Growing realization startled him. Was this what he thought it was? He stared out the dirt-streaked window. “Lord, am I in love with her?”
And what if he was? Not only had she told him her father insisted she continue her trip to Philadelphia by summer’s end, his own father had mapped out an intricate plan Jeremy was expected to follow. What could come of a romance with a thousand miles between them? The thought made his stomach ache.
Staring out the window trying to catch a glimpse of someone who didn’t show up was a depressing way to spend a Sunday afternoon. After a restless night, Monday morning wasn’t a welcome sight. Rosemary donned her lavender calico dress—the one Jeremy liked—and hurried off to the depot. Ada had fussed at her for not eating any of her special doughnuts, but Rosemary had claimed a queasy stomach. It wasn’t a lie. Wondering why Jeremy hadn’t come unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She stepped in the front door of the depot, her gaze scanning the area for those chores she needed to address first. Otto was grumbling and slamming things about in the cubicle office.
“Good mornin’, Otto.”
The agent growled back. “Ain’t nothin’ good about it.”
Rosemary peeked across the counter at him. “Should I have brought you some of Ada Collins’s fresh doughnuts?”
Otto looked up, his thick black eyebrows knitted together like a fat caterpillar. “Wouldn’t hurt.” He returned his attention to the mess on his desk. “Whadja do with the Lincoln schedule?”
Rosemary pointed. “It’s there beside the blotter, where it always is.”
He muttered something unintelligible and then added, “How am I s’posed to find anything if you keep puttin’ it where it belongs?”
Otto’s grouchiness wasn’t new. He greeted her most mornings with a grumpy demeanor. But an urgency Otto normally didn’t employ accompanied this morning’s tirade. Deciding to give him a wide berth, Rosemary turned toward the storage closet.
“Ever’ time a band o’ road agents holds up a train, the schedules get more scrambled than Aunt Sally’s eggs.”
Rosemary’s feet halted. “Hold up a train?” She returned to the cubicle door. “What are you talkin’ about?”
He thrust his fist holding the schedule toward the east. “Some yayhoos dynamited the track Saturday afternoon an’ held up the westbound. Ain’t no trains comin’ from Grand Island till at least t’marra. The express from Omaha even has to be rerouted.”
Fear rose up and strangled her. Was that the train Jeremy …? Her heart hammered against her rib cage. “Was anyone hurt?”
Otto tossed the schedule on the desk. “No. S’pose we can be thankful for that. It just makes ever’thing a lot more complicated. Now they’ll throw some confounded new regulation at us, and the folks wantin’ to ship goods or buy a ticket are gonna blame me.”
Rosemary found the breath she’d been holding and released it in a whoosh. “Thank God.”
“Huh? These here schedules are more tangled than a wad o’ barbed wire an’ my job jus’ got harder, an’ you’re gonna hold a revival meetin’ over that? An’ here I thought you was a nice little lady.”
Rosemary laughed and threw her arms around Otto. She squeezed his neck and gave him a peck on his whiskery cheek.
“Here now, cut that out.” Otto flapped his hand and wiped the spot where she’d kissed.
“Thanks, Otto.” She dashed to the closet and grabbed her bucket, fairly skipping out the back door to the pump. Jeremy hadn’t put her off or forgotten about his promise to escort her to church. The trains weren’t running because of the damage to the rails. Relief flooded her that no one had been hurt, but comfort snuggled around her heart to think Jeremy’s absence wasn’t due to uncaring.
The morning flew by, and Rosemary hummed while she worked, despite Otto’s grousing about “workin’ with a confounded canary-bird.” The scripture Jeremy had read to her, the one about waiting upon God, kept returning to her mind. The words reminded her she wasn’t in control of her life’s events. God’s very fingerprint was visible on her life, and the thought both frightened and thrilled her. The concept that God cared enough about her to direct her path filled her with awe, but what if God desired something for her that she didn’t desire for herself? The weight of the “what if” pressed down on her. Such ruminations were too deep for casual consideration. These questions required the wisdom of someone like Ada.
