With You Always (Orphan Train Book #1)

by Jody Hedlund

  She needed to squelch every feeling she’d allowed herself to develop for Thornton. If she had no choice but to work as one of his employees, then she’d have to do her best to avoid him. She dreaded to think what might happen if he got angry at her for not reciprocating his advances. He could fire her and make sure she couldn’t find work anywhere else.

  “Oh, Elise Neumann, you foolish, foolish girl,” she whispered. “Look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself in now.”

  The jostling of the carriage over the poorly paved Chicago streets didn’t bother Thornton. The fact that he was thoroughly soaked and sitting in a pool of rainwater didn’t bother him either.

  All he could think about was Elise. Had he really dared to kiss her? What in the world had he been thinking to do something so impulsive? He released a shaky laugh and removed his dripping hat. He slid his fingers through his damp hair and realized his pulse was still chugging as fast as a locomotive at top speed.

  “I didn’t intend to kiss her,” he whispered. “But wow. I could do that again.” He was glad he was alone inside the carriage so that no one could see his silly schoolboy grin.

  The carriage bumped over a rut, sending Thornton a good three inches off his seat so that his head grazed the carriage top. If only he could have taken her to dinner again tonight and spent the evening with her. She’d wanted it. He’d seen the disappointment in her pretty blue eyes when he told her he had to work.

  He’d been disappointed too. But Hewitt’s telegrams waiting for him when he arrived in Chicago had reminded him of his responsibilities, namely that he was still in the challenge with Bradford. If he hoped to have any chance of winning, then he had to push himself harder than he ever had before. Which meant he couldn’t ignore Hewitt’s notes. The freight load of timber that was supposed to arrive this week had been delayed. The extra beef he’d ordered hadn’t been shipped. And there had been a mix-up in the type of windows and doors one of the companies had sent.

  Anything that could go wrong while he’d been out east apparently had. Now that he was in Chicago, he had to fix the problems and see that the new orders were filled correctly. In the meantime, he’d instructed Miss Shaw to deliver his employees to Quincy as planned. He’d told Hewitt to meet the women at the train depot and make sure they all connected to their places of employment.

  Thornton hadn’t been exactly sure what kind of work to assign Elise since he’d already hired a seamstress and didn’t need another. But he’d decided it didn’t matter. Hewitt would surely find something for her to do.

  He rubbed a hand along his jaw and pictured her face the way it had been when she turned to find him there on the platform. Even though he’d been dripping wet, her eyes rounded with delight. He’d hoped it was delight at seeing him. He hadn’t read her wrong the past few days, had he? She’d enjoyed being with him. At least she’d seemed to. He couldn’t deny he’d loved spending time with her, and he wasn’t ready to relinquish her yet.

  The carriage rolled to a jerking stop, and he gripped the seat to keep from falling forward. A glance out the window through the growing darkness to the sprawling brick building told him he’d arrived at his first meeting.

  The challenge was back on. His days of reprieve were over. He’d do best not to forget it.

  He’d do best not to forget Rosalind Beaufort either. The warning jabbed him from the shadowy recesses of his mind, a warning he’d effectively ignored the rest of the trip by telling himself he was merely passing the time with Elise, that she was only a friend.

  But he couldn’t use that excuse anymore. Friends didn’t kiss each other the way he’d kissed her.

  The coachman opened the door, and a gust of wind brought a chill that pierced Thornton’s wet garments to his bone. If he was intent on falling in love with and marrying Rosalind, why had he allowed himself to spend time with Elise? Although he wasn’t officially engaged to Rosalind, he’d made his intentions clear to both her and her parents. He’d already given them the impression he was interested in having a wedding in December.

  He shouldn’t have entertained any thoughts of Elise, should have cut off any attraction before it’d had the chance to grow. And he most certainly shouldn’t have kissed her. Even if Elise was a beautiful woman. Even if she was sharp-witted, easy to talk with, and fun to be around, he couldn’t have a future with a woman like her, could he? When his father had given him the challenge to fall in love, he hadn’t meant with a homeless, poverty-stricken German immigrant.

