A Shelter of Hope

by Tracie Peterson

  He cares deeply for you, Simone.”

  Simone gathered her strength. She knew she had to put an end to Rachel’s loving speech about God. She had to push Rachel away and prevent her from trying to get any closer.

  “I don’t know anything about loving fathers, Rachel. I’m glad that you had one, and even happier that you have pleasant memories from the past. I can’t share your image of God because I have no one on which to pattern that image. Please don’t pry any further. By what you saw, you should easily realize that it isn’t something I wish to talk about. Please respect that.”

  Rachel nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Simone felt an aching in her chest and fought to ignore it. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I don’t want to care.

  Rachel sniffed back tears and smiled. “I suppose I should get back to work. You do know that Jeffery’s due in from Chicago, don’t you?”

  Simone felt her knees go weak. She had tried so hard not to think about Jeffery and the way he felt about her … and the way he made her feel about him. She’d worked fervently to dismiss any tempting thought that he just might be right about how things could be between them. She couldn’t afford for anyone to be her friend—especially not Jeffery.

  “I didn’t realize he was coming to Topeka,” Simone finally admitted.

  Rachel smiled and walked to the door. “I can hardly keep him from coming to Topeka. He’s here so much more frequently than he used to be, and I can only guess the reason.”

  Simone said nothing and waited for several seconds before turning to follow Rachel back to the dining room. Somehow she had to make Jeffery understand that he could no longer care about her. But in the meantime, the northbound train would soon be arriving and she needed to be on duty at her station, as Mr. Harvey required.

  The number of passengers requiring breakfast were few. It was a rare moment for the Topeka Harvey House, but Simone was secretly relieved. She found it easy to get back into the routine of servicing the large-portioned meals, but in truth, she was still rather weak from her sickness. Of course, she’d never let Rachel or Henri know the truth. Both had pampered and spoiled her until she could hardly stand it. Henri had fixed special meals and had them brought to her on silver trays with beautiful china dishes. Simone had never known such elegance and beauty. Even Una maintained a special attentiveness and often left her letters unwritten to sit at Simone’s bedside.

  No, Simone thought, I mustn’t admit to anyone that I’m less than capable of continuing with my duties. She continued to argue with herself throughout the aftermath of the morning meal. As she polished the silverware, she tried to imagine what she should do with her future. She had no way of knowing how much Rachel actually knew or, for that matter, suspected. If she spoke out in her delirium, it was possible that she could have said almost anything. The idea sent a chill down Simone’s spine.

  “Simone?” Bethel called from the archway of the hall.

  Simone was startled from her quiet reverie. “Yes?”

  “Mr. O’Donnell wishes to see you in the manager’s office.”

  Simone swallowed hard and put down her polishing rag. There was no way she could avoid dealing with Jeffery, but nevertheless, it wasn’t something she was looking forward to. Jeffery would no doubt restate his interest in their becoming better friends, and there was no way Simone could allow that. Simone firmly believed that when she’d made the choice to hit Garvey Davis over the head, she denied herself the right to any future relationships.

  With a sigh, Simone got to her feet and slipped off the white gloves she’d been wearing. Walking down the corridor to the house manager’s office, she tried to think of what she would say. Perhaps the best way to approach it would be to announce her departure for Florence or Raton.

  Knocking lightly on the closed door, Simone heard Jeffery call out, “Come in.”

  Pushing aside her fear, Simone turned the handle and entered the room. Jeffery sat looking much the same as he had at his departure some days before. He wore a dark blue suit with a freshly starched shirt and blood red tie. His dark brown hair had been carefully parted and slicked back on either side, but it was his eyes that immediately caught Simone’s attention. Locking her gaze with his, she tried to imagine why he stared at her in an almost grieved manner.

  “Have a seat,” he told her softly.

  “I’m in the middle of polishing the silverware, Mr. O’Donnell.”

  “Yes, I know.” He smiled slightly. “I also know we had an agreement that you would call me Jeffery.”

  “Jeffery, I don’t have time for this. Today is my first day back on the floor, and the other girls have been greatly overworked in my absence.”

  “Sit down, Simone,” he insisted, leaning forward.

  He appeared gravely concerned about something, so Simone finally did as he told her and sat down on the edge of the nearest chair.

  “Simone, you know how I feel about you. I’ve come to care a great deal about your well-being—”

  “Don’t, Jeffery,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Please don’t.”

  “Why not, Simone?” he asked her flatly. “Why can’t you trust me?”

  “There are a great many reasons,” Simone said, trying to sound casual.

  “Such as?”

  “Jeffery, I have to get back to work,” she said, getting to her feet. “We can discuss this later.”

  “I’d like to discuss it now. Along with this,” Jeffery replied, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. With slow, methodical care, Jeffery spread the paper open and flattened it out on the desk. “See for yourself. Don’t you think there’s some sort of explanation due me … Miss Dumas?”

