A Clear Hope
Kansas Crossroads Book Five
by Amelia C. Adams
Dedicated to my family, those long-suffering individuals who always love me, no matter how crazy I am.
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I’d like to thank my beta readers for their sharp eyes and encouragement: Bobbie Sue, Cissie, Kristen, Kristi, Lachele, and Tracy. I couldn’t do it without you!
I’d also like to thank the members of my street team. From sharing news about releases to cheering me on, you do a lot for me—I have the best team ever!
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Author’s Note: I’m always happy when I can include real historical characters in my novels. Wyatt Earp, Colonel Gordon, and Marshal Meagher are represented here, but their actions and dialogue are inventions of my own imagination. However, Wyatt Earp’s fondness for his Remington and target practice are documented.
As a further note, every effort has been made to ensure historical accuracy. The practice of seeking asylum in a church dates back to the Middle Ages, but despite my research, I was unable to find the exact date it began in the United States, so some artistic license has been taken, as it has with train schedules. Enjoy!
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Sneak Peek at The Whisper of Morning
Chapter One
Topeka, Kansas
1875
Deputy Marshal Gabriel Hanks stood on the platform of the station, scanning the passengers as they climbed off the train. He was there to see if a certain wanted outlaw would dare show his face in Topeka, but so far, Gabe had seen no one even the slightest bit suspicious.
One young woman did catch his eye, but not because she matched the description he’d been sent by telegram. She descended from the train slowly, holding on to the railing with both hands, and when her feet touched the platform, she seemed to stagger forward before righting herself. She grasped the corners of her shawl as she moved along. For a moment, Gabe thought she’d be all right, but then she collapsed in a heap. He rushed forward and checked her breathing. It was shallow.
“Let’s get her over to the hotel.” Adam Brody, owner of said hotel, stepped to Gabe’s side. He often stood on the platform when the trains came in to invite the passengers over for a hot meal. “It’s the closest bed, and I’ll send Tom for Dr. Wayment.”
Gabe scooped the young woman up without argument and carried her through the front gate of the hotel. All the waitresses were lined up in a row, prepared to serve the meal, but when Abigail saw Gabe come in, she stepped out of line and hurried over to him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, touching the girl’s sleeve.
Gabe tried to ignore the way his heart stuttered whenever he saw Abigail. “This young woman collapsed on the platform. Mr. Brody told me to bring her over here.”
She nodded, seeming to understand the situation without needing further explanation. She led the way up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to a room that was unoccupied. “You can lay her down here,” she instructed. “Has someone sent for the doctor?”
“Mr. Brody said he’d send Tom.”
Abigail nodded again. “I’ll fetch some water.” She took two steps, then paused. “What about you, Deputy? May I offer you a cool drink or a meal? Miss Hampton made apple pie with extra cinnamon this morning. I . . . I’ve noticed how much you like cinnamon.”
“I’m all right, Miss Peterson, but thank you.” Gabe couldn’t help it. He held her gaze a moment longer than he should. She dropped her eyes and moved away, and Gabe was left there to kick himself.
The young woman on the bed hadn’t stirred at all since she collapsed. When Gabe had lifted her, she’d felt like a ragdoll in his arms. Only her breathing assured him that she was still alive.
A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Dr. Wayment came into the room. “Hello, Deputy,” he said as he put his bag on the chair in the corner. “What do we have here?”
“This girl collapsed shortly after getting off the train,” Gabe replied. “She didn’t appear to have a traveling companion, she was carrying no handbag of any kind, and I don’t know about luggage.”
“We can check with the conductor about that.” Dr. Wayment bent over the bed and lifted the girl’s eyelids, peering into each eye, then loosened the top button of her dress. Her pulse fluttered in her throat.
Abigail came back in the room carrying a glass of water, a basin, and a towel. While Dr. Wayment listened to the girl’s heart with his stethoscope, Abigail bathed her face and hands. Then she moved the hair back from the girl’s forehead. “Oh!” Abigail gasped.
