A New Beginning

by Amelia C. Adams

  Caroline was a beautiful woman—Adam had always thought so. Of course, she resembled his mother, who had been truly lovely. It was no wonder to him that Mr. Dupree was showing interest. However, his protective nature made him wonder if he should be investigating this conductor, maybe asking the station manager his opinion. He would feel terrible if his aunt’s heart were to be broken.

  Then he shook his head. He had no reason to worry—this was a dining room. Of course a customer would want to speak to the cook—he was most likely letting his imagination run loose.

  The girls were just cleaning up the last bits of dinner when Adam decided he need to step outside for a moment. The air inside had become a bit warm, and he wondered about opening a few windows to allow a breeze. The dust was never predictable, however, and he didn’t like the idea of ruining a white tablecloth or even someone’s bowl of soup if there should be an unexpected gust.

  He stood on the porch for a minute and breathed in the early evening air. Maybe he could make a home for himself in Topeka, feel like he belonged here instead of being an outsider. That was something he missed about his old life, back when he had friends and acquaintances.

  Suddenly, a cry caught his attention, and he looked up to see an older woman running toward the hotel, clutching a bundle in her arms. He stepped through the gate and caught her just as she collapsed.

  “Madam, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  “I need . . . to find my daughter.”

  “What’s your daughter’s name? May I help?”

  “Her name is Elizabeth Caldwell,” the woman said. “Our . . . our house is on fire.”

  Panic seized Adam’s chest. “On fire?”

  She nodded.

  “Tom!” Adam nearly screamed, and Tom came running around the corner of the building.

  “Ride out to the Caldwells’. Take whatever men you can find. Their house is on fire. But first, go inside and tell Miss Caldwell to come out. ”

  Tom nodded and ran up the porch steps.

  “Did you tell anyone else?” Adam asked, still holding the woman upright by her elbows. She held her bundle tightly and wouldn’t loosen it.

  “A few men as I came here. I believe you’re Mr. Brody?” She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

  “I am, and you must be the woman who made me the most delectable cake I’ve ever eaten.” Maybe she’d be able to regain her breath if he kept the conversation light. He maneuvered the woman through the gate and led her up to the hotel. She made it as far as the steps before her knees gave out, and she sat heavily.

  Adam wondered what was keeping Elizabeth as he sat next to the woman on the steps. “Mrs. Caldwell, tell me more about the fire. Was it a cooking accident?”

  She shook her head. “I heard two men laughing outside, and then the shattering of glass. They threw a torch through our window.”

  “Were they the ones who have been bothering Miss Caldwell?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw those men. But these two were making ribald comments, and I imagine they would be the same ones.”

  Just then, the bundle in her arms began to move. Adam startled. He’d been expecting a pile of clothing, perhaps a few family heirlooms, but not a living thing. He was even more surprised when a tiny hand poked out of the blankets.

  “Mrs. Caldwell, I . . .”

  “Mother!” Elizabeth ran through the front door and fell to her knees on the porch, gathering the woman and the tiny child into her arms. “Are you hurt?”

  “We’re fine. We’re both just fine.” Mrs. Caldwell returned her daughter’s hug with her free arm. “It’s all right.”

  Elizabeth buried her head in the woman’s shoulder, her hand clutching the infant’s, and sobbed. Adam felt completely bewildered—he had no idea what was going on.

  “Mrs. Caldwell, would you like to come inside?” he said after a long moment.

  “Her name isn’t Mrs. Caldwell.” Elizabeth raised her head and wiped at her tears. “Mr. Brody, I need to speak with you.”

  “Yes, I think that would be wise.” Adam stood and helped Elizabeth’s mother, whatever her name might be, into the hotel, her curious bundle still held snugly in her arms. He asked Caroline to fetch some cool water and something to eat for their guest, and then he followed Elizabeth into his office.

