by Jody Hedlund
He raised the spoon and inspected the thick coating of creamy batter skeptically.
“Go on,” she urged.
He stuck the spoon in his mouth and worked it clean.
She watched him, suddenly tense with the need to know what he thought of the taste. It was an old family recipe her father had made often in Hamburg, and she’d been thrilled to find all the ingredients to make it for herself.
“Hmm, that wasn’t quite enough for me to get the flavor.” He handed the spoon back to her. “I think I need a little more.”
She scraped the spoon in the bowl until it was covered with a sizable amount of batter before handing it back to him.
He shoved it into his mouth, cleaned off the spoon, and smacked his lips together as though testing the flavor. Finally he held the spoon out to her. “I’m still not catching it. One more taste ought to do it. Maybe.”
She took the utensil and held it above the bowl. At the spark of humor in his eyes, she hesitated. When he gave her a lopsided, sheepish grin, she put the spoon down on the counter and swiped her finger over the batter until she had a large dollop. “Don’t you know that one person gets to lick the spoon and the other the bowl?” She lifted it to her mouth and made a slow show of savoring each grain.
“That’s not fair.” He gave a pretend pout. “The person with the bowl gets more.”
“It depends upon the baker and how much she decides to leave. And I was in a generous mood today.”
“For yourself.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
He chuckled. She couldn’t keep from smiling as she plunged another finger of batter into her mouth. She’d missed the fun banter with him. How was it that he could make her smile so easily, even though she was supposed to still be angry at him?
She placed the bowl back on the worktable and picked up the cake pan filled with batter. For several minutes, she ignored him and busied herself putting the cake into the oven and adding a few more coals to the firebox.
When she straightened, she realized he hadn’t budged from the doorway but had leaned against the frame again and was watching her. What was the look in his eyes? Admiration?
She returned to the worktable with a wet rag and began to wipe up the sticky smudges of molasses. She could feel his gaze following her every move, and her pulse tripped in an unsteady rhythm. She didn’t want him to affect her. Last night when she’d gone back to the dormer and informed the other women Thornton had hired her to operate the depot dining room, Fanny was the first to warn her, just as she had at the Chicago train depot. The others readily agreed that Thornton was just trying to win her affection again. They warned her to be careful or she’d end up his mistress.
“Elise?” he said quietly, all humor gone from his voice. “I’m sorry.”
The sincerity and plea in his tone beckoned her to forgive him. She stopped her wiping but didn’t turn.
“I know I should have been honest with you on the train about my real identity, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me anymore.”
She wanted to tell him he was right, she didn’t like him anymore. But that wasn’t completely true. After all, he’d been kind enough to give her work and a pay raise. And he’d hired Reinhold.
He released a sigh that contained his frustration. “I’m also sorry for overstepping the limits of friendship. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
At his confession, she spun. Did he regret kissing her? A strange sense of disappointment rushed through her. Maybe the kiss hadn’t affected him the same way it had her. Maybe he was so used to kissing women that it hadn’t meant anything to him.
Stop it, she reprimanded herself. It didn’t matter whether he’d liked it or not. What mattered was that he was sorry for overstepping the bounds of propriety. Surely that was good news and meant he wasn’t attempting to take advantage of her the way Fanny suspected. At least she hoped so.
He straightened. “I promise I won’t do something like that again. I’ll maintain a proper distance from you at all times.”
“Then you’re not attempting to win me over so you can make me your mistress?” Once the words were out, heat rose in her neck at the boldness of her question. At his muttered exclamation of denial, she ducked her head and wiped at a streak of egg on the edge of the table.
“Blast it all, Elise. After getting to know me, do you really think I’m capable of such devious behavior?” Hurt radiated from his expression.
She hesitated, which only caused him to shake his head and mutter again under his breath. “The other women warned me that it happens.”
“Well, rest assured, it won’t happen with me.” His reply was terse, his posture stiff. And from the way he fisted his hands, she could see she’d offended him. Perhaps deeply.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t get angry enough to dismiss her from her new job. It wasn’t a bakery, but it was a kitchen, which was the next best thing. He was also paying her more than she could make working anywhere else. If she ruined things this time, she didn’t know what she’d do. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just I didn’t know what to think with you being so nice to me and singling me out.”
He jammed his fingers through his hair. “Believe me, Elise, I had no intention of using you. I’m deeply sorry if I gave you that impression.”
She wanted to believe him. She really did. But nothing changed who he was, how much wealth he had, and the fact that he was here building this town and mistreating poor people in the process. Maybe he’d given her a new job and a raise, but what about all the others, like Fanny and the Engle sisters who were still stuck working for him like slaves?
His pained eyes held hers, waiting for her response. She didn’t know what to tell him.
“What can I do to reassure you I mean what I said?”
“Do the work,” she said somewhat impulsively. But once spoken, she realized it was what she wanted—for him to see what life was like for people like her. If the wealthy class understood how hard the poor labored, perhaps they’d have more compassion. “Maybe if you go out and do the work you require of your employees, you’ll see that their labor is more valuable than you think.”
