“I see all of your books have been moved over.” Is that what had kept her from joining him for breakfast and lunch? Or had she merely used it as an excuse to ignore him after yesterday’s discussion?
“Yes.” She looked around, her pleasure evident. “Daisy’s already added three more tables to her establishment so it’s working out well all the way around.”
“But your books are just stacked on the floor.” He was pleased to see she seemed as friendly as ever.
“I know.” She appeared entirely unconcerned by the lack of order. “I’ll organize them as I have time. Since I had more books than the space allowed for, many of the books were shelved two deep. I have more space here but not additional bookcases so I’ll need to improvise at first. I’m thinking about using some of the tables we just took out of the dining room as makeshift bookshelves for now.” She shot a questioning look his way, as if uncertain he’d agree.
“I don’t see a problem with that. When do you plan to open it up to the public?”
“Not until I get everything organized. But the word is already getting around that I’ve moved the books here and if anyone really wants to get a book I won’t turn them away.”
He rubbed his jaw, studying the chaos around them. “Once you’re set, you might think about training Darby on what to do in case a patron comes along while you’re busy elsewhere.”
She graced him with a dazzling smile. “What a splendid idea. I’ll talk to him about it today.”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “But for right now, I snitched a bite to eat at Daisy’s earlier but I’m hungry again. I think I’m going to head to the dining room and order a piece of Della’s apple pie and a cup of coffee. Care to join me?”
Feeling that all was right with the world again, Seth swept a hand out for her to precede him. “Lead the way.”
He refused to dwell on just why his day felt suddenly brighter.
* * *
After lunch on Sunday, Seth returned to the hotel. Strange to think this was only the second time he’d joined the group for their Sunday gathering and already he felt a genuine sense of camaraderie with them.
When he’d first entered the restaurant this afternoon, he’d immediately noticed how much bigger the space felt without the library anchoring one end of the room. To his way of thinking, though, what the restaurant had gained in additional customer tables, it had lost in atmosphere. It felt to him as if the restaurant had lost something that had made it special, had set it apart from other restaurants he’d frequented.
Then again, the restaurant’s loss was now the hotel’s gain.
He entered the hotel lobby feeling restless. He needed something to do, something to occupy both his mind and his hands.
He nodded to Darby, who was seated behind the front counter. “What’s that you have there?”
Darby lifted the book he’d been reading. “It’s one of Mr. Twain’s books, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Miss Abigail said I could borrow any book from her library to read when we’re not busy.” He gave Seth an encouraging look. “I reckon she’d let you do the same. There’s some mighty fine stories in her collection.”
“I’m sure there are.” Reading didn’t interest him at the moment—it was too passive an activity for his mood.
Miss Fulton really was very good with the staff, though. She managed to keep them on task but personally content at the same time. He still didn’t agree with her philosophy of being friends as well as management to them, but she seemed able to pull it off—or at least had so far.
He was afraid one day, though, she’d have to choose between the two roles. How she handled things then would prove if she truly did have what it took to become a hotel manager. Not that anything she did would sway him. The job had to go to Michelson.
His future depended on it, hers did not.
Seth restlessly made his way to the new wing, walking through the entire area, floor by floor, room by room, making mental notes of things he wanted to ask Walter Hendricks about when the builder showed up with his sons the next day.
They were making progress but there was still much to be done.
He spotted the pile of lumber scraps left over from the prior day’s work, noting how much waste there was and judging it acceptable. One piece in particular caught his eye. It was a nice-sized piece, rectangular in shape and fairly smooth. Why had it been tossed aside? He picked it up and turned it over and discovered a crack on one side that hadn’t been visible on the other. Hendricks had been right to discard it—the piece wouldn’t have held up for construction purposes. Still, he remembered how his father, a cabinet maker, had told him to always look for ways to find the beauty in the broken pieces, how one should never be too quick to discard something simply because it didn’t fit the purpose of the moment.
He carried the damaged board to the worktable, studying it, remembering the way his father had created such beautiful things from wood.
And an idea took shape...
* * *
Abigail entered the hotel lobby Monday morning eager to get started on a new week of progress. Darby was already behind the front desk and she offered him a cheery greeting. But what caught her attention was something mounted above the library door. It was a wooden sign, rectangular in shape with rounded corners. It had been painted a soft rose color and outlined in green and gold. In the center, in bold gilt lettering, were the words Abigail’s Library. The colors were a perfect complement for the decor she was planning and the lettering was beautifully rendered.
What a thoughtful thing for Mr. Hendricks to do. She hadn’t realized he even knew about her library. Then again, perhaps it had been Calvin. He borrowed books occasionally.
She turned to Darby. “Do you know where Mr. Hendricks is? I want to thank him for the sign.”
