Building Forever (The Gilbert Girls, #1)

by Cahill, Cat

  Monroe shot her a look, and she realized a split second too late that she’d perhaps said too much. Mr. McFarland glanced between them both, but said nothing beyond, “Come, let’s rejoin the group.” He ushered her forward.

  Outside the hotel, Mrs. McFarland fussed over her while Mrs. Ruby clucked over her curiosity. Emma finally waved them all off, insisting she was fine and praising Monroe for finding her so quickly. The attention then turned to him, and even as he tried to play it off, he shot her a knowing smile. It lasted less than a second, but it made Emma wish Mr. McFarland hadn’t found them. She ducked her head to hide her own smile and the warmth that crept into her face once more. She felt lost in her own world as the group moved toward the railroad tracks and the house below.

  Caroline appeared by her side, slipped an arm through Emma’s, and whispered, “He’s like Sir Lancelot, and you are Lady Guinevere.”

  “Oh, hush,” Emma whispered back. “It’s no such thing.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Caroline squeezed her arm but said nothing else. Emma knew Caroline would keep her confidence, thankfully.

  Emma kept her eyes forward, but let them stray from time to time to Monroe’s back. He was deep in conversation with one of the investors, but all she could think about was what it might have been like if he had kissed her. Just the thought nearly made her trip over nothing. What she should be thinking about was what would have happened if Mr. McFarland had caught her in Monroe’s arms.

  But then Monroe sent a glance her way—and a tiny smile just for her—and all sensible thoughts flew from her mind again.

  He was kindness and heat and the threat of her complete undoing, and she could not stay away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Long after he’d seen the investors and Gilbert off, Monroe sat by himself in front of a crackling fire near his tent. It was oddly quiet in the camp tonight. Many of the men had passed out as soon as they’d eaten, exhausted from a week of nonstop work. Big Jim and Turner had stopped by briefly to share a cup of stew and talk about tomorrow’s plans to unload the freight cars. Turner had apologized for how he’d acted in front of the investors, and after that, they’d shared an easy evening. But now it was nearing ten o’clock, and only a few murmurs could be heard here and there.

  He broke a twig in half and tossed the pieces into the fire, watching as the orange flames consumed them. And he thought about Emma, as he’d done ever since she’d returned to the house to serve dinner to the investors and prepare their rooms.

  After Colette had died, he was sure he would never love any woman again the way he had loved her. It was impossible. A piece of his heart had gone with her, and even though two years had passed, the guilt still haunted him. If only he’d listened to her when she told him that all she wanted was a home and a garden. He’d heard her, of course, but he’d brushed her desires aside in favor of his own dreams. And it had killed her. He’d have to live with that for the rest of his life. Colette had been perfect—kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. They had connected instantly, the moment he’d said hello.

  Almost the same way he and Emma had.

  Was it possible?

  He shook his head and stoked the fire with a limb he’d found down by the creek. It couldn’t be. And even if it was, there was nothing he could do about it—not if he wanted to retain his job and keep her alive. The best thing for him to do was to remain distant from her, for her own protection.

  “Can I sit a spell?”

  Monroe stood fast, taken by surprise, hand reaching for the shotgun behind him.

  McFarland chuckled and ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper beard. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Monroe set the shotgun down and gestured at the blanket that covered the ground. McFarland sat. They were both quiet for a few moments. McFarland took out a cigar, lit it, and puffed out smoke. Monroe waited, wondering why the man was paying a visit so late.

  “Smoke?” McFarland asked, holding another cigar out to Monroe.

  He declined, and McFarland pocketed it.

  “Mrs. McFarland informed me that Miss Daniels was going to get an earful this evening from Mrs. Ruby.”

  Monroe furrowed his brows. “And why is that?”

  “For letting herself be alone with you.”

  He chuckled, then realized McFarland was dead serious. “That’s ridiculous. She did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong.” The lie spilled out of his mouth easily. She may not have done a thing, but he had been forward with her, and he knew it.

