With You Always (Orphan Train Book #1)

by Jody Hedlund

  “I don’t know,” Elise replied slowly. “I hate to take over everything in the kitchen, especially something you apparently were so fond of.”

  He took a sip from the steaming mug and pretended to taste it. “Maybe you’re right. Your coffee is, well . . .”

  Elise raised the fork higher, and her eyes narrowed.

  Mrs. Gray’s gaze had been bouncing back and forth between them, and now she fixed her eyes on Thornton alone. “Mr. Quincy, I’ll have you know that every single person who ate in the dining room yesterday raved about Elise’s coffee. One of the passengers who came on the five o’clock train said he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted such good coffee.”

  He took another sip and once again pretended to test it. It was excellent, a perfect blend, not too weak and not too strong, and it had just a touch of vanilla or something added to it that made it different—kind of like Elise.

  The two women waited for another pronouncement. Rather than give it to them, he took several more sips, nearly draining the cup. “I couldn’t tell from just one cup. I guess I’ll need another.” He held his mug out to Mrs. Gray.

  Elise bent her head, but not before he caught sight of her smile.

  He gave her what he hoped was a guileless grin in return. Mrs. Gray took his empty cup reluctantly, poured him another, and handed the cup back to him. “I hope you like this one, Mr. Quincy.”

  “I have a feeling I will.” He winked at her.

  She fumbled with the handle of the coffeepot, nearly knocking it over before regaining her composure. “I’ll go see if Mr. Gray would like another cup of coffee as well.”

  Once she left the kitchen, Thornton stepped farther into the room. “So, yesterday you told me I needed to work and thereby learn to value my laborers. Maybe today I should start in here.” The instant his statement was out, he wanted to take it back. Hadn’t he just admonished himself for getting in trouble with Elise? Couldn’t he be around her without flirting?

  “You can work with me one day,” she offered tentatively, apparently not noticing his overture. “But before that, you should go out there and see what it’s like for everyone else.” She pointed the long-handled fork in the direction of Main Street.

  “You really think working as a laborer will make me a better man?”

  “Maybe. At the very least, it may cause you to feel more sympathy for the people you’ve hired, those less fortunate than you.”

  “What if I already am sympathetic?”

  “Do you know what it’s like to scrub linens in a hot shed from dawn until dusk?” He shook his head and started to respond, but she cut him off. “Do you know what it’s like for the construction workers lifting and hammering and climbing all day and in all manner of weather? Or what it’s like for the women who are cooking for that army of men—peeling and chopping and scrubbing dishes?”

  “I have to admit,” he said, “I don’t know much about what their jobs entail. On the other hand, I don’t expect my paid laborers to understand the details and pressures of my work.”

  She lifted the pan of bacon off the burner and began removing the strips dripping with grease into a shallow container in a warmer. Once she closed the warmer, she moved to the worktable and looked up at him. “If I hired workers for this kitchen,” she said, “I’d want to make sure they were diligent and gave me their best effort. How would I go about doing that?”

  He knew what Hewitt would say: discipline them, make sure they understood who was in charge. And then fire them if they stepped out of line. He’d had that exact conversation with his assistant yesterday when Hewitt discovered that instead of sending Elise on the first train out of town, Thornton had given her a new job and a raise in pay. When he informed Hewitt they needed to pay the other women more too, Hewitt had sputtered and steamed like an overheated engine. In the end, he had to capitulate. After all, Thornton was the boss and so had the final say. His challenge was with Bradford, not with Hewitt.

  Yet he understood Hewitt’s concerns. Thornton was able to add the sums quite easily. Maybe his father hadn’t put any stipulations about how much capital they could invest in their respective towns, but Thornton had been developing land long enough to know he couldn’t invest an endless amount of money into the town. If he hoped for his town to succeed, he had to help the town stand on its own two feet, so to speak.

  Hewitt was only being wise and cautious. He’d shown Thornton the bottom line yesterday during their argument. Thornton couldn’t afford to give Elise a raise, or anyone else for that matter, or he’d deplete himself of the funds necessary for other important aspects of the town.

  “What, then, would you do if you wanted to ensure you had loyal, hardworking employees?” she asked, picking up a wire whisk and beating eggs in the bowl Mrs. Gray had left on the counter.

  “Pay them more?”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, which surprised him.

  “Isn’t that what everyone wants, to earn more money?”

  “In the case of the women who are earning little more than slaves, yes. But in general I suspect you pay the men a decent wage.”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Then what would you have me do?”

  She paused, the eggs frothy and light from the vigorous beating. She poured in a little milk from a pitcher on the table and added a dash of several spices from the assortment next to her. “If you work alongside them, you’ll gain their respect, you’ll begin to understand their challenges and needs, and in the process earn their loyalty. Once gained, they’ll work even harder for you.”

  Thornton mulled over her suggestion. He understood what she was saying but wasn’t sure he agreed. After all, his father had never done the work of a common laborer and he’d succeeded quite well without it.

  As though sensing his doubt, she grabbed one of the pans hanging over her head and thumped it against the table. “Then again, you can be like every other wealthy person I’ve known and continue to trample into the dust those who are already downtrodden.”