“I think he’s up on the second floor of the new wing. But I believe it’s Mr. Reynolds you’re going to want to be thanking.”
“Mr. Reynolds?” She turned to study the sign, more enchanted than before by the perfection of the colors, the exactness of the lines, the crispness of the lettering. It was truly the most beautiful sign she’d ever seen.
“Yes, ma’am. I saw him give that sign to Mr. Hendricks this morning and tell him exactly where to hang it. He was right picky about making sure it was hung just right. I got the idea he painted it himself, too.”
He’d done this for her? “Thank you, Darby, that’s good to know.”
Abigail headed for the office, a feeling of buoyancy lightening her steps. She found Mr. Reynolds bent over the worktable, studying a set of blueprints.
She paused on the threshold, suddenly shy. A moment later he looked up and gave her a polite smile. Had Darby been mistaken about his making the sign? Or had she read too much in to his gesture?
“Good morning, Miss Fulton. Is there something I can do for you?”
She realized she still stood at the threshold, staring at him. Crossing to the worktable, she smiled. “Good morning. I understand I have you to thank for that sign over my library door. It’s quite lovely.”
He looked slightly uncomfortable and waved a hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. I found a nice piece of scrap lumber and thought this would be a good way to have a practical look at the color scheme you selected.”
“Oh.” Not exactly flattering. Then she rallied. “Well, whatever the reason, it was a thoughtful gesture. Thank you.”
He nodded and then turned back to the blueprint.
“Is there a problem with the plans?” Abigail moved closer.
“Not a problem, exactly.” He waved a hand over the blueprints. “The plans, as they stand now, include the addition of a dumbwaiter that goes from the kitchen to the upper floors.”
She nodded, trying to make sense of the drawing. “Mr. Crandall to
ld me about that. He was quite proud of the addition, seeing it as a better way to get the food to those folks who want to take their meals in their rooms.”
Then she frowned. “Surely you aren’t thinking about doing away with it?”
“No. In fact, Mr. Hendricks has already started work on it.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve just been trying to figure out if we could do the same thing on a much larger scale.”
“Larger scale?”
“I think it would be a great benefit if we could include an elevator in the new wing. I’m just trying to figure out if it could be done without impacting the project schedule.”
“An elevator? What a marvelous idea.”
He nodded. “It would make transporting heavy trunks to the upper floors easier. Not to mention be a benefit to those guests who have trouble negotiating stairs, such as the elderly and infirm.”
Her mind went immediately to his limp. No wonder he’d come up with the idea—he could so easily empathize with those who’d get the most use from it. Not that he hadn’t managed the stairs quite well since he’d arrived.
She frowned, wishing she was better able to decipher the plans he was studying so critically. “But if it wasn’t in the original design, is there even space for it?”
He nodded and pointed to a section on the blueprint. “See here? If we do away with this storage room on the first floor, and shorten the corridors here, and build the walls out slightly on the second and third floors, I think we can squeeze in a nice-sized elevator.”
That seemed a lot of ifs. “And the budget?”
“It will require extra funds, but I think if I explain to Judge Madison what I want to do, he’ll be open to covering the costs. He likes to install practical, modern touches in his properties when possible.”
“Then it sounds as if this is something you really should do. It could provide major benefits to our guests and staff. And it would give the hotel the added cachet of being the first building in Turnabout to include an elevator.”
He frowned. “As I said, there’s the matter of the schedule to consider.”
“I’m sure, even if it adds a few extra weeks to the schedule, Judge Madison will understand.”
Mr. Reynolds stiffened slightly. “Actually, the Christmas deadline is important to me personally.”
“Oh?” Why would that be? Did he have important Christmas plans? Someone back in Philadelphia he wanted to spend the holiday with?
When he didn’t elaborate further, she tried to tamp down her curiosity and move on. “Well then, we’ll just have to make certain we put in the extra effort to ensure it all gets done on time.”
He raised a brow. “We?”
“Of course. I’m part of this team, too, remember?” Then she paused. “Have you spoken to Mr. Hendricks about this yet?”
He shook his head. “I’ve only just figured out how we might be able to make it work in the current design.”
“Do you expect Mr. Hendricks to install the elevator? That might be outside his expertise.”
He rolled up the plans. “I’ve had elevators installed on other projects I’ve worked on. The company who supplies the materials and engineering usually provides experts to do the installation as well.”
“Then it seems to me you should speak to Mr. Hendricks right away to get his opinion on the impact to his construction progress. That way you can gauge the impact on your work schedule.”
“Actually, the first thing I need to do is to contact the elevator company. It takes time to get the necessary equipment, materials and workmen lined up.”
He set aside the plans and moved to his desk. “So if you’ll excuse me I’ll get busy drafting the telegram.”