  “I agree. It’s unfortunate, but that’s the way of it. Old Man Gilbert takes the virtue of his female employees a bit too seriously, I think.”

  The venison stew Monroe had eaten earlier churned in his stomach. Why had he been such a fool? “Will she lose her position?”

  McFarland shook his head. “I doubt it. I believe Mrs. Ruby sees the situation as an unfortunate accident. She’ll likely use it as a warning.” He studied the end of the cigar, then glanced at Monroe. “This is supposed to be my warning to you.”

  Monroe pursed his lips and stared into the flames. “Does Gilbert know about this?”

  “He’s not aware, nor did he say anything after Miss Daniels was found.”

  Monroe nodded. “Thank you for your discretion.”

  “There’s no way to lose your position faster in this company than by courting scandal. I’ve heard of a man up north in Montana several years back, when the elder Gilbert was just beginning to open these hotels. He was working as a clerk in the hotel, and he had the audacity to take one of the girls out to a church service, of all things, but with no chaperone. He was gone the next day, and I heard no other hotel would hire him after that. No decent hotel, that is.” McFarland stood. “Well, I best get back before the missus comes a-looking for me.”

  Monroe said good night and watched as the older man made his way back down to the rickety old railroad shanty that served as his home. Long after McFarland had disappeared into the darkness, Monroe still sat, watching the lights in the larger house go off one by one until only one remained alight in the third-floor garret. Was that Emma’s? Perhaps she was still awake, thoughts churning the way his did.

  More than anything, he wanted to go to her. Hold her and tell her it would all be okay. No one would ever make her leave her work, unless she wanted to go. But that would be a lie, as they’d both found out tonight. He’d lose the one thing that kept his mind off everything he’d already lost in his life. He couldn’t afford to let anything like this happen again.

  But what kept him up, eyes on the last light in the house, was the nagging feeling that he wasn’t certain if he was prepared to lose Emma in exchange.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was nearing eleven o’clock when they dried the last dish and swept the last crumb from the floor. Emma was slipping into sleep where she stood. She wasn’t entirely certain how she would even be able to climb the stairs in such a tired state, never mind put to paper the poem that had been forming in her head for hours while she worked. It felt like one of her best, the right words flitting into her mind and knitting themselves together as she scrubbed dishes and floors and as she waited to bring the investors more coffee and pastries. Once the words turned from wisps of idea into ink, the intense feelings she had for Monroe might leave her alone for a few moments and allow her to concentrate on her work.

  The investors and Mr. Gilbert had finally turned in an hour ago. Since then, Emma and the other girls had worked nonstop to put the kitchen and dining room back to rights and prepare for the morning’s breakfast. Grateful to finally have the work done, especially considering how her mind had been mostly elsewhere for the evening, Emma followed the other girls out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

  “Emma? May I have a word?” Mrs. Ruby stood at the foot of the stairs.

  Emma nodded, tucking away her disappointment at not immediately getting to set her words on paper. When the last of the girls had disappeared up the stairs, Mrs. Ruby led Emma to a small
office at the rear of the house. Emma had only been in here once, to fetch a pair of scissors for Mrs. Ruby. Now, she sat in the stiff-backed chair across from the desk while Mrs. Ruby settled herself on the opposite side. She sat up straight, ever the model of decorum.

  Emma followed suit, even though her back ached. She folded her hands and waited impatiently.

  “I know you are a girl from a good family,” Mrs. Ruby started. “And I doubt you had any ill intentions this afternoon, but I must tell you that it is unacceptable for you to be found unaccompanied with a man.”

  Emma’s throat went dry. Her fingers began to tremble, and she held them tightly together to try to make them stop.

