The Whisper of Morning
Kansas Crossroads Book Six
by Amelia C. Adams
Dedicated to those loved ones I’ve recently lost. I know we will see each other again.
***
I’d like to thank my daughter, C.C., for pointing me in the right direction with this story. I’d still be running around in circles if not for her.
My thanks also to author Bella Bowen for her invaluable perspectives and advice.
I’m grateful to my beta readers—Cissie, Debbie, Jennifer, Nancy, Mary, Meisje, and Stephanie. They did a great job on short notice. And as always, thanks to my street team, the world’s best cheerleaders!
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Topeka, Kansas
1875
Caroline Hampton stood on the wraparound porch of the Brody Hotel, taking a deep breath before starting her morning chores. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting pink and gold across the dusty landscape. She loved this time of day, these quiet moments before the town woke up and the other hotel employees began to bustle around. This was her time, an opportunity to gather her thoughts and organize her tasks in peace and quiet. Heaven knew, there wouldn’t be any peace or quiet for the remainder of the day. Once that first train rolled in, there would be nothing but chaos.
Abigail’s wedding the afternoon before had been beautiful, and now she and her husband, Deputy Hanks, were off to Wichita to start their new lives together. Caroline shook her head—another waitress lost to matrimony. There had been so much turnover since the hotel opened, it was hard to keep everyone straight. The addition of Margaret Smith brought them up to five currently employed waitresses, which was their minimum to be able to function, and a sixth would certainly be nice.
She paused—was she counting right? Elizabeth, Harriet, Rachel, Sarah, and now Margaret. The last three girls were all relatively new, and Margaret would start training that day. So much to be done. At times, it felt more than overwhelming.
A soft lowing sound caught her attention, and she looked up the road to see her nephew, Adam Brody, riding his horse toward the hotel, a cow moseying alongside him. He held her lead rope in his hand, and one would think that she might be encouraged to go a little faster, but she didn’t seem at all willing to discuss it. She plodded along, and Adam had to keep reining in his horse to match the cow’s pace.
“What on earth?” Caroline asked as soon as Adam was close enough to hear her.
He grinned. “I got a cow for the hotel.”
Caroline shook her head and met him in the side yard. “I can see that. But why?”
“We’re always running out of milk, and I thought this might save us some time and effort.”
“Time and effort? Adam, I can’t spare anyone to take care of that animal. I’ve been asking for a sixth waitress since we opened, and we’re lucky if we can keep five. They’re hopping every minute.”
“That’s already been taken care of. Tom’s agreed to add milking to his list of chores.”
“Tom has plenty enough to do without adding one more thing.” Caroline looked at the animal skeptically. “She looks a little peaked.”
“Probably because of the dry spell. But we’ll get her feeling better in no time.”
Tom came out of the barn just then, wiping his arm across his forehead and making his blond hair stick up like the bits of hay that clung to his shirt. “I’ve got the pen all ready.”
“Perfect. Let’s take her right in.”
Tom took the lead rope from Adam’s outstretched hand and gave it a good pull, urging the cow to move. She didn’t.
“Come on now, Bessie. That’s a good girl,” Adam encouraged.
“The cow’s name is Bessie?” Caroline asked, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong with Bessie? It’s a good name for a cow,” Adam replied.
“That’s what every farmer between here and the eastern seaboard thinks, so that’s why every cow is named Bessie.”
Adam grinned. “And what would you name her?”
“Oh, gracious, I don’t know. Who has time to be choosing names for cows? Especially ones that don’t do as they’re told?” She nodded toward the animal in question still digging into the ground and fighting Tom’s pull on the rope.
“If this were the most gentle, obedient cow ever to chew cud, and therefore worthy of a name, what name would you give her?” Adam held out his hand in a welcoming gesture. “I’m eager to hear it.”
Caroline sighed. Her nephew was in one of his moods again. Rather than becoming melancholy by turns, like other men did, he became jovial and loved to tease. She supposed it wasn’t a terrible trait, but it certainly was time consuming. “Mildred. Name the cow Mildred.”
“There now. That wasn’t so dreadful, was it?” Adam climbed down from his horse. “Tom, I know why she won’t budge. We’ve been calling her by the wrong name. Try Mildred.”
Tom shrugged. “Come on, Mildred. Come on, girl.” He tugged and pulled, and Adam slapped the cow’s rump, and yet she still wouldn’t move.
Caroline shook her head. “Good grief. Here, give the rope to me.” She strode over to Tom and held out her hand.
“Are you sure? Miss Hampton, she’s pretty strong.”
“And I’m pretty stubborn. The rope, if you please.”
He handed it over without another word.
Caroline pulled the rope tight and looked the animal in the eyes. “Mildred, come on.”
The cow obediently walked forward, and Caroline guided her into the new pen Tom had just partitioned off inside the barn.
“How did you do that?” Tom asked, his eyes wide. “That was amazing!”
Caroline lifted a shoulder. She hadn’t been at all sure it would work, but she didn’t need to admit that, did she? “You have to be ornerier than the cow.”
