A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Of course. We both have a lot to share.”

  ***

  Gabe practically threw himself on his bed once he’d reported in with Colonel Gordon. The marshal had taken a short statement, then sent Gabe to get some rest, saying that the finer details could wait until the next day. Gabe was thankful for that—he was so tired, he didn’t think he’d be able to remember half of those finer details anyway.

  By the time he woke up from his nap, he was starving. The only places to get a hot meal at this time of night were the saloons—he’d much prefer going to the Brody, but they’d closed up their kitchen hours ago. He grimaced—the saloon it was. He wasn’t a bad cook, but because he’d been out of town, he didn’t have anything on hand to make. He’d have to do something about that, and soon.

  He pulled on his boots and walked down the street to the nearest saloon, making sure his Colt was loaded. He smiled, remembering shooting with Deputy Earp. That had been a lot of fun—it wasn’t often he was challenged by a man with equal skill.

  “Hey, Deputy,” he was greeted by Lola as he stepped through the swinging doors of the Black Jack, the saloon nearest his house. She wore her red satin dress, her hair piled high on her head, a black feather protruding from the top. Gabe never had understood the reason for feathers. Why would a woman want to look like a bird?

  “Are you drinking tonight?” she asked, taking his arm and guiding him farther into the establishment.

  “I’m not. What I’d really like is a bowl of stew, if you have any back there.”

  “I think we do. I’ll go check.”

  Lola bustled off. Gabe knew she was disappointed that he didn’t take a drink—she and the other saloon girls earned commissions on the alcohol they were able to sell—but he just wasn’t in the mood. Fact was, he was rarely in the mood, and as he had to keep his wits about him at all times, drinking was a bad idea anyway.

  He glanced around and nodded. The place seemed fairly quiet tonight—just a few card games, some music. This was one of the nicer establishments in town. They ran clean games, and the saloon girls were there for a dance or a song, but not for prostitution. He’d only broken up two or three fights here since he came to Topeka. Now, the Red Garter, on the other hand, north of town? That place was entirely different. They could almost use a marshal there on constant duty.

  But Gabe didn’t want to spend his life breaking up fights in saloons. He liked investigating, questioning witnesses, gathering clues. Over the course of this last week, he’d found real satisfaction in his work, and while he had to give Abigail credit for a lot of that, he realized it was the nature of the work that appealed to him. He’d been able to do some real good for Margaret Smith, and while he wondered what would become of Nellie Thomas, he knew that justice would have its say in regards to Mr. Thomas, and that all would work out as it should.

  “Here you go.” Lola set a bowl of stew in front of him, along with a few slices of bread on a plate. “You’re in luck—it was the last of the night. You’re out pretty late.”

  “Just got back in town and had a long nap.” Gabe took a bite, appreciating the flavors, but noting they weren’t quite as good as Miss Hampton’s. He’d have lunch at the Brody tomorrow to make up for it.

  “Anything else I can get you?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks, Lola.” He watched as she moved on to greet a new customer, hoping she sold enough whiskey to keep food on her table for another day.

  ***

  The girls said they were going to let Abigail sleep, but that was short-lived. As soon as the dining room was cleaned up and the dishes washed, they gathered in the attic bedroom, begging to hear everything. Elizabeth and Harriet were there too, even though their husbands were sure to wonder where they were, and Olivia said the pastor could wait another hour. She wasn’t going to miss this for anything.

  Abigail laughed as she sat up in bed. It was probably just as well that she woke up anyway—she’d be expected to serve the morning train, and her sleep schedule would need to be adjusted for that.

  “All right, I’ll tell you everything.” She looked around the room at all the eager faces. “It’s hard to know where to begin, though.”

  “You can start by eating something.” Miss Hampton appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a tray. “You must be half starved.”

  “I am, actually. Thank you.” Abigail accepted the tray and took a few bites. “This is delicious.”

  “It might not be good manners, but I vote that you eat and talk at the same time,” Harriet said. “I know you’re hungry, but we’re going to perish of curiosity.”