  “By pure chance, none of the investors saw the situation, and you’ve been nothing but a shining example of what a Gilbert Girl should be up until now. Therefore, you may keep your position here. But you must consider this a warning. Any further infractions will result in your immediate dismissal. Do you understand?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I understand.” Emma could hardly keep her voice from shaking. She’d come so close to losing the one thing she needed—security for her family—and the one thing she wanted above all else—her own independence. All for what? A moment’s curiosity? “It was a happenstance. I apologize.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Ruby’s eyes softened. “And I’m sorry I had to do this.”

  “It will never happen again,” Emma promised. She prayed she could keep that promise. She had to, no matter her feelings about Monroe.

  But would she take back those short, sweet moments they’d shared together if she could? She wasn’t sure. In fact, her mind had wandered so far tonight that while she was scrubbing the roast pan, she’d fully imagined herself scrubbing her own pan in her own home while Monroe went out to tend to the horses. When she’d realized what she was doing, she’d almost laughed out loud.

  Now, she squeezed her eyes shut briefly. She knew it was foolish, imagining that a few stolen moments would lead to a life together. And even if it could, would it actually happen? Could she leave her work? Her heart thumped wildly at the mere thought, but then her brain took over. Even if she was willing to lose the independence she had craved so badly at home and had found here, she couldn’t afford to resign from her position as a Gilbert Girl. She couldn’t ask a man who had never even met her family to send them money each month. And even if she could, where would that money come from? As soon as Monroe would make his intentions known, Mr. Gilbert would fire him, and he would have no income.

  But even with all of those arguments against it, even as presumptuous as it was to assume Monroe was of the same mind, Emma couldn’t help but wish Mr. McFarland had never found them. That she was still alone with Monroe in that little room. That he’d moved one step closer . . .

  With a sigh, Emma shook the thoughts from her head. She shouldn’t be thinking such things. She was in a precarious situation, and she needed to keep her wits about her.

  Mrs. Ruby handed her an off-white envelope. Confused, Emma took it.

  “Remember what I said. Now go on upstairs and read your letter.” Mrs. Ruby reached for the lamp she’d set down on the desk and handed it to Emma. “I’ll find another lamp in the kitchen.” She smiled.

  Taking the lamp and saying good night to Mrs. Ruby, Emma paused just outside her door and glanced at the envelope. Her name, with the name of the hotel and Crest Stone, Colorado Territory underneath, were neatly written on the front. Joy at seeing her sister’s handwriting erased all embarrassment from Mrs. Ruby’s warning and confusion about her feelings for Monroe. Emma hurried through the house and up the stairs. Inside the big attic room she shared with the other girls, she found the lamp they’d taken still burning and not a soul awake. Laughing quietly to herself, Emma moved to extinguish the other lamp. Penny lay facedown on the bed she shared with Emma, having not even removed her work dress or apron. Caroline had fallen asleep without taking her hair down, and Dora was curled up in a tight ball, her shoes still on.

  Quietly, Emma sat in the chair that flanked a small dressing table on the far side of the room. Not having a letter opener, she slid her dishwater-reddened finger into the crease of the envelope to open it. She’d sent a letter home each week, but this was the first she’d had in return. The money she’d sent should be arriving soon, if it hadn’t already. Eager for news from home, Emma flattened the letter on the table and moved the lamp closer to read her sister’s small handwriting.

  My dearest Emma,

  I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying all of the opportunities your new position has to offer. I apologize for not writing sooner, but I hate to burden you with our troubles. It is dreary here at home. Outside, it is beautiful—the days are warm and the sun shines more often than not. But inside . . . Oh Emma. I don’t know what we will do. I know you’re sending money, and we wait patiently for it.

  Just yesterday, Mama’s physician insisted we pay him what he was owed or he would no longer treat her. And she was in such pain, that I did the only thing I could. I went to the bank and withdrew the last of Papa’s funds—the money we intended to use to pay for this apartment for the next few months. I gave it all to the doctor, and it took care of what we owed. He gave Mama some medicine, and now she feels much better. But we are done for. We have nothing left. Grace and I have decided to take on some sewing. It won’t be much, but we pray it will be enough to keep the landlord happy while we wait for your wages. If it isn’t, then we will find work at a factory. The lady and her daughter who live in the rooms next to ours work at a garment manufacturer. Perhaps the owner of that establishment will take us on.

