Staring at the wall across the room, she blinked away the thought. She tucked her chin to her chest and gripped her fingers tighter.
“I’m so sorry.” Ruth’s words were choked, as if she were about to cry.
“I know this is difficult, but I can imagine there’s much more to the story. Please continue.” The words were at least gentle as Mr. Owens reached forward again and patted her arm. Probably the only thing he knew to do to comfort a lady.
“I stayed in small towns, selling off pieces of jewelry I’d stashed in my reticule. They were of no use to me, other than to keep me hidden and alive. I had three different wigs made with different hair colors. I wore a different one at each new location. Switched back and forth with wearing glasses. But then the grief hit—realizing I was an orphan, that I had nothing. No one.
“So, I risked it all and called my grandfather’s solicitor again from a busy train station. He told me that in the days since my father’s death, the men who held contracts were in an uproar. Hiring lawyers. Bending the ears of judges who were family friends and filing suits left and right. Claiming that the contracts were valid and any one of them had to have the right to marry me and inherit, even in the light of my father’s death. Especially since they’d all paid dearly to have the chance.”
The more she told the story, the more the pain returned. Everything in her felt cold. “But as they fought and told the press that they would all find me and let me decide who I would marry, it didn’t take a judge long to rule that Mr. Wellington—the man who held the first contract—had the law behind him.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? Then there’s only one man looking for you?” The innocence on Ruth’s face touched a deep well in Emma Grace’s heart. Oh, if only she could walk in such innocence of the greed of man.
“Any of the other contracts can still be legal if they find me and convince me to marry them—Convince being the judge’s term and his nice way of saying force. Because that’s how rich men do things.” She tried to keep the contempt from her voice but failed. “It’s all to gain control of my father’s holdings. I’ve been told that Mr. Wellington wouldn’t rest until he found me. That he was relentless and would stop at nothing to gain control of my father’s empire. But all six of the men with contracts have a vested interest because they’ve already laid money on the line.”
“This is truly a nightmare.” Ruth rubbed her forehead. “No wonder you have difficulty sleeping. Is that why your father was killed?”
“That’s what they don’t know for certain. At least the last time I spoke with my family’s former solicitor . . . and that was a long time ago. I was only seventeen when I left home, which made it even more advantageous for whoever was going to be my husband. They could do whatever they wanted with the money. If I had been twenty-one at the time, things would have been different for me. But that’s why my father told me I would be married by my eighteenth birthday. He didn’t want me having any say.” She released a long breath and tamped down the all-too familiar anger that rose every time she thought of what he’d done. “He was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. That’s why I’ve been running. The man who killed my father could very well be after me, to try to force me to marry him and then kill me as well. It could be Wellington . . . or it could be any one of the contract holders if they thought they’d been swindled out of the fortune.”
“It could be any man who knows your father’s dead and knows about his fortune.” Mr. Owens shook his head and frowned. “I assume that any man you marry could get his hands on it, correct?”
The thought made Emma Grace shiver. She grimaced and bit her lip. “I asked why the judge couldn’t declare me dead because I wanted nothing to do with any of it, but Mr. Scott told me that things weren’t that simple. He couldn’t—in good conscience—tell a judge that I was dead when I wasn’t. He offered to help me and asked me where I was, but I hung up on him and kept running.”
“Mr. Scott is the family solicitor?”
Gracious, she’d let it slip. What would he do with the information?
“What about your father’s empire now?” Ruth looked as if she couldn’t quite comprehend all the information thrown at her.
“There’s a board handling the day-to-day proceedings of the railroads, but they aren’t allowed to do anything else until I’m found. I’ve since learned that three of the men who hold contracts are on that operating board, so they have a vested interest to keep things running in a profitable manner.”
Mr. Owens sat there with his head swinging back and forth between the two women like a pendulum. “And your plan was what? Just run away and let it all fall apart?” His tone held a hint of accusation, but for a man who understood business, she really couldn’t blame him. She’d had the same thoughts.
“Fear was my biggest motivator. I wanted nothing of the money.” She shrugged. “Frankly, I figured they would declare me dead at some point and I wouldn’t have to face any of it ever again. But the law on presumption of death in Boston is fourteen years.”
“That means nine more years. And you’d really be willing to give up your inheritance?” Her manager shook his head in disbelief.
It made her bristle. “Like I said, I want nothing of the money. I’ve only seen what it does to people. Rips families apart. Destroys lives.”
Ruth leaned closer. “But you could also do so much good with it.”
Emma Grace bit her lip before going on. “That’s true. But it’s only true if I’m alive. Because of my father’s greed, there are six men out there who think that if they marry me, they can control his fortune. It’s in the contracts—they would be at the helm. Not me. I refuse to be forced into marriage.”
As her words sank in, she watched the faces of her superiors.
“Please don’t think I’m selfish, but I don’t want to end up like my father.”
Mr. Owens’ face shifted to the look of protector. “Then we will help keep you safe here, Miss Edwards.”
“Of course we will.” Ruth set her jaw.
