A Careless Wind (Kansas Crossroads Book 7)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “But then my parents accused me of being inappropriate with Daniel before he left. They were wrong—absolutely wrong. I believe in waiting for marriage, and Daniel never would have asked me to betray those beliefs. We’d never even come close to breaking that trust. But for some reason, my parents became convinced, and when Daniel finally sent for me, they told me I was never to come back.”

  Margaret looked at her in disbelief. “Your parents didn’t believe their own daughter?”

  Rachel almost laughed. “No need to sound so surprised. If you knew my parents, you’d understand that this was typical behavior for them. Our relationship has always been strained, and this was just another argument to add to the pile we’d been collecting.”

  Margaret took a few steps before asking, “Did you ever learn why they thought that of you?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I wondered about it for a long time, but they would never tell me, and I never figured it out. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter. They would have found another reason to disown me—I’m sure of it.”

  Margaret reached out and looped her arm through Rachel’s. “I can’t understand why anyone would do such a thing, especially to you. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. In fact, I don’t know what I would have done without you and Olivia and Abigail during my little . . . adventure.”

  Rachel chuckled. “Yes, we become very protective when one of our friends is accused of murder.” Then she grew somber again. “It’s very likely that I’ll never see my parents again, but that’s all right. My chances of happiness without them are much greater than they would be if I’d stayed home.”

  “Even without Daniel?” Margaret asked softly.

  Rachel thought about that for a moment before answering. “Of course I’ll always miss him and wish we were together, but yes, I’m better off on my own than I would be at home. It’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but it’s true.”

  “Sometimes the truth is terrible.” Margaret gave Rachel’s arm a little squeeze. “I’m glad you found your way here. I’m glad we all did. Aren’t we an interesting bunch? Each running from something, looking for something—and we all ended up together.”

  “I certainly don’t believe it’s a coincidence. God leads people where they need to be, and He must have known we’d need each other.” Rachel returned Margaret’s squeeze, and they turned to head back to the hotel. She was grateful that her friend had come with her on this little walk. It helped to talk things over. Her mind felt clearer, but she still had no idea what to do about her heart.

  ***

  Nicholas had thought that talking to Rachel would settle the chaos in his gut, but it had only made things worse. He remembered the summer they’d spent together, how close to her he’d felt, how sure he’d been that they would always be that close. Now she treated him like a stranger—worse than a stranger, actually, because there was disdain in her voice. He couldn’t understand why. When she’d come to him and told him it was over, that she was marrying his brother, he’d given her his blessing, although it had been the most painful thing he’d ever done. He’d never once treated her unkindly, and yet now, she behaved as though he’d been the one to break her heart and not the other way around.

  He’d known the whole time, of course, that his feelings for her were wrong. He couldn’t take his brother’s girl—no man of any quality would dream of it—but he couldn’t deny what was happening. They simply filled a hole in each other’s souls. It almost seemed like divine justice when Daniel came back and she chose him, as though Nicholas was receiving the proper punishment for feeling the way he did. That made it easier for him to let her go—easier, if having your heart pulled through a closed bear trap was easy.

  Nicholas shook his head and pulled himself back to the present. There was nothing whatsoever to be accomplished by dwelling on the past. They’d seen each other, she’d turned him away, and now he had a patch of land to clear for the railroad. He seemed to be giving himself that same lecture quite often as of late.

  “Ho!”

  The little Chinese man scurried up to him and bowed. Nicholas understood that was part of the culture, but he did wish the man would stop it. He felt uncomfortable, like he was being placed in a position of honor he didn’t deserve. Maybe there was something Nicholas could do to make Ho feel less inferior.

  Nicholas picked up his shovel from where it had been lying in the dirt at his feet. He pointed to it. “Shovel.”

  Ho tilted his head to the side. Apparently, his limited English didn’t extend that far.

  Nicholas tried again. “Shovel,” he said, pointing to the tool.

  Understanding dawned on Ho’s face, and he nodded vigorously. “Ah. Shovel,” he repeated, his pronunciation not accurate, but close enough. Then he said something that sounded like “chan,” motioning toward the shovel.

  Nicholas tried the strange word for himself. It sat awkwardly on his tongue, but Ho nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

  Nicholas plunged his shovel back into the soil, forming a plan in the back of his mind. If he could teach Ho five English words a day and learn five Chinese words in return, that would really be something.

  Chapter Seven

  “Rachel, may I see you in my office, please?”

  Mr. Brody looked grim, and he rarely looked grim. In fact, she’d have to say that he was one of the most mild-mannered men she’d ever known. He said he had a temper, but she’d never seen it.

  “Of course, Mr. Brody.” She put down her dust rag and followed him down the short hallway from the dining room to his office. Strands of her hair had come loose, and she tucked them back as she walked.

  He took a seat and motioned for her to sit as well. She chose a chair directly across from him, noting the meal tickets that were spread across his desk. A feeling of dread filled her. Was something wrong with that day’s tickets? It couldn’t be—she’d checked them herself before turning them in.

