“That’s good advice.”
“I hope it is, and I wish you luck.” She rose, and he stood at well. “The first train comes early—I’d best turn in. Goodnight, Gilbert.”
“Goodnight, Grace. And thank you again.”
***
Gilbert put the pen down and stretched his back. He hadn’t been able to sleep after his talk with Grace, so he’d stayed up working on the letter to his prospective clients, like he’d promised Stephen he would. He was glad for the desk in his room—he’d kept the light burning far too long, and if he’d been working down in the parlor, he was sure to have inconvenienced someone.
As he rearranged the papers on the desk, his gaze landed on another letter that had been tucked beneath his project. He’d already read it a dozen times, but he picked it up and read it again, unable to stop the compulsion.
Dear Gilbert,
The house seems very large and lonely since you moved out of it. Your father felt that it gave our family status, but now that I’m here by myself, it echoes with memories and regrets, and I wish I could sell it and move far away. The rumors would follow me, though, and I would never be able to escape them.
Perhaps I’m silly to write you a letter when you only live across town, but writing has always helped me sort through my thoughts, and tonight, my thoughts need a great deal of sorting.
Oh, Gilbert, I remember the day you were born so well. Stephen held you with his short little arms, and I was sure I would burst with a mother’s love. How much I enjoyed raising my two fine sons.
As the years went by, though, your father became more influential in your life than I ever was, and he shaped and molded you into a younger version of himself. He taught you how to run a business, and he taught you how to look out for yourself above all others. As you grew, I saw his traits made manifest in you, not only his positive qualities, but his negative ones, and I have feared for you often.
My son, I love you with all the tender feelings of my heart, and my concern for you comes from that love. Please examine your life. Please learn from your father’s mistakes and keep yourself from taking his same path. He was once a kind and gentle man, but as he grew successful, his pride became his master. He could see nothing beyond his fortune and his reputation, and that brought about his current situation—languishing in prison, refusing to acknowledge the weight of what he has done. Pride is a horrible demon. It’s never satisfied. It lies and twists and distorts, and it ruins the most precious things we have—our relationships.
I should know because I have fallen prey to it myself. I confess that I have enjoyed my life of riches and prestige and beautiful gowns and admiration. I didn’t want anything to interfere with my status in this community. But now, everything has been shattered, and I’ve come to realize how hollow it all was. The people who once looked to me with respect now whisper behind my back, and I know that it wasn’t respect at all. A true friend would have stood by me, and I have none.
Gilbert, the riches of the world can’t buy you happiness. True happiness comes from feeling confident in who you are on a deep level, with all pride stripped away. I pray that you will think about this and choose to make the changes necessary so that when you grow as old as I am now, you will not be filled with the regrets I’m now experiencing.
With all my love,
Mother
Gilbert folded the paper and slid it back in his bag. His mother’s words had struck him to the very core, and he’d thought on them often in the weeks since he’d received the letter. He hadn’t yet found a way to reply to her—how could he respond to something so heartfelt without taking the time to honor what she was saying? He needed time to internalize it. He’d send her a small bouquet of flowers so she’d know he was thinking of her, but a visit or a conversation—he wasn’t ready yet.
Every single thing she’d said was true. He’d let his pride rule his life and influence the way he’d treated others, and above all else, that’s why he wanted this chance to live down his past. It hadn’t been easy to come to this realization, and for the first three days, he’d burned with the seeming unfairness of it. But then it had settled into fact, and he recognized that he had a choice—he could change it, or he could let it overtake him. He was choosing to change it, and prayed it wasn’t too late.
As he reached to extinguish the flame, he heard a series of footsteps coming down the attic stairs, most likely the waitresses. But it couldn’t be morning already, could it? He reached for his pocket watch and checked the time. It seemed impossible, but he’d worked the night through.
Of course, he had gotten sidetracked a few times with thoughts of Grace McAllister. She’d been good to listen to his ramblings. She was a smart girl, full of spirit, and pretty, too. It had been dark when they’d spoken and so he hadn’t been able to see her clear blue eyes, but he imagined what they would have looked like during their conversation, alternating between amusement and irritation with his follies. He wouldn’t mind having more such conversations with her.
But no. He stopped himself before he could form the thought. The last thing he needed was to get entangled with yet another waitress at the Brody Hotel—two was quite enough. If it was companionship he wanted, he was sure there were plenty of nice girls in town, girls who weren’t connected to Nancy Ann and Sarah at all. Girls who would allow him a fresh start because they wouldn’t know what a cad he’d been. He should go seek out one of those young ladies and leave the ones here alone.
He cleaned up his writing mess—amazing how many pieces of paper one could go through while trying to compose a letter—and thought he’d take a nap, but somehow, he felt wide awake. Besides, breakfast would be on soon, and he could already taste Sarah’s delicious cooking. Instead of lying down, he put on a clean shirt, washed his face, and ran a comb through his hair. He’d take a nap later if he felt the need. Just then, he felt the need for coffee and pancakes.