Adam laughed as she passed him on her way out of the barn. “Way to go, Aunt Caroline. I’m very impressed.”
“Well, if the day ever comes when you don’t need me at the hotel anymore, I’ll become a cowboy. Looks like I’ve found my new vocation.”
Adam’s laughter followed her inside the hotel.
***
Wallace Dupree took a seat at one of the many tables in the dining room, then glanced around. The place seemed nearly full this afternoon, but it didn’t appear that he’d need to share his table with anyone. That was how he liked it best—a few minutes to be as alone as one could be when one worked as the conductor on a train. He pulled a small volume of poetry from the pocket of his suitcoat and began to read. Within moments, he had blocked out the room, the hotel, and in fact, the entire world as he immersed himself in line after line of thought and verse.
When someone spoke his name, it was almost as if the sound had floated in from another sphere altogether.
“Mr. Dupree?”
He startled, then looked up into the soft blue eyes of Miss Caroline Hampton, Mr. Brody’s aunt and the manager of the hotel. His heart gave an involuntary thud at the sight of her, as it had so often of late. “Yes, Miss Hampton?”
&n
bsp; She smiled. “You must be reading something fascinating. I spoke your name three times.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Wallace felt his mustache twitch. “I do get carried away in my reading. Yes, these are Shakespeare’s sonnets. I’m reading the fiftieth now.”
Miss Hampton looked thoughtful. “‘How heavy do I journey on the way . . .’ Is that the one, or have I remembered incorrectly?”
“Well done, Miss Hampton. Your memory is remarkable.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that. I remembered that one in particular because I recall thinking how dreadful it would be to make such a long journey on horseback, as Shakespeare had done. And then I rode the train from New York to Topeka, and decided that must be even worse.”
Wallace raised an eyebrow. “You don’t care for train travel?”
“Not in the slightest. I don’t mean to offend—it has nothing to do with the conductors or any of the other people who work so hard on the railroad. It’s the constant noise, the dirt, the closeness of the air. I’d much rather take a buggy.”
He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in her reply. “I’m truly sorry to hear this, Miss Hampton. Trains are one of the finest of modern inventions—at least, in my opinion. The type of westward expansion we’re seeing now would never have been possible without trains, and look at the resources we’re discovering in the western reaches. Gold and lumber, just to name two.”
“I don’t disagree that the railroad has brought us many good things, Mr. Dupree. In fact, I’d love to discuss all this further, but your train just might leave without you if we don’t get you fed.” Her voice held a note of humor, and Wallace realized that many of the passengers were already eating. “What can I bring you?”
“Oh. I’m sorry—once again, I got carried away. How about a beef steak, some potatoes, and a slice of cherry pie? That is, as long as you made the pie, Miss Hampton. I’ve never had its equal.”
“Why, thank you. I did make it, and I’ll be sure you get an extra-generous piece.” She moved off toward the kitchen, and Wallace returned to his poem. He was glad he could bury his face in his book—speaking with Miss Hampton always brought pink to his cheeks.
“Here you are. And you’re in luck—this was the very last of the cherry.” Miss Hampton slid his dishes in front of him, and Wallace put his book back in his pocket before picking up his fork. He’d meant to thank Miss Hampton for being so quick, but she was already off on her next task. It was a wonder that she ever had time to stop and speak with him, but he always found himself glad when she did. Her insights and opinions were so different from his own that he’d often ponder them long after he got back on the train. Talking to her wasn’t unlike reading a new book that he’d never opened before.
Chapter Two
Caroline gave the new pot of beef stew a good stirring, then put the lid in place and stepped back from the fire. The summer heat made working in the kitchen nearly unbearable, and with each day that passed, she grew more eager for fall. Of course, she’d never experienced a Kansas winter and had no idea if it would be a welcome relief or bring struggles of its own. Perhaps she shouldn’t worry about it until it arrived.
She turned to the table where Agatha, Elizabeth’s mother, was hard at work mixing up a cake batter. Agatha had a magic touch with desserts, and while her main task was caring for small Rose while Elizabeth served in the dining room, she’d make six or seven cakes or pies a week. Those were always the first to disappear. It was flattering that Mr. Dupree preferred her cherry pie to anything Agatha made, and also surprising that he managed to stay so fit despite it.
“It doesn’t matter how many times you show me or how closely I follow the recipe, my orange cake never tastes like yours,” Caroline said, sitting down at the table and picking up a knife to chop the orange rind for the top of the cake. That was one thing she could probably do without ruining it.
Agatha smiled. “I suppose it’s just one of those things. My chocolate cake can’t compare with yours.”
“Gracious. That’s not true at all—your cake is delicious.”
“And yet, yours has something unique. It’s true what they say—you can tell the cook by the cake.”
“Who says that? I’ve never heard that expression.”
“I might have just made it up. But it’s true nonetheless.” Agatha began to pour the batter into the nearest prepared cake pan. “What’s troubling you, Caroline?”
