by Cat Cahill
HIDDEN FOREVER
The Gilbert Girls, Book Four
by Cat Cahill
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at:
http://www.catcahill.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Cat Cahill
Cover design by EDH Professionals
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1691243068 (paperback)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Epilogue
Books in The Gilbert Girls series
About the Author, Cat Cahill
Chapter One
Crest Stone, Colorado Territory, 1875
Dora Reynolds despised ironing tablecloths. Yet she volunteered for the task as often as possible, and then usually pressed a good number of bed linens too, even though those were the maids’ responsibility. Being indispensable ensured she kept her position as a Gilbert Girl at the Crest Stone Hotel and Restaurant. Dora was no stranger to hard work, but sometimes she wondered why she’d chosen such a despicable chore. Surely she could have been just as useful collecting the dirty pitchers and glasses at the end of the meal service, as Millie often chose to do. Or delivering Mrs. McFarland, the hotel’s bookkeeper, her evening coffee and dessert as Edie often did.
“Miss Dora, you don’t need to do that. I’ve been sent to iron the bed linens.” A wispy young girl clung to the doorframe. She was so small, Dora thought she might blow away if she let go.
Dora tucked a piece of her dark hair behind her ear before setting the cooling iron on the small stove. “It’s no worry, Helen. I’ve already finished.”
“Thank you, then. You’re such a help to us. I’ll be sure to let Mrs. Wilson know.”
“Please don’t. I have no need for accolades. I only want to help.” Dora folded the linen on the board and prayed Helen wouldn’t say a thing to Mrs. Wilson. The head housekeeper might tell Mrs. Ruby, the dining-room manager. There was a fine line between being necessary and standing out, and Dora couldn’t afford the latter.
Helen twisted her hands uncertainly. “All right. You have my gratitude, though. And that of the other girls.”
“That’s all I need,” Dora said with a smile. She placed the folded bedsheet on top of the others before leaving.
The hallway that led back toward the lobby was empty. It was late, and most of the hotel’s guests were either in their rooms, or in the parlors on the other side of the hotel. Dora walked silently past the hotel offices, closed for the night, and guest rooms before emerging in the lobby. A handful of guests sat around the fire that still roared in one of the large stone fireplaces. She was just about to move toward the nearby staircase when voices from the lobby desk made her pause.
“Are you certain?” Mr. McFarland, the hotel’s manager, asked, his Irish brogue more serious than Dora had ever heard it.
“I am. I’ve gone over the past week at least five times. The income on the books is not what we have in the safe,” Mrs. McFarland said.
They were silent, and Dora flattened a hand on the wall, her heart pounding in her ears. She should not be eavesdropping, but her legs wouldn’t move. The worst part about working so hard to be unnoticeable was that on occasion, she heard things she ought not to have heard.
“Please go over the books yourself. If I look at them again, I’ll scream.” Mrs. McFarland’s strained voice sounded on the verge of tears. “What will Mr. Gilbert think if we can’t make the sums add up?”
There was another pause, and Dora thought for certain the entire lobby could hear the blood rushing through her ears.
“I’ll look at it tonight.” Mr. McFarland’s voice was muffled, and Dora could imagine him pressing his face to his wife’s head, comforting her.
What would it be like to have someone who cared for you so deeply, the way the McFarlands did for each other? Just the thought made Dora’s heart ache. She had a mother, cousins, and all sorts of family, but they weren’t here. She knew she should count herself luckier than some of the girls at the hotel. Her family was in the Territory, two or three days’ ride from Crest Stone, and not hundreds of miles across the country.
Of course, she couldn’t tell anyone that. As far as everyone at the hotel knew, Dora Reynolds came from Chicago. And it needed to remain so.
While thinking of her family made Dora long for the comfort of their presence, there was something else that pulled at her heart. Something she’d felt only at her childhood friend’s marriage ceremony, at her oldest cousin’s smile when speaking of his intended, at—
“There you are!” Penny, one of the girls Dora had arrived in Crest Stone with the previous spring—and now one of her closest friends—emerged from the stairs. “I thought you might be pressing the cushions on the chairs by now. What’s kept you?”
“I . . .” Dora couldn’t put the words together. She’d overheard something she knew she shouldn’t have, so she couldn’t speak of the McFarlands’ conversation. And now she’d been dreaming away her loneliness in the hallway, and that wasn’t anything she wanted to share either, though Penny would be quick to comfort her.
Penny smiled. “It doesn’t matter. Come.” She grabbed hold of Dora’s hand and pulled her up the stairs. “I’m torn between a wedding indoors and one out in the courtyard. Millie and Adelaide insist it’s far too cold to stand outside, but I think the snow would be just lovely. Can you imagine? I’d have to write and tell all those old biddies back in Wilmington that I was married in the snow. They’d never believe me. What do you think?”