  Simone started at the use of her real name, but it was the charcoal sketch showing a likeness of her father and a detailed drawing of her own face above the word WANTED that caused Simone to nearly faint dead to the floor.

  TWENTY-ONE

  AFTER MULTIPLE MISHAPS and train delays in cities that he would just as soon forget, Louis Dumas thought Chicago the perfect cover for a man—or for that matter, a woman—trying to hide out from the law. The sheer numbers of people made the job of gaining anonymity a simple task. No one knew him or had any reason to care about him, and this worked greatly to his advantage. The bustling crowd seemed unconcerned with the filthy man, and Louis found this fit perfectly with his plan.

  The first thing he’d seen as a necessity wasn’t a place to live or even a good stiff drink but rather a bath and change of clothes. Louis realized that should anyone come after him, they’d be looking for a trapper named Louis Dumas. They’d have their sketches and drawings of a burly fellow in roughly fashioned buckskin, with a face full of hair to match the shoulder-length mass on his head. Keeping that in mind, Louis soaked in the tub of a private bathhouse and figured out how he would rearrange his appearance. Only hours ago he’d managed to steal a suitcase from a well-dressed stranger bound for Cleveland. The man had sat opposite Louis on the train and boasted of his wealth and the fact that he owned not one but two very nice suits. Louis figured the man to be too prideful for his own good, and while the man dozed through the stop in Chicago, Louis simply relieved him of his burden and exited the train. It had been so simple. With the case sitting beside the tub, Louis contemplated how he would pull off his charade.

  “You gonna want a shave as well as a haircut?” the proprietor called from the doorway.

  “I figured on it,” Louis replied, climbing out of the now tepid water. He pulled a towel around his body and grabbed his case. “No sense dressing till we get it done.”

  The proprietor, a short, bald fellow who apparently was used to dealing with Louis’s kind, only nodded and pulled back the curtain. “Have a seat in here.” Louis followed him into a room off the main area. “This will give you a bit more privacy.”

  Louis didn’t know if the man sensed his desire to remain anonymous or, rather, desired to keep Louis, in his undressed state, out of his main business area. Either way, L
ouis didn’t care. “I want it all cut off. I want the hair short and the beard and mustache gone. No, wait … leave a small mustache.”

  “Sure thing, mister.”

  Louis sat quietly as the man went to work sharpening his razor. He would have to think through his plans for finding Simone. After all, the same secrecy afforded Louis by the overpopulated city was also afforded his daughter.

  “But she don’t know what she’s doing. She ain’t never been alone in a town like this.”

  “What’d you say, mister?” the barber asked from where he stood.

  “Nothin’ … just thinkin’ out loud,” Louis muttered.

  Louis lost track of time while he contemplated Simone. Over and over he considered his plans for their lives. She would have no other choice but to go wherever he decided to go. She was, after all, his responsibility. She was also a very beautiful young woman, and there was a great deal of wealth to be had in what she could provide. It was simply a matter of replenishing what he’d already spent and then finding Simone.

  “Whereabouts you from, stranger?” the barber asked as he clipped Louis’s hair.

  “Everywhere and nowhere,” Louis replied, hating the nosy question. The man needed to keep his questions to himself and leave Louis to think through what was to be done.

  “I see you’re still carrying your case with you. You need a place 186 to stay?”

  Louis realized the man’s potential. “Maybe. I’d really like to get in a decent game of poker and have a few drinks. You know a place like that?”

  The man leaned close, as if conspiring with Louis. “There’s a place just up the street. My sister runs it. I think you’ll find she keeps a good room and charges the right price. If you want to know about anything at all that’s going on in this city, my sister would be the one to tell you.”

  Louis nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Very little was exchanged after that. Louis was too deep in thought to concern himself with what the little man had to tell him. His priorities had to be money and Simone. Nothing else mattered as much as those two things.

  After surveying the barber’s work, Louis was dumbfounded by the change in his appearance. No one would ever consider him to be a backwoods trapper. His black hair glowed from the application of hair oil and tonic, and his face, a bit pale from the winter months, seemed far more refined than he had recalled. Perhaps it came with age. After all, Louis had worn a beard and moustache for the last thirty years.

  He paid the man, obtained directions to his sister’s house, and dressed in the stolen clothes. He congratulated himself on sizing up someone who had a reasonably similar build. The only flaw was that his moccasin boots peered out from beneath the trousers. Perhaps he could purchase a pair of shoes after settling up with the barber’s sister for a room.

  It was a completely different Louis Dumas who stepped from the barber and bath establishment. Should anyone on the street have glanced his way, they would simply have considered him a man of means, down on his luck. The black broadcloth suit had seen some wear but was of quality construction, and therefore it spoke of having come from one of the better tailors. The white shirt, though slightly wrinkled and minorly stained, was scarcely noticeable once Louis buttoned up the vest and coat.

