To Dream Again

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  To Dream Again

  by

  Laura Lee Guhrke

  To Dream Again

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  More from Laura Lee Guhrke

  About the Author

  To Dream Again

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Published by Laura Lee Guhrke, Smashwords Edition.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without permission of the author is illegal. The author requests that you purchase only authorized electronic editions, and that you do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for your support of authors’ rights.

  Cover design by Hot Damn Designs.

  To my father, Bill Guhrke, the entrepreneur, the dreamer in our family—for his honesty, his kindness, and his vision. Men like him are the true romantic heroes of the world.

  And for my mother, Judy, who follows him with financial statements and calculator, and whose incredible love and support have helped him make their dreams come true.

  I love you both.

  If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.

  —Henry David Thoreau

  Chapter One

  Whitechapel 1889

  Nathaniel Chase heard the loud, rather insistent knock on the open door and the irate voice calling his name, but being rather preoccupied, he did not look up from his task. "Yes, Mrs. O'Brien, what is it?"

  The stout landlady followed the sound of his voice, dodging her way around moving men, steamer trunks, furniture, and wooden crates. In the center of the room she paused, unable to find her new tenant amid the chaotic jumble of his belongings. "Mr. Chase?"

  "Over here," he called.

  Peeking between a tall wooden Indian and a large telescope, she saw him on his knees beneath a table, his back to her, rummaging in a box.

  She cast a curious glance at the tools and machinery that littered the table before bending to peer at the man beneath. "Mr. Chase, sure did I not say to have your things off the stairs by five o'clock?"

  Nathaniel stopped ransacking the box and lifted his head to reply, forgetting that he was kneeling beneath the table. He hit his head with a bang, nearly tumbling his equipment onto the floor. "Ouch!"

  He caught the legs of the table to prevent it from falling. Once it was stable again, he moved out from under it and jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, rubbing his sore head and doing his best to look contrite, "but moving in is taking longer than I thought."

  "Where do you want this one, guv'nor?"

  Nathaniel glanced at the two men who stood nearby holding a huge crate between them. "Ah, my trains!" He pointed to an empty space beside the table. "Put it here, if you please. And be careful," he added. "It's somewhat fragile."

  He returned his attention to his new landlady. "Mrs. O'Brien, I will have my things off the stairs as soon as I can find a place to put them."

  She placed her hands on her ample hips. "You said you'd be moved in by the end of the day. Other tenants will be returnin' from work soon and won't like findin' they can't get up the stairs, yer boxes and things bein' scattered hither and yon. You promised me—"

  "Yes, I know," he interrupted. "By the time my neighbors return from work, my things will be out of the way." He looked around with a frown. "I don't know where I'll put them. It seems I have underestimated the quantity of my luggage."

  Mrs. O'Brien was never one to miss an opportunity. "I've a cellar you could use. Only two shillings the week."

  Nathaniel considered that option for a moment. These were only temporary lodgings, of course, but he wasn't certain how long it would be before he could find permanent rooms. In the meantime, he would have to use his rooms as his laboratory, and he wanted his things close at hand. Mrs. O'Brien's cellar simply wouldn't do. There had to be another solution.

  He raked a hand through his hair and glanced up, then paused as an idea struck him.

  "The attic is directly above me, is it not?"

  "It is." The landlady frowned suspiciously. "But I don't see—"

  He pointed to the ceiling. "If I put in a hole, I could use the attic."

  "A hole in my ceiling? Heavens, no!"

  Nathaniel paid no attention to her protest. "Yes, that would work," he muttered to himself. His decision made, he turned to one of the men who was bringing in his things. "Mr. Boggs, could you come here a moment?"

  The burly, bald-headed man stepped up beside him, and Nathaniel pointed above his head. "Could you cut a hole here and give me access to the attic?"

  "Mr. Chase, I won't allow it. I won't let you tear me house down!"

  Mrs. O'Brien's declaration was lost on the two men, who began to discuss the project. "Very good," Nathaniel finally said. "When can you begin?"

  The man rubbed his jaw. "I'd need t'get me tools and buy the goods. And I'll want me boy to 'elp. Tomorrow afternoon be all right, guv'nor?"

  "Of course. Before you leave today, would you and your men bring the rest of my things off the stairs? Just pile them anywhere you can find room."

  A wail from Mrs. O'Brien caused Nathaniel to turn to her. "Are you unwell?" he asked, noting her flushed face and distraught expression.

  She placed a hand to her heart. "Holes in me ceiling. Oh, heavens."

  She seemed quite upset to Nathaniel. This was a matter of simple carpentry, easily repaired when he moved out,

  and he couldn't understand her distress—until he looked into her eyes and perceived a shrewd gleam in their green depths.