  She dumped the egg mixture into the pan, sloshing some over the side in her angry, jerking motions.

  “I take it you’ve personally experienced someone wealthy trampling you?”

  She didn’t respond. Instead she transferred the pan of eggs to the stove and began to stir the mixture back and forth.

  At the thought of someone having taken advantage of Elise or having hurt her, frustration rose up within him. He wanted to press her for more information, but the stiff set of her shoulders told him the door to her past was shut and locked. And she had no intention of opening it to him.

  If he wanted to regain her trust and friendship, he would have to work for it. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted to prove he was different from whoever had hurt her. But he wasn’t entirely certain he was, and that thought bothered him more than anything else.

  Elise lay on her bed of blankets in the dormer room and read Marianne’s letter for at least the tenth time since Mr. Gray had given it to her that afternoon. The one oil lamp the women shared didn’t afford much light, especially in her cramped corner. Nevertheless, the homesick ache had prodded her to digest her sister’s words again and again.

  Marianne had received Elise’s letter, the one she’d written when she first arrived in Quincy, when she’d just started working with the Engle sisters as a laundress. Marianne had reassured her everything was going fine for them. Although Marianne hadn’t found any work yet, they were still staying at the mission. They were safe, fed, and keeping busy with projects Miss Pendleton was assigning them.

  It appeared Miss Pendleton had decided to have the boarders earn their room and board by involving them with the renovations of the upper floors of the mission. According to Marianne, they were mostly cleaning and painting. Elise was grateful the savvy businesswoman had figured out a way for them to pay her back. She couldn’t afford to be in debt to Miss Pendleton as well as Thornton Quincy.

  “This is del
icious, Elise.” Betty Lou, one of the women hired to help the construction crew cook, took another bite of the leftover jam tarts Elise had given her. Betty Lou was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her cot, her feet puffy and swollen from standing all day.

  Elise hadn’t known what to do with the leftover food from the kitchen, and Mrs. Gray had told her she could do whatever she liked. So Elise decided to bring it back to the dormer for the other women, especially for Betty Lou and Rachel, who didn’t come to the depot dining room to eat, but instead ate whatever the cook was making for the men.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for something besides salt pork and beans.” Betty Lou took another bite, closed her eyes, and chewed slowly, making happy moans while doing so.

  Rachel, on the cot opposite Betty Lou, had already devoured a piece of plum cake, two tarts, and a butter horn roll. Even now her mouth was full, her plump frame causing the cot beneath her to sag.

  The Engle sisters on the far end of the attic were already asleep, their snores vibrating in the chilled air. They’d tasted her cooking when they ate at the dining room for supper. But Fanny hadn’t come tonight or the previous evening because her employer insisted she complete her quota before leaving the shop.

  Even with the missed dinner, Fanny sat on her cot, her back against the wall, her portion of the food untouched beside her. She stared up at the slanted roof, a fresh red welt on her cheek adding to the purple discoloration under one of her eyes. She’d discarded her headscarf, and her red curly hair hung in loose waves down her shoulders. Her face was paler than usual, which made her freckles stand out all the more.

  “You wouldn’t believe what we saw today,” Betty Lou said, her eyes alighting with mischief and energy that belied the weary creases in her forehead.

  “You saw a bear mauling a donkey.” Elise folded Marianne’s letter gingerly.

  “No. Guess again.”

  “Maybe you saw a pig flying?”

  Betty Lou shook her head, the spot between her brows wrinkling. “Why in the world would you think I saw something like that?”

  “You said I wouldn’t believe what you saw.” Elise tucked Marianne’s letter into her carpetbag for safekeeping. She tried to reign in her sarcasm whenever she was with the women. But during the guessing game with Betty Lou, she couldn’t resist.

  Betty Lou’s mouth opened to respond but no words came out.

  Fanny sat forward with a snort, a half smile forming. She exchanged an amused glance with Elise before reaching for one of the tarts by her side.

  Elise couldn’t contain a grin of her own. “Would you like me to make one final guess?”

  Betty Lou eyed Fanny before giving Elise an uncertain nod. “I guess so.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Elise pretended to think before leaning forward with feigned excitement. “Oh, I know. Even though my guess might be as far out there as pigs flying, maybe you saw Mr. Quincy and Mr. Hewitt working with the construction crew?”

  Betty Lou nodded her head rapidly. “Yes, that’s exactly what we saw.”

  This time Fanny laughed, and Elise was relieved to hear it. Fanny had been too morose of late. As much as the Irishwoman’s fiery personality had caused her grief at the mission, Elise couldn’t deny she much preferred the spunky, spirited Fanny to the melancholy one.

  “My eyes about popped from my head when I saw them,” Betty Lou said. “I told Rachel something must be terribly, terribly wrong for Mr. Quincy himself to be out among the boys working, didn’t I, Rachel?”

  The other woman nodded, her cheeks puffed too full with another butter horn to speak.

  Betty Lou’s voice rose in excitement as she relayed all she’d witnessed during the day: Mr. Quincy up on the roof with a hammer, Mr. Quincy carrying beams, Mr. Quincy helping install a window, Mr. Quincy laughing with the men.

