She carried her dress and petticoats to the wardrobe, opened the doors and hung them inside. Her valises she shoved against the wall. She pushed down on the bed, smiled at its softness, removed her dressing gown and pulled back the coverlet on the bed and stared. Where were the linens and blankets?
She frowned, grabbed her dressing gown and swirled it back around her shoulders. Where would she find a maid to make up her bed? Dare she go looking for one? She stared at the bare mattress, then glanced at the door. She had no choice.
She slid back the lock and opened the door a few inches to look out. Light from two of the sconces glowed on either side of the large, double-door cupboard. Garret’s words popped into her head.
I forgot to tell you the linens for your bed are in the cupboard in the hall.
Why—she caught her breath. Surely he didn’t mean for her to make her own bed! She couldn’t do that. She fastened the buttons on her dressing gown, listened to the silence a moment, then stepped out of her bedroom. The hem of her velvet gown whispered against the floor. She hurried to the end of the short hall and looked out. The sitting room was empty. She stared at the open door beside the fireplace, tiptoed over and looked into the adjoining room. It was dark on her left, but she made out the form of a table with chairs. A dining room?
She edged forward and peeked around the shelves on her right. Dim light from two oil lamps over a large, heavy table gleamed on pots and pans, dishes, a fireplace with metal doors in the stone, a huge cooking stove, and cupboards and furniture she could not identify. There was another door on the far wall.
She crept between the fireplace and the table, slipped by a large cupboard, opened the door and looked into the next room. It was too dark to see anything but what looked like a server on her right and tables and chairs. The hotel dining room? She frowned and retraced her steps. Garret and his staff must have retired for the evening.
She opened the cupboard in the hall, stared at the shelves piled with bed linens. A quilt with red stars caught her eye. She grabbed it and two pillowcases, carried them to her bedroom and dropped them onto the bed. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away, shook out the pillowcases and stuffed her pillows in them. She folded the large quilt in half, wrapped herself in it and lay down, wishing for Millie.
The wind sighed at the windows. She turned onto her side and dimmed the lamp. Tears welled, then seeped from beneath her lashes and ran down her cheeks. She was frightened and helpless and all alone. No one but Millie even knew where she was.
I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
Peace stole through her. The tension in her body eased. She slipped her hand out of her quilt cocoon, wiped the tears from her face and looked at the dull light reflected on the plaster ceiling overhead. Forgive me, Lord. I don’t mean to sound distrusting or ungrateful. I know You are always with me. It’s only that I’m afraid. Please grant me courage, and let tomorrow be a better day.
Chapter Three
Garret popped the last bite of his buttered bread in his mouth, shrugged into his work jacket and squinted through the dim light to make out the face of the pendulum clock in the corner. A little less than two hours until the first train. He frowned, pulled on his hat and gloves, grabbed the lantern off the shelf and hurried through the hotel lobby to the front door. It inched outward and stopped. The snow fell through the narrow crack into a small pile. He lowered his shoulder and shoved the door against the snow until he could slip through the opening, then grabbed the lantern and pushed his way out. He brushed the pile of snow back out onto the porch and closed the door.
Light from the oil lamps that had burned all night flickered. Gray puffs of hot breath formed small clouds in front of his face and hovered there. Not a breath of wind stirred. That was good. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with blowing and drifting snow. The cold nipped at his face and neck. He cast a thankful look at the copse of pines at the end of the building that had acted as a windbreak and kept the snow from billowing and piling in deep swells in front of the hotel. He tugged his collar up, grabbed the shovel he kept handy by the door and cleared a path across the porch to the steps. It was the work of a few minutes to shovel his way down them and clear his short walkway to the road.
“Morning, Garret!”
The hail carried sharp and clear on the still, cold air. He straightened, swiped his jacket sleeve across his forehead and looked over a high drift between his hotel and Latherop’s General Store. Blake Latherop stood beside a lantern, his legs splayed and his hands folded on the handle of a shovel standing upright in the deep snow.
“Morning, Blake. You figuring on shoveling a path to the depot?”
The store owner nodded, tugged at his gloves and lifted his shovel. “There’s no choice. I have to get the mail. And I’m expecting supplies for the store.”
“I’ll help. There may be some passengers who will want to stay over. That is if the trains are running.” He frowned, glanced toward the surrounding mountains. “I was wondering if they might get blocked by drifts in some of those high passes.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“Would you gentlemen like some help?”
He looked beyond Blake to the dark form trudging up the road from the parsonage, a lantern swinging from one hand, a shovel leaning like a weapon against one narrow shoulder.
“Good morning, Pastor. Blake and I were about to start clearing a path to the station.” He tugged his hat closer over his ears, then grabbed his shovel. “How about if I go first and scoop off the top ten or so inches, then you scoop off another shovelful, Blake, and you can clean and even the path, Pastor. That sound all right?”
“Lead on.” Blake grabbed his lantern and shovel and trudged through the snow to join him. “Let me know when you get tired, Garret, and we’ll switch places. We ought to make it all the way to the station in good time doing that.”
