His stomach knotted. He finished filling the coal box on the water heater and strode from the kitchen, the bucket swinging at his side.
There was no trace of her in their dressing room. Everything was neat and tidy. And his. He focused on feeding the coal hopper for the water heater and hurried from the room, paused outside her bedroom door. Had she thought to turn off the heating stove? He sucked in a breath, opened her door and took another punch to his gut. Her quilt, blankets and pillow were in a neatly folded pile at the foot of the bed. The room was cold, the stove draft closed. He glanced at the stovepipe. The damper was open.
This is the damper—I do not touch it.
Memories flared. He’d had to teach her how to work the heating stove. He’d been furious to learn she was helpless at any sort of practical housework. He’d wanted a maid and cook for his hotel. And then Virginia had arrived and turned everything upside down. Now he had two maids and a cook. What he wanted was Virginia. He wanted her quick intelligence, her willingness to learn, her delight when she mastered a new skill. He wanted to see her beautiful eyes sparkling up at him, her soft lips smiling at him. And he wanted to hear her musical laughter. He wanted to have her working alongside him at the desk, soothing and entertaining guests, playing the piano. He wanted his wife!
He slapped the damper closed, stormed out of her bedroom and headed for the first-floor dressing room for guests. Her going home was best for both of them. It would take a couple days, but he would get over her. The hotel work would settle into a routine, and he wouldn’t even miss her.
* * *
“Come in.” Virginia wiped the nib of her pen, stoppered the inkwell and rose from her chair as the door opened. Her maid entered. She took in the woman’s red eyes and nose, her lips pressed tightly together, and hurried forward to enfold her in a hug. “Don’t cry, Millie. Everything will be fine.”
“I—I’m not to be your maid any longer, Miss Virginia. After all these y-years.”
“I see. And, I suppose, Thomas is to be dismissed, also?”
“Yes, miss.”
“It’s Mrs., Millie. Remember, I’m a married woman now.” She patted her maid’s soft shoulder. “Now stop crying. Father is not going to dismiss you or Thomas. I won’t let him.”
The maid jerked back, looked at her out of wide eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon. What did you say, Miss Virginia?”
“I said you have nothing to be concerned about. I will not let Father dismiss you or Thomas.”
“But, miss...er, Mrs. Virginia, you can’t stop—I mean, your father is... I don’t understand.”
She nodded, stepped back and tugged her bodice back into place. “I don’t blame you for being shocked, Millie. But you will find I am no longer the young woman who ran away. I’ve changed.”
Her maid stared at her, swept her gaze over her simple cotton gown, then looked around the room. Her mouth gaped open. “I’ve come to—you’re already dressed for the day. And you’ve made your bed!” Millie stepped to the head of the bed, grasped hold of the comforter and pulled it back. “I’ll just touch it up a bit, and then...” The maid paused, rubbed her hand across the smooth, taut sheets and blankets. “Why, this is—where did you learn how to make a bed?”
She laughed at Millie’s shock and tugged the comforter back in place. “In Whisper Creek, of course. We had the nicest older woman come to stay at the hotel. She sat on the edge of the bed I had tried to make, and the blankets and sheets bunched and tangled around her. She taught me how to make the bed the right way. And how to clean the dressing rooms. She even tried to teach me to cook.” Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away, drew in a breath to control the urge to cry, and forced a smile. “I’m quite hopeless at that, though I have learned enough to help in the kitchen. For the most part, I served in the dining room and helped Garret with the guests.” Her voice choked.
Millie’s arms drew her close. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Mrs. Virginia. I never thought you would have to do maid’s work. I was to do that for a wage.”
“I know—but there was a blizzard, and the trains stopped running. And I burned his stew. And Garret had to help shovel Minna out from the avalanche and I had to—to—” She laughed, stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Oh, how I wanted you there, Millie! I was furious at being left in such a situation when I was so helpless. But Mrs. Fuller helped me and everything worked out fine. I found out I enjoyed working with Garret. I felt...needed.”
She drew a deep breath and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, there is still quite a bit of time before Father goes downstairs to breakfast. I have time to finish my letter before I go down to join him.” She smiled at her maid’s gasp. “I no longer breakfast in my room, Millie. And though Father likes to breakfast alone, that is going to change. And your duties, as well. I will not need you in the morning. Tell Martha I said you are to help her in the kitchen. And tell Thomas he has no reason for concern. He will remain our butler.”
“Yes, Miss—Mrs. Virginia.” Millie left the room, still looking stunned.
She smiled and returned to her writing desk, skimmed the letter she’d started, to order her thoughts.
Dear Mrs. Fuller,
As you know by now, I am at Father’s home in New York City. It was imperative that I return with him. I am sorry that I did not have the opportunity to tell you farewell, but things happened very quickly.
I want to thank you, again, for being so generous with your time and knowledge. I don’t know what I would have done on that first day of the blizzard if you had not so graciously come to my aid. I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I say I have thought of you as my friend since that time. I truly enjoyed learning from you the household skills that I needed to be a helpmate to my husband.
