Inherited

by Gabrielle Meyer

  Jude pulled out a stool and took a seat—but he couldn’t stay still, so he stood and shoved it back under the worktable. “They can’t stay here.”

  The door opened and Violet entered. Her bright-red hair would make her stand out in a room—but it was the worldly set of her shoulders and the hardened look in her eyes that made people take a second glance. “Is the coffee ready?” she asked.

  Martha nodded to the pot on the stove. “Just now. Bring me the empty one from the ballroom when you come back and I’ll get more going.”

  Violet moved to the stove without another word. Though Jude had rescued her six weeks ago and had been nothing but kind, she still didn’t meet his gaze. She skirted around him like he might reach out and grab her—but he didn’t take it to heart. It was the same with almost all the women he’d liberated these past two years. They knew almost nothing about compassion and decency. For many, their only experience of men was abuse and neglect. He was the first man who’d respected them and treated them with care. It would take her some time to trust him.

  Violet left the kitchen with the coffee and the door swung closed again.

  “The way I see it,” Martha said, setting the loaf of cinnamon bread on the cooling rack near the window, “Clarence’s daughters own half this hotel and there’s nothing you can do to change that fact. God knows what He’s doing. He doesn’t make mistakes. Though we don’t understand some of His choices, He’s still sovereign and much smarter than the rest of us.”

  Jude rubbed the back of his neck. He usually appreciated Martha’s wisdom and perspective, but at the moment, he’d rather she keep them to herself. “There has to be a way to get rid of them.”

  “Ack!” Martha clicked her tongue. “Go on with you. Those women are in need of a home and this is all they have. They’re not that much different than the women you rescue.”

  “There’s a world of difference between them—besides, this hotel can’t support all the women living here!” They could barely support Martha and Violet. “I need to find a way to get them to leave. I’m going to see Roald Hall tomorrow and find out if that letter has any legal value.”

  “And what if it does?”

  He didn’t want to contemplate the validity of the letter. How could he hide his rescue work if they ended up staying? Surely, once they met Violet, they’d start asking questions. What would happen when he brought in the next lady? And the next?

  Frustration made him pace faster. “I don’t know why such pretty women aren’t married.”

  Martha turned away from the window, her hands on her hips. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe they don’t want to be married?”

  “Well they should—and soon. At least then they might give up on the idea of running a hotel.”

  Martha took another pan of bread that had been cooling at the window and brought it to the worktable. She turned it onto a cutting board. “You probably won’t have to wait long. There’s nary a bride in this town that had to wait more than a fortnight to be engaged.”

  Jude paused, the first glimmer of hope rising. “You’re right.”

  “I usually am.”

  “If I do a little matchmaking, I could probably have them engaged by the end of this week.”

  Martha harrumphed. “If they had attended the ball, they would have had at least a dozen proposals tonight.”

  It was true. So true, in fact, the men in town had placed an advertisement in several papers back East seeking brides. They had claimed there were a hundred eligible bachelors for every single woman. To his knowledge, no one had answered the ad—yet—but it only proved how desperate and lonely the men were in Little Falls.

  He simply needed to introduce Elizabeth and Grace to the best husband candidates and they could be out of his way in no time.

  “Martha, you’re a genius.”

  The door opened slowly and Elizabeth Bell poked her head through the opening. She paused when she saw Jude.

  For the first time since her arrival, he was happy to see her. Maybe he could still get her into that ballroom tonight and start the introductions. He moved forward and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  She took a tentative step over the threshold as she looked around the kitchen.

  Martha wiped her hands on her apron. “What do you need, lovey? Are you hungry? There’s leftover roast beef and fresh cinnamon bread, right out of the oven.”

  “Could I have a glass of water for Rose, please?”

  “Water, you say?” Martha stood on tiptoe to reach one of the glasses. Her short stature was a constant irritant to her, so Jude reached over her head and grabbed a glass for her. “Thank you.” She straightened her shirtwaist. “How about some warm milk for the little one?”

  “Milk would be even better.” Elizabeth’s voice hinted her relief. “She’s had none since we left Rockford a week ago.”

  “Then milk it is. I’ll grab some in the cellar and be back in a jiffy.”

  Martha exited the kitchen leaving Jude and Elizabeth alone.

  She looked at him for a moment and he studied her, perplexed all over again by how Clarence could have such a beautiful daughter. But, more important, how could he convince her to go into the ballroom with him?

  She looked away and played with the frayed cuff at her wrist.

  “The ballroom is full tonight,” he said. “We have the best orchestra in the territory right here in Little Falls. They’ll play until midnight, at least, maybe longer if the dancers insist.”

  “I imagine it’s good for business.”

  “It is.” He smiled, trying to draw upon all the charm he’d mastered as a business owner. “Do you enjoy dancing, Miss Elizabeth?”

  She lifted her blue-eyed gaze and blinked. “I do enjoy dancing, Mr. Allen.”

  Her answer encouraged him. “Would you—?”