“I do value it. Immensely.”
“You can’t value what you don’t understand.”
He studied her for a moment. “And if I do the work, that will prove to you I’m not a cad?”
“It will be a start.”
“Then I’ll do it.” With that, he spun and walked away, his footsteps echoing with an ominous finality. Maybe she’d won this small battle with Thornton, but for a reason she couldn’t explain, she felt like she’d lost.
Chapter 15
Marianne descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the early morning. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the stairwell was dark. She made her way quickly and quietly down from the third story. She’d heard rumors that the meat-processing plant was planning to hire a limited number of women, and she was determined to be one of the first in what was sure to be a long line. Even if the work was bloody and putrid, at least it was something.
She shivered in her thin coat and pulled the ragged linen closer to her body. Part of her warned that her efforts would amount to naught and that she should just go back to bed. Too many rumors of employment over the past couple of weeks had raised her hopes only to have them dashed again. She’d already stood in numerous employment lines for hours, then eventually was told to go home, for there wasn’t any work available.
Maybe today would be different. She prayed it would be so.
After receiving Elise’s first letter last week and learning how her new job wasn’t what she’d anticipated and that she wouldn’t be able to send them money or pay for their transport to the West to join her, Marianne had doubled her efforts to look for employment.
She hadn’t yet heard from Reinhold, but she was confident he’d find Elise. And maybe after Marianne finally told him the truth about her love for him, he’d
want her to come west and be with him, especially if she reassured him she’d saved enough money to pay for the train fare.
As she entered the first-floor hallway, she cupped her frozen fingers to her mouth and breathed warm air against her flesh. The late September nights were getting colder, and their rooms weren’t heated. By morning they were all shivering and huddling together for warmth. In addition, her arms and back ached from the long hours spent painting ceilings. She rolled her shoulders and tried to work out the knots. The third-floor rooms of the mission were starting to lose their dilapidated appearance and beginning to look more livable, a good thing because two more women and their children had moved in this week, bringing the total number of families living there to six.
Without employment, the former seamstresses were unable to pay their rent, resulting in eviction from their tenements. Homeless and hungry, the women had come to Miss Pendleton for help. Of course, the kindhearted woman didn’t turn them away even though she was facing her own financial problems.
In fact, just yesterday Marianne overheard Miss Pendleton speaking in hushed tones with her advisor, Mr. Ridley. Both of their faces were distraught, and Marianne guessed Miss Pendleton’s efforts to reopen the sewing workshop hadn’t been successful. Marianne was disappointed. She’d joined in praying with Miss Pendleton and Reverend Bedell that God would work a miracle and provide a clothing company that would contract with them.
Lifting up another prayer, Marianne hustled down the hallway. She was almost to the door when the sound of muffled sobs coming from the chapel halted her. A low masculine voice rumbled in an effort to comfort, but the crying continued. Marianne knew she should continue on her way and not eavesdrop, but she tiptoed closer to the chapel door anyway and leaned in. She recognized Reverend Bedell’s voice and suspected Miss Pendleton was the one crying. At first, Marianne thought he was praying, yet as she listened more carefully, she could tell he was talking to Miss Pendleton.
“They are strong women,” he was saying. “They’ll survive.”
“But they’ll be forced back into prostitution” came her shaky response.
When Reverend Bedell didn’t contradict her, Marianne’s chest deflated. The situation must be growing worse if the reverend didn’t see any other way for the women to make ends meet.
“After rescuing them once,” Miss Pendleton said through sniffles, “I don’t understand why God would allow them to suffer such degradation again.”
“Every day I hear about new efforts to provide meals and shelter to the homeless. Most of them will find help elsewhere.”
“But why not here? After giving us a miracle once, why won’t God provide again?”
“We won’t always understand why God allows things to happen,” he responded gently. “But as Job said, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ We will choose to praise and trust Him no matter what.”
Marianne swallowed hard. Was Miss Pendleton considering turning the women out of the mission? Surely not. Things might be desperate, but they weren’t that bad, were they?
For a moment, Miss Pendleton’s sniffling filled the quiet chapel. Marianne’s guilty conscience urged her to move past. After all, if she wanted to be first in line at the meat-processing plant, she needed to get going. But at Miss Pendleton’s next question, Marianne’s blood ran cold and her limbs felt frozen in place. “What will we do with the Neumanns?”
“I don’t know,” said the reverend in a whisper drenched in frustration.
“I’d take them to live with me, but I can’t impose on Ridley any more than I already am.”
“What about taking Sophie and the two infants to the Children’s Aid Society? I’ll speak with Mr. Brace on their behalf and ask him to find them good homes in the West temporarily, until Elise is able to establish herself in her new place of employment.”
Marianne sucked in a sharp breath at the reverend’s suggestion. Sophie would never agree to a placement. And the thought of sending Olivia and Nicholas off by themselves on a train, not knowing where they’d end up, frightened Marianne. They were family now, and family had to stick together. No matter what.