  Between bites, Abigail filled them in, and was rewarded with many gasps of surprise. She left out all the kissing parts, though—she wasn’t ready to share that with everyone, and she even wondered if she had made a mistake by telling Margaret. Perhaps that was best left between her and the deputy, but it had felt good to share her thoughts with someone. The person she really wanted to talk to, her sister, was in New York, very far away.

  “That’s amazing,” Elizabeth said as Abigail wound up her story. “Much more exciting than anything going on around here.”

  “What did happen here while I was gone?” Abigail asked.

  “Well, Olivia burned a batch of bread,” Rachel said. “It was pretty funny.”

  “It was just one batch,” Olivia retorted. “And I know you’ve missed me—I was just making it like old times.”

  “Yes, the smell of charred flour wafting through the dining room did bring back memories,” Miss Hampton said dryly, and everyone laughed.

  “We discovered that Sarah’s a really good cook,” Harriet added. “She’s been teaching us some of her recipes, and they’re delicious.”

  Abigail glanced around. She hadn’t seen Sarah—oh, there she was, sitting on her bed behind everyone. “I can’t wait to learn them too.”

  “It’s nothing, really,” the girl said. “Just some things my mother used to make.”

  “And we’ll be adding them to the menu,” Miss Hampton affirmed.

  It was so good to be back at the hotel, chatting with her friends, listening to their upbeat voices. Abigail could be almost entirely happy except for one thing—she wanted to see Gabe. She had to know everything was all right between them.

  ***

  Gabe was eager to get over to the hotel the next morning. Not only was he ready for a good meal, but he needed to see Abigail. He’d been so tired the day before, he couldn’t even remember if he’d bid her a proper good-bye when he dropped off her satchel. Maybe she’d have some spare time that afternoon and they could take a buggy ride down by the river. His arms missed holding her.

  He reached the Brody just as the train passengers were making their way up the steps for the first meal service. One gentleman stood off to the side in the lobby, looking around, seeming confused. Gabe approached him.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I was told I could find Margaret Smith here.”

  Gabe immediately went on the alert. “Why would you like to see her?”

  The man turned to look at Gabe, and his eyes grew wide when he saw Gabe’s badge. “My name is Gilbert Quincy, and I’m here from Wichita. I’ve been hoping to buy the Smith property for some time, and I thought maybe now . . . with everything going on . . . that Mrs. Smith might be willing to talk to me about it.”

  Gabe rocked back on his heels as he took a measure of this man. “I tell you what. I will fetch Mrs. Smith for you on the following conditions. You keep her situation in mind at all times, you offer her a fair price, you leave the decision entirely up to her, with no pressure, and I get to sit in on the meeting.”

  Mr. Quincy’s eyes flicked to the badge again. “Yes, sir. That sounds very reasonable.”

  “Now, why don’t you head on in to the dining room and buy yourself the finest lunch in Topeka while I go see if Mrs. Smith is even interested in speaking with you. If she asks me to send you away, at least you’ve gotten a good slic
e of pie out of your journey.”

  Mr. Quincy nodded again. “All right.”

  Gabe took the stairs two at a time and knocked softly on Margaret’s door. It wasn’t until he’d done so that he stopped to wonder if she was even still staying in that room—hopefully he wasn’t disturbing a stranger. But a moment later, she opened the door.

  “Deputy, what a nice surprise. Please, come in.”

  Gabe entered her room, but left the door ajar. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Please, call me Margaret. I’m doing fairly well, all things considered.” She sat down near the fireplace and invited Gabe to join her. “Dr. Wayment thinks I’m making good progress. He says I may never recover that missing section of memory, but I’ve decided that’s all right. It was most likely unpleasant, and I’m not sure I want my head filled up with so many unpleasant things.” She gave a little laugh, which ended with a cough. “It’s just now sinking in, the fact that Edward is gone. Now that the investigation is over, the reason for it has become more real, and I’m not sure how I feel about any of it.”

