With You Always (Orphan Train Book #1)

by Jody Hedlund

  Thornton had worked alongside Reinhold one afternoon that week. He’d hoped to find something wrong with him, some fault or character deficit, anything. But the man was courteous, kind, and respectful. Not only that, but he was one of the hardest workers on any of his crews. He was strong, knowledgeable, and related well with the other men. He was an ideal worker, the type of man Thornton would consider hiring for a supervisor.

  He was nearly perfect in every way.

  Which should have been a good thing, except that also meant he was perfect for Elise. That thought shouldn’t have bothered Thornton, but it did, much more than he wanted to admit.

  “I have a feeling she’s going to turn this dining room into a favorite stopping place along the Illinois Central.” Reinhold took a sip of his coffee.

  “You may be right,” Thornton said. The man should be long done with his coffee by now. He was clearly dragging out his time there so he could see Elise again.

  Thornton glanced at the open kitchen door. Unlike Reinhold, he didn’t have to sit at a table waiting for Elise to come out and visit with him. He could march right into the kitchen and talk to her, if that was what he wanted to do. And no one could stop him.

  “Have a pleasant evening.” He nodded at Reinhold and then started across the dining room toward the kitchen. A strange satisfaction filled Thornton at the thought of Reinhold watching him and realizing his advantage. It was an arrogant thought, and he knew it. But the truth was he didn’t want to share Elise with Mr. Perfect.

  As soon as Thornton stepped into the kitchen, however, his confidence vanished. Elise was standing at the washtub, her arms plunged into greasy water with food remnants floating on top. Mrs. Gray was sweeping the floor and chattering away. The moment she saw him, she grew silent.

  At the sudden quiet of her companion, Elise glanced over her shoulder. Upon glimpsing him, something lit in her eyes—was it relief? He couldn’t be sure, because she turned and shook dripping water from her hands. “Mr. Quincy,” she said, “I’d begun to think you were avoiding my dining room.”

  “I have to admit I’ve been hiding.” He inwardly cringed. Why had he said that? Couldn’t he have come up with something else? Something that made him appear tough and strong—like Reinhold.

  She reached for a towel and wiped her hands. “Hiding? Why?”

  His mind raced to find a way to make himself look good. But the kink in his back reminded him of the truth. He was a weakling, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise. “After working all day, I looked and walked worse than an old mule. I smelled like one too.”

  Rubbing her arms dry, she appraised him.

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I know. I still look like an old mule—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “The work suits you.” Her lashes dropped then, and a faint hue colored her neck.

  Was she complimenting him? He straightened his aching shoulders and watched as she busied herself folding the towel and draping it over a hook near the washtub. Had she missed him this week? She’d apparently noticed he was gone. Surely that was a good sign—a sign she was considering forgiving him?

  Mrs. Gray rested the broom against the wall and retrieved the coffeepot from the stove. “I’ll go see who needs refills.” With a peek at him and then Elise, she limped from the room just as fast as her legs would carry her.

  “So how has the week gone?” Elise asked, her expression earnest, as though she truly cared about his experience.

  “I can’t lie. It was difficult.” Once he started relaying all he’d done, he realized how much he’d wanted to talk to her and share everything he was learning. It felt as though he was confiding in a friend.

  “You certainly lasted longer than Mr. Hewitt,” she said when he’d finished. She rested against the washtub, her arms crossed, her expression gentle, almost admiring—if he might say so himself.

  “The poor boy complained of so many aches and pains that I couldn’t force him to join me for a second day.” Thornton leaned against the worktable near the remaining pieces of an apple cake. It reminded him of the apple pie they’d devoured together on the journey west. If only he could go back in time, redo his actions with her, and keep from hurting her. “Besides, someone needs to keep all the wheels turning.”

  She arched a brow. “Wheels turning?”