He ate heartily, downing three cups of coffee and asking for seconds on the bacon. Thus fortified, he decided that he might as well head over to the bank first thing. He’d have to do it eventually, and he liked the idea of accountability—if Stephen was going to get his garden plot done that day, he could certainly take care of a simple errand. With a nod of his head to his quiet waitress—he believed she said her name was Georgia—he left the dining room, grabbed his hat from his room, and made his way over to the bank, a necessary evil in the world of business.
Chapter Four
Gilbert opened the door to the bank and stepped inside. He knew he was the first customer of the day because he’d seen someone flip the sign from “closed” to “open” as he crossed the street.
Timothy Hancock was getting settled in the teller cage when Gilbert closed the door, and he glanced up with some concern on his face.
“Hello. Mr. Howard, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice nothing but cordial.
“You have an excellent memory. Yes, Gilbert Howard. I’m here to discuss a possible loan.”
Mr. Hancock blinked. “Are you a resident of Topeka, Mr. Howard?”
“Not at this exact moment, but I plan to be very soon. My brother, Stephen, and I would like to start a shipping company here, and I’ll move as soon as I can.”
“A shipping company?”
“That’s right. We would help merchants deliver their goods to their customers all over the country via the railroad.”
“I see. That could be a lucrative endeavor. I do have to ask, though, what the advantages would be going through your shipping company as opposed to simply arranging for the train to take your goods where you’d like them to go.”
“That’s an excellent question, and one that I’d be more than happy to explain to your loan officer, if you can tell me when he’ll be in.”
Mr. Hancock smiled. “I handle the loans for the bank, Mr. Howard.”
“Oh. Well, that’s rather convenient, then.” Gilbert felt sweat break out along the back of his neck. Of course he’d known he’d be seein
g Nancy Ann’s new husband, but he didn’t realize that the loan would be brokered by him too. “You see, when you go through a shipping company, you have extra insurance, if you will, that your merchandise will arrive safely. We track it—if you’ll pardon the pun—as it moves along the railway, and in some cases, we might even arrange to transport it by private wagon, depending on the delicacy of the item and the distance it might travel.”
“I see.” Mr. Hancock nodded a few times. “Just how much of a loan do you need?”
“I have some savings tucked away, but an additional five hundred dollars would be very useful.”
Mr. Hancock raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a sum for around here.”
“I realize that, but I hope you can see the potential in what I’m proposing to do.” Gilbert was confident in his business skills and in the need for a good shipping company in that area. What he wasn’t so sure about was this man in the teller cage, and if he was still holding a grudge against Gilbert for trying to woo Nancy Ann. He might be, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he’d withhold a loan because of it. There were too many variables, too many things Gilbert couldn’t predict.
“I’m willing to consider it,” Mr. Hancock said after a moment’s contemplation. “I’ll ask you to write out your proposal and include your projections for the first year. If you have references from previous clients or other lending institutions, those would be helpful as well. The ultimate decision will be made by the board after I recommend it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Gilbert wanted to shake his hand, but the bars of the teller cage made that a little difficult. Instead, he gave a sharp nod. “I’ll have that information to you as quickly as I can.”
“Excellent. I’ll look forward to it.”
With that load off his mind, Gilbert sent a few telegrams to possible references in Denver, then returned to the hotel. He thought he’d start writing out his business plan, but instead, he crawled into bed to make up for everything he’d missed the night before. It was so much easier to sleep when his mind was full of hope and possibilities rather than recriminations and regrets.
***
“Grace, we have a problem.”
Grace turned from setting the table and saw Posy standing there, twisting her hands in front of her. “What’s the matter?”
“We’re almost out of clean napkins.”
“What? That’s impossible.” No, wait—it wasn’t impossible. They’d been so busy the last two days, they hadn’t managed to get the full batch of laundry done—only some. It had been a race just to keep the food prepared. She took a deep breath. “How many do we have?”
“Ten.”
“No.” Grace closed her eyes and then opened them again. It didn’t help. “This can’t be happening. Please run out and ask Tom to prepare the wash water. Have Georgia dig through the laundry for anything that’s salvageable, we’ll wash them in cold water, and we’ll iron them dry. This afternoon, we’re doing all the laundry even if we have to do without a couple of waitresses to get it done. I just . . . Giselle never would have let this happen.”
“I don’t think Giselle would have been able to create more time for laundry,” Posy said.
“She would have managed the time we did have.” Grace shook her head. “All right, we’ll do the best we can. Please go talk to Tom and Georgia.”
Posy disappeared through the kitchen, and Grace steadied herself on the back of one of the chairs. The Brody was known for absolute cleanliness, and that was hard to maintain. Being right next to the railroad tracks, they had to deal with a lot of dust and grime, and the ground was dry anyway. Anytime the wind kicked up, they got covered with silt. They took pride in their bright white linens, crisp tablecloths, clean bedsheets, and anything less was not living up to the Brody standard.
She finished setting the tables as best as she could. There was half an hour until the next train. They needed around forty napkins in order to carry out this meal service. It wasn’t completely impossible, was it?
She found all the waitresses outside, scrubbing napkins as fast as they could. The water was cold, of course, but they were using lots of soap, and it appeared that the stains were coming out. Carrie and Georgia were wringing out the washed ones as best as they could, and the irons had been set to heat on the stove in the kitchen.