“Fair enough.” He whacked the snow off to the side ahead of him with the flat of his shovel and set the lantern on the firm surface, then scooped up a shovelful of snow and tossed it aside. Blake did the same. They fell into a rhythm, their heavy breathing and the swish of the shovels against the snow the only sound.
“If we’re going to...have snow like this...” Blake’s huffs and puffs came floating over his shoulder in small gray billows “...I’m going to...have Mitch make me a...snowplow. One I can hitch behind my horse to...clear the road.”
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his neighbor. “Smart man.” He scooped up more snow and cast it aside. “You’ll be using your horse, Blake...so I’ll pay for the snowplow. You plowing the road will...benefit the hotel, as well. That suit you?”
“Sounds...fair enough.”
“And a whole...lot easier!”
“Well spoken, Pastor!” Garret chuckled, drove his shovel into the snow and straightened to catch his breath. Blake followed suit.
“I have...my moments.”
Like last night, when you performed my wedding? He watched Konrad Karl smooth out the path they’d shoveled, then turned and looked ahead. It was still too dark to see the depot, and there was no sign of a road to guide him, only flat white snow in every direction. He took a deep breath, pushed his shovel into the white powder and hoped he was on the right path.
* * *
Virginia bolted upright, startled by a whistle that sliced through the stillness and quivered on the morning air. “Oh!” She scrambled out of bed and grabbed for her dressing gown, her heart pounding. The train. No. She had reached her destination last night and—she was married!
Her knees trembled. She sank down onto the edge of the bed and looked around the strange room, casting back to yesterday and trying to order her thoughts. There was a snowstorm...
An image of Garret Stevenson standing strong and solid in swirling, blowing snow flashed into her head, followed by one of him kneeling in front o
f her and removing her boots. She shivered, fastened her dressing gown and looked at the small heating stove. The sleepy fuzziness in her head began to clear. He had taught her how to tend a fire. Yes.
She glanced at the stovepipe. She wasn’t to touch that handle. She bent to open the small door on the front of the stove, remembered the smoke that had puffed out into the room and took a step back. No smoke. She glanced at the pulsing red coals, scooped coal from the box and piled it on top of the hot embers. Now she had to adjust the draft to burn hotter for the day...no more than halfway...she had done it! Her lips curved into a smile.
She stepped into her slippers and gathered her toilette items. If she remembered correctly, the dressing room was a short distance down the hall. She opened the door and peeked out. The way was clear. She ran on tiptoe, eased the dressing room door closed and slid the bolt, then hurried to perform her morning ablutions so she could get back to her bedroom before anyone came. She didn’t want to miss Garret’s maid.
There! Virginia turned before the long mirror fastened to one of the doors on the wardrobe. Her dress looked quite acceptable. She tugged the hem of the bodice into place at her narrow waist, shook out the long skirt, then checked to be sure the back of the high collar was in place. Memory stirred and her hands stilled.
Garret had slid his hands beneath her long curls and shook them. His spread hands had kept the snow from melting on her neck and sliding down her back. Her husband was a thoughtful man. So far.
Her face tightened. He was no stranger to ladies, for certain. Not given the practiced way he had removed her boots. The memory came bearing the sound of his laughter. It was infectious. She’d have laughed with him if she hadn’t been so frightened. And she’d been even more so a few moments later when she’d mentioned Millie. He’d been so angry. Had accused Millie of betrayal. And not only Millie.
Had Garret suffered the unfaithfulness of a woman? Would he be cruel? She shivered and rubbed her upper arms, where Emory Gladen had squeezed so hard she’d had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Her face paled. Her eyes darkened with fear. He always had a charming reason for his “excesses;” as he called them—he loved her so much he forgot himself, he didn’t know his own strength...
She whirled from the mirror, rushed to the bedroom door and hurried into the hall. She would breakfast early today. Garret’s maid would be in the kitchen. Maids began their work early.
The sitting room was still dark, but for the flickering light from the fire. Outside the windows on the back wall, the sky was beginning to turn gray. She started across the sitting room, stopped when a log collapsed, sending sparks rising up the chimney. The fire needed wood. She moved to the wood cradle, lifted a small log, placed it on the fire, added another and poked them into place. The embers shot out tongues of flame and licked at the new fuel. The muted sound of stomping feet came from the front of the building. She turned toward the door.
“Good morning.” Garret came into the room, tossed his hat and leather gloves onto the shelf and shrugged out of his jacket.
“You’ve been outside already?”
He nodded, rubbed his hands together briskly, then sat in the chair. “For a couple of hours.”
“Whatever for?”
He tugged at one of his boots. “I had to shovel a path to the station in case the passengers want to come to town.”
“You! Where is your help?”
He tossed his boot onto the small rag rug, rubbed his foot and looked up at her. “Blake Latherop—he owns the general store next door—and Pastor Karl helped me.”
She stared. Last night he’d looked like a businessman who might be welcome in her father’s club. Today, in a coarse-woven blue cotton shirt with a narrow band for a collar and a placket with buttons—one missing—he looked like a laborer. If a handsome one. “I meant your hired help.”
