him, effectively cutting them off. “Andrew, can you wait here for a moment? Mrs. Hunter, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, please excuse this incredible interruption. Obviously, I have something to straighten out. It should take no more than a moment. Won’t you—”

  “No!” Andrew exploded. “They must leave. There will be no more hostessing, Tora. It is time t
o get your affairs in order. We are taking your furniture today—”

  “We had understood the house would be furnished,” Mrs. Hunter said quietly.

  “This morning,” Andrew continued, “the Alberta mine closed. It was your last chance, Tora. I presume you are letting out your house to these fine people.”

  Tora sat down abruptly, obviously shocked by the news of the mine. Joseph knew exactly what it meant—the house might not even be enough to cover what she owed.

  Andrew turned to the Campbells. “I am afraid that if you wish to lease this house, it will be from the Bank of Montana.”

  Joseph stepped forward and offered his hand. “Joseph Campbell,” he said gently. “But as Mrs. Hunter stated, we understood the house would be furnished. If you take away the furniture, we will not be able to take it.”

  Andrew considered his words with a nod. “I suppose we could leave it in here for the time being, until we can get everything in order to hold an auction.”

  “Very well. We should come by to see you at the bank? Assuming, of course, that the house is up to the Campbells’ standards,” Mrs. Hunter asserted.

  “Fine, fine. Tomorrow. Ten o’clock?”

  Mrs. Hunter looked at Joseph. He nodded, then shifted uncomfortably, aware of how difficult this must be for Tora. They were talking about her home as if she were already gone.

  “Very good. We will get out of your way, then. Good day, Mr. Aston, Miss Anders,” Mrs. Hunter said. Joseph and the boys followed her out, but Joseph paused at the door, looking back.

  Mary was with Tora, who sat in stunned disbelief. She touched Tora’s head as if she were a grieving child, and then knelt before her, taking her hands. “We will take good care of the home, Tora,” she said softly. “You have my word on it.” She weaved in front of the younger woman, as if trying to gain eye contact. “Sometimes, the very worst thing in life turns out to be the best thing possible. Go with God, child.” With that she rose and joined Joseph at the door.

  Once outside, she took his arm and said softly, “She is the one, isn’t she? The one you were sent to follow.”

  “How did you know?”

  “A woman’s intuition. Don’t get too near her, Joseph. She is one of those women who can draw you in deeper than a whirlpool before you know it.”

  “I realize that.”

  “But there’s something more. God is doing something within her. I can feel it.”

  Mary had an uncanny ability to ascertain such things, and Joseph filed the information away with all he had learned today about Tora Anders. He had a long report to write for Trent Storm tonight, and he had to pack. He was sure that Tora would soon be on the move again, with him along for the ride.

  As they strolled to the hotel, the boys ran back to them to inquire what all the fuss was about, then ran ahead again, letting it roll off their shoulders as only children could. Joseph thought about what Mary had said. If God had something in store for Tora, perhaps she would soon be a different woman. Perhaps it was what Trent sensed too, and what made him want to keep an eye on her. With God, all things were possible. If he could move mountains, he could transform Tora Anders.

  After a long day’s train ride, Tora detrained in Spokane, happy for the sight and sounds of a fresh place, a place not yet entirely closed to her. At least there were a roof and walls on the hotel, which meant someplace for her to sleep for the night. She was down to her last dollar, as incredible as that seemed, unsure where the next would come from. If she could succeed in flattering the other banker in town, and her foreman, she’d be up and running in no time. She simply had to find a means to survive, just until the hotel opened. And then life would return to normal. She’d have her own source of income, a way to pay back Trent Storm the money she had “borrowed,” and the cash to buy back her home in Helena.

  She left her trunks at the train station, telling the manager she would return for them shortly, and walked the block to her hotel. Unable to believe her eyes, Tora dropped her valise in the middle of the road. Nothing had been accomplished on the shell of her hotel. There were no windows, no interior walls. On the frame of the front door was a simple sign: FORECLOSED.

  She had thought the foreclosure would take time—that she had a few months to work things out. So much for the advice of flimflam lawyers. It was clear to her at last. She had been found out in Spokane as certainly as she had been in Helena. This was not her last chance. She was out of chances.

  Feeling woozy, she began to reel, the sight before her fading in and out of focus. Carriages drove by, passengers staring at her in consternation. A cowboy walked up to her and said, “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  But all she could say was, “Fine, fine.”

  She stood there, staring for what seemed like hours, unable to do anything else. Suddenly, a small man was at her elbow, rousting her from her seated position and guiding her to the boardwalk on the far side of the street. “A shock for you, I’d gather, Miss Anders.”