“The water should be hot by the time you’re done with this next train,” Tom said, walking up to Grace and motioning over his shoulder to the large cauldron that had been set over the fire pit.
“Thank you so much, Tom. I apologize for interrupting your work because of my poor planning.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” He gave her a smile and nod, then went back into the barn.
“Grace, we’ll start ironing these,” Georgia said, holding up a basket of wet napkins, and Grace nodded. She only hoped that would take out enough moisture to make the napkins useable. If it didn’t . . . well, if it didn’t, she’d be in a great deal of trouble. She grabbed a napkin and fell to work beside Nancy Ann, both of them scrubbing until their fingers were red.
“Is something the matter?”
Grace looked up to see Gilbert standing there, a look of concern on his face. There was no point in keeping the truth from him—it was obvious that they were in a hurry. “We ran out of clean napkins,” she explained. “And the train is coming soon. Nancy Ann, would you go in and make sure Sarah and Ruth have everything under control? Help them slice the pies?”
“Of course.” Nancy Ann disappeared inside, and Grace turned back to Gilbert.
“I’m sorry, but I need to keep working. Was there something you needed?”
“No. I was just taking a walk and heard voices.” He began to roll up his sleeves. “Allow me to give you a hand.”
She stopped, completely astonished. “I beg your pardon?”
“I really have nothing going on right now. Show me what to do.”
“Have you ever done laundry before?”
“No. That’s why you’re going to show me.”
He smiled, and she was startled to realize that he did have a very warm and friendly face. She was so used to seeing him exhibit false charm or dissatisfaction with the world that this was quite a revelation.
“Well, you take the napkin like this, and rub it against the bar of soap. Then you scrub it, like so.”
He picked up a napkin and mimicked her movements, doing a fairly credible job. Posy and Nora took the wet napkins and wrung them out, taking them into the kitchen to be ironed whenever they had a stack of more than just a few.
“Posy, is it working?” Grace asked over her shoulder. “Are the napkins getting dry?”
“Well, they aren’t . . . not dry,” the girl said with some hesitation.
Grace shook her head. This was so humiliating. She’d have to go tell Elizabeth what had happened, and she couldn’t bear the thought of it. “I need to step inside for a minute.”
“You go right ahead. I think I’ve about got the hang of this,” Gilbert replied. Indeed, he did seem to be enjoying himself, another surprise. He was one of the Denver Howards, as he’d reminded everyone in the hotel on numerous occasions the last time he was here, and she’d never dreamed that he would lower himself to such menial labor.
Grace smoothed down her hair and walked down the hallway to the office, where Elizabeth generally was to be found right before a meal service. The money was kept there, and Elizabeth had to bring out the ledger and the coins for making change.
“Elizabeth?” she said, her voice sounding choked.
“What’s the matter, Grace?” Elizabeth asked, looking up from her task of counting quarters.
“I’ve made a horrible mistake. We ran out of napkins, and we’re washing them as quickly as we can, but they aren’t drying fast enough, and I don’t know what to do.” And then the most embarrassing thing of all—a tear slipped down Grace’s cheek. She didn’t like crying in front of other people. When she cried, she wanted to be all alone in a
dark room. Preferably with a piece of cake.
Elizabeth smiled. “Please don’t be upset, Grace. It’s all right—really.”
“But it’s not. The guests will have to use damp napkins.”
“No, they won’t. Let me show you something.” Elizabeth led the way over to a closet door on the far wall of the office. She opened it to reveal stacks and stacks of brand-new napkins, tablecloths, and bedsheets. “We ordered extra because we sometimes have to discard them, and we didn’t want to run out. Here.” She piled Grace’s arms high. “Everything will be fine. And please don’t cry—there’s no reason for it.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. And I promise, I won’t be so careless in the future.”
“You’re not careless, Grace. You’re one of the most conscientious waitresses we’ve ever had. And I should have thought to mention this closet to you.”
“Thank you again.”
Just then, the train whistle sounded, and Elizabeth smiled. “Sounds like you and those napkins had better hurry.”
Grace scrambled down the hall and into the dining room, where she threw all the napkins on a table and began refolding them as fast as she could. They were fine to be stacked in a closet, but wouldn’t look nice on a table the way they were. Posy and Nancy Ann fell in beside her, and Nora and Carrie took the folded napkins and placed them. Just as the passengers began to file in, the tables were ready, and Grace took a moment to breathe.
She glanced outside through a window to see that Gilbert was still out there scrubbing. Shaking her head, she went outside and called to him.
“You can take a break. It’s time for the meal.”
“But we don’t have enough yet,” he called back.
“We’re fine. Come eat.”
He shrugged, but put down the napkin he’d been working on and came inside, rolling his sleeves back into place.
“Elizabeth had extra napkins,” Grace told him when he stepped up on the porch. “We’ll still do laundry, but we’re saved for this meal.”
“That’s a relief,” he replied. “I must say, though, that I quite enjoyed myself. It’s fun to take something dirty and make it clean.”
An Unspoken Dream (Kansas Crossroads Book 13) Page 3