Before him, on her hands and knees, sat Miss Carlson, covered in dirt from her waist down. Her hair, pinned up beneath a dark bonnet, had already escaped in strands all around her lovely but muddied face. The sight was so unexpected but welcome all the same.
She buried her face in her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “Out of all people to see me this morning, I did not think you would.”
He held out his hand to her. “But I have, and now I must ask. What are you doing?”
Miss Carlson accepted his hand and stood. “Searching for something I lost when the wagon tipped the other day.”
Charlie’s brows lifted. Why hadn’t she spoken of whatever she had lost in the past days when she had sat with him? He scanned the road, racking his brain for a clearer memory. “Are you sure this was where we tipped? I thought we were closer to the blacksmith’s shop.”
“Yes, but I’ve resorted to looking the length of the entire road. That day I drove you into town, I went on Mr. Brody’s errand. I picked up a gift for him, a gift he intended on giving his wife at the town’s New Year’s Dance.” She hesitated, looking at the ground. “The package must have fallen. There’s no other possibility.”
Mr. Brody was not a man of small means. Whatever he had planned to gift his wife was more than likely expensive. “And you have spent your mornings searching for the package? Perhaps I can help.”
“I am responsible. I’ve determined if I do not find the package by today, I will place an order with Mr. Brown.” She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.
“May I ask what it is you have lost?”
Miss Carlson’s lip pressed into a firm line. “A diamond brooch.”
Charlie’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “A diamond brooch—and you plan to replace it? With what funds, Miss Carlson? Pardon my frankness, but you have left your family to work in a hotel. I cannot imagine you have such a sum. Please, allow me to help. Such a price is nothing to my fortune.” He cringed. He had not meant to sound so condescending and arrogant, so incredibly offensive. “Forgive me—”
“There is nothing to forgive.” She smiled. “You are kind.”
His cheeks burned amidst the chill. For all his blundering, Miss Carlson was the kind one. But would she accept his help? He swallowed. “Thank you. I meant every part of my offer. A diamond brooch is—”
“A lot of money, no matter your fortune, Mr. Ellison. I cannot ask or allow you to pay such an expense.” She straightened and folded her arms. She walked a few feet before resuming her search. “I have some savings. Perhaps Mr. Brown will allow me to make payments.”
Paying off such a debt on a waitress pay would take years, maybe even a lifetime, especially if she was cut off from her family. A lump rose in his throat. Charlie bent beside her. “I beg you will allow me. I was driving the wagon when the deer darted, and I feel the responsibility falls on my shoulders. Please.”
Her eyes lifted, meeting his. She was even beautiful with dirt-streaked cheeks, but there was something else. She seemed to deliberate his offer; her lips closed then parted then pursed again. “I will think on it.”
A warmth washed over him. She was hesitant—yes—but Charlie hope he might persuade her in the following days. If there was something he could do to help Miss Carlson, a woman who had sat at his bedside during his recovery, he needed to find a way to do it.
“What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in your room recovering?”
Charlie smiled. “Dr. Wayment released me from such confines. I thought a morning walk would clear my mind. And anyway, Miss Carlson, you might have known if you had stopped by my room last night. I missed our discussions.”
Disappointment dripped from his words. Charlie inwardly cringed. He had not meant to be so obvious. He had not meant to embarrass her.
Miss Carlson’s eyes darted upward, meeting his again. “I did not need Dr. Wayment’s decree to know you are well enough recovered. I thought you might enjoy a night of peace and quiet.”
He cleared his throat, walking beside her as she continued to look for the package on the ground. “What is this New Year’s dance I keep hearing of?”
Her lips parted, and she bent lower to examine a fleck of rubbish in the dirt. “Topeka’s tradition. The town likes to ring in the New Year by celebrating. The dance will be held at Constitution Hall tomorrow at eight.”
Charlie studied her concentrated expression. Her eyes combed the ground strategically, stopping at the smallest fleck or reflection of light on the snow.
Suddenly, he found himself speaking, before he’d had a moment to consider the repercussions. “Do you dance, Miss Carlson?”
