by Jody Hedlund
“Think what you will,” Sophie retorted, squeezing her charges into side hugs. “But he’ll marry Elise the first chance he has.”
Marianne tried not to let Sophie’s declaration send her into panic mode. Yet she couldn’t stop from looking at the door and wondering if she should run after Reinhold and beg him to marry her today, now, before he left for Illinois.
She took a deep breath and told herself not to do anything rash. After all, he’d already told her he couldn’t take her along. In the meantime, once she discovered his address, she’d write to him. Maybe then she’d work up the courage to finally tell him how she really felt.
“We’re here!” Miss Shaw called out in her cheerful manner, her portly cheeks rounded in a grin.
Tell us something we don’t know, Elise inwardly groused as the high-pitched squeal of wheels and brakes signaled the stop—the final stop—in the almost weeklong train journey.
Since the last town ten miles ago, Elise’s gaze hadn’t strayed from the window, though the landscape had all been the same—barren, treeless field after barren, treeless field. Occasionally she’d spotted a distant curl of smoke coming from what appeared to be a farmhouse. Every once in a while she also spotted a cluster of trees. But never had she seen anything so wide open and empty as central Illinois. In some ways it reminded her of the ocean, except here, instead of water, waves of long prairie grass spread out to the horizon.
Now the land began to give way to the sparse shell of a town. Two storage bins stood near the tracks next to a warehouse of some kind. As the train slowed to a crawl, a depot came into sight with a sign on the second story of the building that read Quincy.
Quincy. Thornton Quincy.
How could she have been so foolish not to realize who he was and all he stood for? She wasn’t exactly on a first-name basis with New York City’s millionaires, nor did she keep tabs on the names of railroad barons. Still, she should have guessed much earlier that he was no ordinary man. His refined mannerisms, his well-tailored clothes, the confidence with which he carried himself as if untouched by life’s hardships, the way various restaurant owners reacted in his presence. Those should all have been clues.
Perhaps she’d wanted to remain in denial, to pretend however briefly that she could experience a small measure of joy amidst the tragedies that defined her. It wasn’t like she was searching for a fairy tale. She wasn’t naïve enough to think her life could ever have a storybook ending. Nevertheless, she had to admit, the few days spent with Thornton had been like a page from one of Marianne’s stories.
“Ladies, your attention, please.” Miss Shaw stood and gripped the bench as the train inched forward in jerking motions that made her wobble like a ball of yarn in a basket. “Make yourselves as presentable as possible so you can give a good first impression to your new employers.”
Across the row, Fanny snorted. Although Elise hadn’t spoken to Fanny again since their encounter at the train depot in Chicago two days ago, she’d sensed a truce between them. She’d kept Fanny’s secret about her sordid past, and the woman had done her a favor in revealing Thornton’s identity. Now they were even and had no need for petty fighting. At least Elise hoped so.
Elise hadn’t expected to end up in the same town as Fanny. But after Thornton’s meddling, it appeared they were to be together, at least in some fashion. And Elise couldn’t deny there was comfort in knowing one person in the new town.
Make a good impression. Miss Shaw’s instructions penetrated Elise’s weary mind. Sleeping on the hard train benches hadn’t been easy and neither had daily grooming. She felt almost as wrinkled and dirty as she had when she’d been homeless and lived on the streets. How in the world would they be able to impress their new employers in rumpled clothes they’d worn all week, which now reeked of sweat and coal dust?
Elise was tempted to imitate Fanny’s snort.
“After we leave the train,” Miss Shaw said cheerfully, “some of your employers will take you to live with them in their places of residence. Others of you will board at the hotel.”
Elise still had no idea what kind of employment she would have. She’d expected to do seamstress work. But surely a town of—she glanced out the window to the sparse scattering of businesses and homes—ten people didn’t need two seamstresses.
Maybe there were more than ten. Regardless, this tiny town in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t provide both her and Fanny with enough sewing to keep them busy.