  He pulled his wallet from the inner pocket of his jacket. "If I leave, I will pay to have everything put back exactly the way it was before," he assured her. "And I'll pay you half rent for the attic."

  He began to count out money. "And there's five pounds to you, my dear lady, for all the inconvenience."

  "Well, now," she said, brightening considerably, "that's somethin' I can agree to." She snatched the money from his hand.

  Nathaniel turned and tossed his wallet toward his desk, where it landed in an open drawer. He took the landlady by the elbow and turned her gently toward the door. "Mrs. O'Brien, you are a pearl beyond price. I thank you."

  "Will ye be needin' anything else,
sir?" she asked, tucking the money into the pocket of her apron as Nathaniel guided her past Mr. Boggs and around a stack of crates. "Breakfast, tea, an' dinner? I'm a fine cook, I don't mind sayin'. Three meals a day for, say, two quid the week?"

  "That's a tempting offer. A man does appreciate home cooking. I will consider it." He gave her his most charming smile and pushed her out the door. "I'll have my things off the stairs shortly," he promised. "Good day."

  She hesitated a moment, then bobbed her head and turned to go down the stairs. "Very good, sir. If there's anything else you need—"

  "I'll be sure to let you know."

  "Lad's got more money than sense," she muttered as she descended the stairs and finally disappeared.

  Nathaniel turned back around and caught sight of the huge crate that contained his trains. He grinned. He didn't have much money, and he probably didn't have much sense either. But he had his dream, and that was enough.

  ***

  Mara Elliot walked along the mezzanine of the factory with a brisk, no-nonsense stride that bounced the ostrich plume of her straw bonnet and caused the heels of her high-button shoes to hit the floor in rhythm with the steam engines on the production floor below.

  The six o'clock whistle sounded, a loud squeal over the rumble of machinery, and she turned, leaning over the rail to watch as activity ceased below. Steam engines shut down, conveyor belts came to a stop, and the deafening roar of machinery faded away. People began heading for the doors.

  When she caught sight of her secretary beckoning her to come down she turned away from the rail and joined the women leaving the mezzanine.

  "If me Alfie thinks of gettin' any tonight, he's off his chump," one woman declared to another, pausing on the stairs in front of Mara. “Passing me wages to a pub keeper! I won't stand it."

  "Good for you, Emma," the woman beside her said.

  "And shovin' me around. Who's 'e think 'e is?" Emma paused for breath and glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of her employer standing only a few feet behind them. "Evenin', ma'am," she said respectfully and moved back, pressing herself against the wall to let Mara pass. The other woman did the same, and Mara walked between them.

  She had never been the sort to fraternize with her employees. She knew other small business owners who did, regarding their workers as a sort of extended family, but Mara preferred to keep some distance between herself and her staff, feeling it gave her more respect.

  She was very conscious of her position. She was not the owner, she was the owner's wife. Her authority was always at risk, and she knew the best way to maintain respect was to remain cool and efficient.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, her secretary was waiting for her. "What is it, Percy?"

  "Mr. Finch is waiting in your office. He needs to speak with you."

  "Here?" Mara was surprised. She couldn't recall the solicitor ever coming to her office before. "I'll go immediately."

  She started across the production floor, and her secretary fell in step beside her. "Did he say what he wanted to see me about?" she asked.

  "No, but perhaps it's about the gentleman who was here this morning."

  Mara stopped walking. "What gentleman?"

  Percy also came to a halt. "I didn't have the chance to tell you earlier, but a man came this morning asking to see Mr. Elliot while you were out. He seemed surprised to find that your husband wasn't here."

  Mara's brows drew together in a frown. "James is in America now. At least, I thought he was." One never knew with him. He could be anywhere. "Did the man say what he wanted?"

  "No, just that he had business with Mr. Elliot and was expected. Mr. Elliot supposedly had arranged a meeting with him here."

  She almost laughed out loud. It was just like James to arrange a meeting in London when he was probably wandering around the Arizona desert. "Did you tell him James has been away for quite some time?" Four years. "And that we don't anticipate his return in the near future?"

  "Yes, ma'am. He mentioned that Mr. Elliot had arranged for them to meet here in London, and that he had come all the way from San Francisco, expecting Mr. Elliot to be waiting."

  More fool him, Mara thought cynically. Anyone who expected her husband to be where he was supposed to be was doomed to disappointment. "San Francisco? An American gentleman?"

  "No, he was British, I believe. I explained to him that you were in charge during Mr. Elliot's absence, and he requested a meeting with you. I made an appointment for him to meet with you Thursday morning at eleven."