Dr. Wayment’s fingers moved to his patient’s hairline. “That’s a pretty significant bruise. Looks fresh, as though she got it within the last twelve hours.”
Gabe stepped forward to get a better look. It was definitely an injury from some sort of abuse—he’d seen enough violence to recognize it. A rim of blood edged the green-and-purple bruise.
“Can I get you anything else, Doctor?” Abigail asked.
“No, thank you, Abigail, but if you could remain on hand, I’d appreciate it. I hope Miss Hampton isn’t missing you too much in the dining room.”
“It’s busy, but she said she understood and gave me leave.”
Just then, the girl gave a moan, and her hand flew up to her forehead. She winced as her fingers explored the bruise. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and her gaze flickered between the people standing over the bed. “Where am I?”
“You’re at the Brody Hotel in Topeka,” Dr. Wayment replied. “What’s your name, miss?”
Her eyes grew wide, and they took on a panicked look. “I . . . I don’t know,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “I don’t know who I am.”
***
Abigail’s eyes flew to Deputy Hanks. She’d never heard of this happening before. How could someone forget who they were?
“It’s the head trauma,” Dr. Wayment said, as though he’d somehow heard her question. “When the head is struck just right, the brain bounces inside it, and it can sustain an injury even though the skull isn’t broken. She’ll need a lot of rest, and as her head heals, so should her brain, and then her memory will return.”
“Are . . . are you sure?” the girl asked. “I won’t be this way forever?”
“My guess is that your memory will return after you’ve had several nights of sleep and some good meals. You look like you could use plenty of both.” Dr. Wayment smiled at her kindly. “What shall we call you in the meantime?”
“I . . . don’t know. What would you suggest?”
Dr. Wayment seemed a bit perplexed. “Well, now, my mother’s name was Anne.”
“Then I’ll be Anne.” She settled back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “But why am I in Topeka?”
“Do you know where you live?” Deputy Hanks asked.
Anne opened her mouth as if to answer, but then she closed it again. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Well, enough of all this for now. Abigail, could you please fetch a tray? I’m sure Anne is hungry.”
“Of course.” Abigail hurried from the room and down the stairs. Mr. Brody and Miss Hampton were conversing in low tones in the hallway outside Mr. Brody’s office.
“Miss Peterson,” Mr. Brody greeted her as she passed. “How is
our guest?”
“She doesn’t remember who she is,” Abigail told him. “She has a large bruise on her head, and Dr. Wayment said that her brain was also injured. She needs sleep and good food, and then she’ll probably be fine.”
Mr. Brody nodded. “Then we will keep her here until then. We can afford to be charitable, surely.”
Miss Hampton pressed her lips together. “Are you sure, Adam? She could be pretending, you know, looking for free food and a place to stay.”
Adam lifted a finger. “If she’s desperate enough to pretend to be ill, she’s in need of our help all the more. She will stay.”
“I won’t argue with you. I may not like it, but I won’t argue with you.” Miss Hampton turned to Abigail. “There’s a new nightgown in the bottom drawer of my bureau. You may give that to her, if you wouldn’t mind fetching it.”
“Thank you, Miss Hampton.” Abigail was curious how Miss Hampton could go so quickly from objecting to the plan to giving away something new of her own, but she didn’t question it. “Dr. Wayment sent me to prepare a food tray, so I’ll get the nightgown as soon as I’m done with that.”
“There’s a fresh loaf of bread, along with some pie and stew. Take whatever you need.” Miss Hampton gave a sharp nod and moved off.
“My aunt is a kind woman,” Mr. Brody said, watching Miss Hampton a she walked into the dining room. “She just worries about the hotel as a business.”
“She is a kind woman,” Abigail agreed. She was also a very confusing one, and Abigail wondered if they would ever really become friends.