  * * *

  Elizabeth’s knees were trembling so badly, she thought she might fall over right there on the rug. Her house was on fire, but thank goodness her mother and baby had made it out safely, and Tom had assured her he’d do everything he could to save her home. She had no idea how severe the damage would be, but she feared that the even greater damage would be to her new relationship with Mr. Brody if she didn’t take this opportunity to explain things to him. She trusted Tom to see to her meager belongings—she was the only one who could salvage this situation.

  “Please sit down, Miss Caldwell. I don’t think you can stand upright another moment.”

  Elizabeth didn’t feel as though she deserved a chair, but he was right—she needed to sit. She sank down gratefully, wondering what to say, how to begin.

  “You said your mother’s name isn’t Mrs. Caldwell.” Mr. Brody took a seat behind his desk. She hated this separation between them, but she supposed it was necessary.

  “That’s right.” She clenched her hands into fists. They wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter what she did. It was the moment of truth—or consequences. “Caldwell is my married name. I was widowed a short time ago.”

  Mr. Brody reared back in his chair, his surprise evident on his face. “Widowed?”

  “Yes, sir. And the child you saw is my daughter.”

  He pressed his lips together. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling other than that. Had she ruined everything by not telling him the truth sooner? How could he trust her when she’d kept such a large secret from him?

  “What is her name?”

  Elizabeth blinked. “Sir?”

  “Your daughter’s name. What is it?”

  She hadn’t expected this question at all. “Rose, sir. She’s two months old.”

  Mr. Brody studied the desk in front of him. “Tell me about your husband, Elizabeth.”

  It was the first time she’d heard him say her name, and it flowed through her like hot coffee. “His name was George Caldwell. His parents and mine were friends back in New York, and we met at a party.” Just saying the words, she could see it all in her mind’s eye—the flowers, the colors, the music. She’d worn a blue satin dress, and she’d danced with more partners than she could count. “He asked me to dance midway through the evening, and he captured my heart nearly from that moment.”

  She saw Mr. Brody flinch, and she hurried on. “His father was a rather harsh man, and he wanted George to go into the family business with him. George refused, saying he’d rather live on his own terms than to do anything his father asked. When the opportunity came for him to come west and work for the railroad, he took it, and he asked me to marry him and come with him. I was flattered, naturally, and said yes. It was a very quick event, little more than just a few friends in my parents’ parlor, and then we were off on our grand adventure—which turned out to be not very grand after all.”

  She paused, not wanting to relive the next part of her story. Mr. Brody seemed to understand that, for he waited quietly.

  “George became very irresponsible once he was no longer in his father’s sight. He rebelled against everything he’d been taught and took up drinking and gambling. He was a completely different man from the one I’d married. He’d often come home after losing a card game and strike me.” Her voice trembled as she tried not to remember that hand coming across her face, the breath-stealing blows. “When . . . when I learned Rose was on the way . . . he became less physically violent, but he rarely had a kind word for me. He lost all his money at the gambling tables, blamed me for being bad luck, and he told me on more than one occasion that he should ship me back to my mother. I often wis
hed he would.”

  Mr. Brody shifted in his seat. Elizabeth hadn’t moved at all—her muscles felt rigid, as though any gesture would somehow make things worse.

  “One night, he came out of the saloon rather late. He was drunk, and he mistakenly mounted the wrong horse. The horse’s owner thought he was trying to steal his animal, and he shot George as he rode away. It was a senseless death, a ridiculous end to a life that could have been redeemed if only he’d wanted to change. My mother, who was a widow, was now living with her brother, came out to be with me, and Rose joined us shortly after. We’ve been casting around a bit, trying to decide what we should do from here on out. My mother was left destitute by my father’s business partner, I was left friendless, and it seemed we had no other choice but to send me to work.”

  Elizabeth looked down at her hands and realized she’d twisted them so hard, they were now red. She forced herself to straighten her fingers and waited for Mr. Brody to speak. His eyes were on the desk, and she wished he would meet her gaze. Her greatest fear was that he would reject her, just as her friends had, and she couldn’t bear to lose him. Not now—not when so many possibilities lay before them, not when they might both be able to find the happiness they thought they’d lost forever.

