The older woman removed her hat and cloak and placed them in the wardrobe. “Whisper Creek must be a very small town if there is no one to hire for a maid.”
“Yes. I only arrived last night, but Garret said there is a general store, an apothecary shop, a church and—” she finished tucking the blanket in and straightened “—and something else...oh yes, a sawmill. And a laundry in the woods at the edge of town.”
“Well, that’s helpful. There are a lot of linens to be washed for a hotel of this size.”
She shook the coverlet out over the bed, then stopped and stared at Mrs. Fuller. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Thank You, Lord, for the laundry.
The older woman smoothed back the dark, graying hair at her temples, tugged at her faded dress. “It’s getting close to midday. What time is dinner served?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Garret.” Her cheeks heated. Mrs. Fuller must think her a complete dolt. “As I said, I only arrived in Whisper Creek last night. We were married shortly after my arrival.”
“Last night...” The woman blinked, held a hankie to her mouth and coughed. “May I offer my best wishes on your marriage. I hope you will both be very happy.”
Impossible. “Thank you.” She smoothed the coverlet on the bed, put the pillows in place and turned toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see about dinner.” She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Thank you so much for teaching me to make the bed, Mrs. Fuller. I’m very grateful. And I know Garret will be grateful, also.”
The woman nodded, turned to gaze out the window.
“You’re welcome to come to the lobby and sit by the fire. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Fuller coughed again, then cleared her throat. “I’ll do that a little later. I want to unpack my bag first.”
“Of course.” She took another quick look at the bed, smiled and slipped out of the room.
* * *
Garret worked quickly, the light from the oil lamps hanging above the worktable flashing on the sharp knife he wielded. He glanced at the clock again. Two minutes. His jaw clenched. He slipped the knife beneath the ham slices and lifted them onto a platter, speared a few pickles and placed them beside the meat. It still looked bare. What else...corn relish! He’d included some in the last order he’d placed with Blake Latherop. He rushed to the pantry, grabbed a can of the relish and hurried back to the worktable.
The slam of his palm on the handle of the can opener was satisfying. He hit it again for good measure, then pumped his wrist up and down, slicing around the tin top. He spooned the yellow corn relish onto the empty space on the platter, pushed it aside and grabbed a loaf of Ivy Karl’s fresh-baked bread.
The door from the hotel dining room opened. He looked up, caught a glimpse of his bride hurrying toward him. Her small, perfect nose wrinkled.
“It still smells of smoke in here.”
Because of you! He pressed his lips together. There was no point in castigating the woman for her helplessness. It wasn’t her fault she had no housekeeping skills. But she would have to learn. Perhaps Ivy Karl would teach Virginia how to cook. He would ask Ivy after he was through with the shoveling. And he would buy a cookbook—
“Mrs. Fuller would like to know when dinner is served?”
“At twelve o’clock.” He drew the knife through the bread, tossed the slices into the basket he had ready and pulled the towel over them. “It’s ready now. All but the tea. I’ll pour the water in the teapot and let it steep while I...” He glanced down at his rough clothes, looked across the worktable at her. “I don’t want a guest to see me dressed like this. Do you think you could set the table and carry in the food?” Without causing another disaster? He pushed away the thought and shook his head before she could reply. “Never mind. I—”
She stiffened, reached out and snatched up the bread basket and the small dish of butter. “I may not know how to cook, Mr. Stevenson, but I am an expert at overseeing our help. And that includes planning menus and creating lovely settings for my father’s dinner parties! Of course I know how to set a table!” She whirled and hurried toward the dining room, glanced over her shoulder. “And I suggest you burn a few candles in here. It takes the smell away. Martha always burned candles if the smoke from the hearth blew into the living room.” She pushed the door open and disappeared.
He held his breath, waiting for the sound of dishes breaking or crashing to the floor. All was quiet. He poured the steaming water into the red-and-white china teapot sitting on its tray, then picked up the knife to slice ham and bread for their own meal. If he hurried, he could be through eating his sandwich and be back outside by the time Virginia was finished preparing the table for their guest.
