by Cox, Carol
They reached Gurley Street without incident, and Michael allowed himself to believe they might actually make good their escape.
“Do you know where we are?”
Jenny shook her head. “I hardly ever came into town when we lived on the farm. And I haven’t been outside once since Burleigh had me.”
“We’re going to follow this street for a ways, then cross the plaza. Come on.” He took her hand and led the way.
Near the middle of the plaza, Jenny pulled back. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Capital Bakery, just ahead. It belongs to a friend of mine. A woman friend.” Jenny hesitated only a moment, then allowed him to guide her the rest of the way.
At Elizabeth’s back door, she gripped his arm. “She didn’t mind the idea of taking me in, once she knew where I’ve been?”
I knew I forgot something. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help.” Michael raised his hand and tapped on the door.
“You mean you haven’t told her about me?” Jenny’s voice rose in panic. “She doesn’t know I’m coming?”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” Lord, please let it be all right.
❧
Elizabeth stood outside her home in Philadelphia. All the lights were on, as though a party was in progress. She reached for the ornate knocker and let it fall.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Why didn’t they let her in? Why didn’t someone answer the door?
Tap. Tap.
Elizabeth rolled over and sat up in her bed. Her hair draped over her shoulder in a loose braid. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, amazed at how real her dream had seemed.
Tap. Tap.
The low murmur of voices carried into her sleeping quarters. Elizabeth scrubbed her face with her hands and got up, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.
Padding across the plank floor in her bare feet, she pressed her lips close to the back door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Michael. I need your help.”
She glanced down at her thin nightgown. She really ought to go get dressed first, but he sounded desperate. She wrapped the blanket more closely around her and swung the door open.
“Michael, what time is it? What. . . ?” She scrabbled for a match.
“Don’t light the lamp until the door’s closed. We need to get inside without being seen.”
We? For the first time she noticed the dark figure behind him. The strain in his voice told her something was seriously wrong. “Come inside, then. Hurry.” She bolted the door and lit the lamp.
Michael, dressed in dark pants and shirt, looked at her with an anxious gaze and turned his hat in his hands. Beside him stood a wary-eyed young girl in a deep blue cloak.
Elizabeth glanced down at her nightgown, bare toes, and makeshift wrap, then back at Michael. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“This is Jenny Davis.” Michael urged the girl forward. “She needs a place to stay.”
You bring a total stranger—and a lovely one at that—to my door in the dead of night and expect me to make her welcome? What is going on, Michael O’Roarke?
The silence grew while she hesitated. Jenny stared at Elizabeth as if expecting her to order her back outside. Her chin lifted defiantly, a gesture that reminded Elizabeth of herself.
“You don’t have to let me stay if you don’t want to,” she said. “I’ll understand.”
Elizabeth’s gaze met Michael’s over the girl’s head. He sent her a pleading glance and silently mouthed, “Please.”
Whatever was happening here, it was plain Michael needed her help. “Of course you may stay,” she said.
Michael’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief, and he gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re in good hands for tonight, Jenny. I’ll come back in the morning, and we’ll figure out what to do next.”
“You’re leaving?” Jenny’s tone bordered on panic.
“Just for a few hours. You’ll be safe here, I promise.”
“He can stay a few minutes longer while I fix a place for you to sleep.” Elizabeth gave Michael a look that dared him to do otherwise. She hurried to the storeroom, where she piled folded blankets on the floor to make a pallet. Another blanket, rolled tight and stuffed into a pillowcase, would serve as a pillow. Not fancy lodgings, by any means, but adequate for one night. Or what was left of it.
She returned to find Michael watching Jenny, who sagged in a chair. “Your room is just around the corner,” Elizabeth told her. “You might as well get settled in for the night.” Jenny took the candle Elizabeth handed her and left without a word.
Michael opened the door and stepped outside. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Not so fast.” Elizabeth followed him and closed the door behind her. “I’ll never get a wink of sleep until I have some answers. Who is your friend, and why is she here?”
“I don’t know much about her. I just met her today.”
Elizabeth folded her arms. “You certainly build up acquaintances quickly.” She felt great satisfaction when he squirmed under her scrutiny.
“I heard her singing at the Nugget—”
“Wait a minute. You’re leaving a saloon girl on my doorstep?”
“So I went inside—”
“Now you frequent saloons?”
“And she told me her story.”
“I’ll bet it was a good one.”
“It’ll melt your heart.” Michael gave a quick overview of Jenny’s situation. “She needs a place to stay and someone to protect her. I’ll admit I should have asked you first—”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“But you were the only person I could think of. I couldn’t very well take her home with me, could I?”
Not and live to tell about it. “You’re right. She needs a place to stay, and I’ll keep her for the night. But I’d better not find some gun-toting saloon keeper banging on my door in the middle of the night.”
Michael’s grin lit up in the moonlight. “Heaven help him if he does.”
Elizabeth bolted the door and pushed a chair in front of it for good measure, then carried the lamp to the storeroom. “Do you have everything you need?”
