Running From Forever

by Cat Cahill

  He stood outside for far longer than was necessary, until he was certain the Gilbert Girls indoors had cleaned up the dining room and eaten their own supper. Finally, when his stomach could stand it no longer, he entered the kitchen.

  He stood there, blinking in the light of the lamps, and surveyed the room. Only the kitchen staff and a smattering of Gilbert Girls remained. He filled a plate of chicken, sweet potatoes, and bread and sat at the end of the table. The second he’d taken his first bite, someone sat down next to him. He glanced up, his mouth full, and nearly choked when he saw his table companion was none other than Caroline’s friend—the tall one with the sharp eyes and the curls that refused to stay put behind her waitress’s hat.

  Thomas forced himself to keep chewing, which gave him plenty of time to wonder why in the world this woman had planted herself beside him and was now not-so-patiently waiting for him to acknowledge her. “Good evening,” he said, finally, after swallowing the last of a hunk of bread.

  “Good evening to you too, Mr. . . . I’m afraid I don’t know your family name, sir.” Her voice spoke of an upbringing somewhere down south, someplace more genteel than Thomas’s own Texas.

  “Drexel,” he supplied.

  She nodded. He waited for her to say something else, but she took her time, studying his face. He raised a glass of water to quench the dryness that suddenly parched his throat. Finally, she spoke. “I’m Miss May. I don’t suppose you know that Miss Beauchamp and I are the closest of friends?”

  Thomas nearly sputtered on his water. “Miss Beauchamp?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Mr. Drexel,” she said in a low voice. There were only a few others remaining at the table, all of them at the far end, but still, he appreciated her discretion. “Caroline and I tell each other everything.”

  “Oh?” He could think of nothing else to say. Did “everything” include how he hoped she’d felt about him after last night? You fool, he thought. His hopes had been colliding all day with the practical truth of what he needed to do. Of course, he hoped she’d wait for him, but he couldn’t ask that of her. Especially when chances were high that he might not be able to return.

  “Oh, yes.” She eyed him like a stern older sister.

  “I’m sorry, Miss May,” he said, setting down his fork and returning her gaze. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

  She glanced behind her at the handful of people at the table. “Perhaps we should remove our discussion to someplace more private?”

  “I prefer not to lose my position here, thank you,” he said. It came out colder than he’d intended, but he had the feeling Miss May didn’t care for him one bit. And listening to a lecture from her about how he was ruining her friend’s life was more than he could handle right now, with everything he was already facing.

  She snorted. It was a most unladylike sound, but he presumed this woman didn’t much care for what was ladylike and what was not. She was night and day from Caroline.

  “I laugh, sir, because that seems to be the least of your concerns when it comes to Caroline.”

  She spoke the truth, and it hurt. “Please say what you need to here. It’s unlikely we’ll be overheard.” He put a forkful of chicken into his mouth and chewed. It was flavorless and had the consistency of gruel. Although he imagined that had more to do with his current situation than the actual state of the food.

  Miss May shrugged and leaned in closer. “Fine. My friend has feelings for you, as I’m sure you know.”

  He tried in vain to keep the smile from his face. He’d hoped Caroline felt the same way he did, but hearing her friend say it made him happier than he could have ever imagined.

  “But I know, as does she, of course, that you aren’t exactly in a position to court any woman.”

  His fork stilled over his food as what he’d already eaten went rock solid in his stomach. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m certain you know what I’m saying, Tom the Cat.” Miss May’s voice was barely a whisper, and yet it seemed she’d screamed those last three words.

  Thomas pushed his plate away. “Did she tell you about the entire sordid affair?”

  “Enough to understand that she believes you are innocent.”

  He swallowed. “Do—”

  Miss May didn’t let him speak. “Listen, Mr. Drexel. I don’t particularly care if you’re innocent or guilty. All I care about is Caroline. And if you or anything about your situation hurts her in any way, I can’t promise I’ll continue to keep your little secret.” She tilted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. This woman was no wilting flower, that much was for certain. “And don’t think I’m afraid of you.”

  Thomas sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “You have no need to fear me. I’m not the man those posters make me out to be.”

  “I don’t care one whit. I only want your reassurance that none of this will touch Caroline.”

  Her words hit that exact spot in the back of his mind—the place where he’d shoved the fear that he might not return to her. “You have my word.” His voice sounded hollow, as if he’d carved out the inside of it and tossed it away, along with any chance at happiness. Why should he give Caroline hope that he would come back when the odds were against him? And yet . . . he couldn’t imagine not clinging to that one little bit of light in his life.

  “Good.” She eyed him for a moment before standing. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

  He nodded a welcome, and she disappeared from the kitchen. No longer hungry, he dropped the rest of his food into the scrap bin before handing the plate, utensils, and glass to the boy washing dishes. And then he stepped out into the dark evening, hoping to draw a full breath again.

  It didn’t work. All his thoughts about what Miss May had said, what he knew he should do, the death sentence hanging over him if he wasn’t successful, and the unquestionable desire to simply run now with Caroline’s hand in his own—none of these worries would let him steady his breathing or even think a full thought.