  Tora looked at him for the first time. “Why, Mr. Campbell. What are you doing here?”

  “I have some investments I needed to check on this way.” He studied her for a moment. “I take it that building was yours?”

  “Once,” she muttered.

  “Now, I’ll not tread warily, Miss Anders. You and I both know you are facing dire circumstances. I insist on looking after you for the evening. I am happily married. This is not some ruse. I do this as a Christian and a gentleman. Please do not confuse the issue.”

  Tora looked at him, feeling as if she could not focus, let alone take advantage of the man. “Certainly,” was all she could murmur.

  He took her arm. “This way, Miss Anders. I will see that you have a decent meal, bath, and room for the night. Tomorrow, you are on your own.”

  Tora awakened late the next morning, feeling as if she had been drugged. It took her several minutes to remember where she was, and what she faced. What came to mind made her want to dive back under the covers. She did so for a bit, groaned, and then threw back the comforter. For better or worse, she had to face this day. She had to find a job, quickly, and the means to purchase food.

  It grated on her nerves to remember Mr. Campbell’s kindness the day before. In a stupor, she had not been able to do anything but accept his charity. It had felt heavenly, but now she owed him. At least I know where he lives, she thought grimly. As soon as she had the funds, she would wire him money to reimburse his expenses.

  She quickly dressed and repacked her valise, for the first time remembering her trunks at the train station. Who knew if they still remained? The thought set her heart pounding, and she hurriedly made her way downstairs to the man at the lobby counter. “Pardon me. Can you tell me if you have seen Mr. Campbell this morning? I wish to speak to him.”

  “He checked out earlier, ma’am,” the man said, using ma’am as if it were a derogatory word. No doubt he thought something unseemly had gone on between them, since Mr. Campbell had paid for her room and such intimacies as a bath and dinner. The clerk clearly did not recognize her as the Roadhouse Maven.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” she said graciously, ignoring his rude manner. “I will be checking out today as well. Tell me, I am in search of work. Do you know of anyone who is immediately hiring?”

  “What’s your experience?”

  “Roadhouse work, for the most part. I have done everything from serve food to manage restaurants. I am willing to do whatever’s set before me.” Tora hoped she sounded dignified, not desperate.

  “We’re full up here at the restaurant. Only restaurant work around here was going to be … Why, you’re the girl, aren’t you?” He glanced down at his books. “Sure enough. Tora Anders! I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re out of luck in this town. Nobody’s gonna hire the likes of you after what you did to Mr. Storm.”

  “Well, of all things—”

  “Now before you go off in a huff, Mr. Campbell did do one last thing for you. He had your trunks transferred to
my storage room. I’d appreciate if you’d get them out of there by day’s end.”

  “I will do my best. It all depends on my finding employment today.”

  He pursed his lips, obviously considering her prospects. “Fine. Just be aware that if they’re not out by the time the stage comes to town, they’ll be sitting in the street. I have no room to store the luggage of no-accounts.”

  “Of all the rude … You haven’t seen the last of me, mister. And next time you do, you had better find your manners.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” he said drolly as she walked out of the hotel and to the street.

  Her situation was utterly humiliating. How could it all have come to this? How could Trent have cast her so far from him? This was more than a lovers’ breakup; this was cruel spite. It was one thing to withdraw his company from her, but quite another to take away every shred of her dignity, everything she’d worked so hard for. Someone who loved her could never treat her so foully. Had there ever been a real love between them?

  Angry now, Tora began entering every storefront in town, including the saloons. But it was as the hotel clerk had told her: the town was closed to Tora Anders. For the first time, she lamented taking on Trent Storm. And despite everything, she missed him all the more. Should she find her way back to Duluth? Try to talk to him once more? With a dollar in her pocket, how could she even make the trip?

  After leaving the mercantile at the center of town, she collapsed on a bench just outside the door. No one was going to hire her. The only people who gave her a second glance were the barkeepers in the saloon, obviously thinking of less virtuous ways to make a dollar. The thought was preposterous. Never would she stoop to such levels!

  As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, and she again considered her lack of funds. How was she to survive? Perhaps she should spend her last coins on a wire to Trent! As angry as he might be with her, surely he did not intend to turn her out on the streets … or perhaps he did. The thought made her genuinely sorry for her actions. She stared through a dust cloud kicked up by a passing stage, seeing only Trent’s face as he had seen her off on her Montana adventure four years before. What could have changed between them? Why had her move driven him away, rather than straight into her arms as she’d planned?