“You met her mother? In Chicago? Well, isn’t that nice. What sort of woman is she?” O’Donnell questioned in a most eager manner.
Zack had pretty well decided that O’Donnell was either too daft to understand the frustration he was causing or too indifferent to care that he was slowing Zack down. Zack had once known a boy in school who was almost too smart for his own good. The simplest things often stumped the boy, but he was a genius in other areas. It could always be possible that this O’Donnell fellow was just the same.
“Could you please send for Miss Taylor?” Zack asked patiently.
O’Donnell seemed to consider this request for several moments, and Zack was just about to repeat the question when Jeffery got to his feet. “I’ll call her.”
He went to the door, much to Zack’s relief and called down the hall.
“Miss Taylor?”
Zack heard a muffled reply from somewhere down the hall.
“Would you be so kind as to join us when time permits?” O’Donnell called out one final time.
Zack wanted to leave Jeffery in the office and go in search of Rachel Taylor on his own, but he decided to wait a few more minutes before insisting on having his own way. He was way out of his own jurisdiction here and therefore totally dependent upon the kindness of these strangers.
O’Donnell had returned to the desk chair, but instead of taking a seat, he waited, hand on the back of his chair, until a light knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” O’Donnell called out.
Zack turned to find the shapely redhead enter the room. Her expression seemed fearful and her nervousness was evident in the way she twisted her hands. “Yes?”
“Miss Taylor, this gentleman is Deputy Matthews. He’s looking for Simone Irving, only her name might be Dumas. I didn’t want to show you this, but I saw it in Chicago,” Jeffery said, holding up the poster.
“Oh my!” Rachel exclaimed, her hand going to her throat.
“Do you think she looks like the Simone you had working here?”
Rachel nodded ever so slightly.
“Do you know where she is now?”
Rachel looked from Zack to Jeffery and back to the poster. Before she could reply, however, Jeffery spoke up.
“I told Deputy Matthews that she fled when I confronted her with the news. I thought perhaps Chicago might have been a nice destination for her. She had come down to Topeka from there, and it would seem reasonable that she return there.”
Rachel nodded, but Matthews could see that she was shaking from head to toe. Her dress quaked as she stood there before him, and for a moment he felt sorry for her. She was a sweet-looking woman, he decided. Her fiery hair and green eyes made him wonder if she had an Irish temper to match. But something seemed amiss between the two Harvey employees. Miss Taylor barely seemed capable of speech, while O’Donnell hardly seemed able to contain himself.
“I think that Chicago would be a truly perfect place to hide,” Jeffery was saying as Zack rethought his plan. “It’s such a large city. I live there, you know—raised there. My folks have a house—” “Look, if either of you have any idea where Simone Dumas could be, I’d appreciate your letting me know. I’m going to get a room up at The Throop Hotel. You can reach me there.”
Jeffery looked startled at the interruption but nodded. Miss Taylor looked as though she might pass out at any moment, and it was only after studying her face for several seconds that Zack remembered the sketch he had for her.
“Oh, by the way …” He pulled the alpaca coat up and reached into his back pocket. “I spoke to your mother in Chicago. While I was talking to her and sketching a new picture of Simone Dumas, she asked if I would sketch one of her to bring to you.”
He took out the paper and handed it to Rachel. For a moment, he thought the woman might actually burst into tears. She took the picture, held it up, and studied it with such intensity that Zack didn’t know quite what to do or say.
“This is very good,” Rachel finally whispered.
“She’s mighty proud of you,” Zack said, finally deciding it was the safest course. “She asked that I sketch you while I’m down here and bring it to her upon my return.”
“Oh, are you returning to Chicago, Mr. Matthews?” Jeffery asked. “I have to return to Chicago and I would be pleased to invite you as my guest.”
“No,” Zack said, a little more emphatically than he’d intended. “I’m not leaving. Not yet, anyway.”
He walked to the door of the office and stopped only long enough to look back at the two. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, Zack’s instincts just couldn’t nail it.