  “Here we are.” Martha returned much sooner than he would have liked—or expected. “I left the milk on the shelf in the lean-to and thought I’d put it in the cellar later. Good thing I didn’t.” She placed a kettle on the stove. “The milk will be warm in a minute.”

  “It isn’t necessary to heat the milk.” Elizabeth took a step toward Martha. “I can take it as it is. Rose won’t mind.”

  “Nonsense. Everyone benefits from warm milk before bed.”

  “If you enjoy dancing,” Jude said, “would you care to join the others in the ballroom?”

  Elizabeth stared at him and Martha turned with the milk in one hand and the kettle in the other. “Look at the lady, Jude. She’s tuckered out.”

  Martha wasn’t making this easy for him.

  “I thought Miss Elizabeth might enjoy a little entertainment after her long journey.”

  “Even if I would, my ball gown is tucked away in my trunk and in need of some updating.” Elizabeth touched her cuff once again. “It’s been years since I’ve gone to a ball.”

  “All the more reason to go tonight.”

  “I should be with my sisters.”

  Martha tossed him a look of disapproval and then went back to the milk.

  “They’ll soon be asleep.” Jude tried again. “You can stay for as little or as long as you’d like.”

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder toward the door that would lead them to the ballroom, and she looked like she might concede—but then she shook her head. “Not tonight. I’ll need all the strength and mental clarity I can muster when we meet with the attorney and go over the books tomorrow. I’m sure there will be a hundred things we’ll need to discuss about the operation of the hotel.”

  The thought of talking business with her made him crabby. What did she know of such things? “Fine.” He gave her a curt nod. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He walked past her and out the kitchen door. He might not get her into the ballroom tonight, bu
t he’d be sure to invite every bachelor he knew to come by tomorrow.

  He would marry Elizabeth Bell off to the first man who turned her head, and then he’d get on with the work that really mattered.

  Chapter Three

  Elizabeth looked in the mirror the next morning, well before the sun had crested the horizon. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes and weary lines edged the sides of her mouth. Though she hadn’t slept well in weeks, she had tossed and turned all night, trying to think of a way she could earn enough money to buy out Jude Allen.

  More than anything, she wanted to be in control—not only of the hotel, but her life. So many decisions had been made for her since Mama had died. It would have been nice to have a say in her future for once. But before she could think of saving money, she needed to know if she had any legal right to the hotel.

  Not wanting to wake her sisters, Elizabeth found her father’s letter, put it into a pocket in her skirt and left their rooms. Worries about the legality of the letter had plagued her all night long. Surely it was enough to claim her inheritance—it had to be. She had used every penny they’d made on the sale of their things in Rockford to make the trip to Little Falls. There was nothing left to go elsewhere. They’d be destitute.

  Casting aside the troubling thoughts, Elizabeth tiptoed down the dimly lit hall, not wanting to disturb their guests. More than two dozen doors spread out on either side of her, and snores could be heard escaping from several rooms.

  The hotel was clean and orderly, the furnishings were well cared for and everything about the place spoke of top-quality craftsmanship. How much would it be worth if she wanted to purchase Mr. Allen’s share?

  Elizabeth descended the front stairs and found a man seated behind the counter, his keen gaze following her every step. As she approached, he stood and nodded a clumsy greeting. He was a tall man—taller than most she’d ever met. His beefy hands and balding head were the first things she noticed about him, but despite his size, a simple kindness emanated from his hazel eyes.

  “Good morning, miss.” His voice hinted at a lack of education. “Are ya one of them Bell sisters?”

  “I am Elizabeth Bell.” She extended her hand and watched in amazement as it was swallowed up inside his.

  “I’m Pascal Doucette.” He pumped her hand up and down.

  She pulled her hand away and held it by her side—surprised it had returned to her unharmed from his massive grip. “Are you the night watchman?”

  “I am, miss. But I do lots o’ other things for Mr. Jude.”

  “What things do you do?”

  “Well, I watch out for the ladies.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “What ladies?”

  “Violet—and the others when they lived here.”

  “Who is Violet?”

  “The lady Mr. Jude brought here.” Pascal stood a little straighter, his eyes going round. “Didn’t Mr. Jude tell you about them ladies?”

  She shook her head. “Will you tell me?”

  Pascal took a step back and put up his hands, concern deepening the wrinkles on his high forehead. “There’s nothing to tell, miss. Nothing, at all.”

  What was he talking about? Who was Violet and where had Jude brought her from? “Does Violet work in the hotel?”

  Pascal looked all around the lobby, everywhere except at her. He reminded her of a cornered animal and she decided to leave him be for the moment. Soon enough she’d have Mr. Allen answer her questions.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doucette.”

  “Call me Pascal, same as everyone else.”

  “All right, Mr. Pascal.” She left him and walked down the hall, past the double doors leading into the ballroom, past a few single doors she assumed were sitting rooms and into the large dining room. At least two dozen tables were scattered about, and ferns filled every corner. A bank of windows lined one wall facing the street, with sheer curtains draping from brass rods. White linen cloths covered the tables and a single, unlit candle stood in the center of each.