Why had Thornton interfered? If he’d left things the way they were, she would have been at her new job hours ago, or maybe even yesterday. As it was, Quincy was the last stop. There were eleven women left. Unfortunately, she was one of them.
Elise hadn’t seen Thornton since he’d kissed her in Chicago. At first, she’d hidden away and avoided him. But after two days with no sign of him, she guessed he wasn’t on the same train anymore, that he likely had other towns and businesses demanding his attention. As far as she was concerned, if she didn’t have to see him again, all the better.
When the train came to a halt, Miss Shaw descended to the platform. She spoke to a young man in a gray suit and white hat, who didn’t look a day older than sixteen. He wore spectacles, but his face was boyish and without a mustache or beard that might have made him look more mature. He waved his hands around, motioning here and there, almost as if he was using sign language.
Miss Shaw bustled back to the train and climbed into their passenger car. With cheeks flushed from the exertion, she studied her list and then rattled off the names of five of the women. “Come with me,” she said, “and I’ll assist all of you wonderful ladies to your wonderful new jobs.”
As the women rose, Miss Shaw clapped her hands together in her usual exuberance. “This is so exciting, isn’t it? I’m just thrilled to see the last of my little flock all safely to green pastures.”
Fanny released a soft groan that echoed the one trapped in Elise’s chest. If they’d been friends, Elise may have even rolled her eyes and shared a smile with Fanny. However, Elise hadn’t ever had many friends besides Reinhold.
From the window, Elise watched Miss Shaw lead the other women across the platform and into the depot. The minutes seemed as long as hours, until finally Miss Shaw reappeared and hurried back to the train.
She was puffing for breath when she stood before them and waved for them to accompany her. “Your turn, dear women.” As she ushered them down to the platform, she smiled again. “What fun this is. Oh, what fun!”
Elise fell to the back of the line behind Fanny and filed into the depot, noticing it was designed much like the other depots she’d visited during the journey. Yet unlike the other well-used buildings, the crisp scent of new pine boards greeted them, along with the smell of fresh paint. Everything about the interior, from the wooden benches in the waiting room to the ticket counter, was clean and without any scratches. Even the hardwood floor was spotless, without the wear that had characterized the other depots.
It was clear that here in Illinois, particularly in the past couple of towns, the area was still being developed. Perhaps that was what Thornton had meant when he’d said he was a land developer. Maybe he had a hand in helping the towns take shape and grow.
“Ladies,” Miss Shaw said, motioning for them to stop in the middle of the waiting area, “I know you’re all so excited, but let’s be patient for just a moment longer.” In a small room behind the ticket office, the young man in the gray suit was speaking with what appeared to be the stationmaster. The young man’s hands were once again flying in the air as he talked.
Across the other side of the depot, in a separate room, was a dining area of modest size. At the moment it was empty, without a cup or plate in sight. Perhaps the restaurant didn’t see much business. After all, Quincy was on the edge of civilization, about as far away from the rest of the world as one could get. The depot wasn’t likely a busy place for people coming or going and so probably didn’t even need a restaurant.
�
��I’m Mr. Hewitt,” said the young man in the gray suit as he strode toward their group, his shoes tapping forcefully against the floor. “I’ll be employing you to work on behalf of Mr. Quincy.”
He halted next to Miss Shaw, who beamed at him as though he were God himself in the flesh. Mr. Hewitt peered over the rim of his glasses at them, his head bobbing as he counted. Then he peered down at the notepad he held in his hand and made a circular motion with his free hand. “I need two laundresses.”
Miss Shaw in turn glanced at her list. “That would be dear Miss Engle and dear Miss Engle.”
The two hefty sisters who had sat across from Elise during the early part of the journey stepped forward, and Mr. Hewitt nodded at them curtly. Elise certainly didn’t envy the sisters. Laundering was backbreaking work.
“I also need two women to assist our construction crew cook.” His hand began swirling in the air as though stirring a spoon in a pot.
