The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  “I’m not sure I can wait. Besides, there won’t be anything in the post for me. My family disowned me after I joined the circus. It’s simply too painful for me to watch others at mail call.”

  “The five and dime is on the next block on the left. We’ll meet you there.”

  Constance flashed a most unbecoming pout. “That is quite ungentlemanly to leave a single lady alone in a strange city.”

  “We won’t be long. With the crowds here for the performances, you’ll be fine.”

  Constance stomped off in a cloud of dust.

  Not that Ellen was sad about it. “Are you sure you should let her go like that? Maybe you should follow her.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “If she’s your fiancée, that’s the right thing to do.”

  Will coughed until Ellen thought he might pass out. “My fiancée?”

  “She told me you’re planning to get married at the end of the season.”

  “So, I’m to be her latest victim.” He shrugged.

  Lucy elbowed her in the ribs. “I told you.”

  Ellen glanced between Will and her friend. “I need an explanation.”

  Will took off his bowler hat, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and returned his hat to its rightful place. “Let me explain. Every year, Constance chooses a man to set her cap on. Problem is, the young man never knows anything of the plan until it’s almost too late.”

  Lucy swung her satchel back and forth. “Last year, it was poor Mr. Quincy, the ticket taker. She almost had him to the altar before his head stopped spinning.”

  “Oh dear. I do feel sorry for you.”

  “No sorrier than I feel for myself.”

  They entered the cool, dark post office. Much to her delight, the clerk handed Ellen a letter with her address inscribed in Poppa’s strong hand.

  She slit the envelope open with a hairpin and withdrew the piece of Mama’s lavender-scented stationery. She’d saved her pennies and given it to Mama right before she left for Baraboo.

  But when she read the words on the page, the letter fluttered from her hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellen held the letter in her trembling hand. Her face turned as white as the sheet. The paper floated to the ground.

  Will picked up the page. Did it contain terrible news? “What’s wrong? What did it say?”

  Ellen stared straight ahead, not blinking.

  Though he didn’t want to violate her privacy, he did want to help her. Something he couldn’t do unless he knew the problem. He scanned the letter until he found the reason for Ellen’s shock.

  Mama is not responding to the medication. The doctor recommends a sanatorium, though how we will pay for it is a mystery only God knows the answer to. Thank you for what you send to us each month. We could not get along without your help. You are a blessing to us. Perhaps we’ll be able to save some of your contribution and send her there in time. Please continue to pray for her. She is very weak.

  Will shivered, a memory of the cold chills that had racked him when he’d looked at his mother’s lifeless body. “I had no idea your mother was ill.” Will drew Ellen into an embrace, her muscles taut.

  She whispered into his shoulder. “Take me to the train.”

  He released her. “Sure. Lucy, can you please meet Constance at the five and dime and tell her what happened?”

  “Of course.” Lucy nodded, the flower on her hat bouncing. “Everything will be fine. Trust and believe that.”

  “Thank you.” Ellen’s soft voice held no trace of emotion.

  They wove their way through the throngs of circus goers, the festive party out of place with the news she’d received.

  “How can I help?”

  “Unless you have the money for the sanatorium, there isn’t much to be done. My immigrant parents have small resources and five mouths to feed beside their own. Poppa works hard, but because of Mama’s illness my siblings are his responsibility. What am I going to do? How can I pay for what she needs? I have little enough.”

  He stopped. “Look at me.”

  She gazed into his eyes. Without words, she pled with him for a solution.

  He didn’t have one. “I’ll pray for you. And her.”

  “What if He takes her away?”

  “It’ll be hard. God says to trust Him.” But had Will trusted the Lord since his mother’s death?

  “Easier said than done.”

  “That’s true. I lost my own mother when I was ten. In a circus accident. She fell from the trapeze.”

  “Oh, Will, how awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “So you see, I understand your struggle. I know what it’s like to lose a parent.” They resumed their walk.