Caroline was surprised at the question. How had Agatha known her thoughts were heavy today? But then, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Agatha’s wisdom was legendary around the hotel. “I’ve been thinking about the passage of time and how things change.”
“Feeling a little nostalgic after the wedding yesterday?”
“Nostalgic and maybe a little bit melancholy. When I was a child, it seemed as though the world turned so slowly. Christmas simply never came, and there were decades between birthdays. People lived and died in the same houses where they’d been born. You knew your neighbors and you married your schoolmates, and everything had routine and order. Now, everything’s topsy-turvy. People pick up and move across the country, time is flying like one of those steam locomotives, and nothing seems permanent anymore. To make matters worse, my waitresses keep getting married. Thank goodness Margaret came along to fill in for Abigail.”
“How did Margaret do today?” Agatha asked as she sprinkled walnuts on top of the batter.
“Very well. She’s a fast learner, and very agreeable. Of course, it helps that we came to know her before we put her in the dining room. Friendship does make working together easier.”
“That’s very true.” Agatha slid the cakes into the oven, then came back to the table and sat down across from Caroline. “We strayed from your original thoughts. You were talking about life’s many changes, and it sounded to me like you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by it all.”
“Overwhelmed, and perhaps left behind.”
Agatha looked surprised. “But didn’t you just move across the country yourself? How were you left behind?”
Caroline smiled, feeling rueful. “I know I sound a little petulant, but yes, when I see the girls embark on their new journeys, I feel as though I’m missing something. I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing in deciding to remain unmarried. I can’t imagine who I would have chosen, though—the men who were interested in me as a wife weren’t at all interested in what I had to say or what I thought. But every so often, I wonder what it would have been like to be swept off my feet by someone dashing and daring.”
“You make him sound like a pirate,” Agatha said with a chuckle.
“There is something rather attractive about the idea of a pirate, don’t you think?”
Agatha kept chuckling, and that chuckle turned into a cough. Caroline rose and fetched a glass of water, and Agatha took a few sips before the coughing subsided.
“I’m sorry. My throat was a little dry, but I’m better now.”
Caroline took a closer look at Agatha’s face. She seemed paler than she had before. “Are you sure? How do your lungs feel?”
Agatha waved her off. “It’s been months since I’ve had trouble with my lungs. Don’t you worry about me.”
“Why don’t you go rest? I’ll be here in the kitchen for another hour or two, if you’d like me to take the cakes out of the oven for you.”
Agatha looked like she was about to argue, but then she nodded. “All right. That’s probably for the best. Thank you.”
Caroline watched Agatha head out of the kitchen, then pulled her largest bowl off the shelf. The way they went through bread in this hotel, it was a miracle she didn’t spend every waking minute up to her elbows in dough.
***
Kansas City
Wallace looked up from his book and noticed how low the fire in his boardinghouse room had become. Once again, he’d lost himself in reading and stayed up too late. Regina would have sent him to bed hours ago, but with her gone, it was far too ea
sy to immerse himself in words and not come up until his eyes stung with fatigue.
As he banked the fire for the night, he thought over a line in the poem he’d just read. In all external grace you have some part. Miss Hampton’s face had come to his mind as he read, and it stayed there still. Why?
He mulled that over while he washed his face and brushed his teeth.
That woman had come into his life like a cooling breeze on a hot summer day, refreshing and needed. He looked forward to his stops in Topeka from the moment he stepped on the train at the start of his shift.
He wasn’t able to go into the Brody every time the train stopped there. Sometimes there would be an issue with the engine or a ticket payment dispute or some other thing that he needed to clear up. But on the days when he could, he’d take his meal inside the hotel, and he’d catch glimpses of the beautiful Miss Hampton. And sometimes, far too infrequently for his tastes, he’d have the opportunity to speak with her. Like today.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that made her so enticing. She was lovely, no doubt. She was also cultured, refined. He could picture the two of them sitting together by the fireplace, each immersed in a book, pausing to share an intriguing tidbit. He could also picture what it would be like to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, her soft eyes looking up at him trustingly.
And that was exactly what troubled him.
He shook his head. He had no right to be thinking things like this. What could he offer her besides a small, humble house and nights alone when he was on shift? Here he was, spending the night in a boardinghouse in Kansas City, his home away from home. This suited him now, as unattached as he was, but this would hardly be fair to a wife. His living was meager, and he wasn’t the dashing type he imagined she’d always dreamed of marrying. How could he fool himself into thinking she could ever be interested in him?
But how would he know if he didn’t give it a try?
He sat up, thumped his pillow, and lay down again, but it didn’t help. His brain wouldn’t stop churning the idea over and over. Surely no harm would come from asking if he could call on her. A few evenings sitting in the parlor, maybe a stroll or a buggy ride, and then he’d know if this was worth pursuing. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be time entirely wasted—she was pleasant to talk to, and if nothing else, they would have shared some interesting opinions. This could be as simple as two friends discussing a book or a newspaper article.
The Whisper of Morning (Kansas Crossroads Book 6) Page 1