  He dug in his pocket for his watch, pulled it out, and flipped open its outer case. “Developing a town is as intricate as putting together all the gears of a watch. Everything has to fit together perfectly. Not only that, but they all have to run smoothly. If one business isn’t operating as it should, it eventually affects all the others that rely upon it.”

  “And Mr. Hewitt keeps the clock running?” Skepticism was written all over her face.

  “So to speak.” He tucked the watch back in his pocket. “I know you and Hewitt got off to a rough start, but he’s really a good kid. He’s talented at what he does, and I know I can rely on him.” At least he hoped so. Tomorrow he had a meeting scheduled with the young surveyor to go over the changes they needed to make with the construction workers. Thornton was under no illusion that his assistant would accept the changes easily. But Hewitt was smart enough to realize that if he wanted to advance, he needed to please Thornton, even if he didn’t agree with how Thornton wanted to run things.

  Thornton picked a sliver of apple off the edge of the cake and stuck it in his mouth. “I’m thinking about visiting with the farmers next. I’d like to see how they’re doing, hear their concerns and get a feel for what I can do to make the town more suited to their needs.” He’d already talked with one of the construction crew supervisors about starting the schoolhouse next. But he was sure there was more he could do to attract additional farmers into buying up the rest of the parcels of railroad land that were left.

  “What do you think of my plan?” He broke off another piece of cake, this one bigger. As he lifted it to his mouth, he caught her amused look. “What? So you think my idea is humorous?”

  She smiled. “No. Actually I think it’s brilliant. So long as you go there with a willingness to help them and listen, just as you did this past week.”

  “Brilliant?” He liked the sound of that.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, crossing to him. “It might pop if it puffs up any more.”

  “True.” He grinned.

  She pulled the cake pan out of his reach just as he reached for another crumb and swatted his hand lightly. “No more snacking on my cake.”

  “It’s irresistible.” Like her. But he bit back his remark.

  “For that compliment I’ll give you a whole piece.”

  “If I give you two compliments, do I get two slices?”

  She smiled. “Maybe.”

  “What if I tell you that you make the best food I’ve ever tasted?”

  “I’d tell you that you’re bribing me.”

  “It’s the truth,” he insisted. “I’ve never met anyone who can make a cake as moist and sweet as this.”

  As she cut the cake into a generous piece and slipped it onto a plate, her bright blue eyes were alight and her lips curved with pleasure. She’d never looked lovelier than at that moment.

  “Elise . . .” Mrs. Gray’s voice came from the doorway. “Reinhold is asking for you.”

  Elise handed the plate to Thornton. He wanted to see her reaction to Reinhold’s eagerness. Was she eager in return? But her expression gave him no indication either way. Before he could think of how he could probe deeper, she forced the dish into his hands and stepped around him.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gray,” Elise said, then started for the dining room. Thornton wanted to stop her, to make her stay and talk with him longer, yet he had no right to delay her. Maybe he had the authority to walk into the kitchen and talk to her whenever he wanted, but it was Reinhold who obviously had the power to draw her away.

  Thornton glanced down at the cake in his hands, suddenly no longer hungry.

  “O
h, Mrs. Gray,” Elise called over her shoulder, “you may give Mr. Quincy a second piece of cake if he so wishes. He’s earned it.” When she tossed him a teasing smile, the knot in his middle loosened. Maybe he couldn’t make her like him more than she liked Reinhold, but at least they could be friends. And really, wasn’t that all he wanted anyway?

  Chapter 17

  As Elise stepped out of the church, the wind sliced through her wool coat, making her want to retreat inside where the crowded sanctuary and the corner stove had lent heat on the cold November morning. But Fanny and the other women were already moving ahead of her, down the wooden steps into the street.

  Everyone in town had been invited to attend the first service in the new church. The pastor and his family had moved to Quincy only last week. Even though he’d just arrived, he was eager to begin services.