Tears flowed. She rose from the desk and went to look out her bedroom window, stared at the city street below. A few inches of snow covered the ground, and small pockets of packed flakes huddled between the cobblestones. Two men holding what looked to be an animated discussion walked by. A carriage passed. Another followed.
She lifted her gaze to the houses across the street. They stood side by side like soldiers, with one elm tree growing in one yard. She stared at the bare branches, spidery against the gray, overcast sky, and longed for the sight of the snow-covered towering pines with the snow-capped Medicine Bow Mountains behind them. Restlessness took her. Everything was so...closed in. Her chest tightened. She placed her hand at the base of her throat and struggled to breathe.
She whirled from the window, hurried back to her writing desk and took up her pen.
You might be amused to hear that my maid, Millie, is...perhaps flabbergasted is the best word to describe her. I was awake and ready for the day with my bed made and this letter started before she came to my room to wake me. She even checked the bed with an eye to setting it right. I wish you could have seen her face when she saw my neat corners and taut sheets and blankets, all thanks to you! Millie cannot believe how much I have changed. Or perhaps grown up would be a better definition. I pray so.
I hope Li Min is sufficient help for you in the kitchen, and that you will oversee Liu Yang until she learns all she needs to know to care for the patrons of the dining room. Mr. Stevenson will be too busy doing his work and caring for the guests to have any time to train her.
My journey back to New York City was long and wearying. It is strange, but in the short time I was in Whisper Creek, I grew so fond of the vast spaces that the city now seems cramped and small. I suppose I will become accustomed to it again.
I shall close now. Thank you again, Mrs. Fuller, for your kindness to me. Please take care of Mr. Stevenson. He sometimes gets so busy with the outside work, he forgets to eat breakfast. I wish I could join you both for a cup of your wonderful coffee and a delicious cinnamon bun.
Your friend,
Virginia
Tears slid down her cheeks. She dropped the pen on the blotter and ran to bury her sobs in her pillow.
* * *
Garret strode to the kitchen, filled a cup with coffee and braced himself to talk with Mrs. Fuller. He’d not had to deal directly with the older woman while Virginia—he broke off the thought and set himself to do what had to be done. “Today was quite busy, Mrs. Fuller. Were Li Min and Liu Yang helpful? Were they able to manage all that needed to be done?”
The older woman glanced at him, spooned water into a bowl and tossed the flour mixture with a fork. “They are both very hard workers. And they willingly do whatever I ask of them. Of course, they will be more efficient when they become accustomed to our ways. Some of the foods and customs are very strange to them.” She removed the front stove plate, pulled an iron frying pan with melted lard in it forward over the flames.
“That makes sense.” He smelled cinnamon. He peered into another bowl sitting on the worktable, sniffed the spices on the sliced apples. When he looked back, Mrs. Fuller was sprinkling flour in a rough circle on the table. She placed a lump of dough in the center, patted it down, then rolled it thin. In a flash she had it cut into circles the size of a saucer. “Do you have a list of any foods you are running out of or want? I’m going to place an order tomorrow.”
The woman nodded, spooned some of the apples into the center of each circle. “You’ll find it in the pantry on the middle shelf at the end, by the door. Mrs. Stevenson and I write down foods as we use them.” She looked up from folding the dough circles over the apples and sealing the edges with a fork. “Will I be discussing the weekly menus with you until Mrs. Stevenson comes home? It helps me to know what foods I will need in what amount.”
Until Mrs. Stevenson comes home. Should he tell Mrs. Fuller the truth? No, he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He fought back a frown, took a swallow of coffee. “All right. When do you do that?”
“Midweek, after the evening train.” She placed one of the small pies on a large spoon and slipped it into the hot grease, then followed it with another and another. “That gives time for the foods we need to come in before the beginning of the next week.”
The next week. And the week after that. And after that... Virginia would not be here. His stomach knotted. He clenched his fingers around his cup and carried it to the sink, rinsed it and set it in the dishpan to keep from throwing it across the room.
“I believe that’s all we need to discuss.” He scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck and started for the door to the sitting room. “I’ll be in my office. If you think of anything else, let me know, Mrs. Fuller, and—” he stopped, stared at Virginia’s apron hanging on its hook “—and get rid of that apron! Throw it in with the dirty towels and dishcloths. Ah Cheng will be here to pick up the laundry tomorrow.”
He stormed toward the door, stopped and took a deep breath. He had no right to take his frustration out on others. He turned and looked at Mrs. Fuller. She was staring at him with a look in her eyes that made his anger soar. He didn’t want her compassion. He didn’t want anything from any woman. Still... “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fuller. I didn’t mean to be harsh.”
She nodded, turned back to her frying. “It’s all right, Mr. Stevenson. I miss her, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Virginia stared down at the fried egg on her plate, thought of Garret’s “broken eggs” and put down her fork.
Her father cleared his throat, cut into his steak and stabbed the piece with his fork. “Grant makes good sense in his inaugural address. He’s calling for a strict accountability by the treasury for every dollar of revenue collected. And for the greatest retrenchment in expenditure in every department of government. I say it’s about time!” Her father tapped the newspaper folded beside his plate with the handle of his knife. “And here is something that may interest you, Virginia. Grant is for ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of eating. She broke off a bite of bread and smeared it with a dab of butter. “That would make a lot of people happy.”