She moved into the kitchen, where she found Rachel scrubbing the dishes and Sarah Palmer, the new girl, drying them. “How was your first day, Sarah?”
“It was all right, I think. I got a few orders wrong, but no one yelled at me. That’s good, right?”
“That’s very good,” Rachel said. “My first day was dreadful. I spilled a cup of coffee right in a man’s lap. Oh, did he scream.”
Sarah and Abigail both laughed. “I remember that. Miss Hampton was none too pleased with you, Rachel,” Abigail said. She placed a bowl of stew on the tray and then set about slicing the bread. Dr. Wayment and Deputy Hanks had both said they weren’t hungry, but she cut two extra slices of pie, just in case, and added two more coffee cups to the tray.
She tried to ignore the way her heart raced when she thought about Deputy Hanks. In fact, she usually tried not to think about him at all—he was too distracting. He was blond, his hair a few shades lighter than Mr. Brody’s, and it curled just above his collar. He also had a neat mustache and goatee, kept trimmed to his jaw. His skin was tanned, as he spent a lot of time outdoors, and his eyes were a curious shade of blue and gray at the same time. She definitely didn’t think about him much at all. Definitely.
“Do you need some help with that?” Rachel asked, turning from the washtub.
“No, I’m all right. Thank you, though.” Abigail picked up the tray and carried it upstairs. The bedroom door had been left ajar, so she had no trouble entering with her load. Deputy Hanks leaped forward as soon as he saw her and took it from her hands, setting it on the small table near the bed.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping it was in no way obvious that she’d been daydreaming about him just moments before. “I brought extra pie and coffee, in case you or Dr. Wayment change your mind.”
“Thank you, Abigail.” Dr. Wayment took a step back from the bed, where he had just finished cleaning the cut at the edge of Anne’s bruise. “That smells so good, I think I will take you up on your offer.”
Abigail got Anne situated first with her bowl of stew and slice of bread, then handed around the pie and coffee to the men. They took up seats in front of the fireplace against the far wall. This was the nicest guest room in the hotel, and the one they always seemed to use when someone was injured or ill. Perhaps they should just set the room aside for that purpose and come to expect it.
Dr. Wayment seemed to follow her thoughts. “We’ve spent a lot of time together in this room, haven’t we, Abigail?”
“Yes, indeed we have.” Her mind immediately flew to the terrifying days she and Dr. Wayment had spent nursing her sister, Jeanette, back to health after a bout of tuberculosis. During that illness, Dr. Wayment realized he was in love with Jeanette, and shortly thereafter, he had become Abigail’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. As soon as Jeanette finished her nurses’ training in New York, she’d be coming back to Topeka to marry Dr. Wayment, and Abigail couldn’t be happier for either of them. “We haven’t lost anyone yet, have we, sir?”
Dr. Wayment laughed and set his cup back on the tray. “No, we haven’t. And our patient today is nowhere near close to it.” He raised his voice a little to include her in the conversation. “Eat as much as you feel you can, and don’t feel ashamed to ask for seconds, Anne. Nourishing food is what you need most right now.”
“Thank you. This is very good.” Anne had finished her slice of bread and moved on to the stew. “I don’t think I’ve eaten for a while.”
“I can tell that by the way your skin is laying across your facial bones. You’re malnourished, and also dehydrated. So eat hearty.” He turned back to Abigail. “Have you gotten any letters from Jeanette?”
“Just one, telling me that she’d arrived safely and that Deputy Hanks had taken excellent care of her.” She turned toward him. “Thank you again for escorting her to New York, Deputy. It was so kind of you.”
“It was my pleasure. And this was excellent pie. Please give Miss Hampton my regards.” He seemed a little embarrassed at her thanks—perhaps she’d been a bit too effusive. But her sister’s safety was of the utmost importance to her, and it was difficult to hide her emotions about it.