  “I can tell myself to trust God when the trunks float away or when I can’t find a costume. When it comes to my mother’s life, that’s harder. When God doesn’t act, I have to.” Her staccato words matched the rhythm of her feet.

  They returned to the Alvena. “Why don’t you lie down? A bit of rest will do you good. You’ve been fiendish in repairing and replacing the costumes.”

  “I have to sew. When difficulties come, I block them out by stitching.”

  “Stay on the train. The peace and quiet will do you good.”

  She nodded and slipped off her gloves before climbing the steps. “Thank you again. You’re a dear friend.”

  His heart tripped over itself. She considered him a friend. “I’m glad I could help. That’s what friends do.” But this fluttering, somersaulting, diving sensation in the pit of his stomach had to be more than friendship.

  She disappeared into the compartment, then appeared at the window, waving. He sauntered across the grounds, the fragrance of the cook staff’s stew mingling with that of elephant dung and popped corn. The unique smell of the circus.

  His hunger pains evaporated when he thought of Ellen. He ached for her. He knew what it was to lose a mother. He would have done anything to save his.

  How could he help her? As trainmaster, he earned a decent wage. To pay for a sanatorium, though, was beyond his means. Did they take charity cases? Could he help them find a good low-cost facility?

  Yes, of course. And he would. Des Moines had a large enough population to support several doctors. One of them had to know the answer.

  He turned toward town. If he hurried, he could ask and be back in time to load the train. Little sleep for him tonight, but when he thought of Ellen’s sad, green eyes, it spurred him on.

  Until a hyena-like scream erupted from the wardrobe tent.

  “Ellen, hurry. Come to the wardrobe tent.” Lucy’s breathless voice broke Ellen’s concentration as she stitched spangles onto the elephant’s headdress.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t it wait until I’m finished?” The heaviness in her heart weighed down her entire body. Even lifting a needle took enormous effort.

  Lucy dragged her to her feet. “There’s an emergency. With Constance.”

  Lord, give me strength. “What now? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  She followed Lucy across the grassy lot. After a moment to adjust to the tent’s dim interior, she discovered the reason for the pandemonium.

  Contortionist, acrobat, and equestrian outfits lay strewn about the dirt floor. She bent down. Cut. Slashed. Ruined. The lot of them.

  “And all of them my creations.” Constance stood over her, her legs akimbo, a scowl marring her flawless features.

  Sweat covered Ellen’s palms. “You don’t think—”

  “I certainly do. You came back ahead of the rest of us.” A glint shimmered in Constance’s eye, almost triumphant.

  “Ida.” Ellen nodded in the direction of one of her assistants. “Were you here the entire time?” The girl did a very good job, but she sewed slower than anyone. She often worked while the rest of them went to town.

  “No, ma’am. I had coffee with Renee in the dining tent.”

  Constance tilted her chin and stared at Ellen.
“You had the time to come in here and destroy all of my work. Do you know how many hours I labored over them? Gone. You’re jealous of my relationship with Will. You want me fired so you can have him.” Her neck muscles tightened. “Well, it won’t work. We all know who did it, don’t we?”

  Constance scanned the crowd of seamstresses and performers gathered near the tent flap.

  They all stared at Ellen. Their glares drove her down like a tent peg into the soft sand. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with this. Where’s Mr. Jorgensen? He can attest to my whereabouts.”

  He popped through the crowd as if she’d produced him by magic. “What on earth happened?”

  “Someone destroyed Constance’s costumes.” She held up one of the aerialist’s leotards.

  “Who would do this?”

  Constance nestled against Will. “I’m glad you’re here. She’s the only one who could have ruined my work. The other girls were in town or the dining tent. You left her alone, and this is what happened.”

  “She didn’t have time. I left her only ten minutes before you screamed.”

  “Plenty of opportunity.” Constance crowed and harrumphed.

  A murmur rippled through the spectators.

