On her last night in a hotel room similar to the many others she’d lived in over the years, she sat near the window watching the street below and relishing her freedom by puffing on a two-dollar cigar.
Her reflection in the pane of glass showed an attractive young woman, a woman who received attention and invitations from men. She considered Amanda, a lovely girl with honey-colored hair and a bright smile, a wholesome and attractive young lady, and wondered how it could be that no one had taken a fancy to her yet. Was she too eager? Too available or unassertive? Perhaps when Sophie returned she might mention the appeal of mystery. Amanda deserved the husband and family she desired. It wouldn’t be long. Soon she would be married and have moved on to a new life.
An image of the Chaneys’ kitchen in Newton wavered in Sophie’s thoughts, and she remembered the family seated around that table. The vast differences in her life from everyone else’s struck her anew. The fact that she never returned interest in men set her apart from other women. What about five years from now, should her luck hold that long and her identity remain a secret? Ten years. Where did she see herself?
But she wasn’t looking for the same things, she assured herself. She had a different plan. She was setting aside money to start her own business. But somehow she needed to speed up the process.
Eventually no one would tell her what she could do or what she could wear or how to act. She would be…The reflection in the glass revealed smoke curling around her head into the room behind her. The empty room.
Was this how she intended to live her life from now on? Independent, but unattached? Free, but…
Dare she recognize the thought?
Lonely.
An all-consuming ache welled inside her chest and played havoc with her plans and her beliefs. She had nearly a year remaining on her contract. If she didn’t have enough money saved by then she could sign a new one. As long as she played things safe, her strategy was secure.
She would be set for the future. There was nothing wrong with that.
A spinster. She was making plans to be a spinster.
Independent, she corrected. In charge of her own life. Her destiny was something she wasn’t willing to let go of.
But she didn’t have to be lonely, did she? The other girls accepted invitations to dinner, attended local dances. They blended in more that way, she realized, fit themselves into the community.
She could do that.
Sophie made a decision. She wasn’t going to be lonely. The next time an acceptable man offered her an invitation, she was taking it.
“Would you attend the dance at the Social Hall with me this Saturday, Miss Hollis?”
Louis Tripp owned a photography studio and ate in the dining hall three evenings a week. On several occasions he’d offered invitations, but she’d declined each time.
Sophie swallowed and remembered her vow before she spoke. He was boyishly handsome with a lean face and a cap of fair curly hair. His clothing was well-cut and pressed, and he displayed courtesy and good manners. Definitely an acceptable sort. “I’d be pleased to attend the dance with you, Mr. Tripp.”
Her answer caught him off guard, and his glance shot from her to his dinner plate and back again. “You will? I mean great. I mean, what a pleasure! I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He grinned, showing straight teeth and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe you said yes.” Immediately, he looked embarrassed to have spoken that aloud.
“Would you like another glass of milk?”
“I would! Thank you, Miss Hollis.”
“You may call me Sophie.”
“You’re the prettiest girl here, Sophie. And I the luckiest man.”
“You’re the most persistent for sure.”
He chuckled and she moved away.
“He ordered the veal,” Amanda said as Sophie poured milk at the counter. “The marshal.”
“I don’t care.”
“Black-eyed peas and mashed potatoes on the side.”
“Why is the marshal’s dinner of concern to me?” she asked.
“Come on, Sophie. Are you denying you have a yen for him?”
“Here’s a tidbit for you. I accepted an invitation to Saturday’s dance.”
Amanda’s wide pale eyes sparkled. “From who?”
“Louis Tripp.”
She squealed, and Sophie shushed her. “He’s so tall and handsome! Sophie, you never let on he was your type.”
“I don’t have a type. It’s just a dance, not a wedding.”
“I don’t believe you don’t want a husband. Every woman wants a husband.”
“How about a jailer? Do they all want one of those?”
Amanda slanted a questioning look at her, and Sophie knew she’d gone too far. She picked up the tray holding the glass of milk and walked away.
At precisely seven on Saturday evening, Louis was waiting for her in the same courting room where a dozen other men stood, hats in hand, hair slicked into place, like a row of shooting targets at a carnival.
When he saw Sophie, his face lit up. “You look beautiful—but you always look beautiful—what I meant to say is you are beautiful.”
“Thank you. You look quite nice yourself.”
His ears turned pink. “Shall we go? I have a buggy outside.”
“Will you help me with my shawl?” She held out the delicate lace and fringe scrap of fabric, and he slipped it over her shoulders.
He extended an elbow, and she took it.
He had indeed rented a buggy, complete with gas side lamps, which were as yet unlit since the sun hadn’t set.
“Have you been to the Social Hall on many occasions?” he asked.
“A few times when the girls had birthdays. Once when there was a wedding reception.”
“Do the girls marry often?”
She grinned. “As often as they can.”
He chuckled. “That didn’t come out right.”
They were among the first to arrive, and the musicians were warming up on the platform. “I guess we’re a little early,” he said. “I was in a bit of a rush.”