“Of course.” She hesitated a moment, then spoke up again. “If you don’t mind, though, I do have a favor to ask.”
He paused and turned to face her. “And what might that be?”
“Sometime, when you have a moment, would you teach me how to read those blueprints?”
His brow furrowed. “Whatever for?”
“So I’ll understand what I’m looking at the next time we have a discussion like this.”
He studied her curiously for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. Perhaps after lunch, if that fits your schedule?”
“Yes, thank you.” And before he could change her mind, she grabbed her victory and left the room.
* * *
The next few days found the two of them settling into a routine of sorts. To Abigail’s relief, Mr. Reynolds seemed to accept that she was competent enough to do the job the judge had assigned her.
She measured walls, floors and windows so that she could plan the furnishings accordingly. Determined to make as few mistakes as possible, she took the measurements multiple times. Finally Mr. Reynolds showed her how to set up scale drawings to make it easier for her to play with different configurations.
Abigail also got in the habit of meeting with the staff every morning when she came in, making sure they understood their priorities for the day, listening to any problems or concerns they wanted to bring up and encouraging them to make suggestions on how to improve service. After all, she figured if she wanted to earn the job of hotel manager, it was important that she get the staff’s perspective on the inner workings of the hotel as well.
But no matter what else she had going on, Abigail tried to join Mr. Reynolds for lunch and breakfast whenever possible. She found it to be the best time to speak to him when he wasn’t distracted by other things requiring his attention. She always tried to share how things were progressing with her responsibilities and attempted to draw him out, sometimes with great difficulty, on how he fared with his.
On Wednesday, as they sat down to lunch, Abigail felt quite pleased with her progress. “I’ve had a very productive couple of days.”
“Have you now?”
She didn’t let his lack of enthusiasm dissuade her from elaborating. “Yes indeed. I talked to all the local folks who might be able to provide some of the furnishings and most have agreed.”
“Is there anything you’re not having crafted locally?”
“Of course. There are furniture pieces and other special items that will need to be ordered. I’m digging through catalogs now to identify what will work best.”
Then she changed the subject. “Have you made any decisions on the elevator project yet?”
He nodded. “We’re going forward with it. Hendricks thinks the required modifications won’t cause more than a few days change to the schedule. Judge Madison has approved additional funding to cover it. And the elevator company is sending an engineer over to take a look at the layout and draw up the engineering plans.”
“Well then, I’d say things are definitely moving along.” Would he have mentioned any of this to her before the engineer showed up if she hadn’t asked?
She glanced down at her plate. “Pork roast, potatoes and peas. This is the same dish Della served three days ago.”
“It is. But I don’t see that as a problem, especially right now when we’re informing our guests that we’re providing limited services.”
“Still, I think we can do better. We also want to make certain we’re prepared when we return to full service. So I think I’ll work with Della to update our menu offerings.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to work on creating a few special dishes we can promote as signature items like some of the fancier establishments do. First, though, I’ll need to find out what Della’s strengths are and play on those. And perhaps teach her a new trick or two.”
“And you think you’re the one to teach her those new tricks?”
“I’ve learned a thing or two working with Daisy the past several years.”
“Do you really think that’s the best use
of her and your time right now?”
“Actually, I think now is the perfect time. We have a limited number of guests so she can experiment freely and if things go wrong, we’ll be able to come up with a replacement offering quickly.” Not giving him time to object, she continued, “Are there any particular dishes you’d like to see added?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Since you’ve taken charge of this project, I’ll leave it entirely in your hands.”
She nodded acknowledgment. “So tell me how the rest of your work has been going. Anything happening that could impact your schedule?”
He picked up his knife to cut into his slice of roast. “Everything is proceeding as it should.”
That certainly wasn’t very informative. “I hear you’ve been actually rolling up your sleeves and pitching in from time to time. I thought perhaps you were concerned Mr. Hendricks and his sons weren’t working fast enough.”
He shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable with her question. “Not at all. As it happens, my own father was a woodworker, though he made furniture rather than buildings.” He shrugged. “I still like to feel a hammer in my hand occasionally.”
Inordinately pleased that he’d shared a personal glimpse with her, Abigail decided perhaps she was beginning to make progress in cutting through his guard after all.
Which made her more determined than ever to keep working at it.
Chapter Thirteen
After the church service Sunday morning, Seth again waited for Miss Fulton to join him before making his exit. It seemed the polite thing to do. As folks filed past him he received several smiles and greetings, some from folks he’d met, some from those who were still strangers to him. He had to admit, small towns did have their own kind of charm.
They made their way out the door, pausing to greet Reverend Harper. Just as they stepped off the church steps, a small child jostled past Miss Fulton, knocking her slightly off balance. He reached out a hand to steady her, leaning heavily on his cane to protect his own balance.
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