  “Understandable. But I’m glad to see that you’re regaining your strength.” Gabe leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “There’s a man downstairs by the name of Quincy. He says he’d like to talk with you about buying your property.”

  “Yes, I know him. I’m surprised he’d come all this way, though.” Margaret sighed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about going back, and truth be told, with all the memories, I’m not sure I want to return.” She laughed. “I should say, the memories, plus the things I can’t remember. That would be more accurate.”

  “Do you want to speak with him? I told him I’d send him away if you weren’t interested.”

  She studied her hands for a moment. “I’ll hear his offer. If nothing else, it gives me some options.”

  Gabe stood. “All right. Why don’t you come down after the meal—I also told him I’d be sitting in on the meeting.”

  “Thank you, Deputy. You’ve been a true ally through this whole ordeal.”

  Gabe smiled. “I’m glad to help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in desperate need of some of Miss Hampton’s apple pie.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Abigail’s heart sped up when she saw Gabe enter the dining room. She’d been hoping he’d come eat, but she’d tried not to think about it too much because she didn’t want to be disappointed. He took a seat in the corner, which wasn’t her table, and she sighed. She’d talk to him later, after the meal was served.

  “Sarah, I have two more orders for your peach pie,” she said as she entered the kitchen. “Both second helpings.”

  Sarah looked pleased as she grabbed the spatula. “I’m so glad. I think it’s the extra brown sugar that does it.”

  “Well, whatever it is, don’t stop.” Abigail delivered the pie, then glanced over at Gabe. He was eating like he hadn’t seen a spoon in years, and she smiled. The Brody really did have the best food anywhere.

  As soon as the train passengers left, she gathered up the linens and took them into the kitchen as quickly as she could. She’d noticed Gabe going into the parlor—he must be waiting for her. But when she went to find him, she saw him sitting there with Margaret and another gentleman. She took a step back to walk away, but Margaret saw her and waved her in.

  “Please join us,” she said, patting the couch beside her. “I’d like your thoughts on this as well.”

  Abigail sat, wondering what was going on. Gabe was wearing his deputy face, all stern concentration, and didn’t look her way.

  “This is Mr. Quincy,” Margaret introduced.

  “Pleasure.” Mr. Quincy bobbed his head. “Now, as I was saying, I’d like to buy your property. I have an offer here which I believe is fair, and it includes your animals and equipment. Basically, I’ll take the whole lot off your hands at once, one easy transaction.”

  “May I see that offer, Mr. Quincy?” Gabe asked, and Mr. Quincy handed him a piece of paper.

  “If you sold your property, what would you do?” Abigail asked Margaret in an undertone. She had an idea of her own, but if Margaret already had plans, she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t want to interfere in her new friend’s life. Well, any more than she had already done.

  “I’m not sure,” Margaret replied. “A lot depends on how much the property is worth, I suppose.”

  Gabe handed the paper back to Mr. Quincy. “From what I’ve seen of the place, this looks reasonable,” he said.

  Mr. Quincy gave a nod. Abigail noticed that he was looking at Gabe somewhat nervously, and she wondered just what Gabe had done to put the fear into the man.

  “Would you like to hear the offer, Mrs. Smith?”

  “I would. I’m not entirely decided on what I’d like to do, but I’m open.”

  Mr. Quincy handed the paper to her. Abigail was curious to see what it said, but it was none of her business, so she glanced away. She’d never had any dealings with land purchasing before anyway, so she probably wasn’t the best judge of a fair price.

  Margaret was still looking at the paper. “Edward worked so hard to save up for that land,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Everything he had went into it. He was so proud the day we started building the cabin.” She wiped away a tear. “But I know I could never live there again. I’ll accept your offer, Mr. Quincy, and you may have everything on the property except for the personal effects. There aren’t many.”

  The man nodded. “Agreed. Would you be able to come back to Wichita and choose those things out? I fear if I did it, I’d miss something, and you just might want a moment to say good-bye to the place.”