“I’ll be back a little later to see if any of the other girls might have an idea of where Miss Dumas might have gone.”
TWENTY-SIX
AFTER DAYS OF TRYING to size up the Topeka depot situation, Louis Dumas clearly had no better idea where his daughter was than when he’d first arrived. Matthews seemed to beat a path back and forth between a nearby hotel and the railroad depot restaurant, but Louis didn’t know if this was significant or simply that the man enjoyed the food.
And while Louis knew he looked nothing like the man in the Wanted poster, he could hardly just waltz up to Deputy Matthews and ask what purpose he had in Topeka. Time and a lack of knowledge added straw after straw to the proverbial camel’s back while Louis watched and waited. He felt a deep need to distance himself from this pesky young lawman, yet at the same time there was an almost fatal attraction. This man clearly had come to Topeka with Simone in mind, of this Louis was certain. After all, he had dogged their steps all the way from Wyoming. Remembering the determination in his voice when speaking to his father back in Laramie, Louis felt certain the younger man wasn’t about to give up the search. No, he’d see this thing through or die trying.
Yawning and stretching from his hiding place in one of the outbuildings near the depot, Louis tried to formulate a plan. For days he’d managed to dodge the rail yard guards, but he knew it couldn’t go on indefinitely. He didn’t have the kind of funds it would take to stay at a hotel like Matthews, and sooner or later someone would find him—and the issue of his living arrangements would have to be rethought.
He brushed the dirt and debris from his stolen coat and pants and ran his fingers through his black hair as if to comb it into place. Perhaps the time had come, he decided, to question a few people on his own. Of course, businessmen would hardly be inclined to give him the time of day, and neither would the saintly dressed young women of the Harvey Restaurant. His best bet would be the rail yard workers. They would be far more to his liking than anyone he could find inside the Harvey House, and he figured they would come closer to speaking his language than the uppity management of the railroad. Besides, Louis still had no idea what significance the Harvey House held—if any.
Cursing under his breath, he gathered his things together and decided to look like any other passenger when the morning train arrived at the depot. The sound of the whistle made it clear the time for action was upon him.
“I can’t give up now,” he muttered.
Casting a quick glance around, he darted out from the building and made his way to the depot platform. He easily blended in with the crowd, but when most of the folks went inside for breakfast, Louis waited around the tracks.
“You lost, mister?” a boy who looked to be around fifteen or sixteen questioned.
Louis eyed the young man for a moment. “Ain’t exactly lost, but I have lost someone.”
“Who’d that be?”
“My daughter. She’s about your age.”
“Ain’t no girls gonna come down here around the tracks. Too dirty and smelly for them female types.”
“Well, she ain’t exactly your regular girl. She might not mind the dirt or the smells.”
“She got a name?”
Louis nodded. “Simone.” The boy actually paled at the spoken word, and Louis knew he’d found the right place to start. “Have you seen her?”
“She a passenger?”
“No,” Louis said, watching the boy grow more fidgety. “She came here some time ago.”
“Why’d she come here?” the boy asked, as if testing Louis’s knowledge. “She ran away,” he answered bluntly. It was his only defense. “Her ma died and it made her sad.”
The boy seemed to consider this for a minute. “I don’t reckon I can tell you anything,” he said, then glanced down at the rail, shaking his head. “No, sir, I don’t know a thing.” He hurried off toward a group of men who were working on a separate line of tracks.
Louis knew the boy was lying, but he couldn’t figure out why.
What should it matter to the boy whether he told Louis where Simone was? Frustrated, Louis headed down the rails to where the group of men were working on switching out cars. The boy spoke to one of the men, then motioned ever so slightly as Louis approached them.
“Howdy,” Louis called in a nonchalant manner.
“Howdy, yorself,” an older man replied, stuffing a blue-and-white kerchief in the back pocket of his overalls. “What can I do for ya?”
“I just got into town,” Louis lied. “I’ve come in search of my daughter.”
“Your daughter? Why would ya be lookin’ for her down here?”
Louis shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure where to start. I’d heard she’d come to Topeka, and other than that I had no idea where I might find her.”