Jenny perched on a sack of flour, still wrapped in her hooded cloak. With her arms folded tightly across her chest and the sullen expression she wore, she reminded Elizabeth of a sulky twelve year old.
“You don’t want me here, do you?” The bald statement caught Elizabeth off guard.
“You took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m not in the habit of having callers in the wee hours. Do you need to borrow a nightgown?”
“I’ll sleep in my dress. I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your way tomorrow.” She loosened the tie at her throat and let the cloak slide off her shoulders.
It took all the restraint Elizabeth could muster to keep from reaching out to touch the golden hair. Gold, with hints of burnished copper, just like Carrie’s. “You have beautiful hair,” she managed to say.
Jenny looked directly at her for the first time. Blue-green eyes. Carrie’s eyes. Elizabeth felt swept away on a wave of homesickness. She remembered the story Michael had whispered to her on the doorstep. “How old are you?”
Jenny’s chin jutted forward. “Eighteen.”
Only two years older than Carrie. An image of her sister, bereft of family and forced into an intolerable situation, crossed Elizabeth’s mind, melting away her suspicion and doubt.
“Jenny, you’re welcome here. You can stay with me as long as you like.”
Elizabeth lay awake long after she blew out the lamp. She wanted to help Jenny, but. . .how did Michael just happen to come across her, and exactly what did Jenny mean to him?
She’s lovely; there’s no denying it.
She sighed and punched the pillow, longing for sleep that wouldn’t come.
❧
“Is there something I can do to help?”
Elizabeth turned from the counter. Jenny stood diffidently in the doorway, a shy expression replacing the sullen stare of the night before.
“I’m surprised you’re up so early. Did you sleep at all?” The dark circles under Jenny’s eyes gave her the answer.
Jenny moved two steps closer and peered into the pot Elizabeth was stirring. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to salvage what’s left of these mashed potatoes. I’d planned to offer them as part of today’s lunch, but they’re too runny.”
“You ruined mashed potatoes? How could you do that?”
“I managed.” Elizabeth wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “I’m afraid cooking is not my strong point.”
Jenny moved right up next to her. “It looks like you forgot to drain them.”
“You drain them first?” Elizabeth stared at the pot. “Is there any way to fix them?”
Jenny offered her a smile. “You can chop some onion into it and call it potato soup.”
Elizabeth laughed ruefully. “So you know how to cook?”
“My ma taught me. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“And you enjoy it?”
“Sure, doesn’t everyone?” She grinned. “I don’t bake very well, but I can fix a pot roast that’ll make your mouth water.”
Elizabeth tapped her fingers on the counter. “How would you like a job?”
“Where? You mean here? With you?”
“If you’re willing to fix the main meals and teach me to cook, I’ll pay you plus give you room and board. What do you think?”
“You’ll pay me just to cook?”
“For a large crowd of very hungry men.”
“And I can stay here?”
“We’ll fix up a more suitable place for you this evening. What do you think, Jenny? You’ll be safe here. I won’t let anybody hurt you. Do we have a deal?”
Jenny’s turquoise eyes misted. “When do I start?”
“Right now. Go out front and add potato soup to the menu.”
Fifteen
You’ve done wonders with Jenny.” Michael cupped his hand under Elizabeth’s elbow when she stepped down off the boardwalk.
“She’s done wonders for me, you mean. I can’t believe I actually have time to stroll outdoors like this. I’m not hurrying out for supplies, just taking a little time to relax. Jenny’s doing a wonderful job of handling things, although I only leave her on her own when I know she won’t have to deal with a crowd of customers.” They walked across Cortez Street and circled the perimeter of the plaza. A dusty haze softened the glare of the westering sun and gave the scene a gentle glow.
Elizabeth sauntered alongside Michael, content just to enjoy the pleasure of his company. When they turned back in the direction of the restaurant, she felt her steps dragging. It would be nice to shake off responsibility for just one day, to leave the demands of her business behind and go for a picnic under the pines with Michael.
Across the street, a figure strode toward them. Elizabeth stiffened when she recognized Letitia Bartlett. Letitia noticed Elizabeth at the same moment. She stood stock-still and stared directly at her. Even at that distance, Elizabeth could see the malevolent gleam in her eyes. Letitia’s lips curled back in a snarl. She stretched her arm out like a prophetess pronouncing judgment and pointed straight at Elizabeth, her thin hand trembling wildly.
Suddenly, the restaurant seemed like the perfect place to be. Before she could say a word, Michael took her arm and veered between two buildings, safely out of the reach of Letitia Bartlett.
Elizabeth cast one last glance over her shoulder. Letitia stood in the same position, like a statue, still staring, still pointing.
“Thank you,” she said, hurrying to keep pace with Michael’s long strides.
He patted her hand where she clutched at his elbow. “I had a feeling she was the last person in the world you wanted to see right now.”
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but you’re right.” She hadn’t seen Letitia since that explosive morning in the Bartletts’ kitchen and didn’t care to renew her acquaintance. Her breath came in quick gasps. “I think we can slow down now.”