  “Why would I wreck my assistant’s work? Her claims on Mr. Jorgensen are in her imagination, so I heard. This makes more work for all of us. The real culprit needs to be stopped.”

  The crowd cheered. Were they turning against her? She fought for breath. She couldn’t lose her job. Not now. Not ever.

  One of the men Ellen recognized from the big top crew stepped forward and apprehended her. “We know who’s behind this mischief. I’ll sit on her meself, so’s to stop it.”

  Her chest squeezed.

  A sideshow man wrested her away. “You’re talking crazy. We know Miss Constance. She set her sights on me two years ago. Looks like she’s aiming higher now. Let the mistress go. I’d bet my last dollar she didn’t do it.”

  Will stepped in front of her, forcing the man to release his hold. She rubbed her painful wrists.

  “No one is apprehending anyone. Miss Meyer is innocent. I’ll attest to it myself.”

  “How can you side with her?” A perfect tear clung to Constance’s blond lashes. “Why can’t you see her for what she is?”

  The tent walls closed in. The room spun.

  In her haze, Ellen spotted a man in the crowd. His thick mustache gave him away. Al Ringling.

  Chapter Eight

  What is going on?”

  Ellen gasped for breath as the imposing Al Ringling entered the wardrobe tent. Such a commotion had attracted the attention of the circus’s founder. And chief.

  Will tightened his grip on her waist. “Sir, the situation is under control. A mysterious suspect ruined several of Miss Hefner’s costumes, but I will get to the bottom of the matter and ensure nothing like this happens again.”

  Mr. Ringling nodded. “I trust you, Mr. Jorgensen. You haven’t let me down. See to it the miscreant is dealt with.” The man strode off.

  Beside her, Will straightened. “You heard him. I’ll make sure the person who did this will be held responsible. We won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

  The crowd dispersed.

  Constance clutched her ruined items. “Why are you hesitating? You’re standing next to the culprit.” She stepped between Will and Ellen. “I demand justice.”

  Ellen held her breath. What if he wanted to placate Constance? And Mr. Ringling? He didn’t have to investigate. He could blame her and be done with it.

  “You’ll have it. As soon as I get to the bottom of it. Not a minute before.”

  “I see.” Constance glanced over her shoulder at Ellen. “Mark my words. You’ll be sorry.” She flounced off. “Mr. Ringling. Wait, Mr. Ringling. I must speak with you.”

  Ellen sunk back onto the stool. She smoothed her black skirt with shaky hands. “She’s going to the boss. He won’t suffer this. I’ll be dismissed by the end of the day. Then what will my family do?” She fought back bitter tears.

  Will circled her. “You won’t be fired. I’ll make sure of that. Don’t worry about your mother. She’ll be fine.”

  Ellen didn’t understand his words. How did he know all would be well? Only God knew.

  Some of the performers arrived to prepare for the show. She stood and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, for now I have a job. The show waits for no one.”

  Somehow, she and her assistants dressed the ladies. The matinee went off without a hitch. Constance didn’t put in an appearance. What might that mean? Had Mr. Ringling refused to listen to her? That would be the best possible outcome. Were they still discussing? Maybe he was promoting her to wardrobe mistress this moment.

  Much to her surprise, she had an appetite for dinner, so in the lull between shows she wandered to the dining tent. A few of the tent crews and the roustabouts gave her sideways looks as she worked her way through the line. Even her own crew whispered.

  She took her plate and found a seat at the end of one of the long tables, away from the other behind-the-scenes workers. The performers had their own tent. The circus officers ate in the dining car.

  She buttered her bread. The yeasty odor reminded her of home. Mama loved to bake. Her hearty, dark loaves had filled Ellen’s belly many nights. Sometimes it was all they had, but Mama made them delicious.

  The bench creaked as someone sat across from her. “Is this spot taken?”

  Will’s voice might as well have been the honey on the bread. “What are you doing? People might get the wrong idea.”