She froze. “Everyone dances, Mr. Ellison.”
He scratched at his throat, which had grown inexplicably dry. “What I mean to say…I meant to ask you if you enjoy dancing—perhaps with me? Would you like to accompany me to the dance tomorrow evening?”
She straightened and lifted her chin. “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Ellison, after less than a week of acquaintance?”
“It seems so.” His voice cracked.
Goodness. Surely she could read between his ill-managed question; Charlie had never asked a woman anything of that nature. He hadn’t, not when he was engaged to Miss Montgomery… which he technically still was engaged. Charlie let out a puff of air. His social affairs were turning out to be a disaster, much like his younger sister’s attempts at embroidery—knotted and tangled and entirely futile.
Miss Carlson took a few strides before answering. “You would not object to dancing with a waitress, Mr. Ellison?”
“Object?” Charlie shook his head. “Far from it. I plan to return to San Francisco after the New Year. Perhaps you could come to the dance with me as a last…”
“Goodbye?” She pulled her scarf over the bottom half of her face.
He wished he could read her expression. “Yes.”
“I cannot see any harm in a dance. Yes, I will accompany you tomorrow.”
Charlie knew better. There was harm in her company. He was very much in danger of falling in love with her, if he had not already. Like that time he had dove into the ocean and the waves had overtaken him—Charlie knew the idea of dancing with Miss Carlson was dangerous. Yet, he craved to know how love felt, and for once, he wanted to be swallowed up in it.
Chapter 8
Hattie brushed her fingers over the green ribbon for the third time. The sash matched the green dress at the bottom of her trunk perfectly.
She had not thought of dresses for months. The green one was an evening gown, made for parties and dancing. Hattie had buried the garment in the bottom of her trunk, in hopes of forgetting all parts of her former life in society. If she did not see the things she left behind, she hoped to ease her aching conscience.
But then Mr. Ellison had asked her to the New Year’s Dance. For the first time in her life, Hattie daydreamed of what she would wear and how she would attend to her hair. She thought of jewelry and ribbons, perfume and gloves, and, ultimately, how Mr. Ellison would react when he saw her for the first time in a proper gown.
Heat flooded her face, and Hattie dropped the ribbon back to the counter.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Mr. Brown asked, tilting his head. He had allowed her to peruse the mercantile an hour before it officially opened for the day. “The green suits you very well.”
She swallowed. “I suppose I am no better than the rest of the ladies in Topeka, giddy and girlish about New Year’s Eve.”
The clerk nodded. “My wife still chooses a new dress each year for the dance. I can’t deny her such frivolities when they make her smile. Mrs. Brown is lovely when she smiles.”
“I imagine so,” Hattie said, glancing to the floor. Before meeting Mr. Ellison, Hattie had thought such things silly, and now, Hattie was ashamed to admit she was just as silly.
A dance.
Something inside Hattie’s heart jumped with hope and possibilities. To dan
ce with Mr. Ellison, or Charlie as she now thought of him, made her head buzz. She could have laughed at herself. Her girlish sensations were only that—girlish sensations.
Mr. Ellison had made it clear; the date was meant as a final farewell. A week, though miniscule compared to the history of time, had been sufficient; she cared for him. Hattie felt a surge of admiration each time she met with him. Charlie was kind and good, witty and charming, and if she was being honest with herself, Hattie had never been more attracted to a man.
Certainly he felt something for her. The way he smiled at her was heartbreakingly beautiful. There was meaning behind his gaze and hope in his voice. His offer to pay for a new brooch—no man would spare such an expense for a random waitress or even a friend.
They were suited to one another.
The realization brought a pang of sadness. Her father had planned their marriage. Betrothals were cruel. No woman would agree easily. Yet, Hattie had fallen for her fiancé, while in the middle of her attempt to be rid of him.
She needed to tell Mr. Ellison the truth, but in so doing, she would put her freedom at risk. If Mr. Ellison would not forgive her deception, Hattie’s location would be found out and her father would summon her home. And then what? Perhaps he would make more plans for her future, even another betrothal, in attempts to salvage the damage to her reputation. She could not run away again; the regret lodged in the back of her throat had taught her that.