  Of course, Elise had already heard about Thornton’s efforts with the construction crew from Mr. Gray, who’d kept peeking out the window and down the street where Thornton was working. Mr. Gray had watched with such amazement that he’d almost missed greeting the arriving trains on several occasions.

  She hadn’t seen Thornton all evening during the dinner hour. Not that she’d been looking for him. And she most certainly hadn’t lingered in the kitchen after cleaning up supper with the hope of seeing him. She’d only wanted to get the beans soaking, and then she grated carrots for a cake she planned to bake in the morning. When she finished, she decided to shuck the fresh peas one of the local farmers had delivered.

  It didn’t matter that Thornton hadn’t made an appearance. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t had the chance to ask him how his day had gone. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted to share his adventure with her. At least that was what she’d been telling herself.

  Even so, she couldn’t deny the small thrill that had been growing with each passing hour. He’d actually taken her advice. He’d gone out and experienced what it was like to do hard labor all day. He hadn’t stopped once, not until the sun had begun to set and the men had dispersed to eat.

  As much as she wanted to hold on to her grudge against him, she was finding it difficult to do so. Maybe he was rich and powerful and ignorant of what life was like for people like her, but he’d humbled himself today. Not only that, but he’d had to humble himself when he apologized to her for leading her on during the train ride.

  Apologies were never easy for anyone, though she could imagine they were even harder for one in his position.

  Thornton was turning all her stereotypes upside down. He was a complex man, one with many facets. As much as she wanted to resist liking him, she couldn’t. She admired him much more than she should, more than was good for her.

  She prayed she wouldn’t come to regret it.

  Chapter 16

  Thornton’s body ached in places he’d never known existed. Yet as he entered the depot after having washed and changed from a long day of manual labor, he tried to walk with his back straight even though it hurt. And he tried not to limp on his aching legs and feet.

  After a week of working with the different construction crews around town, he expected that he’d finally grow accustomed to the heavy lifting and constant hammering. But he was still as sore tonight as he’d been the first day. He felt as though he’d aged fifty years. He almost considered ordering the smithy to make him a cane.

  No doubt that would have impressed the men on the construction crews. He could just imagine their heckling.

  He’d been embarrassed by how exhausted he was each evening and so resorted to having Mrs. Gray deliver the evening meal to his room. He hadn’t wanted anyone to witness his groans and moans. Plus he was afraid, once he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to push himself back up.

  But tonight, when he’d returned and passed by the dining room, he was surprised to find Reinhold sitting at one of the tables, and Elise talking and smiling down at him. The sight irritated him much more than he wanted it to. He’d gone to his room and reread each of Rosalind’s letters. He even sat down and penned her another letter too. But none of that had taken his mind off Reinhold in the dining room.

  Of course, Reinhold had every right to eat in the dining room. There wasn’t any rule that said he had to dine with the other construction workers in the mess hall, which was situated near the bunk shanties.

  Thornton had taken his noon meals in the mess hall for the past week, and after eating the same fare every day, he couldn’t blame any of the men if they’d decided to boycott the food even if it was part of their room and board. The food was downright awful. There was no other way to describe it. Yet the men had shoveled it in as heartily as if they’d been served a feast fit for a king.

  The first time he watched them, shame overwhelmed him, shame that they were grateful and content with what was put before them. Not one of the men complained, but instead ate until nearly every morsel on the table was gone.

  The experience awakened him to his snobbery, to just how spo
iled he’d been all his life to have fresh meals made from the finest quality and cooked by the best chefs.

  Though the men hadn’t grumbled about their food, Thornton made a note to speak with the cook about expanding the meals to include other more savory food items. He realized now that the food budget he’d given the cook hadn’t allowed for much variety, and Thornton wanted that to change.

  It was one small thing among many he’d noted needed to be changed.

  His list of bigger concerns was growing almost too large to adequately address. He’d learned firsthand that the men could benefit from at least one break in the morning and one in the afternoon. They needed more ladders, scaffolds, and better tools. They needed more encouragement for a job well done. They needed to be released from their work earlier in the evenings so they had adequate time to rest.

  As they worked, he also asked the men questions. He discovered they worried about what would happen if they were injured, how they would provide for the families they left behind, the difficulty in saving, and so much more.

  With a tired sigh, Thornton now crossed the depot toward the dining room and was irritated once again to see Reinhold was still in the same spot as earlier. He’d come straight from work, for although he’d scrubbed his face and hands, his clothes remained dusty.

  He was sitting back in his chair, his stocky legs stretched out in front of him, a cup of coffee in his hands. Thornton had the feeling Reinhold hadn’t eaten there to take a break from the mess hall meals. There was only one reason Reinhold was in the dining room, and it had everything to do with the pretty young lady in the kitchen.

  Thornton approached Reinhold and tried to straighten his back without wincing. “Good evening, Mr. Weiss.” Thornton held out a hand, and Reinhold took it for a handshake. “How is supper tonight?

  “A very fine meal, sir. Elise is one of the best cooks you’ll ever meet.” Reinhold’s eyes shone with the pride of a man boasting about the woman he loved.