“A fellow like you, and none of the girls are interested? Impossible.” Wallace shook his head. “So, what did you do? Place an ad?”
David ducked his head. It seemed too foolish to admit.
“You did, didn’t you?” Wallace slapped his shoulder again. “You really are a dreamer, aren’t you? What are the odds that you’ll find the right girl through the mail when you couldn’t find one in person?”
David stopped walking. “Do you really believe that? That there’s a right girl?”
Wallace paused too, considering. “Well, I don’t know about that exactly. I think a man could be happy with any number of girls as long as they were both willing to give it a shot, but their temperaments would have to match. Once in a while, though, in a great while . . .” He started walking again, and David hurried to catch up. “I didn’t think I’d ever love again after my wife died, but then Caroline came along, and it was like finding a piece of my soul I didn’t realize was missing.”
“And how did you meet her?”
“I stop in at the Brody Hotel in Topeka quite often on my route. They make the best cherry pie I’ve ever tasted. Well, turns out it’s Caroline’s recipe, so of course I had to marry her.”
David laughed. Anyone who knew Wallace for more than ten minutes knew about his great affection for cherry pie.
They reached the house and stomped the snow off their boots. None fresh had fallen, but there was plenty on the ground from the day before that had made the roads a mess.
“David!” Caroline greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad to see you. Come in. You must be freezing.”
“It is a bit cold out there,” David admitted as he pulled off his gloves and shoved them in his coat pocket.
“A bit? I felt the gust when you opened the door—it’s far more than just a bit.” Caroline gave her husband a kiss as well, then led the way to the dining room. “I have a roast on the table, fresh bread, and some hot coffee.”
“Perfect,” Wallace replied. “And while we eat, David can tell you all about his new adventure.”
Caroline turned her warm eyes on him. “Oh? What adventure is this?”
“It’s nothing, really,” David protested. Why had he even said anything?
“I’d say it’s quite an important something.” Wallace’s mustache twitched as he tried to hide a smile. “It seems he sent away for a mail-order bride.”
“He didn’t!” Caroline sat down in her chair with a thump. “David, whatever possessed you?”
“I’m starting to wonder what possessed me to tell anyone about it in the first place,” David replied. He shook his head. “I just want more out of my life—a family to come home to, a wife to talk to, children to play with.”
“I can understand that.” Caroline smiled at him, that kind, gentle smile that reminded him so much of his mother and made him feel that perhaps she was still watching over him. “It’s hard being on your own. Your parents have been gone for a number of years now, and you must be lonely.”
David swallowed. “I am. Thank you for understanding. Your husband here decided to tease me about it instead.”
“Wallace! You didn’t!”
The conductor set down his coffee cup. “I did, but you must understand, my dear, that it caught me completely by surprise. I never expected our levelheaded young friend to have done something so spontaneous and potentially foolish.”
“But he wouldn’t have chosen just any girl, would he?” Caroline turned back to David. “Would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Miss Waterford was the third girl to answer my ad, so it’s not like I chose the very first to cross my path, and she seems intelligent and well brought up. I just wish I knew where she was.”
Caroline tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, her telegram said she’d be on this train, but she wasn’t.”
“She’s coming so soon? And you didn’t give us time to help you get ready?” Caroline looked at him in astonishment. “Is your house clean? Do you have food in the kitchen?”
David laughed. “Yes, everything’s in order. I can manage a few things on my own, you know.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want her to be caught off guard when she gets here—I know how a man’s house can look when it hasn’t seen a woman for a while.” She cast a pointed glance at her husband.
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” He looked at her innocently.
“Never mind.” She turned her attention back to David. “I’m glad you’ve been working to make things nice for her. Now, you say she was supposed to be on this train? You’re sure you didn’t overlook her somehow?”
“I watched for her very carefully. She wasn’t there. No young woman appeared to be waiting for anyone or inquiring with the ticket master.”
“Then you must meet the next train. It comes in about two hours, doesn’t it, Wallace?”
He nodded. “Two hours and ten minutes, weather permitting.”
“I’ll be there,” David said. “I’m guessing that she missed a connection somewhere and had to catch the next one.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” Caroline picked up the coffee pot and refilled his mug. “In the meantime, get warmed up. If what I see through the window is any indication, we’re in for a storm.”
***
David stamped his feet and blew on his hands as he waited for the train to pull up to the platform. He’d arrived a little early just in case the train did too, but it had ended up being late.
Snow had begun to fall some ten minutes before, tiny ice crystals striking his cheeks and making this experience even more miserable. If the train didn’t arrive soon, he’d freeze to the ground where he stood and wouldn’t thaw until spring.
At last he heard the whistle of the train in the distance. He moved onto the platform and watched as the smoke from the stack curled up into the air, marking how close the locomotive was coming. As soon as it hissed to a stop and the people descended, he looked around carefully, watching for someone who could possibly be his bride.
And she wasn’t there.