  “Rachel, tell me about today’s meal services.”

  Rachel cleared her throat. “During our first service, we handled fifty-one customers. During the second, we handled forty-seven.”

  “And did all go according to plan?”

  She wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking, but she answered the best she could. “It did seem to go smoothly, yes, sir.”

  Mr. Brody reached out and rearranged one of the stacks of tickets. “Rachel, I’ll be straightforward with you. Everything was fine for the first service of the day, but just now, I was adding up the second meal’s receipts, and I found a discrepancy.”

  Rachel squeezed her hands into fists. “Of what sort, sir?”

  Mr. Brody slid the meal tickets across the table. “Read these aloud, please.”

  She took them, reading each aloud, as she’d been asked. “Sir, it appears that for this meal, we served a total of twenty-eight servings of pot roast, ten of fried chicken, and nine of baked beans. We also sold thirty-five slices of pie and five of cake.”

  “That’s correct. I’ve added those tickets three times and arrived at the same answer. I’ve also added up the money in the cash box, and I’m coming up two dollars short.”

  “Two dollars?” Rachel’s head began to pound. That was a significant amount of money, and she had no explanation for it. She knew the tickets were correct—she’d turned them in herself, and it simply wasn’t possible for her to hand in more tickets than had actually been generated.

  She sat back and rubbed her temples. Mr. Brody kept a sharp eye on the lobby and dining room. He wore a Colt under his jacket at all times, and he didn’t hesitate to make that fact known if there was trouble in the hotel. No one could have reached under the front counter and taken money from the cash box without his knowledge. He’d know if someone had even stepped foot behind that counter—it was in his line of sight during the entire meal service, and he was the only one who handled the money. As the assistant manager over the rooms, Margaret could now check guests in and take th
eir payments, but that was for the rooms only, and not the meals. The money was tallied separately and even kept in a separate box.

  “You saw nothing amiss, sir?” she asked, hardly daring to ask.

  “I saw nothing. However, something did happen, so it’s fair to say that I wasn’t as diligent as I should have been.” Mr. Brody leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “I want you to know, Rachel, that I don’t suspect you of any sort of wrongdoing. If you were stealing from the hotel, it would be simple enough for you to tear up a few meal tickets and hide your actions, and yet, you brought me this complete stack. Please understand that this is not any form of accusation. Rather, I’m asking for your help to solve the problem.”

  Rachel took a deep breath, trying to release the knot that had been building inside her. “Thank you for your confidence, sir. I promise it’s not wasted.”

  “I believe that. So, what are your instincts telling you? What do you believe happened to the money?” His tone was inquisitive, as though he genuinely cared about her ideas.

  “I feel we should start with the simplest answers and move forward from there,” Rachel said. “For instance, did Elizabeth need to buy anything from the general store today? Perhaps she took the two dollars and forgot to leave a note.”

  “That was my initial thought as well, but I asked her, and she said no,” Mr. Brody replied.

  Rachel was disappointed to hear that. It would, indeed, have made this so much easier. “I know the tickets are correct, so that’s not the problem. It all comes down to the cash, and so it appears that someone stole the money from the box.”

  “Do you have any suspicions as to who it might be?” Mr. Brody asked, steepling his fingers.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t.” Rachel thought back on that afternoon’s service. She hadn’t seen anyone who looked questionable—mostly just tired, hungry, dusty men and women eager for a good meal. But in her heart, she knew Mr. Brody wasn’t asking about guests of the hotel. He was asking about the other employees, those who would have had the most opportunity to steal. She couldn’t imagine any of them doing such a thing. It seemed unthinkable.

  “I don’t either.” Mr. Brody exhaled, a sound of exhaustion. “I’ll keep the cash box locked up in my office and put the money in my pocket as the customers pay. It’s not as organized, but I doubt anyone would try to nip a few dollars off a man carrying a gun. In the meantime, Rachel, please be thinking back on today. If you remember anything that seemed out of place, let me know immediately. We need to resolve this incident.”

  “I will, sir,” Rachel promised, standing and turning to leave. She paused in the doorway. “Thank you again for trusting me, sir.” She pressed her lips together, willing them not to tremble. If only she had ever received that kind of confidence from her parents. Mr. Brody was by no means old enough to be her father, but he kept fulfilling that role in her life, and she would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of the hotel. She just hoped it would be answered sooner rather than later.

  ***

  Nicholas had started keeping a journal of all the Chinese words he was learning from Ho. So far, he’d learned twelve. The language almost sounded like a song, and he often found himself fantasizing about what it would be like to travel to that land. He’d seen pictures in books, and it looked mystical and ancient. Something in his soul stirred at the thought.

  Pete and Les came into the tent a moment later, and Nick tucked his book away. He knew what those men thought about the Chinese, and he wasn’t about to incite any more teasing than he already got. Journal or no journal, though, they were already plenty upset.

  “So, we hear you’re learning how to talk Chinese,” Les said, squatting down in front of Nicholas. “Whaddya wanna do something like that for?”