Elise was tempted to lay claim to one of the positions. Such a job would entail long hours and be filled with paring and chopping food, as well as hauling fuel and washing dishes. Yet it would afford her the chance to work in a kitchen again.
At Miss Shaw’s introduction, two of the other women stepped forward.
“Finally, I need one seamstress.” Mr. Hewitt’s hand took on the up-and-down motion of someone weaving a needle into a garment.
“Our lovely seamstress is Fanny O’Leary,” Miss Shaw said, her chest puffing out in obvious pride of her charges.
When Fanny nodded her head at Mr. Hewitt, he barely gave her a cursory glance.
“That ought to do it.” Mr. Hewitt studied his list. “If you’ll follow me—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hewitt,” Miss Shaw said, her dimples losing their depth. “I have one more worker Mr. Quincy himself personally asked me to add to his list.”
At Miss Shaw’s words, Elise wanted to run back to the train and crawl under one of the benches. She could feel the other women cast her sidelong glances, their eyes full of questions, wondering what talent she had that would capture the attention of Mr. Quincy. She was ashamed to admit he wanted her on his list for no other reason than that she was his railroad romance. Maybe he’d even brought her to Quincy expecting to have a mistress here.
The thought sickened her. She squirmed under the scrutiny, praying the others weren’t drawing the worst conclusion about her.
“This is our beautiful Miss Neuman,” Miss Shaw said, her smile returning with all its radiance. “Mr. Quincy was adamant about having her join the ranks of his employment.”
Mr. Hewitt peered at Elise. Through the rounds of his eyeglasses, his eyes appeared especially large. He frowned, which caused the spectacles to slide down his nose. “Mr. Quincy never made any mention of an eleventh worker to me.”
“Well, he certainly made a fuss with me,” Miss Shaw replied. “He was absolutely insistent.”
Inwardly Elise groaned. If only the ground would open up and swallow her.
Mr. Hewitt regarded Elise again, his eyes narrowing. She had to look away lest he read the truth about her relationship with Thornton. “Did he mention where he wanted her to work?”
“She’s a seamstress by trade.”
“I don’t need another seamstress.”
“Well, I’m sure you can find something for her to do until Mr. Quincy arrives.”
Mr. Hewitt paged through his notebook, scanning the rows of scribbled notes. “No. Not at the moment. Maybe it’s best to take her back with you.”
Elise wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or panic. If she left then, she’d be spared a difficult encounter with Thornton. But if she went back with Miss Shaw, she’d have no guarantee of finding employment elsewhere. What if she ended up having to return to New York City without a job?
Miss Shaw shook her head so vigorously her jowls flapped. “I cannot take her back. I dare not contradict a man like Mr. Quincy.”
Fanny had been right. Miss Shaw was afraid of saying no to Thornton Quincy. He apparently held enough power either to hurt or help her cause and the Children’s Aid Society. Wasn’t that so like the rich, to think they could maneuver ordinary folks around like checkers on a playing board without thought of who they knocked out of the way in their efforts to become kings?
“Surely she can join the work of some of the other women until Mr. Quincy arrives and gives you the specifics of his intentions for Miss Neuman?”
His intentions. Elise cringed.
Mr. Hewitt released an exasperated breath. “Very well, she can join the laundresses for now. And if there’s an excess in sewing work, she can assist the seamstress.”
Laundering clothes. Delightful. It was exactly what Elise had always dreamed of doing. As much as she wanted to protest, she knew she couldn’t. After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And she was definitely a beggar.
Chapter 13
Sweat dripped from Elise’s overheated face. It plopped into the steaming trough like raindrops. She’d long past stopped trying to wipe her forehead and face.
“Swirl that dolly harder,” barked Agnes Engle, who was at the other trough pounding and rotating her dolly against the linen as if she’d been born doing the task.