  No, his father wouldn’t approve of a woman like Elise. He’d assume that Elise was a desperate attempt on Thornton’s part to win the contest. He’d never believe Thornton could genuinely care for her.

  If Thornton wanted any chance of winning the challenge against Bradford and earning his father’s approval, he’d have to marry an elegant, refined, wealthy woman like Rosalind. That’s all there was to it.

  With a new but heavy sense of despondency, Thornton stepped out of the carriage onto the sidewalk. Sharp droplets pelted his face, stinging his skin with a punishment well deserved.

  As much as he liked Elise, he wasn’t being fair to either Rosalind or Elise. The silly grin from earlier was long gone, replaced with a grimace of shame. He hadn’t meant to lead Elise on, but that was what he’d done. Now when he saw her next, he’d have to apologize and make sure she understood they could only be friends—if friendship was even possible with a beautiful woman like her. Maybe he’d fare better if he avoided her altogether.

  The coachman slammed the carriage door shut behind him, and at the same time Thornton knew he had to shut the door on Elise Neumann. When he returned to Quincy, he’d make sure she had a good job. A safe one. And he’d see that she was comfortable and happy. But then that was it. He had to put her out of his mind once and for all.

  Chapter 12

  “Tell another story,” sweet Olivia clamored, clapping her dainty hands.

  “Story! Story!” one-year-old Nicholas repeated, attempting to clap his hands too.

  “Now, children,” Marianne gently scolded, “I think you’ve imposed on Isaiah long enough.”

  From his spot by the chapel window, Isaiah smiled and peered in her direction, his eyes not seeing but perceptive nevertheless. While the usual layer of grayish whiskers still covered his chin and cheeks, after weeks of living at the mission, his face had begun to fill out, losing the gaunt look he’d had when Elise first brought him there.

  “I don’t mind, Miss Mari,” he said, using the nickname he’d devised for her. “It keeps the children occupied and gives me something to do.”

  Isaiah didn’t have to say the words for Marianne to know that being idle was difficult for the once-homeless beggar. He’d apparently worked hard as a steam engine operator before an explosion had left him completely blind. Not only had the blindness taken away his ability to work hard, but it had also stripped him of his independence. Without any family who cared what had become of him, he’d resorted to living on the streets and begging for his food.

  Marianne had learned that Isaiah never let anyone do for him something he could do himself, even when he couldn’t do it particularly well, even if it put him in danger.

  He’d taken to sweeping and scrubbing floors, wiping down tables and benches after meals, laundering clothes and sheets, and countless other tasks. Even if the chores were difficult, he claimed the work was a blessing compared with begging.

  “You’re very sweet, Isaiah.” Marianne moved past the small group toward the front of the chapel and the piano. “But how about if I play a few songs until everyone else arrives.” She’d begun playing the piano every opportunity she could, surprised at how much came back to her after so many years. When they lived in Hamburg, her father had plied the church organist with all manner of baked goods in exchange for teaching Marianne to play the antiquated pipe organ. But once they moved to America, she’d no longer had the opportunity . . . until now.

  Miss Pendleton, one day after hearing Marianne
’s feeble attempts at a few chords, had sat down with her and helped her. Every now and then she’d offer an impromptu lesson, but mostly Marianne had improved by trial and error.

  She sat down on the bench in front of the piano, letting her fingers caress the keys. Although the instrument was scratched with age, its ivory keys now yellowed and chipped, the music sounded heavenly. She started the melody in the treble clef for “O Worship the King.” It was one of three hymns she’d memorized, one Mutti had loved to sing. Whenever she played it, she could almost hear Mutti’s voice joining hers. Marianne tried to worship as Mutti had taught them, but sometimes the lyrics caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out.