The manager tapped his desk. “While I can’t say I understand it all, I think I’ve heard enough for now. But as the manager here, I do need to know what made you become a Harvey Girl. And how did you get employment in the first place? We have strict regulations.” Mr. Owens appeared put out at the thought he’d been hoodwinked somehow.
Emma Grace swallowed. “I brought a box with me that belonged to my grandmother. I changed the record of my grandmother’s birth—I was named after her—and used her surname as my own. Emma Grace Edwards.” She’d used the name so long now, that was who she was. “It wasn’t hard. Her birth year was 1833, so I changed it to 1883. Please don’t lecture me on the dishonesty of my actions. Believe me, I have carried the guilt for a long time.
“But I knew Mr. Fred Harvey. He had often dined at my home as I was growing up. The railroad and all. Before my mother died.” Her heart pinched at the memories. “He was such a wonderful man. I loved hearing his stories. So, I knew exactly what to do to procure employment.”
“But you lied.”
Ruth looked up at the man. “With good cause, Mr. Owens. She was running for her life.”
“I understand that but lying is against everything the Harvey name stands for.” The man was looking less understanding and more irritated.
Which only served to make Emma Grace’s anger well up. This was why men couldn’t be trusted. Always jumping to conclusions, lying, and hypocritically not trusting anyone but themselves. “I don’t wish to defend my actions to you, Mr. Owens. Like I said, I knew Fred Harvey. Personally. Did you?”
Her boss sputtered. “No . . . not personally . . .”
“Well, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would help me if he were still alive. I am asking for understanding. Just like I would ask of Mr. Harvey. I don’t think you know what those men who are after me are capable of doing. I gave up everything and would do it all over again if it meant that I was able to live a life free of t
he chains of wealth. You have no idea what greed and obsession do to men. Or maybe perhaps you do?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow in his direction. “I wasn’t about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”
She gulped down the lump in her throat. “I lost my mother, my baby brother, my father, and every other relative I had. But it didn’t have to be like this. Perhaps my father would still be alive today if he’d been able to let go of his greed.” The surge of anger built behind her words. “I don’t know who killed him, but what if they are after me next? I was kidnapped and held against my will for eighteen days when I was a child . . . all because men argued over who would have control of a railroad spur. Did you hear me? They kidnapped a child. For a few miserable miles of track! And now we’re talking about hundreds of millions of dollars. You don’t think any one of them would do oh-so-much worse?”
His face showed his horror. “My deepest apologies. I’m simply trying to understand—”
“That nightmare will haunt me for the rest of my life, Mr. Owens.” Emma Grace pressed her lips together and told herself she would not fall apart in front of him. “I’m sorry that I lied to get a job. But I didn’t believe I had any other choice. I have done everything else honorably, I promise. And I will continue to do so if you’ll allow me.” Sucking in a long breath, she lifted her shoulders. That was not the way to speak to her boss. But she couldn’t pull her words back now.
She desperately needed the job. And it was all she knew. Her fate rested in Mr. Owens’ hands. And her distrust probably didn’t win her any favors.
He stood from the chair beside her and took his time stepping back to the chair behind his desk. Then he eased down onto it and steepled his fingers together under his chin.
Ruth patted Emma Grace’s shoulder. The warmth of her friendship was the only thread holding her in her seat.
Emma Grace watched them both. A tear slipped down Ruth’s cheek. Mr. Owens’ features switched from horror to disgust and then softened. Several minutes passed, with the only sound the ticking of the clock.
The balding manager leaned forward. “I see no other course of action you could have taken that would have been any better. I can’t say I agree with your actions in light of your inheritance, but we can discuss that at another time. Since your work is exemplary, I have no problem continuing your employment, Miss Edwards. As I said, we will do everything within our power to protect you—and not because you are worth a fortune. But because you are valuable to us for who you are.”
His last words made tears spring to her eyes.
“We will speak of this to no one. All of our jobs could be on the line if word gets out.” He pointed a finger at them both.
Emma Grace relaxed and closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. Relief spread its tingly fingers throughout her midsection.
“But we need to discuss the safety of our customers and the rest of the Harvey Girls. If you keep any information from us that puts anyone else in danger, there will be repercussions.”
Opening her eyes to look at him straight on, she nodded. “I understand, sir. Thank you.”
“No one else knows?” His pointed gaze pierced through her.
Her head went back and forth in a fast motion. “No. I haven’t told a soul since I left five years ago.”
Ruth stood up. “Five years is a long time, Mr. Owens. I think we are pretty safe here.”
“I agree. But as Mr. Whitaker informed us, there is someone looking for her.”
“There’s probably been any number of men hired to look for her all these years. But the clues can’t be very fresh by this point. Maybe this man is just grasping at straws.” The head waitress put on a weak smile and turned to her. “The first several days you were here, you wore your hair differently and didn’t wear glasses. Since then, you’ve worn your hair tight and pulled back and you’ve worn glasses.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for the dishonesty.”
“That’s not why I’m pointing that out. What I want to know is, what made you change your appearance here? I thought you said you felt welcomed and at home.” The concern on her friend’s face was more than she deserved.