  She sighed. "Oh, very well. I'll meet with him if I have time. Go home, Percy. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Percy walked away, but Mara remained where she was, lost in thought. She couldn't help wondering why someone had come all the way from San Francisco to see James. She didn't like the sound of it. Knowing her husband, it was probably some get-rich-quick scheme. Well, if he intended to take out another loan to pay for it, he was mistaken. It was hard enough to make interest payments on what he'd already borrowed.

  With a shake of her head, she dismissed the stranger and her wandering husband from her mind and turned down the corridor leading to her office.

  "Mr. Finch," she greeted the gray-haired gentleman as she entered her office and closed the door behind her. "What brings you down here?"

  The solicitor rose to his feet, but he did not give her his usual smile of greeting. "A matter of some importance, I'm afraid."

  Mara caught the stilted sound of his words and began to feel slightly uneasy as she studied the solicitor's worried face. "Is something wrong?"

  Finch tugged at his collar. "Perhaps we should sit down."

  "Of course." Mara crossed the small room. "What is this about?" she asked, circling her desk.

  "Mara, dear, you'd best sit down."

  "What's the matter?" He looked so grave, her uneasy feeling grew into alarm, and she knew something terrible had happened. "Mr. Finch, what is it? You're beginning to frighten me."

  "Mara..." He paused and sighed deeply. "James is dead."

  "Dead?" The news hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she sank into her chair. Numbly, she stared up at the solicitor. "How? When?"

  Finch sat down, taking the chair opposite her across the desk. "I received a cable from California a few hours ago. Evidently, he had purchased a gold mine near San Francisco and was there to take a look at it. I'm told there was an earthquake while he was in the mine, and he was killed. Seven days ago. They dug his body out and buried it, but it took a bit of time to learn who he was."

  She leaned her elbows on the desk and pressed her fingers to her suddenly throbbing temples. Then she closed her eyes, recalling the last time she'd seen James. He'd been packing to depart for America, babbling rubbish about adventures in the untamed West, and some new deal in railway stocks.

  He'd said he would send for her and Helen once he was settled, but she had told him no, that this time she wasn't dragging their daughter halfway across the world to follow him. She had reminded him of all his past promises to settle down. She'd asked him to stay for Helen's sake. Then she'd thrown pride away and begged him to stay, using the only plea she had left.

  If you truly love me, you'll stay. You'll do it for me.

  That, of course, had not worked. He'd gone to America anyway. He had handed over the reins of the company to her and left her with the debts. Alone, she'd had to take care of their daughter. Alone, she'd had to deal with the pain when Helen had died. Alone, she'd been forced to make a living from the tattered remnants of a company he'd tired of after less than a year.

  The company. Mara lifted her head sharply. "What about Elliot's? Do I inherit it?"

  "Although your husband evidently died without making a will, the company would still come to you as his wife, but—"

  "Thank heaven." She breathed a sigh of relief. "At least I have that."

  "No, Mara, I'm afraid you don't."

  For a moment, she didn't understand. Then the realization
hit her, and she sucked in a sharp breath. "The bank. The loan. Dear God."

  The solicitor's slow nod confirmed her worst fear. "Joslyn Brothers is calling in the loan on Elliot's. I'm sorry, Mara."

  The past repeated itself over and over again. No matter how hard she worked, how hard she fought, it never made any difference. Think, Mara, she told herself, fighting to remain calm. Think. "What about this gold mine he bought? Wouldn't I inherit that as well?"

  "There's no gold in it. Your husband, it appears, had not consulted mining engineers before he purchased it. The mine is worthless."

  How characteristic of James to die in a worthless gold mine. It was the inevitable fate of a man who always wanted to find the end of the rainbow. Again, she was the one who had to deal with the consequences. She shook off the bitterness that swept over her. "What do I have to do to keep Elliot's?"

  "The terms of the loan James took against the company

  are quite clear. The balance and any interest become due and payable ten days after his death. To keep Elliot's, you have to pay off the loan. Within three days from now."

  Mara felt sick. The principal was at least five thousand pounds. She could never raise that kind of money in only a few days.

  She thought of all the work she had done. All the careful planning, all the worry, all the sacrifices to make a life for herself and become an independent woman. After four years of struggle, Elliot's was finally solvent. The future had actually begun to promise the security she craved.

  Gone. In the blink of an eye, it was all gone.

  ***

  Mara walked slowly through the now quiet factory, moving between the machines and tables. Finch had tactfully left her to grieve in private, but she found she could not grieve. James was dead, but in her heart he had died a long time ago. He had died by degrees, day by day, year by year. She should feel sad, she supposed, but she felt nothing at all.