The owner of the Frontier Hotel was greeting a new customer when she passed through the lobby, but when she returned, he was in the dining room, drinking coffee.
Millie hesitated, but she wondered if David had enough money left to get them both to the East Coast. She’d counted his money the first time she opened the wallet, and she’d felt seven shades of guilty ever since. There was plenty for the journey, for both of them. But David hadn’t planned on stopping six weeks or more in Independence, and he probably had not yet paid his passage to England.
She couldn’t leave him now. If she did go her own way, he would save money by not having to pay for her food and lodging. But he was completely helpless. For at least three or four more weeks, he would need someone to do everything for him. The hotel owner wouldn’t do it. The bellboy could do only so much. The doctor had no nurse to spare. Millie couldn’t see any way around it. She couldn’t let David spend all his money to keep her near him, but she couldn’t leave him alone either.
She would have to get a job.
As she approached Mr. Simmons’s table in the corner of the otherwise-deserted dining room, she worked up her courage.
“Sir,” she ventured, not quite looking into his eyes, “I’m known to be a good cook, dressmaker, and housekeeper. Would you happen to know of any employment openings a lady could fill?”
Peregrin was delighted to have a letter delivered to his room. Mail from England—imagine that! His sister’s flowery hand greeted him. Of course—who else would write to him here? He held the envelope to his nose for a moment. Did it smell faintly of English roses, or was that his imagination?
He’d been in New York near a month, and so far he’d accomplished little but deplete his funds. He’d lost a few hundred pounds at the last couple of poker games he’d indulged in—and heaven knew his lodgings cost enough. He’d hoped they’d let him run up a tab indefinitely, but the management insisted, politely but coldly, that he pay on a weekly basis.
If he didn’t start winning again soon, he’d have to move to a cheaper establishment. He’d hate to do that and give up all the amenities here, but realistically, he had to plan on an extended stay in America. And that meant frugality. Unless of course, he wanted to seek employment, but he shuddered at the thought. What was he good for, anyway? Not manual labor. He supposed he might get on as a bartender or some such occupation. He certainly knew how to pour a drink.
He carried Merry’s letter to the desk and slit it open with his ivory-handled letter opener. He’d bought that at a shop on Fifth Avenue, along with a silver pen and some paper and ink. Probably should have saved the money, but one needed basic supplies if one was going to carry on correspondence.
Dearest Brother,
How delightful to receive a missive in your own hand.
Really. Who else’s hand did she think he’d write in?
I’m so pleased that you’ve found a comfortable, if temporary, place to stay, and that you’ve run into some acquaintances.
You’ll be pleased to know that Randolph caught wind of his cousin’s situation today. It seems David has been delayed for several weeks in the town of Independence. I am not sure how far that is from New York—perhaps you could investigate. It might behoove you to go there.
Peregrin scowled at the words. Independence! Wasn’t that the place where folks gathered to form emigrant trains before going into the vast wilderness that comprised the West? He read on.
I don’t know what’s keeping him there—I believe Randolph said something about a mishap. Anyway, if he sent the message two or three weeks ago, he’s likely still there. Perhaps Nigel Wallace can enlighten you—or someone at the post office or railway station.
At any rate, after going over your missive again, I was pleased with the information you’d gathered on steamships, but I must warn you. Randolph opened your letter while I was out. He did it in all innocence. I’m thankful he didn’t read as far as the second page, however. When I returned home, he was sputtering about the fact that you’d gone to New York instead of Canada or New South Wales. Be very careful, dear brother, what you say in your future letters.
Perhaps we should work out a code, so that if Randolph reads another letter, he won’t realize that you are interested in his cousin. Perhaps we could use another name. Instead of David Stone, you could say “Donald Steppington” or some such thing. Just make up a name with the same initials, and I will understand. And don’t mention Independence. You might say Freedom instead. You see, it’s all very simple. Your friend Donald has left Freedom and hopes to return home soon. Something like that. Or you might say—if it were warranted—that poor Donald met with an untimely demise.
Oh dear, you can work it out, I’m sure. We simply need to practice discretion.
With that in mind, I urge you to destroy this letter after you’ve absorbed its contents. We wouldn’t want your friend Donald to stumble upon it, now would we?
Your affectionate sister, Merry
Peregrin stood for a long moment, staring at the signature. He’d hoped, as he settled into his new life, that Merry had given up the ridiculous scheme. It appeared not. She wanted him to go through with it. It was up to him to stop David Stone from boarding a ship for England—ever.
He sighed heavily. It was too bad. He might have made a good life for himself here if he had a run of luck. And Nigel Wallace had promised to introduce him to some people in the higher set of New York society. Now it appeared he’d have to move on to some frontier backwater.
Well, he might as well enjoy himself tonight. There was a game on at Nigel’s lodgings. He could spend the afternoon learning all he could about Independence and how to get there and then pass the evening singeing the other fellows’ tail feathers. Maybe he’d leave the Metropolitan with more swag than he’d brought.