“Lots of folks come through and a good enough number stay,” the white-haired man related. By this time the other men had moved off down the track to where the engine of one train was being hooked up to the cars of another. “Wish I could help ya.”
Louis nodded and feigned a deep sorrow. “We’ve been parted for ever so long, and I just fear for her safety. She’s just a wee thing like her mother, God rest her soul.”
The older man removed his cap out of respect. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, it’s been ever so hard on us. Just me and my little Simone.”
“Simone? You don’t mean Miss Irving, do you?” the man questioned, his face suddenly lighting up.
Louis nodded. “Dark black hair and blue eyes. Stands about this tall.”
“Why, shore, I know the filly you’re talkin’ about. Why, she’s one of the best Harvey Girls in town. Works—or I should say, worked—in the restaurant right over there at the depot.”
“Worked? You don’t mean,” Louis paused to give the man a mournful expression, “she’s gone?” His voice cracked slightly from the dusty dryness, and Louis thought it lent a poignant air of longing.
“There, now, Father Irving,” the man said as though they were the best of friends. “She’s not gone far. Just about four hours south of here. Florence, to be exact. She’s working at the Harvey House there.” The man leaned closer. “Although not many folks know that. I don’t rightly know what gives, but they asked me to keep quiet about it.”
Louis again changed his expression. This time he beamed the man a smile and hoped he looked as excited and happy as a loving father might be at the thought of reuniting with his long-lost child. “Just four hours away. Oh, what glory!” Then he frowned and looked down at the dirt and rails. “But I’ve just spent my last dime coming this far. Now I’ll never find her.”
“Nonsense,” the man said with a sympathetic smile. “There’s a freighter what’ll take you right through to Florence. I work that train tonight. If you can wait that long, I’ll see you find a spot on it, although regular passengers ain’t allowed to ride on freighters—it’s against the rules. But the fact is, Miss Irving herself took a freighter down just a few days back.”
“What will I owe you for that?” Louis asked hesitantly.
“Not a penny,” the man replied. “I’m right happy to help put the two of you back together. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No,” Louis said, shaking his head. “I figured I’d just wait.”
The man dug into his pocket and came out with a handful of change. “It ain’t much, but it’ll get ya some grub. Now, the Harvey House is good eating, but if you have a mind to see the town, then I can suggest Home Bakery at Eighth and Kansas. They have a great meal for twenty cents. I can guarantee ya won’t go away hungry.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” Louis said, trying hard to maintain his role.
The man shoved the change into Louis’s hand. “Ain’t no imposition. You’ve raised a right good young woman. She was always kind and good tempered with us workin’ folk. Didn’t take on any airs. You should be proud.”
“Thank you.” Louis barely managed to force the words out of his mouth. The man made Simone sound like a pillar of the community—all sweetness and goodness. He didn’t need that. What he had in mind for Simone would require a more seductive nature.
“Pleased to help you, mister,” the man replied. “I’ll see ya back here tonight. Just come on over to that shed about nine,” he said, pointing. “I’ll be there.”
Louis nearly did a dance as he left the train yard. Tonight he would close the final distance between him and Simone! Jiggling the change in his hand, he headed up the street to Kansas Avenue, a path he’d taken in following Matthews. His luck was changing and he felt like celebrating.
“Say,” he questioned the first man he came across, “where can a fellow get a drink in this town?”
The man looked at him strangely for a moment. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Nope, just came in on the train,” Louis admitted.
The man nodded. “Well, that explains it. Kansas is a dry state. We don’t have a saloon here.”
“What?” Louis asked in surprise. “No liquor?”
“That’s right. Not a drop,” the man replied, then leaned closer. “Unless, of course, you have a prescription for it.”
“A prescription? You mean a fellow has to go to the doctor in order to get a bottle of whiskey?”
The shorter man pulled back and laughed. “That’s exactly right. Keeps most of the common folk from having the stuff, but every legislator in town is under a doctor’s care. If you get my meaning.” He walked off, laughing at his quip, leaving Louis to stare after him as though the man had gone mad.