The large railroad clock read 12:15 p.m. when Otto grabbed a box of therapeutic papers and headed for the door.
Rosemary glanced out the window to the empty tracks. “Otto, didn’t you say the express out of Omaha is due at twelve-thirty?”
“Ain’t none of the trains keepin’ to a schedule today. I’ll be back in a while.”
Rosemary kept pushing her mop back and forth. Perhaps tonight she’d write a letter to Jeremy assuring him she understood why he hadn’t come. Tentative wording ran through her mind as she bent over the bucket and wrung out the mop. Would it be ladylike to express how disappointed she’d been or how much she missed him?
The echo of a distant train whistle met her ear. She glanced at the clock. Otto had been gone almost twenty minutes, and he’d implied the train wouldn’t be on time. She dropped her mop, and it hit the floor with a loud thunk as she hurried to the open door.
The rumble on the tracks grew like the approach of thunderstorm. The train slowed, preparing to stop, but Otto was nowhere in sight. She glanced to and fro but saw no passengers waiting to board. What if someone wanted to unload freight or needed to purchase a connecting ticket? Her palms grew sweaty.
The train’s huge wheels spewed steam as they screeched to a halt. A lone conductor jumped down and strode to the next-to-the-last car—a rather ornate vehicle. He pulled out a mounting step and opened the door. A distinguished-looking gentleman in a finely tailored gray suit stepped out and descended the step to the platform.
Rosemary backed up, seeking the confines of the depot as her hiding place. The man brushed his sleeve with his fingertips and pulled a handkerchief from his inside coat pocket to dab his forehead before walking to the depot. As he approached the door, Rosemary begged God to let Otto come back now.
The gentleman stepped inside and removed his hat, moving his gaze slowly from one end of the depot to the other. He seemed vaguely familiar, though Rosemary felt certain she’d never met him before. His brow furrowed, and he stepped to the ticket window. Rosemary swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
He turned in her direction and studied her for a moment. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m looking for Otto Gustafson. He is supposed to be on duty.”
“Yes, sir, he is… That is, he was… I mean…” Her throat tightened.
“What exactly do you mean, young lady?” He tucked the fingers of his free hand into his vest.
“He—that is, Otto… uh, Mr. Gustafson… went out to—”
“He went out?” The gentleman’s frown deepened. “Do you know where?”
Rosemary forced her head to nod. “To the… n–necessary.” Heat galloped up her neck and flooded her face.
“Ah.” As if aware of the embarrassment his inquiry had caused, he turned his head away from her and walked a few more steps into the depot. He tossed his hat on one of the chairs and scrutinized the new bench over which Rosemary had labored before returning his gaze to her. “And what exactly is your position here, miss, if I may ask?”
Confident the man could find no fault in the way she performed her duties, she swallowed back her intimidation. “I’m the cleaning woman.”
“Cleaning woman?” His gruff tone made Rosemary cringe. “I was not aware we had hired women to clean the depots. That’s supposed to be Gustafson’s job.”
He walked around the waiting area with measured steps, running his finger over the windowsills, sweeping his focus across the floors, and eventually staring at the windows. Her stomach knotted when the man turned to fix his eyes on
her. “Now this is what every depot up and down the line should look like. What is your name, young lady, and who hired you?”
“R–Rosemary Denton, sir. The agent that was here a few weeks ago hired me. Jeremy Reide.”
A light flickered across the man’s eyes. “I see.”
The back door flung open, and Otto came barreling in. “I heard the train whis—” He came to a stumbling halt. “Mr. Forbes. I weren’t expectin’ you, sir.”
The gentleman in the fine gray suit, Mr. Forbes, narrowed his eyes. “Obviously.”
Chapter Eight
The North Platte Hotel wasn’t exactly the Palmer House in Chicago, but it was nicer than the boardinghouse where Jeremy had been staying in Grand Island. After a very long day and a mediocre supper, he’d begged a couple of pieces of paper and pot of ink from the desk clerk. Bone weary, his body longed for sleep. But before he’d give in to the temptation to collapse on the lumpy mattress, he wanted to write to Rosemary.