CHAPTER 21
David sat up on the edge of the bed, determined to get dressed without help. It was high time he was up and about. Dr. Lee had left him a pair of crutches, saying that, as it had been nearly four weeks since the accident, he could begin hobbling about the room. He mustn’t attempt the stairs yet, but even a foray down the corridor would be a relief. David had never in his life grown so sick of a room.
Millie had been a tremendous help, he had to admit. She’d done everything from seeing that his clothes were laundered to reading aloud when he was bored—which was often. And who knew what she’d done during the times when he’d been unconscious or in a drugged sleep?
But he wasn’t about to let her help him put his trousers on. Now that he was fully aware of what was going on, he deserved to have his dignity preserved. If need be, he’d summon the innkeeper or the bellboy. They’d been pressed into service several times to help David bathe. But this time he resolved that he didn’t really need either of them. With a bit of patience and determination, he could do it himself.
The pants were of coarse whipcord, not something he would have chosen himself, especially in this stifling July heat. But Millie had of necessity purchased what the storekeeper had shown her for a man his size. His only other pair was of fine quality and matched his tailcoat. Millie didn’t think the cast would fit through the trouser leg, so she’d gone shopping for him and found these.
She’d offered several times to help him try them on, but he’d put her off repeatedly. The fact that she’d been married didn’t matter one whit. Even the thought was unseemly.
But today he’d been granted permission to stump about with the crutches, and he couldn’t wait another moment. He’d asked early on for a wheeled sick-chair, but Dr. Lee hadn’t been able to come up with one, and anyway, the formidable stairs would have curtailed its usefulness. For the last week or so, he’d gotten as far as the armchair a few feet away, but getting to it had been a trial. He looked on the crutches with great optimism—but he’d need the trousers on before he could appear outside the confines of his room.
He made an attempt to work the garment over his cast and nearly fell off the bed in
the effort. His dismal conclusion daunted him—this pant leg would not fit over the cast either, though it was cut much looser than his formalwear. He would certainly have to replenish his wardrobe when he reached New York. He couldn’t arrive in England so poorly outfitted.
Disgusted, he reached for the dressing gown Millie had left looped over the bedpost at the foot of the bed. He donned it whenever he had to leave his bed of necessity, but so far that had only been for brief and painful moments. He would suffer agony gladly, rather than have Millie or some stranger tend his basic needs with a bedpan.
But today he wanted freedom. And he would not give up.
He knotted the belt of the dressing gown, seized the crutches, and fitted them under his armpits. The doctor had assured him they were the right length for a tall man. David tested his weight on them and hopped experimentally to the window, keeping the foot of his injured leg a hair’s breadth off the floor.
At last he stood before the casement. Millie had kept the window clean—he’d seen her wash it at least twice since they’d been here. He looked out on the street three stories below. The thoroughfare was rutted and muddy, and across the way were a saloon, a laundry, and a disreputable-looking ironmonger’s. That accounted for a lot of the noise that annoyed him during the day. But it was a different scene than he could glimpse from his bed or even from the chair, and he drank it in. By leaning on the crutches, he was able to shove the sash up a few inches, but the air outside seemed no cooler than what he had in his room. He shut the window so dust and bugs wouldn’t come in.
His thoughts flew beyond Independence, all the way to England. His letter to Jonathan Conrad must have reached its destination long ago. He’d asked to have that one sent to St. Louis, and then across the Mississippi, and on by express train to New York, where it would be put on a steamship. Steamers made the voyage in less than two weeks. He might get a return message any day.
He turned and swung his way toward the dresser. Hadn’t the doctor said he might try a little weight on his foot now? He rested the bottom of the cast on the floor and stepped gingerly on it. His leg ached, but the pain was not unbearable. He kept the greater part of his weight on the crutches, but used his damaged leg for gentle support.
Immense satisfaction filled him when he reached the oak dresser. He balanced with the crutches and picked up his wallet. He still seemed to have most of the money he’d had before the accident. Of course, more bills were secured in his boot top, but that was money to be used only when the unforeseen occurred.
At that thought, he grimaced. If this wasn’t unforeseen, what was? He might well need to delve into the hidden trove to pay for his ship’s berth to England.
He stumped to the wall where his coat, vest, and a shirt hung from pegs and checked his pockets. His documents and letters from Conrad were also intact, and he let out a sigh of relief. Apparently Millie had kept her paws off his belongings. Hard to believe, but he couldn’t think of anything that was missing. Even the little box with the onyx cuff links was in the side pocket, but he’d fully expected to find that. After all, it would be a bit blatant for her to steal them again.
As he thought it over, it seemed odd that he had so much cash left. He hobbled to the chair and sank into it, suddenly weary. His leg ached, stretched out before him, and he clenched his teeth. The angle of the rigid cast caused him quite a bit of pain. He shifted in the chair, wondering if he could get up again unassisted, but that seemed unlikely. He hoped someone would come along before it became too unbearable.
At a tap on the door, he called, “Come in,” almost joyfully.
Millie entered, her eyes sweeping over him in surprise.
“Well now, look at you! Are you all right?”
“It hurts a bit to have my foot resting on the floor like this, but I really hate to get back in bed.”