“Sure, we’re almost there anyway.” He reached for the knob to open the door.
Elizabeth entered eagerly. Never before had it seemed such a place of refuge. She looked around the empty dining room with a sense of coming home.
Home. Despite her near miss with Letitia, excitement rippled inside her. She walked to the window and planted her hands on the sill.
Outside, the laughter of early evening strollers gave an air of peace to this place. It was a good place.
Her place.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled. Out here in this raw land, she had found the focus for her life, the place where she could truly be herself. This restaurant would be a place of shelter, a haven for both herself and Jenny.
“Thank you for that wonderful break, Michael. It was just what I needed.” She turned back to him, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek. “Good night.”
❧
“Where is she?” The rasping voice carried all the way back to the kitchen.
Jenny hurried in from the dining room, round-eyed. “Someone’s asking for you.”
“So I heard.” Elizabeth covered a mound of pie crust dough with a damp dish towel and wiped the flour from her hands before going to see who the belligerent visitor might be. She pushed open the swinging door and stopped as though she’d walked into a tree.
The walls of her sanctuary had been breached.
Letitia Bartlett stood in the center of the dining room, her mouth set in a grim line, body rigid, face contorted. “So here you are!”
Not here, not in front of her customers. “Let’s go into the back, shall we?” Elizabeth gripped the woman’s bony arm and propelled her past Jenny and the gaping patrons.
Letitia shook off Elizabeth’s hand as soon as they reached the kitchen. “Was this your plan all along?”
Elizabeth looked around at the restaurant she had built. “My plan?” She edged away, wishing she hadn’t positioned Letitia between her and the door. The woman’s manner seemed positively demented.
“Don’t play the innocent with me!” An ugly red color suffused Letitia’s face. She moved closer to Elizabeth. “You played us for fools from the beginning, didn’t you?”
What could she use to defend herself? Elizabeth took a quick inventory of the items within her reach: spoons, bowls, a pastry cloth—those wouldn’t be of any use. The maple rolling pin might come in handy, though.
She tried to inject a soothing note into her voice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Letitia swept her arm along the counter, knocking three freshly baked pies to the floor. “Did you imagine we wouldn’t find out?”
Lord, help me! She’s gone crazy.
Letitia continued to advance. Elizabeth took a step back and bumped against the counter. Without taking her gaze off Letitia, she stretched out her hand along the wooden surface. Her fingers closed around the rolling pin and gripped it tight.
“I saw you yesterday. Don’t try to deny it. I know you saw me too, even though you tried to pretend you didn’t.”
Was that what this tirade was all about?
“How long have the two of you been walking out together?”
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “What does this have to do with Michael?”
“Which one of you came up with the idea to cheat us out of our money, you or him?”
“Cheat you? Whatever are you talking about?”
“As if you didn’t know! I’m talking about the money we were promised for bringing you together.”
Elizabeth pressed her free hand against her throbbing temple. “Does this have something to do with your arrangement to sell me off as someone’s wife?” The memory of that nightmare made her temper flare anew.
“Spare me your theatrics. I’ll admit you had us fooled, standing there in our kitchen and acting so horrified at the idea
of us making you a fine match. And here you’ve been seeing him behind our backs all the time!”
Letitia’s accusation sliced through the confusing fog like a lighthouse beacon. From the dining room, Elizabeth could hear low voices and the faint clink of silverware. Out there, life went on as usual. In the kitchen, time stood still.
She let go of the rolling pin and clasped her hands against her middle. When she was five, a visiting relative’s son had punched her in the stomach. She felt the same sense of shock, the same inability to breathe now.
Only back then, James had been around to come to her aid, giving the boy a taste of his own medicine before sending him howling back to his parents.
James wasn’t here now.
Michael was.
Michael.
Closing her eyes against the pain, she focused all her efforts on drawing one long, deep breath. “Are you saying that Michael O’Roarke is the man you were supposed to find a wife for?”
“He’s Timothy O’Roarke’s son, isn’t he?”
Elizabeth wrapped one arm around her roiling stomach and used the other to pull herself up.
“Get out.” She lifted her head and stared straight at Letitia.
“Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this.”
“I said, get out of my restaurant. Now.”
Letitia started to speak, then took another look at Elizabeth’s face. She snapped her mouth closed and left without another word.
Elizabeth let herself sink down to the floor. The hard surface bit into her knees but couldn’t hold a candle to the pain that twisted through her heart.
Michael, a party to the Bartletts’ sordid scheme?
She couldn’t believe it—didn’t want to believe it.
But Letitia’s anger had been all too real.
She wrapped both arms around her middle and rocked forward until her head rested on her knees. Hadn’t Michael supported her, encouraged her, shown her friendship? But he’d never mentioned his father, not once. Because he and his father didn’t get along or because he didn’t want to admit to being in on a devious plot?
She remembered his outrage on learning how Richard had squandered her money. Had his indignation been real or feigned?