Dear Rosemary,
I was glad to finally see you last Tuesday. The other freight man didn’t mind me taking his place on the Sweetwater run at all. But I do regret not being able to escort you to church last Sunday. Thank you for understanding and forgiving me for not being able to contact you.
Disappointed. That was the word she’d used. Some might say he should feel flattered that she’d been disappointed by his absence. But instead, grief skewered him to think he’d failed her—albeit unintentionally. He knew in that moment he never wanted to let her down again.
The future dangled before him. Their paths were destined to go separate directions in another month. An emotion deeper than disappointment made his chest ache. He heaved a sigh and returned pen to paper.
You surprised me, in a good way, with your new faith. I had a hard time stopping joyous tears when you shared with me the way God has been speaking to you. Selfishly, I wish I’d been the one to witness that moment when you understood and accepted God’s love and forgiveness, but I’m thankful Reverend and Mrs. Collins prayed with you. Likewise, I’m grateful for being used of God to plant the seeds of faith. What an exquisite joy! I look forward to spending time with you over God’s Word, hopefully next Sunday if outlaws and thugs don’t do any more damage to the rails.
Jeremy paused with the nib of his pen poised over the inkwell. Even now, days later, a smile spread across his face when he recalled Rosemary’s eyes lighting up when she told him of her search through her new Bible. He prayed she wouldn’t lose the hunger for God’s Word.
It appears my time learning freight management in Grand Island is growing short. By the first of August, I will move on to the next step in my training, which I believe will be learning the mechanics of the locomotives, including fuel and steam production. At this time, I am uncertain to which routes I will be assigned. I will request the Sweetwater route, although I’ve been told the Omaha to Chicago route will provide the most experience.
When Rosemary had asked why he moved from one job to another, he’d merely told her he was going through a training program to become a well-rounded employee with knowledge in multiple areas of the railroad industry. She’d given him a quizzical look but appeared to accept what he’d told her. It wasn’t a lie. The description of his father’s plan was basically the explanation he’d given Rosemary. He’d just left out a few important details.
His gaze landed on the latest missive from his father lying on the desk to his right. Learning his father had made an unexpected visit to the Sweetwater depot caused momentary misgiving, but the elder Forbes had only commended him on hiring “the cleaning woman,” and went on to reiterate the importance of Jeremy’s anonymity.
Jeremy leaned back in his chair and sighed. His father put great importance on putting oneself in a position to lead the corporation into the next decade through sharp business astuteness, ambition, and cunning efficiency. How he wished his father valued integrity as highly as he revered ambition.
He couldn’t see how telling Rosemary the truth about who he was would hinder the agenda’s purpose, but he was honor bound to obey his father’s mandate.
Honor. Wasn’t it a contradiction to honor his father by being deceitful about his identity?
He returned his focus to the incomplete letter to Rosemary. One day he’d be able to tell her he was Jeremy Reide Forbes, son of John Murray Forbes, the president of the Burlington and Missouri Railroad. For now, all he could do was pray she wouldn’t hate him when she learned the truth.
I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Should he tell her how special she was to him? Or would that imply something he couldn’t promise? He dipped his pen tip into the inkwell, hesitating. Then he added Affectionately, Jeremy.
Night had fallen and he had to be up before dawn. He sealed and addressed the envelope, setting it beside his Bible where he wouldn’t forget it in the morning.
Rosemary sat in the Collins’s kitchen and read over the first page of the latest letter she’d written to her father. Hopefully he’d be pleased to hear how she was working hard, learning to stand on her own two feet and be responsible for herself. He’d always seemed to think it important for his sons to be independent and industrious. Surely he’d be proud to know his only daughter possessed the same work ethic.