  It was probably best to keep this as casual as possible. “I thought it would help me communicate with the workers better,” Nicholas said with a shrug.

  “You can communicate with ’em just fine already,” Pete growled. “Just hand ’em a shovel and show ’em where to dig.”

  “Thing is, we’re only nice to ’em because the government says we have to be,” Les continued. “But the government’s not here, so what they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”

  Nicholas took a deep breath. “Fellows, I admit, I’m not at all sure why it matters to you if I decide to learn a little Chinese. What if we had some kind of emergency on the line? It might come in handy.”

  “Some kind of emergency, you say? Like, maybe some of those Chinamen might get themselves blown up?” Pete laughed, and Les joined in. “Come on, Nick. Let it go. You’re wastin’ your time. Now, me and Les and some of the other guys got permission to go into town and check out the saloon. You comin’?”

  “No, that’s all right. You go ahead.”

  Pete looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Did you hear what I said? Saloon. That means saloon girls, Nicky boy. And cards, and drinking, and more fun than we’ve had in weeks. You’re new here, so maybe you don’t know, but this kind of chance only comes along once in a while. You’ve gotta take it while you can get it.”

  Nicholas smiled and shook his head. “Really, it’s okay. Go ahead without me.”

  The two other men looked at each other incredulously. “Well, all right, but when we come home tellin’ our stories of victory and debauchery, don’t be complainin’ that you got left out,” Les said as he threw back the tent flap. “You were in

  vited.”

  “And I appreciate it. Have fun.”

  Nicholas waited until both men had left and the flap was down again. Then he leaned back on his bedroll, allowing his mind to take him on a trip to visit the only girl he cared to see—Rachel. It was bound to be a painful trip, but it would be worth it.

  Chapter Eight

  Perhaps it was Rachel’s imagination, but everyone at the morning meeting seemed tense. She hadn’t mentioned the missing money to anyone but Mr. Brody, but Elizabeth’s slight nod told her that her manager had also been made aware of the situation. If no one else knew, what was the change in the air? Was something else wrong?

  Each girl took a moment to go over the day’s tasks and make assignments. After she finished in the dining room, Rachel would be helping with the laundry. She didn’t generally care for the task, but she might actually find it welcome—the hard work would help her sort out some simmering emotions, and it would give her a chance to talk to the other girls and try to figure out what had happened to that money. She wished she could just ask them directly if they knew anything about it, but Mr. Brody had specifically asked that they keep the situation quiet for now.

  The first service went smoothly. They ran out of apple pie, but Sarah had made four extra peach pies, and their customers weren’t at all disappointed with the substitution. As Rachel gathered up the meal tickets to take them to Mr. Brody, she said a silent prayer that everything would be accounted for. She’d kept her senses on full alert while she served, watching for anything that seemed out of place, and now it came down to these little slips of paper and the money tucked into Mr. Brody’s pocket.

  She rapped on his door, then entered when he called out, “Come in.”

  “I’ve brought the tickets,” she said, placing them on his desk. She didn’t like how her voice trembled, and hoped he didn’t notice. She didn’t want him to think she was incapable of handling this responsibility.

  “Thank you. And did you see anything unusual today?”

  “I didn’t, sir. I trust you didn’t either.”

  “Not a thing. I kept the money in my pocket, then counted it up and added it to the cash box just now. I’ve made a note of the total, and will now compare it to the tickets.”

  “Would you like me to stay while you do that, or should I come back in a little bit?”

  Mr. Brody glanced at his pocket watch, which lay open on his desk. “Why don’t you come back in twenty minutes, and see if there’s any cake left. No one makes cake like Mrs. Early did, but
Sarah’s is a close second.”

  “I’m sure there’s some left. I’ll bring you a piece when I come back.”

  “Thank you, Rachel.” He bent his head to his work, and Rachel slipped out of the office. Her heart was beating far faster than it should. What if he found another discrepancy? She’d done everything she could to avoid it, but who was to say that it wouldn’t happen again? She still didn’t know how it had happened in the first place.

  She kept herself busy by cutting the piece of cake and arranging it on a tray with a napkin and a glass of milk. Then she meandered around the dining room, straightening tablecloths that didn’t need to be straightened and flicking away imaginary dust. The girls out at the laundry tubs would be wondering where she was, but until she heard Mr. Brody’s report, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any other task.

  By the time she delivered the cake to the office, she was a ball of nervous energy. She set the tray down on the corner of the desk and then stood there quietly, waiting for Mr. Brody to speak. He took a bite of cake and then a swallow of milk before looking up to meet her gaze.

  “It appears that everything’s in order,” he said at last. “I checked the numbers twice just to make sure.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Rachel’s knees nearly gave out with relief. “I’m still anxious to find out what happened yesterday.”

  “As am I. And thank you for the cake.”

  She interpreted that as her cue to go, so she gave a nod and left the room. Now to see if she could get some information from the other girls—this knot in her stomach wouldn’t go away until she figured it out.