“I did. I do. . . . But Caroline mentioned during her training about how nervous she was because the customers we get here are much wealthier than ones she had served before. It made me realize that I hadn’t fully thought through my plan to come here—that the upper class from all over the country will be the ones who can afford to come out here and stay at this hotel. The only thing I’d been thinking about was putting as much distance between me and . . . where I’m from.
“So I did what I could to change my appearance without it being too much of a shock to people here. I couldn’t risk someone from my past recognizing me. To gain control of my father’s empire, one of those men has to marry me.”
While she tried to keep her tone calm, her heart sped up. Mr. Wellington was a monster in her mind. He was the one with the legal contract. He was the one who met with her dad the night she left. The night Father . . . died. So it was Wellington who haunted her dreams. Chasing her down no matter where she went. But she couldn’t let him find her.
“Which means . . .” Mr. Owens tapped his desk and then looked up at her, his eyes laced with fear. “They are all hoping you’re alive. They just don’t know where.”
8
WILLIAMS, ARIZONA
The sheriff led Ray to the small building that served as his office and the jail. “I’m sorry you had to come down here, but I’m glad you did.”
“Is the telegraph office close by?” Ray swiped a hand down his face. In his hurry to leave, he hadn’t taken the time to contact Dad. It would be best to get his father’s opinion before he faced the men.
“It is. Do we need to stop by there?”
“Yes, I need to contact my father.” He followed the sheriff’s steps as they crossed the dusty street and the wind whipped up a swirl of dirt beside them. “What are the charges against the men?”
Opening the door to the telegraph office, the man shook his head. “Well, they were in the middle of a brawl when I came in on ’em. Apparently, the others at the table accused them of cheatin’. Your fellas didn’t look like the fightin’ type, but they were handy with their fists. Doc’s got two of the other men at his place. Not sure how bad off they are.” The sheriff put his hands on his hips. “But then we have the theft charges.”
After a brief discussion, Ray sat down to compose a telegram to his father. Who knew what the senior Watkins would think of all this. “Thank you for the information.” He shook his head at the sheriff. “This might take a while.”
“I understand.” The man went to the door. “I’ll be at the jail. I’ll show you the evidence there.”
An hour later, Ray walked over to the jail, his heart heavy. Dad was furious. And, of course, worried about his reputation.
“Glad you made it.” The sheriff stood up and put a skeleton key into a cabinet behind his desk. When he opened it up, he pointed. “This is what we pulled off of your men.”
Ray couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Jewels were strewn across the shelf. He blinked several times and wiped a hand down his face. The Watkins empire included many jewelry stores. What if his father’s company was accused of being behind the theft?
“Each one of ’em had some stashed in their pockets.”
Ray looked toward the back, where he assumed the men were being held. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“That’s what I thought. Especially when they started spouting off about who they worked for. But I had just gotten a call from the sheriff down the line in Kingman. There was a jeweler traveling with a lot of precious stones, and he noticed half of them were missing after the stop in Williams, but he couldn’t report it until the train stopped. His description of what was missing matches all that you see here. I called to confirm it this morning.”
Why had the men done it? They obviously made plenty of money from the com
pany. Ray couldn’t wrap his brain around it. It made absolutely no sense.
The sheriff pointed to the telephone. “Do you need to let anyone at the hotel know anything? Feel free to make a call.”
Ray picked up the old candlestick model phone. Without a rotary dial like he was used to having in his office back in Chicago, he’d have to go through the operator. He put the receiver to his ear and spoke into the mouthpiece, directing the operator to the El Tovar. How embarrassing to have to explain to Mr. Owens that his men would not be returning and to please pack up their things and cancel their room reservations. What a nightmare.
After he hung up the phone, Ray placed his hands on his hips.
The sheriff jerked his head toward the hallway. “You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. When the judge comes, he’ll take care of them.”
“No. It’s only proper that I speak with them.”
“I’ll take you back then.” The sheriff got up and headed down the hall.
Ray followed, a million different thoughts vying for attention. He needed divine intervention here to say the right words.
When they stopped in front of a cell, Ray shoved his hands into his pockets.
Michael stood first. “Ray—Mr. Watkins.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, embarrassment and shame clear on his face.
But George and Ben simply looked irritated as they took their time coming to their feet.
George tipped his chin at him. “Are you here to bail us out?”
Ray cinched his lips and gave a slow shake of his head. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
With a slump of his shoulders, Michael sat down hard. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
None of them looked like the men he’d traveled with. They were rumpled. Disheveled. Unshaven. Filthy. Which made him wonder, which image of the men was true—the polished businessmen, or this one in front of him now?
George narrowed his eyes and approached the bars. “It’s the old man, isn’t it? You heard from him?”
“Yes, I did.” He maintained eye contact and was saddened by the anger he saw there. “What you did was a bad representation of my father’s business. It was wrong. Illegal and immoral. And then you hurt men in the process. That’s unacceptable.”
A Deep Divide Page 11