He scowled, shoved some ham and a pickle between two slices of Ivy’s bread and took a bite. The thought he’d been holding back shoved to the fore of his mind. What about supper? He chomped down another bite of his sandwich and looked at the deep drifts of snow outside the back windows. He would have to forget about the rest of the shoveling and make stew. There was time if he started fixing it right away.
The dining room door pushed open and Virginia appeared, her long skirts swishing over the floor. “Mrs. Fuller is on her way to the dining room.” She grabbed the prepared platter, rushed back to the door then slowed to a sedate pace.
The soft murmur of voices reached him. He strained to catch any negative comments the guest might make about being given a cold meal—a result of Millie Rourk’s and Virginia Winterman’s treachery. Along with an unmade bed! He had to make that right, too.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and headed for the refrigerator. At least he didn’t need to get another block of ice. He’d done that yester—
“Mr. Stevenson...” The door in the sitting room slammed against the wall.
Eddie! His heart jolted at the desperation in the child’s breathless voice. He strode to the sitting room, stared at the boy’s pale, frightened face. “What is it, Eddie? What’s wrong?”
“Minna’s trapped in the cave!” The boy swiped his sleeve across his tearing eyes and gulped for air. “We was playin’ Injuns was chasin’ us, an’ I told her to hide, an’ then all the snow fell an’ I couldn’t get her out!” The boy gulped air again. “Pa says come quick!”
“Show me where the cave is!” He tugged on his boots, grabbed his jacket and hat and ran through the lobby after the youngster. He caught a glimpse of Virginia’s startled face in the dining room doorway as he yanked the front door shut and grabbed his shovel.
He raced behind Eddie down the shoveled pathway toward the church, and followed when the boy veered off toward the new doctor’s office and clinic being built across the main road from the parsonage.
A broken path through the snow led to the towering pines at the foot of the mountains. He sucked his lungs full of the cold air and ran on, ducking and dodging the limbs Eddie ran under with ease. At least the snow was less deep among the trees. A glimpse of the ice-covered pond that supplied their water glittered on their left. He took note of their direction and lunged over ice-coated rocks and slapped snow-covered branches out of his way, keeping his gaze fastened on the nine-year-old ahead of him, who never stopped or wavered from his path.
They burst out of the trees to the right of the pocket in the mountain that held the waterfall. A patch of bare stones showed gray on the mountainside, a huge pile of snow below it. Pastor Karl, Blake Latherop and Dr. Trace Warren were digging frantically, their efforts deepening a narrow tunnel they’d started in the hill of white that towered over them. Ivy Karl stood to the side, her eyes closed, her lips moving. She clutched a blanket in her gloved hands. Two lanterns sat at her feet, mute testimony to the few hours that remained until nightfall. A chill chased down his spine. Prayer didn’t help anything. It would be up to them to save the girl. “Where is the cave,
Eddie?”
The boy lifted a shaking hand. “At the bottom of the mountain, beneath that big stone.”
He followed the direction of the boy’s pointing finger upward, above the top of the heaped snow. There was a narrow crack in the mountain face beneath the projecting rock where Eddie pointed. If it supplied air to the cave...and if the cave was deep enough for Minna to have escaped being buried...there was a chance.
Hope rose, warred with reality. He moved closer, glanced into the tunnel. If it collapsed—He broke off the thought, gripped Eddie’s shoulder. “Run to the sawmill and get Mit—Mr. Todd. Tell him to bring his men and any logs his horses can drag through the snow. Tell him we’ll need them to support a snow tunnel. Hurry!”
He watched Eddie dart back into the trees, then ran to the packed white mass of snow and joined the others.
* * *
Virginia finished making the bed in room number one, spread the colorful quilt over it and left the room. There would be no more complaints about her bed making—thanks to Mrs. Fuller.