  It was a lovely night—cold but clear, the moon shining overhead, and quiet. Just like that night he’d ridden away from the mining town. Perhaps a ride was what he needed to clear his head. Thomas made his way across brown grasses to the new stables he’d been repairing earlier. They sat where the building crew’s tents used to reside.

  The moment he stepped inside, a voice spoke softly.

  Caroline.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “You look like you wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you?” Caroline cooed to the small dappled gray horse housed at the end of the stables. The horse nickered and nuzzled her arm. She’d come in here to sort through the tumbling thoughts she couldn’t focus on while serving the evening meal. Horses were soothing—when she wasn’t on one of them. Although, she reflected, she’d done well when riding with Thomas last night. Perhaps she should attempt to ride alone again. This gray horse with eyelashes as long as the wisps of hair that framed Caroline’s face didn’t seem the sort of horse who would toss her.

  The hinges on the stable door squealed. Caroline yanked her head up just in time to see the moonlit outline of the door disappear as it was shut. Someone was in here with her.

  Heart knocking against her ribs, Caroline shrunk into the corner of the horse’s stall. It was past dinner, and dark out. Who would be in the stables this late? She cast her eyes around furtively for a weapon. The only thing she could reach was a horse brush. And what good would that do her? She supposed she could throw it at the person, if she needed to. She carefully stretched out her arm and snatched it from the side of the stall.

  “Caroline?” a male voice called. Thomas.

  Caroline exhaled, her body shuddering as the fear left her. Although after what had happened at the noon meal, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see Thomas, as much as her heart said otherwise. But there was no use hiding back here. She emerged from the stall, closing the door behind her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, leaning agai
nst a post that sat between two stalls.

  “I . . .” She cast about for the best way to answer. She was no liar, after all, despite the falsehoods she’d already told today. “I needed to think. And this seemed a likely place to do so.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “What is it that’s weighing on your mind?”

  Caroline reached over the door of the stall next to them and scratched the nose of a chestnut mare. The simple action helped her gather her courage. “Two of my family’s acquaintances were at lunch today.” She closed her eyes for a moment as it rushed back to her.

  She had approached the well-dressed couple to welcome them to the Crest Stone and take their order. When they looked up at her, she knew she was in trouble.

  The woman, dripping in jewelry, narrowed her eyes in recognition before allowing a confused smile to cross her face. “Miss Beauchamp? Caroline! My dear, whatever are you doing here? And in such . . .” She waved her hand at Caroline’s gray-and-white Gilbert Company dress.

  Her husband, who had clearly not recognized Caroline at all, had simply sat there, a polite smile on his face.

  Caroline couldn’t think of what to say. How could she explain this? And more importantly, how could she keep this woman, Mrs. Flynn, from sending a telegram to her parents immediately?

  Before she could speak, Mrs. Flynn said, “Your mother told me you were visiting relatives in the New York countryside.”

  “Yes . . .” Caroline finally managed to say. Her heart beat triple-time. She needed some way to convince this woman that she was supposed to be here, and yet not alarm her enough to send her to the hotel’s telegraph office. She needed a lie. “My . . . aunt. She wanted to see the country. And so we are traveling.” The words tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

  “Where is she? I’d so like to meet her.” Mrs. Flynn glanced around the dining room.

  “Oh, she’s not here. She is . . . indisposed. Not feeling quite herself.” Caroline forced herself to keep her hands at her sides and her eyes locked with Mrs. Flynn’s. The lies felt like rocks, filling her skirts and pulling her down to drown.

  “Too bad, too bad,” Mr. Flynn said, although he mostly looked as if he’d prefer to get his hands on the soup at the nearby tables.

  “I understand. These long rail journeys can test the heartiest of us. But darling—” Mrs. Flynn took Caroline’s hand and lifted her arm. “Why are you dressed like one of the serving girls?”

  This would be the hardest one of all. The lie coiled up, snakelike, and wove its way into words. “I spilled soup on my skirts. An entire bowl! We’d already sent all of our clothing to be laundered. One of these ladies was kind enough to lend me a dress.”

  Mrs. Flynn said nothing, but her eyes drifted to the cap on Caroline’s head. Nothing in her fabricated story could explain why she was wearing it.

  Caroline reached for the hat, about to pull it from her hair. But that would be against the rules. Gilbert Girls were expected to be fully uniformed while working, and here she was, the head waitress, ready to break that rule right in the middle of the dining room. Her hand fluttered down as she searched for an explanation.

  Mrs. Flynn studied her again and gave her the pretense of a smile. “This is the most odd situation,” she said, almost to herself.

  “I must get back to my table.”

  “Yes, you must.”

  “Good evening, miss.” Mr. Flynn stood and bowed.