  Like her, the other women admitted they hadn’t been in a real church in a long time. Elise hadn’t gone since Mutti had died. Of course, she’d attended chapel at the mission, as had Fanny, but she’d only done so because it was one of the requirements for the seamstresses. She hadn’t really listened to Reverend Bedell’s sermons, too angry at God and life to pay attention.

  But after two months in Quincy, she felt as though she owed God some gratitude. She should be thankful Marianne and Sophie were able to live at the mission, especially when the other women talked about the dire situations for the families they’d left behind. Betty Lou cried whenever she talked about how her mother had to place her younger siblings in different asylums in order to keep them from going hungry.

  Thornton’s recent generosity had helped a little. He’d dismissed their travel costs and had given raises in their wages. Now most of them were sending every penny they could spare home to their families, yet it still wasn’t enough to keep them from hardship.

  Elise felt Betty Lou’s pain. The young woman’s tears made her all the more aware of God’s provision. Not only was her family safe, but God had also given her a job she loved. It was better than anything she could have imagined, and she had plenty of food and a roof over her head.

  In the dismally cold morning, the other women huddled in their thin coats just as she was doing. They spoke quietly to each other, their noses and cheeks turning red as the cold wind stung their faces. The Engle sisters stomped their feet while walking as though attempting to bring them warmth, and they blew into their red chapped hands every few moments. Betty Lou and Rachel huddled close together, their arms linked. And Fanny clutched her coat to keep it closed, the buttons long gone.

  Elise wouldn’t have guessed this unlikely bunch of women could ever come to mean anything to her. But over the weeks of living together in the cramped dormer room, talking every evening, sharing news from home, she’d come to know the women. They felt like friends now.

  Elise shuddered at the same time as Fanny. “It’s too cold here in Illinois, that it is,” Fanny grumbled. Her knuckles were white, her fingers a shade of bluish-purple. Her freckles were more pronounced on her pale face, which thankfully was devoid of bruises.

  “Mrs. Gray has warned me it will get much worse.” Elise peeked toward the low clouds overhead that spread out in all directions, like an endless gray coverlet that had seen too much usage and too many washings.

  The businesses along Main Street were closed for the Sabbath. The doors were locked, the storefronts dark, the street devoid of the usual comings and goings. Even so, the town was alive and taking shape. The construction crews had made good progress during the past month. The shell of a school stood at one end of the street, and several private homes were under construction as well. A new large feed store that Reinhold had helped build was ready for its first coat of paint.

  Every week the train brought a new family or two. With each passing day, her depot restaurant grew busier, not just from the residents of the town but also from more passengers riding the Illinois Central.

  “Elise, wait!” a voice called out behind her, making her heartbeat stumble. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was, and apparently neither did Fanny. The warning scowl she tossed Elise said it all. Fanny still didn’t like or trust Thornton.

  “Don’t let him sweet-talk ye,” Fanny said under her breath.

  “I won’t.” Elise slowed her steps. “We’re just friends.”

  “Maybe that’s all he is to ye. But I’ve seen the way he looks at ye, and he doesn’t have friendship on his mind.”

  Elise shook her head. “No, he’s only a friend, like Reinhold is.”

  Fanny snorted. “Reinhold is smitten with ye too. He worships the ground ye walk on, that he does.”

  She wanted to deny Fanny. But she wasn’t entirely oblivious to Reinhold’s increased attention. While he couldn’t afford to eat in the dining room except occasionally, he waited for her to be done every night so he could walk her back to the hotel. At first she’d assumed he came after her because she always gave him a leftover desert. And because he’d wanted to make sure she returned home safely. At the late hour, the tavern was overflowing with rowdy construction workers. Although she wasn’t worried about anything happening, Reinhold had insisted.

  Of course, she enjoyed talking with Reinhold and hearing about his work. They’d always been able to share openly, and she appreciated his friendship now more than ever. He was her connection to her past. He’d been there during the dark days after Vater died. He’d been a rock for her after she lost Mutti too. Even now, he understood just how much she missed her sisters. Likewise she understood how much he worried over his own family, for he hadn’t received any letters from them since he’d left.