  When Mr. Brody finally did speak, his voice was low. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “You were looking for single young ladies from a respectable background. I had learned . . . someone had mentioned . . . that perhaps Rose would make me seem less respectable. I needed this job, Mr. Brody. There was nothing else available, nothing else I could do, and I’m responsible for both my mother and my daughter.” She was desperate for him to understand, and despite her resolve to stay calm, that desperation crept into her voice. “Please, sir, don’t be angry.”

  In a flash, he was around the desk and had taken her hands. “Angry? How could I be angry?” He looked into her eyes, searching them. “Did you think I’d have no compassion for you? That I’d turn you out and let you fend for yourself?” She was surprised to see moisture on his cheeks. “I would never have done that, Elizabeth. Never. I may have a temper, but I’m not a hard man.”

  “I know that now,” she whispered. “But how could I have known . . .?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose you couldn’t have known when we first met. And then you had to protect Rose and your mother . . .” His voice trailed off, and he leaned against the desk. “I understand. All of it. And there’s nothing to forgive—don’t even dream of asking me again. Your daughter and your mother are your first concern, and you did everything you could to see to their welfare. I admire you more now than I did yesterday, and you must understand, my dear Miss Caldwell, how very much that already was.”

  Her eyes flew to meet his. “Really, sir?”

  “Really. Although, I must say something.”

  “What is that?” Knowing he wasn’t angry, she could take almost anything.

  “If you persist in calling me ‘sir,’ I’ll have to kiss the word right off your mouth.”

  Her heart leaped inside her, and she couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. “Is that so?”

  “I’m afraid it is, Miss Caldwell.”

  She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Sir.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I said ‘sir.”

  He leaped from the desk in mock alarm. “Young lady, you shall have to be taught a lesson.” He reached down, took her by the elbows, and lifted her up into his arms. He studied her eyes for a breathless moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and yet firm, and she felt as though she could lose herself in that embrace forever. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her closer. She ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, those little curls that always showed up when his neck became damp.

  After a long, perfect minute, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again. “I was wrong, Elizabeth. I was wrong to tell you I needed time to heal—you have healed me. I love you, and you need to hear those words from me. You will never be alone again, unless you want to be. Do you want to be?”

  “No, sir,” she whispered, her fingers still caught up in the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “You minx.” He kissed her again, and this time, he didn’t step back until a knock sounded at his office door.

  “This conversation isn’t over,” he whispered as he straightened his suitcoat and ran a hand through his hair. Then he turned. “Come in.”

  Miss Hampton stuck her head in the room. Elizabeth was sure her beating heart was visible—couldn’t everyone tell how erratic her breathing had become? “Mr. Wyatt Earp to see you, Adam.”

  “Good. Send him in, please.” Mr. Brody walked over to the door and greeted the newcomer, a man who walked with confidence into the room.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brody. My office received your telegram, and they were able to relay your message to me. It sounds like I’m here right on time.”

  “Yes, I believe you are. This is Elizabeth Caldwell. Her house was burned down just today by the two men who have been harassing her. We’re awaiting a report from the men who went to put out that fire.”

  “Do you have any witnesses to this arson?” Mr. Earp asked.

  “Yes. Miss Caldwell’s mother was present in the home.” Mr. Brody looked out the door, and Elizabeth heard him say, “Aunt Caroline, could you please ask Miss Caldwell’s mother to step into my office?”

  A moment later, Agatha entered, carrying a sleeping Rose. Elizabeth immediately took the child, grateful that she could finally lay claim to her baby in public. She’d hated the subterfuge, the secrecy, feeling like she ought to be ashamed for having a child.

  “Miss Hampton gave me some milk for her,” Agatha whispered. “She should be nice and full.”