“No whiskey,” he muttered. “What a brutal place.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
SOMEHOW KNOWING WITH certainty that she was a wanted woman caused Simone to cling to her freedom like never before. Once again sharing a room with Una at the Florence Harvey House and Clifton Hotel, Simone spent quiet, reflective moments long into the night while her friend jotted letters. It was as if seeing the Wanted posters and considering her own execution had caused a fight for life to rise up in Simone. The significance poured over her in a stunning way. She wanted to live—wanted to grow older, marry, bear children. For the first time in years, Simone yearned to open her heart up to love and happiness. But now it was too late. She felt suffocated at the thought that she would never be able to clear her name … and that ultimately she would be found guilty of murder.
During her first week in Florence, Simone had nearly gone to turn herself in to the law on a dozen different occasions. The waiting was killing her. She felt the need to constantly look over her shoulder when she was working, and at night when she was alone it was even worse. Even Una noticed her agitation, but Simone refused to share her secret. Jeffery and Rachel already knew, and that was more than enough. Dragging Una into the situation wouldn’t resolve anything.
I can’t deal with this anymore, she thought, lying on her bed in pensive silence. Immediately her mother’s voice seemed to echo through her mind.
“When all else fails, Simone, don’t forget the power of prayer.”
The power of prayer? Simone had always wondered about the suggestion that prayer held power. She had prayed so hard as a child that her mother’s misery would end—that her own misery could be finished. She thought of the child she’d been, offering up her tearful prayers of repentance, pleading with God to
show her forgiveness and give her a happy family. But it had never happened, and it was impossible for Simone to continue believing in a loving God who answered prayers when it was so clear that He wasn’t answering hers.
I suppose that was a selfish way to look at things, she surmised. But it seemed so accurate given the misery I suffered. If God is truly as powerful and loving as Mother always said, then why did He let us suffer so? She focused her eyes on the ceiling of the dimly lit room. Why, God? Why did you not hear my prayers? Why couldn’t you save me from the circumstance that would lead me to commit murder? You know in my heart I never intended to kill anyone. If you are all-knowing, then you realize even now that I never intended for Garvey Davis to die. I only wanted freedom. I only wanted to save myself from what he had in mind. God, nobody else was fighting for me. I had to fight for myself. Surely you know the truth in this.
Simone was startled to realize she was praying. After years of declaring it a useless act, and even going so far as to say God didn’t exist, here she was crying out to Him for answers.
Una finished her letter and yawned. “I’m ready for bed now. Do you need the candle?”
Simone shook her head. “No. I’m about to fall asleep.” This couldn’t be further from the truth, but Simone didn’t want to encourage her roommate’s conversation any further. With a nod, Una blew out the candle, leaving only the light of a nearly full moon to trail in through the window. Simone heard Una kneel beside her bed and could see her shadowy figure spend at least ten minutes in prayer on her knees. How could she be so confident that anyone listened? How could she hold on to the hope that God really cared when it seemed so clearly evident that He might not care at all?
When Una finished she got into her bed without a word, and within a few moments Simone could hear her deep, even breathing—a sure sign that the blond-haired woman had fallen asleep. As if waiting for this cue, Simone sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her chest. At least the heat and humidity had lessened. They were having what Una called a very dry autumn-summer. There was even some concern about drought, although folks were just as inclined to suggest waiting a spell for the weather to change. Kansas, they said, was notorious for such changes. One farmer even teased Simone about the weather, saying that just that morning he’d passed from his house to the barn traveling first in rain. He then left the barn to slop the hogs and found himself in a wind so fierce it nearly took off his clothes. Then leaving the pig shed to go check on his wheat, the farmer found himself in a snowstorm, and by the time he got back to the house, the sun was shining and the heat bearing down on him like a furnace. The other people at her table had laughed at this analogy, swearing it was nearly true. Simone had smiled, even laughed. She’d liked the gentle man and his teasing. How different he was from her father.
A Shelter of Hope Page 23