  The notes rang through the chapel, which was nothing more than a simple room on the first level of the mission that had been cleaned and painted and now boasted of a dozen trestle benches, a pulpit, and the piano. Even though the women had lost their employment at the mission, they were still coming to chapel once a week. Marianne knew Miss Pendleton and Reverend Bedell were grateful for that and were still doing everything they could to help their former employees, even limited as they were in their resources.

  The couple had allowed two of the women along with their children to board at the mission at no charge. Miss Pendleton had also taken up lodging at the mission in order to provide supervision. But the living conditions were sparse, the building still very much in need of improvements.

  “Marianne!” Sophie called. One glance to the back of the room silenced Marianne’s song and brought her fingers to an abrupt halt. Gripping his hat in his hands and rolling the brim, Reinhold stood with the others.

  Wet spots dotted his coat and garment from the sprinkles the dreary September morning had brought, along with cooler temperatures. However, the grayness of the morning evaporated at the sight of him.

  “Reinhold.” Marianne couldn’t contain her giddiness. With a smile, she rose from the bench and started toward him. His brown hair was damp, as though he’d recently had a bath, with the unruly locks now combed into submission. She hadn’t seen him since he’d said good-bye to Elise earlier in the week. Marianne had considered walking over to Kleindeutschland later today and searching for him. Now he’d saved her the trouble.

  She was tempted to throw herself into his arms—his strong, sturdy arms—yet with Sophie and the children and Isaiah there, she restrained herself. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “We’ve missed you.” I’ve missed you was what she really meant. But she couldn’t say that either, not in front of everyone. “How’s your mother doing? And your aunt? They haven’t had to take the children to the orphanage, have they?”

  Marianne realized she was speaking much too fast. She wished she could be calmer and more reserved like Elise, instead of always wearing her emotions like a cloak for everyone to see.

  “No, Mother hasn’t sent the children away yet.” Reinhold’s eyes held none of their usual sparkle.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked, although she knew there was nothing she could do. She’d stood in one long line after another all week, searching for employment like everyone else. She’d returned to the mission every evening tired and discouraged. While she missed Elise, as time went on she was becoming more certain Elise had done the right thing by taking a job in the West. There was nothing but suffering here in New York.

  Reinhold stared at the misshapen brim of his hat, still twisting it between his fingers. “I’m leaving.”

  The two softly spoken words punched Marianne in the stomach and knocked the breath from her. “No, you can’t leave.” But even as the words left her mouth, she reminded herself he had no other option. If he’d stood in the same kinds of employment lines she had, then what other choice did he have?

  “Believe me, I don’t want to go,” he said, his green eyes wide and luscious and much too sad. “But I’ve found work.”

  “You have? Where?” Maybe he could marry her and take her along.

  “I’m going to Illinois to work on a construction crew.”

  Illinois was much too far away. Her heart plummeted, but regardless, she infused her voice with enthusiasm and said, “Your experience in construction here must have helped secure the position.”

  He nodded. “The agent wouldn’t have looked at me without it.”

  She wanted to beg him not to leave. Instead she swallowed the words. “If you’re going to Illinois, maybe you’ll be near Elise.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  When Elise had signed on for a job through the Children’s Aid Society, they’d told her that her group was headed to towns along the Illinois Central, but the agency hadn’t given any specifics. Elise had planned to send them her new address once she was settled.

  “I’ll check in every town along the railroad until I find her.” The earnestness in his tone gave pause to Marianne’s racing thoughts. Did he miss Elise? Was there more to his taking the job in the West than he was letting on? She shook off the thoughts as quickly as they came. Elise had always insisted she had no feelings for Reinhold beyond friendship. And surely Reinhold’s concern for Elise had only to do with the fact that he cared about her like a sister.

  “When are you going?”

  “Today. My train leaves soon.” He turned to Sophie and Olivia and Nicholas. “I came to say good-bye.” He ruffled Nicholas’s hair and kissed Olivia on the top of her head, then tugged Sophie into a hug. “Be good for Marianne.”