“That’s okay. Would you mind if we went for a walk?”
“Not at all. Where to?”
“I’m fond of the park.”
“Want to take the buggy?”
She shook her head.
They strolled along Eighth Street until they reached the trellis that marked the entrance to the park. Climbing yellow roses created a fragrant bower to pass through.
“I don’t walk to this park as often. It’s farther from the dormitory.” She offered him a smile. “This is nice.”
Bachelor buttons along the brick path drooped from the day’s heat.
“So you like to walk,” Louis said.
She nodded.
“What else, Sophie? Tell me more about you.”
“I’m just a boring Pennsylvania farm girl. Tell me about you.”
He told her how he’d become interested in photography as a young man. “One of the most regaled photographers of our century is coming to Newton in two weeks’ time.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. A. J. Russell has been commissioned by the railroad, surely you’ve heard.”
She shook her head.
“His shots of the newly expanded west are making history. The railroad has given him his own coach, and he sets up his equipment on a flatcar so he can shoot from the train. He’s assigned to photograph Mr. Harvey’s hotels and restaurants. All the employees will be photographed, too. Just think of it. You’ll be immortalized by a famous photographer. I plan to meet Mr. Russell while he’s here.”
Sophie’s brain stumbled over the “employees will be photographed” part, and she started planning how she would avoid participating. There were less prominent places she could have found work, but none of them paid as well as this job.
Her escort continued his earnest tale of how he had
worked to buy his storefront and equipment, and she turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Someday I want a house and a family,” he added.
All those girls at the Arcade wanted exactly the same thing and yet he’d picked her. “Louis.”
“Yeah.”
“Just so you know. I’m not her. I’m not the wife you’re looking for.”
His expression didn’t fall. “You could be.”
“No. I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t feel right letting you think otherwise. This is as honest as I get. I’m tired of all the questions as to why I don’t accept invitations. The reason is because I’m not looking for a husband like most of the other girls. If you’re shopping for that wife, you need to look back there.” She gestured over her shoulder. “If you want to spend time together without thinking of it as something romantic or a prelude to more, I’m your girl.”
His gaze scanned her face, perhaps searching for some weakness, something to give him hope. Finally, he nodded and glanced away.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she hurried to add. “You’re handsome and smart. And a really good catch—for someone else.”
“That’s a grand comfort.”
With nothing more to say, she shrugged.
“Well.” Louis stopped beside a tree and used his thumb to pick away a loose chunk of bark. “You surely didn’t give me much of a chance.”
She didn’t respond.
“But you didn’t let me make a fool of myself either, so I’m thankful for that.”
She could have done it easily. Played him all the way to the end—wherever that would have been. She was trying to change her life, end the deception, but it was impossible. Every day was a deception. As honest as she’d been with Louis about their relationship, everything else about her was a lie.
A shameless, glittering lie.
The Social Hall was one enormous room with a polished wood floor and open rafters. A platform stretched across one corner, and men of diverse ages and sizes played instruments with varying degrees of talent.
Benches had been built the entire lengths of the south and west walls, and the east wall held tables for food and drinks. The décor changed with events and decorators, and tonight the remnants of July Fourth remained, with red, white and blue streamers sagging from the overhead beams and paper stars dangling in the breeze.
Louis was attentive and charming as well as an excellent dancer. Sophie felt admiring eyes on them as they traversed the floor in time to the music. She’d been instructed by the best dance tutors in New York and Philadelphia, and Louis was obviously no stranger to the steps.
Out of breath, they paused and Louis went to pour punch.
“Sophie, you are positively magnificent,” Emma gushed from beside her.
Amanda and one of the other girls joined them. “Mr. Tripp is handsome and incredibly agile on his feet,” Amanda added.
“Will you teach us?” Emma asked. “To dance like that?”
“Oh, yes, please say you will,” Rosie MacPhee begged.
“Yes, all right,” Sophie agreed.
A figured loomed over Sophie’s shoulder and the marshal’s soul-deep voice was unmistakable. “Glad to see you’re sufferin’ no ill effects from your brush with death, Miss Hollis.”
“Please, Marshal,” she replied. “You make it sound far more dangerous than it actually was.”
“Is it true that Sophie ran into the fire, Marshal?” Emma asked. “She doesn’t want to tell us about it.”
“It’s true,” he replied. “I’m afraid old Sam wouldn’t have made it without her help.”
“She’s very brave.” Admiration was clear in Amanda’s voice.
“And an accomplished dancer.” The marshal indicated the dance floor with a nod.
“She’s going to teach us,” Rosie told him.
The marshal raised one brow speculatively. “Pennsylvania farmers must hold some fancy barn dances.”
“Pennsylvania farmers possess all kinds of skills,” she replied.
The music changed, and a few dancers left the floor while others took their places.
“And you, Marshal,” Sophie said with a long glance. “Are you here to dance?”
Chapter Six
At that moment Louis returned with Sophie’s cup of punch. His expression dimmed when he saw the man standing beside her. “Marshal Connor.”