Dora tried to focus on Penny’s locomotive-quick words, and not on the strange tug on her heart or the words she overheard downstairs. “If the ceremony isn’t too long, I don’t see why you couldn’t hold it outdoors.”
They arrived at the top of the stairs and Penny nearly whooped with joy. “I knew you’d understand! Outside it is. Oh, I do hope snow is falling that day.” Her eyes shone, and while Dora couldn’t be happier for her friend, Penny’s elation made her even more aware of the pang in her heart.
She was foolish, wishing for such things. Despite Penny’s happiness, she no longer had a position within the Gilbert Company. She was allowed to remain at
the hotel until her wedding because the McFarlands were generous and kind, but she no longer earned money to send home. Gilbert Girls were not allowed to be courted, and losing her position was not a risk Dora was willing to take. Her family needed her wages. And who would court her anyway, when she could tell him nothing of her past, her family, her home?
After all, the Gilbert Company employed only white women of good standing. Such as Eudora Reynolds of Chicago. But Dora, a girl of the Muache band from the Ute reservation who used her long-absent white father’s name, had no place here.
Chapter Two
Denver, Colorado Territory
Errand boy.
That’s all he was to them. Jacob Gilbert grimaced as he slid the soles of his shoes against the boot scraper near the front door of his family’s company office. His father and older brother were far too busy conducting business to be bothered to walk to the postmaster’s or the telegraph office, especially in the wet cold of late November. Those menial jobs fell to the wayward younger son. The one whose shoes were now covered in mud and horse dung from crossing the streets.
He supposed this was why his brother had taken to wearing boots. This territory was still something of a foreign beast to Jacob, and as much as it pained him to admit James knew better, he recognized his brother likely did in this instance.
“Your father’s asking for you.” T. Pendleton Clark—a long name for a short man—emerged from inside. He served as the Gilbert Company’s clerk, and, Jacob had noticed, had the uncanny ability to appear when one least expected him.
“Did he give a reason?” Jacob gave up on his ruined shoes and moved to the door.
Clark shook his head. “No, sir. But he was insistent I find you immediately.”
Jacob deliberated as he turned the knob. Perhaps this was the opportunity for which he’d been waiting these few weeks, a chance to prove he was ready to take on a larger role within the company, an opportunity to do something other than deliver mail or escort visitors from the depot.
Or it could be that his father needed a hot meal, and Jacob was just the person to fetch it.
He shrugged off his coat and gloves, and hung those with his hat before striding down the hallway toward his father’s office in the rear of the building. He peered into James’s office on the way. Empty. So this would be a meeting among the three of them. That could bode well . . .
Outside the door, Jacob took a moment to straighten his vest and jacket before knocking.
“Where have you been?” his father barked as James opened the door.
“I sent that telegram—”
“Sit. I have an appointment at three, and this matter has already taken too much of my time.” Father waved at the red-cushioned chairs opposite his desk, against which he stood. James Gilbert, Senior cut an imposing figure, not only in dress but in manner. Jacob assumed that half the time his father got his way simply by intimidating people with his mere presence.
Jacob glanced at his brother as they sat, but James Junior raised his considerable eyebrows, a younger replica of their father’s, as if to say he didn’t know what was to come. James’s glance traveled to Jacob’s mud-encrusted shoes. Jacob resolved to purchase boots on his way home this evening.
“I’ll make this brief. We have an embezzler at one of our hotels. I’ve sent Clark out to the telegraph office to notify the Pinkerton Agency that we’re in need of their services. I imagine they’ll send a man out immediately. James, I’ll need you to deal with him. Jacob can ensure he has all he needs to make the journey south.” Father paced the room, speaking as quickly as possible. Jacob had the distinct impression his father regarded this entire matter as a disruption to his usually well-scheduled day.
“I’ll take care of it,” James said. “Which hotel?”
“The new one south of Cañon City. Crest Stone.”
James nodded. “Dare I ask how much was taken?”
“Too much. It appears to have happened over the course of a week or so. The manager can’t make sense of it. If it continues, it could endanger the financial stability of the hotel. I haven’t closed an establishment yet, and I don’t intend to start. Make sure the Pinkerton knows that.” Father’s face grew red as he spoke. It was as if the thief had come to Denver and plucked the money straight from his pocket. Whoever found the embezzler and put an end to his crimes would receive the eternal gratitude of the Gilbert Company. Perhaps . . .
James asked another question, but Jacob didn’t hear it. An idea began forming, grew as his father answered, and demanded to be heard.
“We don’t need the Pinkertons,” he blurted out.