Her father nodded, studied her as he chewed his bite of meat.
She looked down at her plate to avoid his frowning gaze.
“Are you going to eat that, or just sit there and hold it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He pointed at her hand with the tip of his knife.
“Oh.” She placed the bread on her plate and wiped her fingers on her napkin. “If you will excuse me, Father, I will leave you to read your newspaper in peace.” She rose and started for the doorway, the silk of her gown’s long skirt swishing softly.
“Are you ill, Virginia?”
At heart. She paused, turned to look at him. “Why do you ask, Father?”
“We’ve been home less than a week, and you’ve lost so much weight your gowns are hanging on you.” He scowled, motioned toward her empty chair. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
She shook her head. “I’ve no appetite, Father. And if I eat, I will be ill. Excuse me.” She lifted her hems and walked from the dining room down the hallway to the spacious entrance hall, ignoring his demands that she return and listen to him.
She skirted around the table in the center of the room, stopped at the bottom of the curving stairs and looked around. Her chest tightened, restricted her breath. She couldn’t face another day cloistered in her room. She would suffocate.
She rubbed her chest, glanced at the Windsor bench beside the stairway and moved toward it. Her coat and hat and muff hung beside her father’s coat in the nook out of sight beneath the stairs. She grabbed her boots, sat in the chair and tugged them on, the need for fresh air and space compelling her. There was nothing for her to do. Nowhere for her to go. The thought of visiting her old friends made her cringe. The idea of listening to the latest gossip, or talking about shopping and clothing styles and what to wear to the next ball, didn’t interest her. The only thing she wanted was to return to Garret and Whisper Creek.
She blinked tears from her eyes and tied on her hat, shrugged into her coat and buttoned it on her way out the door.
She took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air and started down the sidewalk, returning the polite nods of the people out and about on their morning errands. A quick dip of her head shielded her eyes against the sun that reflected off the brass lamps of the carriages that passed by, the passengers huddled inside behind the drawn curtains that held out the weather. The horses’ hoofs thudded against the cobblestones. The buggy wheels rumbled. But there were no train whistles.
She glanced at the four-sided clock that stood in the center of the snow-covered circle in the middle of the intersection. It was almost time for the second train of the day to stop at Whisper Creek. Did Liu Yang have the tables ready for the rush of soldiers and passengers who would come for a quick breakfast? Was Li Min giving Mrs. Fuller enough help in the kitchen? Was Garret—
A sob burst from her throat. She stopped and turned toward a storefront to hide her tears from the other pedestrians. Please help me, Lord. I can’t go on feeling as I do. Garret doesn’t want me. I must get over—
A key rattled. The shop door opened. She jerked up her gloved hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks, held her breath to stop her crying.
“Good morning.” The well-dressed woman standing in the doorway skimmed her gaze over her. “I see you are looking at my sign. Are you here to apply for the position?”
She glanced down, read the small, discreet sign sitting by the hem of a velvet walking gown worn by a mannequin standing in the window: Shopgirl Wanted. She turned and smiled at the woman. “Yes, I am. I hope I’m not too late.”
“Not at all. I only put out the sign yesterday evening.” A look of irritation swept across the woman’s face. “My girl ran off to marry some man she’s only just met. She didn’t even have the decency to tell me she was l
eaving my employ. I found her note on the counter when I closed the shop. But that’s not to do with you. Come in.” The woman stepped back and opened the door wide.
She lifted her hems and stepped over the threshold, glanced around a small but elegant dress shop. “You have a lovely store. This was a tobacco shop when I left for Wyoming.”
“You’ve been traveling, Miss...”
“Mrs. Garret Stevenson.” Her throat tightened. She hurried to change the subject. “Please, call me Virginia.”
The woman nodded, fastened a stern look on her. “And your husband approves of your seeking employment outside of your home?”
The tears threatened to come back. She swallowed hard to gain control. “My husband is in Wyoming. His business is there. I have come back to care for my father. But I find myself with a good deal of time on my hands. I want something to do to fill that time.”
“I see.” The woman swept her hand toward a cluster of gowns hanging from a wooden rod. “Can you tell me the fabric of each of those gowns?”
She stepped closer and walked down the row. “The first is silk...then faille...moire...satin.” She paused to admire the next outfit. It would be perfect for the winter weather at Whisper Creek. “The walking suit is made of delaine...the next is velvet. And this last suit is tweed.”
The woman nodded, studied her a moment, then smiled. “I’m Mrs. Lamb. Would caring for your father allow you to tend the shop for me in the mornings, Mrs. Stevenson?”
* * *
The train blasted notice of its departure, the whistle accentuating the emptiness inside him. Garret counted the money, tossed it into the till and stepped out from behind the service desk. He’d thought a few days would ease the ache of missing Virginia, but the need to see her, to hear her voice, to be with her deepened with every train that came. Part of him kept waiting for her to walk in the door, though he knew that was pure foolishness.
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