  “I’m sure I can. I’ll need to check with my doctor first and make sure it’s all right for me to travel.”

  “Excellent. Come when you can, and we’ll complete the sale.” Mr. Quincy stood and nodded to everyone. “I appreciate your time.”

  After Mr. Quincy left, Margaret turned to Abigail and Gabe. “This feels like the right thing to do, and yet, it’s as though I’m letting Edward down. That property was his dream, but I wouldn’t be able to care for it like he could. Mr. Quincy is a good landowner—from what I’ve seen, his other properties are thriving. I just . . . this is a difficult decision.”

  Abigail wrapped her arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “For what it’s worth, if he offered a good price, I think you’ve made the right choice. A fresh start is what you need, and this will help provide that for you.”

  “If it’s not too much . . .” Margaret looked back and forth between Gabe and Abigail. “No, it is too much. Never mind.”

  “Let us be the judge of that,” Gabe said. “What did you want to ask?”

  “Would you be able and willing to come out to Wichita with me? I’d appreciate having some friends with me, people who are seeking my best interest.”

  “I would love to,” Abigail said before Gabe had a chance to speak.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Oh, thank you. This means a great deal to me.”

  Over Gabe’s shoulder, Abigail saw Mr. Brody stepping through the foyer, his hat in his hand. He must be going somewhere. “Excuse me,” she said, leaving the parlor and chasing after him. “Mr. Brody!”

  He paused, and she caught up to him on the front walk. “Are you leaving, Mr. Brody?”

  “Just for the afternoon. Is something the matter, Miss Peterson?”

  She wondered if she should even be saying anything at all, but then scolded herself. The worst he could do was say no. “You’re still looking for more waitresses, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. Sadly, I had to send Olivia back to the pastor this morning.” His eyes twinkled. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Would you consider hiring Margaret? She doesn’t know I’m asking, and she might have other plans entirely, but she doesn’t want to stay in Wichita, and I wondered if she could come here.”

  “I don’t see why not. Now that we know she’s not a murderess.” His e
yes twinkled again. “I like her, and I think she’d fit in well here. If she’d like to stay, I have no objection.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brody! I really appreciate it. Oh, and you can go do … whatever you were doing . . . now.” She turned and ran back up the hotel steps before realizing how that sounded. Then she heard his laughter, and knew it was all right.

  When she reentered the parlor, Gabe was no longer there. Where had he gone? A pang of loneliness shot through her, but she immediately squelched it. He had to be around here somewhere—she hadn’t seen him leave, and she’d been standing right outside. She walked through the dining room and found him in the kitchen, deep in conversation with Miss Hampton.

  “I was just telling Miss Hampton about the cinnamon cookies we got at the Wichita general store,” he said easily when she came in.

  “They were delicious,” she replied, grateful that he seemed himself again. Of course, when he was acting in his role of deputy, he was still himself—it was just a different side of him.

  “I was also begging Miss Hampton’s permission for you to come on a buggy ride with me. I believe I nearly have her convinced.”

  Miss Hampton’s lips twitched. “All right, but please have her back in time for the afternoon train. If I have to call Olivia in again so soon, we might have a revolution on our hands.”

  Abigail took off her apron, hung it on a hook, and went outside, where Gabe had parked a buggy alongside the hotel in the shade. No wonder she hadn’t seen it from the front. He gave her a hand up, and then they drove to the river in relative silence. Abigail wondered several times if she should say something to break the ice, but then again, it was nice to be quiet sometimes too. She wished she could make up her mind as to what she wanted—she felt awkward either way.

  Gabe brought the buggy to a standstill, and the horse immediately began whiffing the ground, looking for tender grass. Gabe took off his hat, slid across the seat, and put his arm around Abigail’s shoulders. She immediately relaxed into his side, and he smiled.

  “That’s better,” he murmured. “You know, sometimes I get the urge to go visit Kuruk.”