He pulled the telegram from his pocket and read it over for probably the eighth time. Could he have misunderstood? Did she mean tomorrow and not today? No, it was perfectly clear, and she had failed to show up. Had she been taken ill? Was someone watching over her—would she be all right?
Or had she been playing him for a fool this entire time?
No, he didn’t want to think that. She deserved his good opinion until she actually did something to show otherwise. He would meet the next train, and the next, and if she had been taken ill, she would send another telegram. All would be explained, and all would be made right.
But telling himself this didn’t melt the knot of disappointment that had settled in his chest.
Chapter Three
“Girls, I’d like you to meet Camille Waterford.” Mrs. Brody stood at the head of the dining room table where all the waitresses had gathered for a morning meeting. “She’s our newest hire, and she doesn’t have much experience, so you’ll need to give her some pointers. Camille, because you’re still recovering, we’ll keep you on light duty today. You can help Ruth and Sarah dish out the plates in the kitchen.”
She indicated two young women with her head as she spoke, and Camille glanced over and nodded. Ruth and Sarah seemed kind—they were both pretty young women, as were all the waitresses here, and for a moment, she wondered if that was some sort of requirement. It was probably just a coincidence, she decided, and turned her attention back to Mrs. Brody.
“Grace, will you please show Camille up to the dormitory, and then make up the bed where she’s been sleeping? Giselle, I leave it to you to teach her the table numbers and how the serving assignments are made. Sarah, you’ll show her how the kitchen is set up and what constitutes a portion size. Camille, do you have any questions?”
Camille glanced around again at the large room and all the faces. “I’m sure I’ll have a million
of them, Mrs. Brody, but right now, I can’t think of a one.”
“Well, as they come to mind, be sure to ask. And please call me Elizabeth. It makes things so much less complicated.”
Camille blinked. “Are you sure?”
The woman laughed. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Now let’s get going with our morning work before the first train arrives. Grace, please take care of the bedroom situation immediately, then show Camille down to the kitchen.”
As Camille followed Grace up the staircase, she said, “Mrs. Brody—um, I mean, Elizabeth—doesn’t seem very old.”
“No, I think she’s just a few years older than we are. She and Mr. Brody are pretty much still newlyweds—you should see them make eyes at each other.”
Camille thought that over. Her parents hadn’t shown much affection toward each other, but it might have been nice if they did.
Grace led her down the hallway on the second floor and pointed out a door. “This leads up to the attic, where all the girls sleep. Don’t worry—it’s really comfortable, not what you’d think of an attic at all. Let’s get your things from the guest room and carry them up.”
Camille had packed up in a hurry when she left Kentucky and grabbed only as much as she could carry before the swarm descended on her house to take whatever they could find. She’d been told that her parents’ creditors now owned everything—the property, the house, the horses, and even the clothes on her back, but she couldn’t leave it all behind. She had to take at least two of her favorite books, and it was ridiculous to expect that she wouldn’t also take a few dresses. Surely they could spare her that much dignity—she’d had nothing to do with her parents’ debt. She shoved her things into her bag, trying not to remember everything that had happened over the last few months. She was getting a fresh start—dwelling on the past wouldn’t help her.
“Camille? Are you all right?”
She blinked back a few tears and then smiled. “I’m fine. All packed up and ready to see my new room.”
Grace led her back to the attic staircase and allowed her to go up first. The angle of these stairs was somewhat sharper than the ones that brought them up from the lobby, but Camille supposed she could get used to that.
When she emerged in the attic, she was surprised to see that the sloped ceiling was actually quite high and she could walk around without stooping. Beds lined the walls on either side, all of them neatly made, and each with a nightstand. Everything was clean and whitewashed, and smelled faintly of lavender.
“This is very nice,” she said. “Not at all what I expected.”
“Just as I told you. Now, these four beds here aren’t being used. Which would you like?”
Camille thought it over for a moment, then chose the one that gave her the best view toward the window. She took a moment to put her smaller things in the nightstand drawer, to hang her dresses on the nails on the wall, and to push her satchel under her bed. “All done. What now?”
“Now I’ll take you down to the kitchen.” Grace paused and looked at Camille’s dresses. “I’m seeing lots of pretty colors here. You only have the one dark one?”
“That’s right. Will I need more?” The black dress she had was made for her by the minister’s wife back home when it was discovered that she had nothing suitable for a funeral. It was stiff and uncomfortable, and Camille hated wearing it. But orphans had to wear black—it was a law or something, one that she had to obey.
“You’ll want at least one more . . . gracious. This looks like something my great-grandmother would wear. You wouldn’t be comfortable at all working in this.” Grace had lifted the hem of the black dress to examine it, and now she dropped it as though it had burned her. “Two dresses to start. It’s a must. You’ll be fine in the light blue you’re wearing for today, since you’ll be in the kitchen, but you’ll need either brown, dark blue, or black for serving in the dining room.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Camille replied, embarrassed to admit it. “I don’t have any money for new dresses.”