A train whistle sliced through the silence. It was the third, no, the fourth time today. She was becoming accustomed to the sound, but she couldn’t help but wonder where the train was going, who was on it and why. Every passenger had a reason for their journey—as she’d had for hers. Her steps faltered. She still couldn’t believe she was married. Of course she wasn’t...not truly. Her marriage was a business agreement. And she intended to uphold her—Millie’s—end of the bargain. She’d already learned to register a guest, make a bed and serve a meal. And to clear away the dirty dishes and put the table back in order.
A twinge of guilt pricked her at the thought of the dirty dishes sitting on the worktable in the kitchen. She shoved it away and glided through the archway into the lobby, smiled when Mrs. Fuller looked up from the book in her hand. “Are you finding the fire comfortable?”
“Very much so, dear. And I’m sure it will be very welcome to any train passengers who may decide to spend the night in your hotel instead of rocking back and forth on the train while they try to sleep.” The older woman shook her head. “Those cars are not as warm as one expects they will be.”
Passengers. Garret had gone off somewhere. What if—she caught her breath, hurried to a front window and looked toward the station. The train engine sat puffing smoke toward the overcast sky. She slid her gaze to the passenger car. A man stood on the small platform. Her stomach tensed. Was the man getting off the train? What if he came to spend the night? Or what if more than one came? What was she to do?
There was only one room prepared. She hadn’t even been upstairs. Where was Garret? How dare he leave her here alone and helpless!
“Is there something wrong, dear?”
“What? Oh. No...” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” She opened the door and stepped out onto the shoveled porch. Cold air penetrated her wool dress. A chill slithered down her spine. She hurried to the railing and looked down the shoveled path toward the church and parsonage. Nothing stirred. She brushed snow from the railing, leaned out over it and drew her gaze back to her side of the road. But she could see nothing beyond the building beside her. No voices floated on the still, cold air. Where was Garret? “Please, Lord, let him return!”
She glanced back at the train. The man was no longer there. He must have only wanted a breath of fresh air. She shivered, brushed the snow from her hands and hurried back inside.
“I hope whatever the emergency was, it’s better now.” Mrs. Fuller peered at her over the top of the book she held. “I’m not prying, dear, truly. But I was sitting by the window in the dining room when your husband went running down the street with that young boy, and I saw the look of urgency on his face. I’ve been praying that whatever was wrong would turn out well.”
“That’s very kind of you. But I’ve no idea where Garret went, or why. I couldn’t see or hear anything outside.” She pressed her lips together before she blurted out her unease, and went to warm herself at the hearth. The fire needed wood. She lifted a piece from the wood cradle and frowned—only two pieces of split log remained. They wouldn’t last long. And then what? She massaged her temples, stared down at the flames. Garret must have a supply of wood for the fires, but she had no idea where it was. And with the deep snow covering everything outside...
She straightened, shot a glance toward the door to the private quarters. She could use the wood for the sitting room fire to keep the lobby fire going. And the dining room fire, also. It would make it cold in the living quarters, but the public rooms had to be kept warm and comfortable. She would spend her time here in the lobby. She glanced at the piano, stretched her hands out toward the fire and flexed her fingers.
The train whistle echoed through the room, the sound repeating a moment later. Mrs. Fuller turned her head toward the windows. “That is such a lonely sound...”
A welcome one. There would be no new guest to—Boots stomped outside the door. The tension across her shoulders eased. Garret was back. He would handle all these problems. The door opened. She turned, stared.
A short, portly man stepped inside, swept a quick glance over the room and removed his hat. “Ladies...” He dipped his balding head their direction and strode toward the desk. A leather valise dangled from his hand.
Her stomach flopped. She drew in a breath and hurried forward, her long hems swishing across the floor. “Good afternoon, sir.” She glided behind the desk, fastened a polite smile on her face. “Welcome to the Stevenson Hotel.”