Would he be able to discern the delight she took in her job? She described Otto and how the grumpy depot agent was really soft hearted underneath the gruffness. The story of the group of greenhorn cowboys trying to load a cantankerous prize bull into one of the boxcars ought to make him chuckle. She told him about the little girl with her grandparents and how she’d made a rag doll like the ones Pa used to make out of his handkerchiefs. Would he smile to know she remembered him doing that when she was a little girl?
But nothing she’d written thus far reflected his reason for sending her away in the first place. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “He said he wanted me to become a lady.”
Ada stood at the stove removing two loaves of fresh bread. “What was that, dear?”
Rosemary pulled her attention away from the paper in front of her, not realizing she’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. Just wondering what else to write to my father.”
The aroma of the bread teased Rosemary’s senses as Ada wiped her hands on her apron. “Honey, I know you told me you disagreed with your father for sending you east.” She sat down and covered Rosemary’s hand with hers.
The warmth of Ada’s fingers lent comfort and acceptance, giving her the encouragement she needed to speak freely. “I still do, but my reasons for disagreein’ with him are changin’. I wanted to be independent, make my own choices, control my own life. And I resented Pa for takin’ that away from me. But then God brought me here, and you and Reverend Collins and Jeremy showed me how I could know Him.” Moisture burned behind her eyes, and she curled her fingers around Ada’s. “I found real freedom when I surrendered my selfish wants and let God have control of my life.” She tightened her grip.
Ada returned the squeeze. “I’m so very glad you’ve found that peace and contentment in the Lord. He promises to never leave you, no matter what you face along the way. Your difficulties and struggles may not change, but at least you won’t have to struggle alone.”
Rosemary swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know that now. I believe God stranded me in Sweetwater for the purpose of comin’ to know Him. I just wish I knew what else God has in mind for me.”
“Are you talking about Jeremy?” A tiny smile tipped the corners of Ada’s mouth.
Rosemary wasn’t surprised that Ada suspected she had growing feelings for Jeremy, but heat crept into her face anyway, and she nodded.
Ada patted her hand. “Well, give it time and see what God has in store. As for what to write to your Pa—I expect he just wants to know you love him.”
Ada rose and returned to the stove, humming as she went. Rosemary followed her with her eyes. Everything Ada did, she did with love and grace. A candle of understanding flared t
o life. Pa had sent her east so she’d become a lady. God brought her to the very place and the right person to do just that. Because being a lady wasn’t about attending fancy balls or dining at a formal table. It wasn’t going to tea parties or wearing the latest fashion or having her name listed on a social register. Being a true lady—the kind of lady she wanted to believe her mother was—meant demonstrating compassion and gentleness, generosity and kindness. Love and inner joy defined a lady who sought to minister to another whose heart was confused and fearful, because a true lady was a woman of God. Ada Collins was a lady, and Rosemary wanted to be like her.
She knew now what to write to Pa.
Pa, I hope you can meet Reverend and Mrs. Collins someday. I know you would like them. With their help, I’ve discovered the kind of faith that can carry me through hardship and uncertain times. Ada Collins has taught me so much just by watching her. I’ve never met anyone with such a heart of grace. God has used her to demonstrate what a real lady is. She’s been the example to me that I believe Mama would have been, and for that, I will always be grateful for becoming stranded here in Sweetwater and meeting these wonderful folks.
When she’d started the letter, she planned to beg her father to allow her to return to the ranch at the end of summer instead of making her go on to Philadelphia. But now she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back. Yes, she missed the ranch and her family, but the draw to go home was no longer as strong as it had been over two months ago. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Going back to the ranch meant leaving Jeremy, and the very thought grieved her. Not seeing him for days at a time left a void in her life. She didn’t think she could bear never seeing him again.
She signed the letter and tucked it away to mail in the morning. Ada was busy making yeast dough for cinnamon rolls, and Rosemary joined her. If the day was soon approaching when she’d have to tell Ada and her husband good-bye, she wanted to take advantage of every moment with them.
The Rails to Love Romance Collection Page 51