Miss Pendleton released another sob. “I promised Elise I’d watch out for her sisters. I can’t let her down.” The words reflected exactly how Marianne felt. Elise would disown her if she let anything happen to Olivia and Nicholas and especially Sophie.
“When you made the promise, you didn’t know you’d lose everything and that the bank would foreclose on the rest of what you owe on the mission.”
Marianne rested her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes tightly. Except it was too late to stop the swell of tears, which spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her mouth to prevent any noise.
Miss Pendleton was losing the mission, closing its doors, and everyone who lived there would have to leave. Marianne’s legs began to shake, and she was afraid she’d collapse. If only she was stronger and less emotional like Elise, maybe she’d come up with something to do. Instead, all she could do was cry.
She hated her weakness. She should pull herself together and continue her search for employment. She would need the job at the meat-packing plant even more now. Stumbling backward a step before spinning and retracing her way to the stairwell, she raced up the steps with tears coursing down her cheeks.
She didn’t know how long they had left at the mission before they would need to leave. But one thing was certain. She wouldn’t let Miss Pendleton or the reverend separate her from Sophie, Olivia, or Nicholas. She couldn’t. Even if they had to live on the streets again, she wasn’t giving up her family.
Thornton’s gut twisted with the same self-loathing he’d felt since yesterday when he apologized to Elise in the kitchen and had learned what she really thought of him. He tightened his necktie and reached for the suit coat that lay on his bed. So far he’d avoided looking into the mirror for his grooming, afraid he’d be tempted to punch his reflection if he saw it. But now, as he shrugged into the coat and straightened the lapels, he finally gave himself a derisory once-over.
Had she really thought he was the kind of man who would be nice to a woman in order to lure her into his bed? He shook his head, angry again at the thought as he had been all through the restless night.
He wasn’t blaming her in the least. No, he was angry with himself for inadvertently leading her to believe that was what he might want from her. Because he hadn’t thought of having a mistress. Most certainly not.
But if not that, then what had he been doing toying with her affection? The question taunted him again as it had for the past week.
“You’re an idiot, Thornton,” he said aloud, scowling at himself.
With a sigh, he lowered himself to the edge of the unmade bed, its metal frame squeaking under his weight. Why was he even bothering with this crazy challenge his father had issued? Why not just back out gracefully while his town was still doing well? Even if he somehow managed to construct his town faster, bigger, and then draw in the people, Bradford would figure out a way to better him. He always had a knack for pleasing their father with whatever he did. While he, the younger twin, always fell short no matter how hard he tried.
And now he’d fallen short again. This time he’d hurt Elise, who was one of the strongest, most beautiful women he knew.
The waft of freshly brewed coffee had stirred his senses for the past hour since he’d heard her arrive. His room in the depot across from the Grays wasn’t directly above the kitchen, but it was close enough that he could hear the clinking and clanging to know she was already at work.
He’d debated telling her about Rosalind to prove he already had a woman and didn’t need another. But he had the feeling if he told Elise about Rosalind, she’d probably be even more suspicious of him, maybe confirm that indeed he’d been using her.
But he hadn’t been, had he?
He let out a groan as he rose and started toward the door. What had he gott
en himself into?
Once in the hallway, he paused in order to pull himself together. He was Thornton Quincy, a distinguished gentleman, a wealthy entrepreneur, a well-educated scholar. He owned and commanded this town. He didn’t need to be afraid of one young woman—albeit a feisty and somewhat headstrong young woman.
He took a deep breath to infuse himself with confidence, descended the stairs, entered the depot through a side door, and moved with hard, sure steps toward the dining room. With only a hint of light beginning to show in the sky, he was earlier than usual. Thankfully, no one else was there yet except Mr. Gray.
He exchanged his usual good morning and other pleasantries with the man before venturing to the kitchen door.
“Mr. Quincy,” Mrs. Gray said in surprise, nearly knocking over the bowl on the counter in front of her. She steadied it before wiping her hands on her apron. “I didn’t realize you were down already. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
“That would be kind of you.” His attention went directly to Elise, who stood at the stove flipping bacon with a long fork. It sizzled and sputtered, its smoky aroma making his stomach growl.
Mrs. Gray poured a cup from a pot percolating on the stove. She offered him a tired smile as she brought it to him. “Elise sure knows how to make delicious coffee, doesn’t she?”
As he took the mug from Mrs. Gray, Thornton was too polite to mention how awful her coffee had been in comparison, so he tactfully chose his words. “I don’t imagine there are too many people quite as talented as Elise when it comes to the kitchen, but you sure put forth a good effort, Mrs. Gray.”
Elise stopped flipping bacon and turned to say, “I could have Mrs. Gray make the next pot if you prefer hers.” Her voice and expression were too innocent, and the gleam in her eyes teased him.
The comment thawed the icy grip in his chest a little. Maybe she didn’t hate him after all. Maybe she could forgive him in spite of everything. “Mrs. Gray has been doing it for so long that surely she deserves a break from her previous duties, don’t you think?”