  Elizabeth was surprised to find that she wasn’t the first person awake. Already there were three men seated in the room, steaming cups of coffee and large plates of flapjacks before them.

  She felt their gazes as she passed through and pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen.

  The aroma of coffee filled the room and she inhaled a deep breath. The smell invigorated her and gave her some much-needed energy.

  “Morning, lovey. You’re up early.” Martha stood at the stove turning a flapjack. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Another woman sat in the room, polishing silverware, but she paused in her work to stare at Elizabeth. She had bright red hair and brown eyes. At first glance, Elizabeth assumed she was a young woman, but the lines around her hard eyes made her look much older.

  Martha glanced at the woman and then wiped her hands on her apron. “Miss Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Miss Violet.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth said, offering her hand.

  Violet put out her hand and shook Elizabeth’s with a force that surprised her.

  So, this was Violet. Something about the woman didn’t settle right in Elizabeth’s mind. “Do you work here?” she asked.

  “Yes, miss.”

  It was a simple answer and Elizabeth waited for more of a response, but none came. “What do you do?”

  Violet continued to polish a spoon. “Whatever needs to be done. Mostly I clean.”

  “Don’t let her modesty fool you,” Martha said with a merry laugh. “She’s invaluable to us.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  Violet looked to Martha and Martha hurriedly said, “Long enough to know she’s one of the best maids we’ve ever had.”

  So far, Elizabeth had counted three employees at the hotel—four, including Mr. Allen. Were there more?

  The door swung open and Mr. Allen appeared with a freshly shaved face, the pleasant scent of cologne preceding him into the room.

  He scanned the kitchen and his handsome gaze stopped on Elizabeth. “Pascal told me he met you and that you came in this direction.” He let the door close behind him. “I see you’ve also met Violet.”

  “I have.” She took a step closer to him and said quietly. “Are there any more employees I need to know about?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Martha placed a flapjack on a plate. “Will you have some breakfast before you go see Mr. Hall?”

  “Mr. Hall?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Roald Hall,” Jude supplied as he took the plate from Martha. “My attorney.”

  Elizabeth touched the letter in her pocket, hoping the law would be on her side.

  They ate in the kitchen, and when they were finished, she followed Jude out of the hotel and into the bright sunshine. The morning was cool, though humidity hung in the air and promised to bring more warmth later.

  The Northern stood on the northwest corner of what appeared to be a main intersection. Wide streets fanned out in all four directions, the hard-packed dirt filled with deep wagon ruts crisscrossing from one side to the other. Dozens of clapboard buildings, some complete with false fronts and others fashioned in the same Greek Revival style as the Northern, lined every street, with wooden boardwalks connecting them together. It looked like many of the frontier towns they had passed on their way from Illinois to Minnesota—but it boasted something most others lacked: the rushing waters of the Upper Mississippi River.

  “Mr. Hall’s office is near the ravine.” Mr. Allen motioned for her to cross the road.

  “Ravine?”

  “It’s an old river bed running through the eastern edge of town.”

  They crossed the street, and as soon as they rounded a building on the corner, she was able to glimpse the
landmark he’d referenced.

  A bridge crossed the ravine, with wooden walkways on stilts extending out from either side to four different stores.

  Elizabeth tried to keep up with Jude’s long strides, her boot heels clicking on the boardwalk. He was much taller than she and appeared to be just as eager to speak to the attorney.

  Before long, Jude stopped in front of an unremarkable building and pushed open the door. He held it for her to enter and she passed by with nary a glance in his direction.

  The law office of Roald Hall was not much to speak of. A wide desk, two bookshelves and a few wooden chairs were the only items in the room.

  But the man behind the desk lit up the space with a gregarious smile. “Welcome! Come on in.” He stood and waved them inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He looked at Elizabeth, his grin growing wider.

  “Roald, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Bell.” Jude nodded at Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, this is Mr. Hall—my attorney.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Elizabeth offered her hand.

  “Bell?” Mr. Hall shook her hand and looked from Jude to Elizabeth. “As in Clarence Bell?”

  “Clarence was my father,” Elizabeth said.

  Jude planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I wasn’t aware of it, but apparently Clarence had three daughters, and according to Miss Elizabeth he sent a letter from his deathbed bequeathing his share of the hotel to them.”

  Mr. Hall rubbed his square jaw, his gaze assessing Elizabeth. “Do you have the letter?”

  She dug it out of her pocket and handed it to the attorney, her hands shaking as she clasped them together. Her future depended on that letter. It was the most precious and valuable thing she owned at the moment—yet, was it enough?

  Mr. Hall read the letter, nodding now and again as he perused its contents. Finally, he lowered the paper and looked at Elizabeth. “I don’t see why this letter wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.”

  She wanted to collapse in relief.

  “However, you’ll have to gather several other documents to prove you are Clarence’s heir. You’ll need your birth certificate and his death certificate for starters. You’ll also need to find documents with his handwriting to prove he wrote this letter.” He handed it back to Elizabeth, his face grim. “It could take months, or even up to a year to gather everything you need and present it to a judge.”