Clay seemed to size him up with one dark glance. “Mr. Tripp.”
Sophie sipped the sweet fruity liquid.
Marshal Connor glanced from Sophie to Emma. “Would you care to dance, Miss Spearman?”
Emma took his arm immediately. “I’d love to.”
They moved into the crowd, and she looked back over her shoulder with a wide smile.
“I wouldn’t mind sitting for a few minutes.” Sophie glanced meaningfully at Rosie and gave Louis a hard stare. “Perhaps you’d like to dance with someone else while I rest.”
“Oh.” Louis understood her intent. “Will you dance with me, Miss MacPhee?”
Rosie blushed and accompanied him to the dance floor.
Amanda and Sophie chose seats along the wooden benches that lined the wall.
“I still haven’t heard word of my cousin’s baby,” Amanda told her.
“You’ve saved your passes?”
“Oh, yes.” After a moment, Amanda leaned close. “I met someone the other day.”
“Who?”
“A man, silly.”
Sophie turned to study her. “Yes?”
Amanda was absolutely glowing. “He’s very handsome and charming. Kind, too, with impeccable manners. He asked me to have dinner with him at the hotel.”
“Did you accept?”
She nodded. “He thinks I’m smart and pretty.”
“You are smart and pretty,” Sophie told her.
“It’s nice to have a man say it.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She patted Amanda’s hand. “You will have to tell me all about it.”
“I will.” A moment passed. “I don’t think my father would approve, however.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a few years older than I am.”
Sophie didn’t want to sound discouraging. “That probably means he’s established,” she said. “He already has a profession and some of the worldly things he wants, and now he’s looking for more in the way of a special person so he can share those things.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Amanda gave her shoulders a squeeze.
Sophie caught a glimpse of the marshal with Emma. The girl smiled as though he’d caught a star for her. Another couple blocked them out, and Louis and Rosie waltzed into their view.
“Mr. Tripp is a nice man,” Amanda commented.
“That he is. He says a famous photographer will be here soon. A man taking pictures to document the Harvey Houses.”
“I would never have had the chance for a job like this if not for the Harvey Houses,” Amanda said. “A job where a woman is treated well and respected is a true phenomenon. Not to mention pay equal to a man. Why, I make as much as any of my step-brothers. How about you?”
Sophie agreed with a nod. “I’m saving for my own business.”
“I admire you and your family,” Amanda told her. “I’m sure if my father didn’t need the money, I could be saving up, too.”
“What you’re doing is admirable,” Sophie said.
Amanda shrugged. “Most of the girls send their earnings home. It’s a lot of money when you’re struggling to keep a family fed.”
“Your father’s fortunate to have you.” Sophie gave her an assuring nod and turned to watch the dancers.
A wailing sound caught their attention over the music, and Sophie realized the wind had picked up. Within minutes rain pelted the roof overhead. The sound always reminded her of a night long ago and a man she prayed never to see again. It took all her fortitude to swing her thoughts to the present. She possessed an abundance of fortitude.
&nb
sp; “Do you think it’s a tornado?” Emma asked as the marshal escorted her to the benches.
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered.
She wore a worried expression. “I heard all about tornados.”
“Thanks for the dance. I have rounds to make, so I’ll be movin’ along. Good night. Miss Pettyjohn. Miss Hollis.”
“Marshal.” Sophie tried not to watch him go.
Louis returned Rosie just as thunder rumbled overhead. Emma shrieked and scuttled closer to the other females for comfort.
They stood to form a protective circle around her and Amanda patted her back. “It’s all right. Are you afraid of storms?”
“Maybe a little.”
“It’s just rain,” Sophie told her. “Nothing to be afraid of tonight.”
Clay paused beside the door and turned back to observe the townspeople gathered in the Social Hall. The four waitresses from the Arcade huddled together on the opposite side of the room. As usual, they were among the most well-dressed women. He didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew the girls made enough to dress well and spend their fair share in Newton. The shopkeepers and dressmakers loved them.
Funny how much he resented that nice Tripp fellow just for escorting Sophie. It was nothing to him who either one of them kept company with. Was it? This nagging feeling was too much like jealousy for comfort.
And he didn’t like the way the wind had come up. Most likely the ruffians would be trapped in town overnight if they didn’t ride out soon: he should probably move on to make rounds of the saloons.
Rain pelted his hat and shoulders as he made his way to the temporary office. He shook water from his hat and studied the brass ring of keys on a nail for the hundredth time, still trying to determine how Willard DeWeise had escaped the cell and a gruesome death that night, and how that fire started. He had a tough time letting the puzzle go.
Thunder shook the windows and rain clanged on the stovepipe. The reek of damp ashes emanated from the stove.
Boots struck the boardwalk and John Doyle stuck his head through the doorway long enough to shout an alarm. “Marshal, there’s trouble over at the Red Ace!”
The Lawman's Bride (Harlequin Historical Series) Page 6