  Over the past few nights, however, he’d insisted on accompanying her back to the hotel even though Thornton had come outside with her and offered to walk with her instead. Just last night, Reinhold reached for her hand as they’d strolled toward the hotel. She was too surprised to pull away, and too embarrassed by Thornton’s perusal behind her to dislodge herself from Reinhold. While she didn’t dare look behind to gauge Thornton’s reaction, she could only imagine the mirth in his eyes. He’d likely mock her today. That was probably why he was rushing after her.

  “Elise.” Thornton was nearly upon her.

  “Do ye want me to scare him off?” Fanny whispered, her brow rising and revealing angry eyes.

  “I’ll be fine, Fanny.” She certainly didn’t want Fanny getting fired and sent back to New York for threatening Thornton.

  Fanny’s features remained hard and cold. “Be careful.” Then she lengthened her stride to catch up to the other women.

  Thornton fell into step beside Elise, slightly out of breath. “Good morning.” His smile was lopsided and much too devastating. It made her pulse tumble and bounce. “Might I walk with you the rest of the way?”

  “So long as you refrain from any sort of teasing.”

  “Teasing for what?” Flecks of light brown mingled with the dark in his eyes, making them dance.

  “For my over-browned cinnamon buns.”

  He chuckled. “All right. I won’t tease you about him—them.”

  She smiled.

  “Although I can’t refrain from saying that one bun in particular was rather sticky.”

  “You promised not to tease.”

  He laughed again, this time louder, filling her with a lightness that came whenever she bantered with him—which hadn’t been often during the past month.

  True to his word, he’d visited among the farmers. What had started as simple offers of help had turned into an all-out effort to bring in the harvest. He’d managed to convince several of the construction men who had previous farming experience to go around with him. She’d heard rumors that in addition to their usual salary and bonus, Thornton promised his workers a discount if they were interested in purchasing their own farmland. Together, Thornton and his small crew had worked from sunup to sundown each day no matter the weather.

  He’d been the main source of conversation in her dining room, drawing admiratio
n from almost everyone for how hard he was working. Elise hadn’t been able to contain her admiration. He’d taken to heart her advice about learning the needs of the people around him. But he’d done much more than she’d expected. He wasn’t just learning about the laboring class. He was experiencing it.

  Because of his long days in the fields, she hadn’t seen him often over the past month, but mostly on Sundays, like today when he took a break from his work.

  “I heard you spent the week at the Johnson farm,” she said.

  “Yes, a good family.” There was something harder about his face than when she’d first met him early in the summer. Of course, he was still a gentleman in every sense of the word, from his crisp bow tie to his starched suit coat to his shiny leather shoes. But his features were more solid, more certain and rugged.

  “Did you finish the harvesting?” she asked, trying not to stare at him. Instead she focused on the Engle sisters lumbering a short distance ahead with their heavy tread.

  “Yes.” The answer came out in a relieved sigh.

  “So I take it you’ve decided against switching careers and becoming a farmer?”

  “After much soul-searching and agonizing over the decision, you’re right. I just can’t allow myself so much fun every day. It would spoil me.”

  It was her turn to laugh.

  “I will say, however, I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for wheat bread. Or really anything made from wheat.”

  “Since I know you’ll miss the wheat fields so much, I’ll make everything I possibly can out of wheat this week to help ease your grief.”

  “You’re too kind,” he said with a grimace.

  She laughed lightly again, and for a moment they walked in silence, the crunch of their shoes against the gravel street slow and leisurely. She’d grown to anticipate their brief interactions. She especially loved when he came into the kitchen at night after dinner and talked to her about his day, all he’d done and learned. He’d playfully sneak bites of whatever dessert she had sitting on the table. His gaze would follow her around the room, until she felt as wound up as a toy top, her body off-balance, her mind spinning, her blood racing.