  Caroline nodded in return. “Good evening to you, too.” And then she walked as quickly as possible to her station, where she gripped the doorframe for support and breathed as if she’d just run here straight from Boston. She couldn’t continue to wait the tables in her section, not with the Flynns right there. When Dora came to check on her, Caroline persuaded her to switch sections. Dora’s occupied the far end of the room, near the entryway. Hopefully from there, Caroline would blend into the other girls with their matching dresses. All she had to do was mention the word Boston to Dora, and her friend understood.

  And now she found herself explaining what had happened to Thomas. “They’re certainly going to telegraph my family. They probably already have.”

  “Perhaps. What would happen then?” he asked.

  A weight sat on Caroline’s chest, even thinking about that. “I don’t know. They may send someone for me. My father, or maybe my brother.” She didn’t say who else that someone could be. She prayed it wasn’t the man she’d escaped by coming here. If it was, they were both in danger. The last thing she ever wanted was her past hurting Thomas, but that was a distinct possibility now. She could barely breathe, thinking about it.

  “If that happens, you tell him you don’t wish to return home and you won’t enter an engagement with the man they chose.” Thomas made it sound so easy. When it wasn’t, at all. He must have noticed the troubled look on her face, because he reached for her hand.

  She let him take it, and oh, how she wanted him to draw her close and hold her.

  But she couldn’t. It was wrong of her to allow anything like that before, and now, having seen the Flynns, the reality of the situation she’d left behind in Boston became even more stark.

  Her heart was not her own to give away.

  And to pretend to Thomas that it was, that was not only a lie itself, it was cruel. It didn’t matter how she felt toward him at all. And it was cruel to put him in harm’s way.

  Caroline pulled her hand from his grip. He didn’t resist but his face registered surprise.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  Her heart cracked in two. “No, of course not. It’s . . .” The shame of what she’d done to him rushed through her entire body. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She darted around him and out the door of the stables.

  “Caroline?” she heard him call. His voice on her name pierced her soul. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she ignored it.

  She didn’t stop running until she was inside her room.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Thomas tugged at his necktie. The thing felt as if it were choking him. But if he wanted to eat in the dining room, he needed to dress the part. He hovered near the entrance to the dining room, waiting to see which section was Caroline’s. After just a few seconds, he spotted her midway through the room. One table remained open in her section, and he walked as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself.

  He’d never eaten in here before. His wallet would certainly feel it by the end of the meal, but it was worth it to talk to Caroline. He’d seen her here and there throughout the week since she’d turned and run from him, and not once had she even acknowledged him, much less spoken to him. The calloused part of his heart told him she’d been fooling him all along, and as soon as she realized he had real feelings for her, she knew her game was up. She thought she was too good for him, just like his mother had felt about his father.

  But as easy as those thoughts were to fall into, something else nagged at him. The sheer honesty in her face when she looked at him. Her tears by the creek. The earnest way she’d said she wanted to help him. How she’d sighed when he touched her face.

  It didn’t make any sense, and since Caroline refused to even look at him, he’d decided to put himself in a position where she had to speak to him. He not only needed to find out what was wrong, but he also needed to tell her of his plans to return to Barrett Mountain. He decided he would ask her to wait. It felt selfish, but besides his freedom, she was the only thing he wanted.

  And if she said no . . . well, he wouldn’t be surprised. Not with the way she’d acted toward him all week. Still, he hoped. If he laid out his heart for her, then maybe the Caroline he knew would agree to be there for him.

  He pretended to study the menu, written in flourishing script on a heavy piece of cream-colored paper, until she arrived.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I trust your journey has been—” Caroline stopped talking the second he looked up. She glanced furiously to either side of her, as
if to ensure no one else was looking at them. “What are you doing here?”

  “Having a meal, like all of these other fine folk. Now, do you recommend the rabbit or the beef stew? I can’t seem to make up my mind.” He gave her what he hoped was a teasing smile, just like the ones that used to make her straighten up and get all sniffy with him when he first met her, and that later made her smile.

  She did neither. Instead she clasped her hands around her water pitcher and met his gaze. Her eyes looked duller than normal, sad even, rather than their usual cheerful blue. “I’ve asked Mrs. Ruby for a transfer.”

  Thomas stilled. “What do you mean?”

  She drew a deep breath. “I asked her to let the company know I would like to transfer to another hotel. The telegram came today. I’ll report to a Gilbert hotel in California at the end of next week.”

  “Why?” was the only word Thomas could seem to get out of his mouth. The air all seemed to have left the room.

  She pressed her lips together. “I recommend the beef stew. It has a lovely flavor.”

  “I don’t care about the menu.” He spoke so harshly that Caroline flinched. “I’m sorry.” He desperately wanted to take her hand, but that was impossible here in front of everyone. “You haven’t spoken to me all week. And now this? Please, tell me why you’re leaving. I deserve to know that much.”

  “Miss? Miss, may I have some more water?” A man at the next table held up his glass.

  Caroline closed her eyes for a half-second. “I’ll return. I can’t leave my customers waiting.”

  Thomas sat impatiently while Caroline refilled water and lemonade and tea, took orders, and brought food to her tables. She set a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of him. It might have been a bowl of sawdust, for all the appetite Thomas had. She paused by his table a moment before speaking.