“I will.” She noticed that he was wearing his tan buckskin jacket, the one he wore when the heat of the day wasn’t too oppressive. He’d told her once that it was a gift from an Indian friend, and he wore it proudly. It gained him some jibes from men who didn’t know any better, but they quickly learned to know better. The leather looked soft, and she fought the impulse to touch the sleeve to see what it felt like. But touching the sleeve would also mean touching his arm . . . and she stood up and moved across the room to check on Anne before she could follow that thought any further. Her cheeks were already warm as it was.
Anne had finished eating, and now seemed a little drowsy. “Thank you for your help . . . Abigail, was it?”
“That’s right. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll come back in a little while and check on you.”
“I think I’d like that.” Anne slid down on the bed and lay on the pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.
“I’ll be on my way, but I’ll check back before I head home tonight,” Dr. Wayment promised. “Oh, and Abigail, don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Phillip? In just a few short months, I’ll be your brother, after all.”
“Of course. It may take me a little while to get used to it, but I’d be glad to.”
He gave her a nod, bid Deputy Hanks good day, and headed out the door.
Now it was just Abigail and the deputy, and they both seemed to notice the awkwardness of it at once.
“I need to send a telegram,” Deputy Hanks said, coming to a standing position. “Have a good day, Miss Peterson.”
“And I should be helping with the laundry,” she replied, although she immediately felt foolish for saying it. He wasn’t interested in her chore list.
He nodded, much like the doctor had done, and was off.
Abigail gathered up all the dishes, checked to see that Anne was breathing peacefully, and then carried the tray downstairs. After washing those few dishes and putting them away, she went outside to help the other girls with the laundry.
“How is she?” Harriet asked as soon as she saw Abigail.
“She’s asleep now, but she’s in poor shape. She has a big bruise on her forehead, she can’t remember who she is, and she’s near starving. Mr. Brody says we’ll be keeping her un
til she feels better.” Abigail suddenly remembered the nightgown. She’d been so distracted by her thoughts about the deputy, she’d forgotten to fetch it like she’d been asked to do. She would get it later, and help Anne put it on before bedtime that night.
“Deputy Hanks almost dropped her when he saw you,” Harriet teased. “Someone fancies you, I think.”
For the millionth time in the last hour, Abigail’s cheeks grew warm. “I wouldn’t mind it if he did,” she admitted.
Rachel and Harriet both squealed, and Sarah offered a smile. Hopefully, she’d soon feel comfortable enough to come out of her shell. She was an orphan and had been living with her aunt until her aunt decided to move to Denver. The story was that Sarah had several friends in Topeka and didn’t want to leave them, but Abigail didn’t see Sarah as the social type at all. There must be something more to that story—they would wheedle it out of her a bit at a time.
Elizabeth came out of the hotel carrying a basket of bedsheets. “This is the last of the linen for today.”
“Thank goodness,” Harriet replied. “I enjoy seeing the hotel’s success, but I don’t enjoy the extra laundry that comes with it.”
“Adam and Miss Hampton are discussing it now, and he’s going to place another advertisement,” Elizabeth said. “I never imagined it would be so difficult to keep this place staffed. The way you all are running off and getting married . . .”
“Who started it?” Harriet asked, and they all laughed. Elizabeth had come to the Brody Hotel as a maid and ended up marrying Mr. Brody himself. She still worked at the hotel, but as her small daughter grew, she spent more time in the nursery and less time in the dining room.
“You’re right—I didn’t set the best example. I can’t say that I regret it, though.” Elizabeth carried the basket to the washtub and started putting the sheets into the hot water.
After another half hour, all the laundry was hung on the line, and Abigail climbed the stairs to check on Anne. The girl was still sleeping, so Abigail went back downstairs to begin helping with dinner preparations. Where had Anne come from, and how had she gotten that bruise? These questions, along with memories of the deputy’s stormy eyes, swirled around in her head while she chopped the carrots, which was much less exciting, to be sure.
A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5) Page 1