Mr. Brown cleared his throat. “Will you be wanting the green ribbon then?”
Hattie colored. She was worse than silly; she was beyond that. Distraction had overtaken her in a simple conversation. She dipped her chin and collected the ribbon. “Yes, I’ll take the ribbon and a bunch of your flowers. Also, that brooch I picked up last week for Mr. Brody…”
“Yes?”
She closed her eyes. Mr. Ellison’s offer echoed in the back of her mind. He was generous, but she had wealth of her own. Her only concern was her cover. Mr. Brown would know she had more fortune than a waitress should. Hattie swallowed. “I am ashamed to admit that I lost the parcel in the tumble of the wagon last week. I need to place another order, Mr. Brown. Would you take payments? I promise I would pay you back.”
Mr. Brown lifted his brows. “You wish to order another? Miss Carlson, that is very equitable, but you may breathe easily on that account. George, the other man that works here, told me another order for Mrs. Brody has already been placed. The brooch will arrive in two weeks.”
Already ordered? Hattie sucked in a breath. “Mr. Brody already ordered one?”
“I assume it was Mr. Brody, though I’ve not asked George directly. George assured me I would receive payment after the dance.” Mr. Brown took the green ribbon from Hattie and wrapped it in a piece of paper. “Now, just the ribbon, Miss Carlson?”
Hattie’s heart pounded against her chest. “You must not accept Mr. Brody’s money—or anyone else’s. I will pay for the missing brooch. In fact,” she said, lowering her voice, “I will pay the account in full today. I cannot have another pay for my mistake.”
He leaned against the counter to steady himself. “In full, you say? Miss Carlson, do you have any idea how much a diamond brooch costs? Someone in your position—”
“I will pay the bill in full.” Hattie scratched at her collar. “But will you promise not to tell a soul of my doing so? I wish to remain anonymous, and I will need to wire the money.”
Mr. Brown’s eyes softened, and the lines along his forehead fell flat. His face fixed into an indistinguishable expression. “Certainly, Miss Carlson, if that is your wish.” He pulled out a catalogue from behind the counter and flipped through it until he found the brooch. “Your payment.”
He tapped his finger beneath the numbers.
Hattie nodded. She expected to pay at least as much as the number scrawled below the sketch and description of the brooch. “Yes, and the ribbon?”
Mr. Brown shook his head. “That, my dear, is complimentary.”
Hattie smiled and grasped his hand. “Thank you.”
She hurried out the door and down the street. Her shift would begin in thirty minutes, and she needed to change into her work clothes. The Brody Hotel adhered to the strictest of dress codes and punctuality. Distraction would not serve her now. Hattie pushed all thoughts of Mr. Ellison from her mind, lifted the front of her skirt, and walked with even greater speed.
Dear Mr. Ellison,
You cannot know the fullness of my gratitude. You have outdone yourself, surpassed duty, and gained my entire admiration.
Your search for my daughter has not been in vain, despite your anxiety. In fact, do not worry. Take your leave to San Francisco, and rest easy. I have taken your advice and spoken with a Mr. Ackerman, the father of Hattie’s oldest friend, Miss Lilly Ackerman. Since our discussion, which happened upon receiving your letter, Mr. Ackerman intercepted a letter from my Hattie, meant for Lilly.
I do not doubt I will find my daughter’s location soon—thanks to your suggestion. Finding the origin of the letters was just the thing. I have a general location and am travelling there as I write this.
Take care, and I will contact you after the New Year.
All my gratitude,
Theodore Montgomery
Charlie fell to his bed, rereading the letter. Shock registered in his fingers, and they shook. His fiancé would be found, and soon, if her father had anything to do with it. A wave of relief passed over him. Charlie’s suggestion to look at Miss Montgomery’s friends for signs of the letters was simple, and Charlie was surprised Mr. Montgomery or his investigators had not done so already.
A knock rattled his door, and he jumped at the sound.
Charlie opened the door and smiled. “Mr. Brody, always a pleasure.”