  Elizabeth nodded, snuggling the baby close while Agatha turned her attention to Mr. Earp.

  “What is your name, ma’am?”

  “Agatha Early, sir.”

  Mr. Earp motioned for her to be seated. “Tell me what happened today, Mrs. Early.”

  Agatha took a deep breath. “I was rocking the baby to sleep when I heard loud voices outside. They were saying awful things, things I won’t repeat. Then they threw a torch through the window, and it caught almost immediately. I wrapped a blanket around the baby and ran outside. Thankfully, the men were no longer there, and I came here to the hotel for help.”

  Mr. Earp nodded. “The city marshal tells me you’ve had trouble with these men before, and you think they’re the men I’ve been hunting.”

  “We believe so, yes, sir,” Elizabeth replied.

  Mr. Earp reached into his suitcoat pocket and pulled out some photographs. “Are these the men who have been bothering you, Miss Caldwell?”

  Elizabeth took the pictures from him. Even without close examination, she could tell that they were indeed the same men. “They are.”

  He turned to Agatha. “Did you see the men who started the fire, Mrs. Early? Can you identify them?”

  “I caught the faintest glimpse of one. But there he is.” She indicated the picture.

  “Thank you, ladies. You’ve been very helpful. The marshal and I will be conducting a very thorough search of the area. We will find these men and bring them to justice. Thank you for contacting me, Mr. Brody. I’ll be in touch.” He paused. “This is a hotel, correct? Do you have a room where I could stay while I’m in town?”

  “We certainly do.” Mr. Brody led Mr. Earp out to the lobby and turned him over to Miss Hampton. Elizabeth smiled as she heard Miss Hampton assign Mr. Earp a room number and give him his key.

  Mr. Brody stepped back into the room a moment later. “Mrs. Early, you look exhausted, if you don’t mind my saying so. May I please offer you a room where you can rest and refresh yourself?”

  Agatha stood and gathered her shawl more closely around her shoulders. “I would appreciate that very much, M
r. Brody.”

  “I’ll turn you back over to the very good care of my aunt.” He led her out to the lobby, and then returned again.

  He closed the door, then walked over to the chair where Elizabeth sat. “May I?” He gestured toward Rose.

  “You’d like to hold her?” Elizabeth questioned, sure she’d misunderstood.

  “Yes, please.”

  She nodded and held the baby toward him. He took the sleeping infant as tenderly as though she were made of spun sugar and cradled her to his chest. “She’s so tiny, and so perfect,” he whispered.

  Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes as she watched him hold her daughter. She’d only thought she loved him before, but now, seeing him gaze upon her child with such adoration, seeing the hands that had scrubbed floors and shot guns and stroked her hair now cradling a sleeping baby, she couldn’t hold back her feelings, and her chest expanded as her heart filled with overwhelming emotion.

  “So your name was Elizabeth Early,” he said, not turning to look at her. His eyes were still fastened on the baby.

  “That’s right.”

  “I believe we need to resolve this matter of names,” he said. “I don’t care for Elizabeth Early, nor do I care for Elizabeth Caldwell. There is only one name I like, and that is Elizabeth Brody. For that matter, I like Rose Brody as well. What do you say?”

  “I—I think those are wonderful names,” Elizabeth said, barely able to speak. Could this really be happening? Was this really her life, after everything she’d gone through?

  “And another thing,” he said, turning to face her. “Do you suppose you could call me Adam? It’s high time, you know.”

  “Yes, I can do that, Adam.” Elizabeth stood up and tucked in a corner of Rose’s blanket that had fallen loose. “Right now, though, I think I’d rather call you sir.”

  Adam chuckled, scooped her up in the arm that wasn’t holding the baby, and pressed her to his side, giving her a kiss that made the first two seem like nothing.

  * * *

  “I can hardly believe it,” Agatha said for the second time, her eyes shining. “He wants to marry you? He wants to raise Rose as his own?”