The man set his valise on the floor and straightened. “Where is the proprietor?”
“Mr. Stevenson is out.” She opened the black leather ledger and turned it toward him. “I will be pleased to register you. The rate is one and a half dollars a night.”
“And you are...”
“Mrs. Stevenson.” It was getting easier to say. She slid the pewter pen and ink holder closer to his hand and smiled. “Write your name and address, please. I’ll give you room number one.” As if there was a choice. She turned to the cupboard on the wall and reached into the cubicle for the key. “The room is here on the first floor and handy to the lobby and dining room. I’ll show you the way.”
The man nodded, slid the ledger back and handed her the money. “What time is supper?”
Supper! What if Garret didn’t return in time to cook supper? Panic snatched the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes, tried to think of an answer. Her mind went blank.
“The menu card says supper is served from six o’clock until eight o’clock.”
She opened her eyes, looked at Mrs. Fuller. The older woman smiled, gave her a small nod. The pressure on her lungs lessened.
She took a breath and moved toward the archway. “Your room is this way, Mr. Anderson. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.” Thanks to Mrs. Fuller. She opened the door of room number one, glanced at the dim light coming in the window and hurried to the bedside table to light the oil lamp. “You will share the dressing room at the end of the hall with the guest in bedroom number two. And, of course, you are welcome to relax by the fire in the lobby.”
“There’s an indoor necessary?”
Her cheeks burned at the indelicate reference. “Yes.” She adjusted the flame to quell the smoke, lowered the lamp chimney into place and hurried back to the door. “You will find the latest of comforts provided. Including hot running water.”
“Well, well... I didn’t expect to find such luxury out here in the wilds. How’s the bed?” The man plopped down on the edge of the mattress and bounced.
She held her breath, released it when the linens stayed in place.
“Feels comfortable.” Mr. Anderson slapped the mattress beside him and rose. “I’ll settle in and then come out and sit by the fire until supper.”
Her stomach tensed. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Anderson.” She pasted on another smile and bac
ked out of the room before he could ask her any more questions. Her temples throbbed. She rested back against the wall and rubbed at the ache. It was foolishness to get upset. It would be dark soon and Garret would come home. He would cook supper, and she would serve the guests.
Everything would be fine. Perfectly fine.
Chapter Five
Plop.
Garret threw his shovelful of snow into the gathering box, canted his head to the right and listened. Trickle. Plop. He glanced over his shoulder. Snow drifted down onto a small pile forming in the middle of the smoothed surface of the tunnel floor. Another clump of snow fell on top of the pile. He looked up, braced himself and pushed the back of his shovel blade against the beginning of a crack at the top of the slanted wall. If that snow gave way...
He gathered breath and turned his head toward the opening of the long, narrow tunnel through the snow. “We need logs, Mitch!” He sucked another breath into his straining lungs. “We have a weak spot!”
Blake Latherop stopped shoveling on the opposite side of the box, grabbed one of the lanterns, came and held it up to where the two slanted walls of snow met overhead. “It’s...small. You’ve got...most of it...covered. Call if...need me.”
He nodded, closed his mind to the ache in his back and shoulders, and watched the shadows of Pastor Karl and Dr. Warren dance against the snow. Blake stepped back to his side of the tunnel, set the lantern down and resumed shoveling.
“Logs are on their way!”
Boots crunched against the snow. Logs banged against logs.
“Careful, Tom! We don’t want the bottoms of those standing logs to kick out of place. Hang on, Garret! We’re almost there...”
He had no breath to waste on an answer. They were all past the point of exhaustion, but there was no one to relieve them. He hung his head and forced the quivering muscles of his upstretched arms to keep the pressure of the shovel blade against the snow. The sounds grew louder. Brown twill pants stuffed into black, calf-high boots straddling the angled ends of a bundle of logs came into view. A beautiful sight.
Mail-Order Bride Switch Page 6