“I apologize for intruding, but Dr. Wayment insisted on seeing you once more.” Mr. Brody gestured to the doctor, standing just behind him.
The doctor removed his hat. “I couldn’t allow you to return to San Francisco without one last visit. Mr. Ellison,” he said, extending an arm toward him.
Charlie welcomed the doctor in. They spoke of his condition, which had continued to improve, until Charlie no longer felt the least affected. “I am quite well,” he pled. “Already my sutures are healing, and all that is left is a scab.”
Charlie felt at the back of his head. The board had hit him hard enough to cause a three-inch gash. Thankfully, his hair was already beginning to grow around the area the doctor shaved. Even the scar would be hidden before long.
“If you’re convinced you are able to travel, I cannot keep you any longer,” Dr. Wayment said, scrunching his brows together. “I am pleased with your healing, in general. Now, make an effort to keep away from divots in the road.”
Charlie grinned. Over the last week, Charlie had come to understand the doctor’s subtle humor. “I am grateful for all you and your wife did to assist in my recovery. Please, leave a bill with Mr. Brody and I will pay before leaving.”
“That,” Dr. Wayment said, lifting a large hand, “is already settled by Adam. He insisted.”
Charlie released a slow breath and glanced to his side. “Is that so?”
Mr. Brody crossed his arms. “Please, consider it nothing. I only hope you will remember your stay here with more fondness than I imagine the blow to your head conjures.”
“You have been nothing but hospitable, Mr. Brody.” Charlie smiled. Despite the wagon accident, he would always remember Topeka with fondness in regard to Miss Carlson. As soon as Miss Montgomery was located and their engagement was broken off, Charlie planned to return to ask to court Miss Carlson. “Another thing,” he said, shaking his head. “I am starting to believe I am the most expensive guest you have taken on. First the wagon’s axel, then your wife’s missing brooch, and now the medical expense. Please, will you allow me to see to the brooch? I placed an order with Mr. Brown at the mercantile last night.”
Mr. Brody shifted his weight. “Replace the brooch? Why on earth
would I allow you to do that?”
“Please.” Charlie closed his eyes, feeling as if he were a small child once again, begging. “Doing so would ease my conscience on the matter, especially considering your treatment. In addition, I will recommend your hotel to all my acquaintances in San Francisco.”
“And if I say you may not pay for the brooch replacement?” Mr. Brody lifted one brow.
Charlie bit back a smile. “Then I shall drag your hotel through the mud. No one of my acquaintance will ever set foot here.”
A small curve lifted Mr. Brody’s lips. “Vengeful, aren’t you?”
“Exactly so.”
The hotel owner laughed and placed a heavy hand along Charlie’s shoulder. “I suppose my reputation is worth more than my pride. If ever you find yourself in Topeka, you will always have a room here.”
Charlie exhaled. At least he would not have to worry about Miss Carlson working off a debt to the mercantile for years to come. “Now, I am to attend lunch and prepare for the dance. I’ve asked your best employee, Miss Carlson, to accompany me.”
“Oh?” Mr. Brody nudged Charlie in the side.
Charlie did not even try to hide his pleasure at claiming her as hit date. “Yes. I wanted to share an evening with her to thank her.” A momentary silence ensued, and Charlie could feel the heat of Mr. Brody’s smile. Charlie refused to meet his glance. “As I said, I am off to lunch.”
From the corner of his eye, Charlie saw amusement flicker across Mr. Brody’s eyes. “Yes. I recommend table ten then. I keep my best server stationed there.”
Chapter 9
Hattie gasped. She hardly recognized herself. Two months of a plain dark dress had altered her identity, and the reflection staring back at her looked nothing like the waitress and maid she had become accustomed to seeing.
“Adele, I can’t believe you hid this dress. It’s breathtaking,” Eleanor said, cinching the back of it.
Regina laughed. “I would have borrowed it by now if I’d known about it, but then…that dress was made for you. At least I found one that fit. We’re all fortunate that Eleanor has such skill when it comes to hair.”
A Promised Heart Page 6