“That’s all right. We can lend you some of our extras until you can get yours made, and Mr. Brody will give you a little extra to buy the material.” Grace held up her hand before Camille could object. “He does that for all the new waitresses—there’s no need to feel beholden. It’s just part of what he does.”
“That’s so much more than I ever dreamed.” Not for the first time, Camille felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. How had she been so blessed to find these kind people to take her in?
“Everything about the Brody is going to be more than you expected,” Grace replied. “The only reason anyone ever leaves is to get married, and that happens a lot—you’d be surprised. In fact, Nancy Ann—the pretty brunette who was sitting straight across from you at the meeting—she’s getting married in about six weeks. I don’t think she’s leaving just yet, though. Her fiancé is building a little house for them and she’ll probably need her wages for a bit. And Sarah’s a newlywed—you might not guess it, but we’re just oozing with romance around here. Now come on downstairs—the first train will be here soon, and we need to get you ready.”
Sarah gave Camille a crisp white apron and then took her on a whirlwind tour of the kitchen, showing her where all the dishes and silverware were kept and then demonstrating how to dish up the food. “The waitresses will come in here and tell you what they need. You’ll place the food on their tray, and they’ll go serve it. We try to keep several of each thing dished up and waiting here on the counter so there’s not a delay when they come in. Our customers only have a few minutes to eat before they get back on the train, and if they were to miss it because of us, that would be dreadful.”
Camille could definitely see that.
She could hear the whistle of a train coming from outside just a moment later, along with the faint thundering of several pairs of feet. “What’s that?” she asked.
“The waitresses line up in the lobby to meet the customers and help them get situated in the dining room,” Sarah explained. “We don’t have to do that—our job is getting the food ready. Grab a stack of plates and start dishing up the pie like I showed you.”
Camille had no trouble with the first pie—Sarah had already taken out the first piece when she demonstrated how it was to be done. When it came to the second pie, however, the first piece fell apart when Camille lifted it from the tin.
“Just set that one to the side,” Ruth told her as she passed by with pans of corn bread. “One of the waitresses will have it for their lunch.”
Camille did as she was told, feeling terrible that she’d ruined something already. She’d only been on the job for a matter of a few minutes. She’d thought it would take longer than that to make her first mistake.
Sarah had ladled out several bowls of stew, and Ruth had the corn bread and the wheat bread ready to go when the first girl entered the kitchen. “Chicken and dumplings and cherry pie,” she said, looking at Camille expectantly.
Camille slid a plate of cherry pie onto the girl’s tray, then looked down the counter for the chicken and dumplings. Oh, there it was. She put that on the tray too and gave the girl a smile. “I’m sorry for being so slow.”
“It’s all right. You’re still learning where everything is.” Then she was off, and the next girl came in.
Tray after tray, order after order . . . Camille felt her head spin. It became worse when she ran out of pie that had already been cut and she had to dish out more while filling the orders. Ruth came to her side and helped her. That was good, but humiliating—she so badly wanted to do well, but it seemed impossible.
“Just keep slicing,” Ruth said, bringing out more and more plates and more and more pie.
“How many do you serve in one meal?” Camille asked, wiping her forehead with her wrist.
“Anywhere from fifty to a hundred, and we never know ahead of time.”
That was completely incomprehensible.
At last, things slowed down, and the d
ining room became still again. Camille leaned against the counter and exhaled loudly. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” she said.
“You did well,” Sarah told her. “And you’ll get used to it. That was one of our busier mealtimes—they’re not all like that.”
“And you’ve done all this cooking?” Camille waved her hand to indicate the whole kitchen.
“Ruth and I work on it together. We used to take shifts running the kitchen, but as we’ve gotten busier, that’s become a bit impossible. You don’t happen to cook, do you?” Sarah’s eyes were hopeful.
“I do, but nothing on so grand a scale. I think the most I’ve ever cooked for is ten people at once, and that was overwhelming enough.”
Sarah chuckled. “If we decide to make you a cook, we’ll work you into it gradually. But first, we clean up.”
The girls showed Camille everything that went into cleaning up after a meal shift—all the tables were stripped and then set up again with fresh linen, the dishes were brought into the kitchen and scraped, then washed, and fresh pies and breads were placed along the length of the counter. Sarah immediately went to work chopping up more beef for stew, and Ruth took risen bread dough from the shelf and asked Camille to help her punch it down and form loaves.
“You’re lucky this is your first day,” Ruth told her. “Tomorrow, we do laundry.”
Camille chuckled. “I can’t wait to see that.”
“We have it down to a pretty good system, but still, it’s a lot of work. We do the best we can to make it fun, though.”
The kitchen door to the outside opened, and a young woman with red hair entered. She carried a baby on her hip, but she appeared to be rather far along in a pregnancy as well. “Hello, ladies. How’s it going in here?”
Ruth wiped her hands on a towel and went over to take the baby. “Good. And how are you?”
The woman lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “I’m all right, but definitely ready to be done. Hello,” she said, turning her attention to Camille. “I’m Harriet. You must be Camille—I was told we were getting a new waitress.”
A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11) Page 2