He pulled off his other boot and stood. His brown twill pants were damp from midcalf to his knees. “Whisper Creek is a town in the making, Virginia. There is the general store, my hotel, an apothecary shop and soon-to-be doctor’s office, the church and a sawmill so far.” He came to join her on the hearth, held his hands out to the fire. “I suppose you can add in the railroad station and the laundry a Chinese family has out in the woods, though they’re not rightly part of the town. The point is, the owners run their businesses. There’s no one in town to hire. Mitch Todd—the sawmill owner and town builder—lures his construction workers from the railroad crews passing through.” He grinned, obviously amused at Mr. Todd’s ingenuity.
Uneasiness spread through her, made her stomach flop. There’s no one to hire.
“Fire feels good. Is there coffee?”
“I don’t—” The unease turned to full-blown apprehension as understanding dawned. She took a breath and shook her head. “I thought you had a maid.”
Anger swept over his face like a cloud and settled in his dark blue eyes. “Millie Rourk was to cook and clean for a wage, in addition to a good home and living.” He blew out a breath, shoved his fingers through his hair and fixed his gaze on her. “It’s getting late and I haven’t shown you around the hotel yet. I’ll make coffee when we come back. Have you breakfasted?”
“No. But I can wait until—”
“Follow me.”
He headed for the kitchen. She looked down at the poker she’d been gripping, put it back in its place and trailed after him. Guilt tugged at her. He was right; Millie would have been the perfect wife for him. She on the other hand—
“Have a seat.”
He motioned to the table and chairs along the back wall she’d noticed last night, pulled out an end chair and held it for her. He’d turned up the oil lamps hanging above the massive table in the center of the kitchen. The light gleamed in the polished wood of the bare table in front of her. She glanced up at the window—also bare.
“Here we are.” He set two small plates, napkins and flatware on the table, left and returned quickly with two glasses of water and a towel-covered basket. A small crock dangled by its bail from his little finger. “I’m sorry there’s not time to have a real breakfast, but this is delicious bread. Ivy Karl bakes it, and she’s kind enough to sell me some.” He handed her the basket, then sat in the chair at the other end of the table.
She unfolded the towel, and a mouthwatering aroma of freshly sliced bread rose. She placed one of the slices on her plate, handed him the basket and picked up her knife to dip into the butter in the crock he’d opened. The first bite of bread was better than the smell. She took another bite.
“Be careful of the water. It’s from the waterfall and icy cold.”
“There’s a waterfall?” She took a tentative sip from her glass and shivered.
“On the mountain out back.” He took another bite of his bread and nodded toward the window. “That’s why John Ferndale located the town here in this valley. If you like, I’ll take you to see it one day when the weather warms.” He took another bite of his bread and glanced at her plate.
He was in a hurry. She applied herself to finishing her slice, wished she had time for another. “I’m ready for the tour of the hotel.”
“Time is getting short. We’ll leave these dishes here.” He rose and came to pull out her chair. “I’ll show you what you need to see for today. The rest can wait until later tonight or tomorrow. We’ll go through the kitchen. This dining table is for the help—when I have some.” His lips curved in a wry grin that tugged her own lips into a responsive smile, even while her stomach sank. She had ruined Garret Stevenson’s plans.
“This room is huge.”
“It will need to be when the hotel is full. There are twenty-six rooms. Add in mates and children, and that’s a lot of people to be fed.”
It was indeed.
“And then, of course, there will be those who come only to dine. Passengers first, but residents, too, as Whisper Creek
grows.”
He would need to hire a cook. And meantime...her stomach tensed. He ushered her to the door she’d peeked through last night, and they entered a large dining room. She caught her breath at the beauty of the Hepplewhite servers, tables and chairs. A corner cupboard, painted a darker gray than the dove-gray plastered walls, stood on the outside wall on her left. A long banquet table and evenly spaced small tables filled the room. Extra chairs sat in the corners. Red-and-white patterned china and a pewter chandelier and sconces added bright touches that caught the eye. But it was the paneled fireplace wall that held her gaze. The workmanship quality was equal to that in her father’s library. “It’s a beautiful room, Garret.”
Pleasure flashed across his face. “I studied some of the best hotels and restaurants before I left New York. I want people to be so comfortable in my hotel they don’t want to leave.” He pushed open one of the doors flanking the fireplace and stepped back.
She entered the hotel lobby and looked around to orient herself. In a cozy corner on her right was a game table and bookshelves. On her left was the fireplace with two padded chairs facing it. Beyond that was the hotel entrance. An aura of welcome and comfort impressed itself upon her.
She moved ahead to stand by the long paneled desk, her hems whispering across the polished wood floor.
“Are you familiar with the procedure for staying at a hotel?”
“I know one must register and pay. I’ve never done so.”
He gave her a measuring look. “Your maid registered for you, while you were escorted to your room by the concierge.”
She treated his statement as a question. “Yes.”
His face went taut. “This is where the guests sign their name and address. Like this...” He opened a leather register resting beside a bell and a pewter pen and ink holder, and turned it so she could see.
She glanced at the few names entered and nodded.
Mail-Order Bride Switch Page 4