  Please write and tell us of your adventures. Your stories will keep us strong even in these dark times.

  Your loving sister,

  Lillian

  Emma read the letter again, hoping the words would change, but they didn’t. Her soul felt empty, not only because she missed her dear sister and their family, but because she felt she could do nothing. The money she’d sent had to arrive before things grew too desperate for her family. Maybe it was already there. The last thing she wanted was her sisters working in a garment factory, spending long hours hunched over in the dim light and growing wan and thin.

  She brushed away the tears that had started falling. She had no desire to write that poem down now, not after Lily’s letter. If she tried to write now, it wouldn’t be carefully chosen words about her feelings for Monroe; it would be about the fear that stirred deep inside her.

  If it weren’t for this work, she’d be helpless. Her entire family would be destitute, and their only salvation would be factory work. Emma pressed the letter to her chest, almost as if she could feel her sister inside of it. The money would arrive soon, and it would be enough to keep them until she could send more. They were her responsibility. It was up to her to keep them safe and her sisters free from the dangers that came with factory work.

  She folded the letter, slid it back into its envelope, and tucked it into the pocket of her best dress that hung from a peg on the wall. Then she quickly undressed, relishing that first full breath after unlacing her corset, and blew out the lamp.

  Before she sank into bed next to Penny, she stood at the window that overlooked the new hotel and the camp. Here and there, a fire burned among the tents. Monroe was out there, somewhere. She wondered if he thought of her.

  She closed her eyes. Tonight had made one thing clear—she could have peace of mind for her family, or she could have Monroe.

  She couldn’t have both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the week since the investors had left, Monroe had been more than busy, directing his crew to hang doors, add glass to windows, and place siding. Yet, despite the work and despite the subtle warning McFarland had given him and despite his own sense, he still took detours by the house, hoping to spot Emma.

  But each time, she was nowhere to be found or disappeared the second he laid eyes on her. He’d even ridden north on Sunday again, wondering
if they might stop for another picnic. He’d ended up watching from a distance as the wagon bounced its way past the hill he’d climbed with Emma.

  In the back of his mind, he knew it was for the best. Emma was being smarter than he. He only wished she’d at least look at him. What he would give for one more moment with her. He’d ask to hear more of her poetry. He’d take her hand again. He’d . . .

  Perhaps it was a good thing they hadn’t crossed paths in a week.

  He ran an arm across his forehead. Summer had arrived in force. The sun had beat down on them all day. They still had another hour or so to go, but it had been a long, hard week. They all deserved a break. He signaled to Turner to let the crew go early for the day. The men gave him grateful looks as they retreated to their tents.

  “Need help, Boss?” Big Jim asked, Turner right behind him, as Monroe searched the building for tools and supplies left behind.

  “I’ve got it. Go on, get some rest.”

  The two left, and Monroe finished his scouting before retreating to his own tent. He should light a fire and make something to eat, but the weariness caught up with him and he opted to lie down instead.

  It felt as if he’d only just laid down when he shot straight up in bed, his heart hammering. Peering through the darkness, his brain fumbled to figure out what had woken him.

  All was quiet in the camp around him. His ears strained for the slightest noise over the sound of his own breathing. A horse nickered. An owl hooted, followed by the sound of the breeze rustling canvas tents and the call of a coyote.

  His breathing slowed and, satisfied nothing was wrong, Monroe lay back down, arm over his eyes.

  But sleep wouldn’t come, and the old thoughts drifted into his mind.

  Frustrated, he threw off the blankets and felt around for his boots. He hadn’t even bothered to take his clothes off. Boots on, he found his hat lying on a stack of notes and blueprints.