  “Tell them I questioned you.”

  “Questioned me?”

  He leaned across the table. “I know you’re innocent. The best way for me to prove that is to figure out who really stole that cameo and cut up the clothes. But I need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “A good deal. Who has a reason to get you into trouble? Who wants to be rid of you?”

  “I don’t know. So far, I get along well with all the girls.” She glanced at the younger seamstresses staring at her. “Until today. Only Constance gave me problems. I’m not much help.”

  “No, that’s not much to go on.” He rubbed his hazel eyes.

  “I wish I could do more.”

  He twitched his mustache. “I know a way you can.”

  Searching the Alvena posed danger. If one of the women caught them, Will and Ellen might both lose their jobs. His mouth turned as dry as coal dust. But he’d told Mr. Ringling and Ellen he’d find the perpetrator.

  He meant to do just that.

  When he stared into her eyes, he believed her to be innocent. Now, he had to convince everyone else.

  She bit her lower lip.

  “We have to get in your car and hunt for anything useful. Now. Soon you’ll have to prepare for the evening show, and I’ll have to load the train. If we don’t seize this opportunity, it will be a while before we can get in there. Are you with me?”

  She rubbed her hands together. “It’s risky. What if one of the seamstresses comes in and catches us? I’m not sure about this.”

  He couldn’t solve the mystery without her help. “If you do nothing, you take the chance you’ll get fired.”

  A small smile played on her lips. “You’re right. But if we get caught, I’ll tell them you dreamed up the idea.”

  “Fair enough.” His body warmed at her playful side. “Success or failure, I’ll take the blame.”

  But he intended to prove to Mr. Ringling he had been right to hire such a young trainmaster.

  They walked together toward the quiet sleeper. The roustabouts, who would soon start their shift, meandered in the direction of the dining tent, the tantalizing smell of roasted chicken beckoning.

  Will and Ellen reached the car. She climbed the steps, her black skirt brushing her black boots as she went. “Stay here. Make sure no one spies you. I’ll see if the coast is clear.” She disappeared inside.

  One o
f his crew passed him. He whistled and attempted to appear as nonchalant as possible.

  “Will we get out of here early tonight, Mr. Jorgensen?”

  “It’s a short haul from the lot to the rail yard, and the weather’s good, so we should. Enjoy your dinner.” He tipped his bowler hat.

  As soon as the man left, Ellen gave a loud whisper. “Hurry in.”

  He glanced around to be sure no one watched, then bounded up the steps. His heart beat double time. At least daylight lingered long this time of year. No need to turn on the gas lamps.

  Her curly hair escaped the knot on top of her head. “What should I look for?”

  “Anything suspicious that might be a clue as to who is after Constance.”

  “That could be anyone.”

  “Move fast. We don’t know how much time we have.” He took a deep breath, then lifted the creaky lid of a woman’s trunk. A hint of lace greeted him. He slammed the top shut. “Maybe you should look through the personal belongings. I’ll search the girls’ papers.”

  Her cheeks pinked like a Dakota sunset. “Good idea.”

  She bent over a painted steamer trunk, while he moved to unlatch the brass straps of a lap desk. He searched every drawer. Nothing. There might be secret compartments, but he couldn’t find any.

  Time ticked. He rummaged through every scrap of paper, every receipt, every letter from a loved one. Nothing. “What have you found?”

  “Not much.”

  The sound of female laughter floated through an open window. The lilt of several soft voices carried on the air.

  “That’s Lucy and Martha. You have to hide.”

  “Where?” He spun in a circle, his mind whirring.

  “Under the berth.”

  He examined his neat trousers.

  “I have to get my thimble. I don’t know why I took it from the tent or why I left it here after my rest.”

  “That’s Lucy.” Ellen hissed. “Hurry.”

  In one motion, he rolled under the narrow bed, sharing the space with numerous dust bunnies.

  But what he spied made the dive worth it.