“A pillow under your heel, perhaps?” Millie laid a book on the bedside table and picked up one of the two pillows he’d been using. She fluffed up the feathers inside and knelt. “There, now, I’ll just lift your foot and slide it under.”
He grimaced as she moved his leg, but as soon as the feather pillow was under his foot, the pain lessened.
“Ah, that’s what I needed. Thank you.” He refused to think about how much of his person she was viewing.
“Would you like the other one as well?” she asked.
“No, I think not.”
She rose and brushed her skirt with her hands. “This might be a good time for me to change your bed linen, if you’re comfortable there for ten minutes.”
“As you wish.” It felt odd, sitting there and watching her work like a chambermaid. David wondered if he ought to look into hiring someone to come in and clean. Or would the hotel pay someone to do that?
“Millie…” He’d taken to calling her that—when, he couldn’t say. Somewhere between seeing her bully the men on the hillside and the tenth time he watched her straighten his bedclothes.
“Yes?” She turned with her arms full of cotton sheets. Her face made a rosy contrast to their whiteness, and her fiery hair caught a ray of sun from the window, topping off the image like the flame of a burning candle.
“You oughtn’t to do all this for me.”
“Nonsense. We’ve had this conversation before. You did much for me, and I’m happy to return the favor.” She stepped toward the door, but when he spoke again, she stopped.
“Millie, how are you paying for our rooms? Have you told the innkeeper I’ll pay him, and he trusted us, or what?”
She turned, her green eyes wide. “Oh, he expects you to pay for your own room, sir. I gave him five dollars the first week we were here, out of your wallet. I expect he’ll tot up your bill any time you want it.”
“And yours? Did you give him something down on your own as well?”
“Only for the first week. I’ve been able to keep my account current since then.”
“You have? But how?”
“I…I’ve been cleaning other people’s rooms and doing laundry for the hotel while you slept.” Her cheeks had gone pinker, and her eyes flashed a bit, as though she dared him to tell her she was behaving in a vulgar manner.
“I see.”
She nodded and went out the door with his sheets.
David struggled with the conflicting thoughts teeming in his mind. A lady wouldn’t do such a thing. But would a real lady let a gentleman—even if he were a friend—pay for her lodgings? And was he her friend, when it came to that? Another part of him raised a defiant chin and asked whether it mattered if she was a “real” lady or not. Millie, it seemed, could cook like a fine chef, work like a deckhand, and take charge of a situation like a gunnery sergeant. In the face of such evidence, what did gentle birth and impeccable manners matter? Yet something buried deep in his psyche raised a stubborn hand and cried, “She would not be received at Almack’s.”
Millie returned a few minutes later with an armful of clean, folded sheets.
“There, this will just take a minute.” She laid the stack on the dresser and shook out the bottom sheet, sending it in a glorious, white pouf, like the filling sail of a schooner, half the width of the room.
She hummed as she spread the sheet and tucked it in all around. David watched her quick, deft hands.
“It’s a magnificent day outside.” She smiled at him across the featherbed. “Not too hot. Perhaps I can open the window.”
“That would be nice.” He didn’t mention dust or bugs. Odd how much more beauty she saw in the day than he had, and he was the one who’d been confined.
She crossed to the casement and pushed the sash up, securing it in place with a wooden block. This time a breeze fluttered through, setting a stray tendril of her hair dancing.
“There!” Millie stepped back from the window. “I read in the scripture that ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made.’ It struck me that every day is His day. Some of them we like more than others, but still, the Almighty gives us what He deems best. And toda
y He gave us a stunner.” She went back to the dresser, snatched a pillowcase from the pile, and worried the extra pillow into it.
A stunner, David thought. Yes, and there’s one right here in my room.
Appalled at the thought, he looked toward the window, where the breeze flirted with the muslin curtain. How little he had thought about God this past month, and how much about David Stone and his comfort or lack of it. Perhaps he could take a lesson from this common woman who seemed to have undergone a massive change of heart.
Unless this was all a show, for his benefit. Was she still trying to lure him in? He didn’t feel as though she was. For several weeks she’d been friendly, helpful, and almost unfailingly cheerful. She had assured him countless times that he was healing and would soon have his strength back. But she had never once cast sheep eyes at him. Was it possible that she was no longer interested in him as a man?
Millie spread the top sheet and laid the quilt over the whole.
“That’s it, but for the pillow under your foot,” she said. “When you’re tired of sitting, I’ll help you back to bed and put a new slip on that one.”
“Millie, do you suppose there’s a minister nearby who might visit me?”
Her eyebrows shot up, and he thought how delicate and well-shaped they were.
“Why yes. I’ve met one, as a matter of fact.”
“You have?”
She nodded. “I’ve been going to a church a couple of blocks away. The pastor and his wife have treated me very kindly. In fact, they’ve been praying for you, sir. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t give a lot of details, just told them an acquaintance of mine was badly injured.”
David blinked at her. She hadn’t mentioned going to church nor making new friends. But then, he hadn’t known she was working in the hotel either. Millie, it seemed, was a woman of discretion, and also a woman of mystery.
“Would you like me to invite him here?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you. I do wish I could get downstairs.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 81