Father stared at him, struck without words for possibly the first time in his life. “And what do you propose instead, Jacob?”
“Me.”
“You’re joining the Pinkertons?” James sat up in his chair.
Jacob stood. He had to phrase this perfectly, or Father would never agree. “I propose to send myself to the Crest Stone Hotel to fulfill some necessary position. Assistant to the manager, perhaps. I’ll take an assumed name, conduct an investigation, and uncover the thief.” He forced himself to remain still, every inch the assured businessman, just like his brother.
Father studied him, running a hand over his salt-and-pepper beard. James appeared struck dumb, his mouth open.
Before either could speak, Jacob anticipated their first question. “I may not be experienced in such things, but if I succeed, we’d save needing to pay the Pinkertons. And I have a personal stake in rooting out the thief as quickly as possible. Give me two weeks. If I fail to solve our problem by then, I’ll return home and you can send in the Pinkertons.” He pressed his lips together and waited for Father to speak.
A slow smile spread across the man’s face. “I’ll agree, but only because I’m pleased with your initiative for the company, Jacob. You have two weeks. Don’t disappoint me.” And with that, he was out the door, off to his appointment.
It had worked. Jacob stared at the empty doorway, half expecting his father to return and change his mind.
“That was bold,” James said from behind him.
Jacob turned. “I’m not sure I expected him to agree.”
“You know he’ll send you packing back to New York if you don’t succeed, right?”
The truth struck Jacob to the core. His brother was right. Father wasn’t one who handed out second chances. “I won’t fail.”
“I hope you don’t.” James smiled and thumped Jacob on the back. “Else you’ll find yourself assisting our dear sister with her wedding plans.”
Jacob groaned. On his last visit home, the eldest of his younger sisters had chattered nonstop about the color of table linens and the cut of her wedding dress. It was more than a man could bear.
“You might also want to purchase some boots before you leave if you have any hope of fitting in.” James eyed his brother’s ruined shoes.
Jacob laughed. “I believe I will.”
“Good.” James studied him a moment, his face growing serious. “You’ve grown up, little brother. I don’t know that Father believes that yet, but this is your opportunity to prove it to him.”
“I’m aware,” Jacob replied. He gave his brother a wry grin. “I left my old ways in Chicago. As many as I possibly could, anyhow.” It was a minor miracle that their uncle hadn’t booted him out of his small meatpacking business, given Jacob spent more time chasing down entertainment than actually working.
“Prove it to Father, and you’ll have a permanent place in the company.”
“I intend to.” Jacob made his way to the door, then paused. “Thank you.”
“Go pack your things. I’ll send a telegram to Crest Stone and arrange a position for you there.”
As Jacob collected his hat and coat and stepped out into the biting early winter chill, he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He’d prove to his father he was a Gilbert not just in name, but in action. No more gambling or drinking, and certainly no more women. He
’d secure a position in the company, and put his wild past to bed for good.
Chapter Three
Dora slipped silently out of her room. Her roommate Millie had still been asleep and wasn’t scheduled to work until the lunch shift, and Dora hated to wake her this early for no reason. Two other girls rounded the corner to the stairs, also on their way to work the breakfast shift. It was early, but Dora didn’t mind that. Breakfast was the easiest meal to serve at the hotel because there was no train. Only hotel guests came for breakfast, and they were in no hurry.
She turned the corner and collided into something—or someone—tall and broad.
“Oh!” Dora squeaked as hands gripped her arms and held her steady.
The man stepped back. “I apologize. Are you hurt?”
“Only surprised.” Dora intended to excuse herself and continue on her way downstairs, but instead, she glanced at the man’s face. Eyes as gray as the winter sky stared back at her. He smiled, and it seemed as if her legs no longer worked as legs should.
He shifted his gaze to his hands, which somehow still held her arms. He let her go, not quickly as she’d expected, but slowly, as if he was afraid she’d topple over without his assistance. The smile never left his face.
The man inclined his head slightly and stepped to the side to let her pass. “Take care with these corners,” he said, his voice alight with mischief.
Words flew about inside Dora’s head, but none seemed to come together into any sensible speech. She bit her lip, just in case the Ute language decided to make itself present instead. Dora spoke perfect English, which was part of the reason she and her mother decided Dora would be the one to find work. The man took a step forward, straight into the women’s dormitory hall.
“You aren’t allowed there,” she finally said.
The man paused. “Pardon?”
“That’s the women’s dormitory. For female employees of the hotel . . .” She trailed off. Who was this man anyway? If he worked here, she certainly hadn’t seen him before. But asking felt much too forward. Simply running into the man had felt too forward, particularly for someone who wished her entire existence at this hotel to be unnoticeable.