After almost a week of laundering, Elise’s muscles screamed. With a grunt she attempted to obey Agnes’s instructions, but her arms couldn’t move faster or beat more vigorously even if someone had whipped her back.
Beatrice Engle was wringing out the linens that had already been dollied. Elise was impressed with how steadily the woman worked, wringing and rinsing and wringing once more before placing the linens into an enormous copper pot filled with boiling soapy water. Once in the pot, she let the laundry simmer for half an hour before removing and rinsing at least once if not two more times.
The Engle sisters had been disgusted with Elise’s ability to assist them. And rightly so. With their shirtsleeves rolled up past their elbows, the women’s arms were double the size of Elise’s. With her spindly arms, she felt like a newborn calf next to mother cows. Their stature and strength allowed them to tackle each part of the process with an ease Elise couldn’t muster no matter how hard she tried.
Not only were they muscular, but they also had years of experience in commercial laundries in New York City. Elise hadn’t laundered clothes before, except for the simple washing of her family’s garments.
Now she’d been working since four o’clock in the morning and still piles of clothes and sheets awaited their attention. In fact, the mounds were never-ending, apparently the accumulation of a month’s worth of laundry from every single construction worker in Quincy.
And maybe every resident and rodent in the surrounding hundred-mile vicinity.
The Engle sisters worked nonstop, breaking only for a brief breakfast and lunch. Elise labored with them each day until six or seven in the evening, before heading back to the depot restaurant for a meal and then returning to their dormer room on the third floor of the hotel.
The unheated room contained five single cots, enough for the workers Thornton had originally hired. The sleeping quarters were cramped, the women’s belongings stuffed into every nook and cranny. Elise had resorted to rolling out her blankets on the floor. She couldn’t deny she was jealous of the other women, though she knew she shouldn’t be since sleeping on the floor wasn’t anything new. After all, she hadn’t slept in a bed in years, not since Vater died and they’d moved in with Uncle Hermann.
The truth was she’d been too tired to care where she slept. After the long days of doing laundry, she’d hardly been able to stay awake to eat her supper. She’d fallen asleep the moment she sprawled out on the floor.
Although she’d heard that Thornton arrived in Quincy two days ago, she hadn’t seen him yet and certainly wasn’t seeking him out. An encounter with him would only raise the eyebrows of the other women. While none of them had questioned her about Thornton, she had no doubt their speculations about why Thornton hired her would be less than pleasant.
Maybe she hoped he wasn’t the kind of man Fanny had painted him to be. Maybe she hoped she was a better judge of character than Fanny had given her credit for. Maybe deep down she hoped he truly liked her for who she was and not for what he could gain from her.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Mr. Hewitt spoke from the doorway.
At the sound, Agnes stiffened and plunged her dolly into the trough more vigorously, while Elise ceased her struggle to beat the linens and leaned against the handle of the dolly. Blessed relief.
“I see you’re hard at work.” Mr. Hewitt came at least once a day to check on their progress, inspecting everything they were doing and jotting notes on his pad.
Neither of the Engle sisters responded but instead focused on their work as if he weren’t there. Elise wasn’t sure if they were trying to prove what hard workers they were or if they resented his scrutiny.
Elise was too weary to care what Mr. Hewitt thought of her. In some ways, she hoped he’d see she wasn’t suited to laundering and assign her something else to do. Maybe he’d let her help Fanny with the sewing. Fanny was working with the tailor and his family, sewing from early morning until dusk with hardly a break in between. While the long hours and toil weren’t anything new, the tailor was difficult to please, according to Fanny, who complained about him every evening once they were back in the dormer room. Just last night, she’d come to dinner with a bruise under her eye from where he’d hit her after she failed to make her stitches small enough.
“Although today is payday,” Mr. Hewitt said, glancing down into one of the bubbling copper pots, “I deducted from your unpaid traveling expenses and so I won’t be giving you money. If you need to purchase anything, you may add it to the tab at the general store, and it too will be deducted from future payments.”