  Nodding, Sophie pulled back, her cheeks flushed.

  Finally, Reinhold reached for her. Marianne couldn’t keep from flinging herself into his arms, just the way she’d wanted to do since he’d arrived. He wrapped his thick arms about her in a warm hug. Marianne closed her eyes and relished the feel of him, the solidness of his torso and arms. She breathed in his musky scent and clutched a fistful of his shirt in her hand.

  When he started to pull away, she clung to him. “Please, take us with.” The words came out before she could stop them.

  “I can’t,” he replied apologetically.

  It was unfair of her to ask such a thing. If he had the means to pay for travel, then he’d take his mother and siblings. Even so, she couldn’t stop from expressing the heartache that his leaving would bring her. “I’ll miss you terribly,” she said against his shirt.

  “I’ll miss you all too.” He began to pull away once again, but she hung on even tighter.

  “Oh, Reinhold.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. But they slipped out anyway, as they usually did.

  He pried her loose and set her away from him. “Don’t cry, Marianne. Please.”

  She swiped at her cheeks and gulped back a sob. “When will we see you again?”

  “I don’t know.” His expression was grave. “So long as I have work there, I’ll have to stay. I’ll send back everything I make to Mother, so that hopefully she won’t have to send the younger ones away.”

  Marianne nodded. He was doing the right thing, even if she hated the idea of being separated from him indefinitely. He had to do everything he could to keep his family together. There were already too many people who were giving their children up to the Children’s Aid Society to be placed in homes out west.

  The Children’s Aid Society had been sending children to rural towns for several years, mostly children who had lost both parents and were truly orphans. Such children were placed with families in the West to work as farmhands or domestics, with the potential of adoption into the families.

  Lately, however, Marianne had heard of parents dropping their children off at asylums so they wouldn’t have to go hungry or beg on the streets. Now even those children, called “half orphans,” were being sent out west as part of the Emigration Plan. While the emigrating women, like Elise, would be gainfully employed and earn money, the children were not typically paid wages.

  Marianne supposed most mothers and fathers who had to give up their children during the difficult times weren’t worrying about whether their children e
arned a fair wage. Rather, they were relieved their children were fed and clothed. Many of the homes were temporary shelters, where children would be safe until the parents could find employment and better their situations. Even so, Marianne shuddered at the thought that she’d grow so desperate she’d have to give up her family.

  Reinhold finally situated his hat on his head, looked at each of them one last time, and turned to go.

  Marianne’s pulse lurched with panic. “Reinhold, wait.” She went after him, wanting to stop him but fisting her hands at her sides to keep from reaching for him.

  With one hand on the door, he glanced back at her.

  I love you, she inwardly shouted, while outwardly she managed, “Have a safe trip.”

  He gave a curt nod, then was gone. She stared at the door, heedless of the tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “You should stop crying for him,” Sophie said, her voice testy.

  Marianne nodded. “I know.”

  Olivia and Nicholas were huddled against Sophie’s sides, looking at Marianne with frightened eyes. Marianne brushed her cheeks again and forced a smile. She didn’t want the little ones to see her crying. It only worried them, and they certainly didn’t need any more trouble just now. “I’m just fine. See?” She widened her smile.

  Sophie’s thin eyebrows narrowed above much-too-perceptive eyes. “He loves Elise.”

  Marianne’s smile wobbled. “No. They’re just friends. Elise told me that numerous times.”

  “She might not care about him, but everyone except you can tell he loves Elise.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Even Isaiah can see Reinhold loves Elise,” Sophie insisted.

  Isaiah rolled his shoulders back and lifted his hands as though attempting to defend himself from an attack. “Oh no, miss. I don’t see anything.”

  “Thank you, Isaiah,” Marianne replied, even though something about his too-quick answer pricked her.