  Joining the flow of people on the street, Louis tried to keep his mind clear and his eyes open to anything that might suggest his daughter’s whereabouts. It seemed a long shot, he knew, but it was always possible that being without any money other than that which she’d obtained from the sale of Garvey Davis’s horse and gear, Simone would have stayed in relatively close proximity to the railroad station. Then again, it was always possible that someone had taken pity on her because of her looks. Who could say? Louis’s biggest problem was that enough time had passed between Simone’s arrival and his that the girl could literally be anywhere.

  Then a bad thought overshadowed the man’s thinking. It was very possible that Simone had not gotten off the train in Chicago. Or that if she had, she had merely traded it for another and had headed off again to distance herself from the possibility of Wyoming retribution.

  Grumbling and muttering to himself, Louis hardly realized he’d come to the intersection where he was to turn north. Glancing up at the street markers, his eyes were drawn instead to a small, makeshift Wanted poster. Stepping closer, but trying to appear intent on the street’s name, Louis saw the remarkable sketch of his daughter and the marginally acceptable rendering of himself.

  WANTED: Louis and Simone Dumas, father and daughter, for questioning in the murder of Garvey Davis, Uniontown, Wyoming. Notify local authorities with information regarding the whereabouts of either party.

  Louis quickly calmed his frazzled nerves when he realized that there was no resemblance between him and the man on the poster—even before his shave and haircut. He doubted that even the barber would consider him as the man in the poster. But Simone’s sketch was the very image of the girl. If anyone had knowledge of her and saw that poster, there would be no doubt of who she was.

  Smiling to himself, Louis thought of how he might use this to his advantage. If the posters were up here in Chicago, the law must believe Simone to still be in the city. That would only prove to aid Louis in his own search.

  Glancing around to see who might be watching, Louis pulled down the poster and started to fold it up.

  “You know those two?” a voice called out from behind him.

  Louis turned to see a rather rough-looking fellow dressed in a brown tweed suit that had seen better days. “Not sure. I was thinkin’ my wife might know ’em.”

  The man nodded. “Well, here.” He handed Louis a card. “If it proves to be true and she has any idea where they are, just come around and let me know. I collect scum like those two and turn them into the law.”

  “A bounty hunter?” Louis questioned.

  “The best,” the man said, smiling.

  Louis nodded. “Ain’t promisin’ nothin’, but iffen she knows ’em, I’ll send her over.”

  “I’m obliged,” the man said, tipping his hat to Louis before taking off in the opposite direction.

  Louis looked down at the paper and smiled. “Ah, Simone. It’s just a matter of time before I find you.” Now he clearly had all he needed to persuade Simone to run away with him and do as she was told. All he would have to do upon finding her was show her the poster and threaten to turn her into the law himself if she refused to cooperate.

  TWENTY-TWO

  JEFFERY WAS TOTALLY UNPREPARED for Simone’s reaction to the Wanted poster. He had prayed all the way back from Chicago that the poster was just an odd coincidence. Yet he knew in his heart there were too many things that pointed to it being a perfect explanation of the endless questions surrounding Simone.

  Seeing her pale and shaken, Jeffery got to his feet and went to the door. Glancing in the hall to make sure no one else was lingering outside, he closed the door and turned to where Simone sat, her face buried in her hands. What should he say? How should he handle the situation? He didn’t want to believe that she was capable of conspiring to commit murder. It hardly seemed to fit her character and nature, yet there had to be some reason for her being this upset.

  Taking his seat behind the desk, Jeffery watched her for several moments. She wasn’t crying, at least not that he could hear. It seemed almost as if she hoped by hiding her face she could somehow hide the truth, as well.

  “Simone, I’m sorry for upsetting you like this,” Jeffery began. “I think you know me well enough by now to know that I would never do anything to harm you.”

  At this, she looked up with her dark eyes. They seemed to search Jeffery’s face, as if contemplating the truth of his statement. How he wished he could put her mind at ease.

  “I want you to tell me the whole story. Just trust me to understand, Simone.”

  “It’s all true,” she murmured, looking away. “I am Simone Dumas, and Garvey Davis is dead because of me.”

  Jeffery fel
t his throat constrict. “What happened?”

  Simone licked her lips and fell back against the chair as though completely spent. “It’s such a long story.”

  “We have all the time you need. I want to hear it. I need to hear it from you,” Jeffery replied, then added, “please.”

  Simone’s face contorted. “I lived with my father in Wyoming, some twelve miles from a run-down place called Uniontown,” she began. “My father was a trapper, but the land was played out. One day, he came back from town and announced his decision to sell off everything, including me. He planned to leave Wyoming for the gold mines of Colorado. He sold everything to Garvey Davis.”

  “How could he include you in on that deal?” Jeffery questioned. He couldn’t imagine what Simone was really saying.

  “He sold me to Garvey Davis as a wife.”

  “A wife!” Jeffery exclaimed, louder than he’d meant to. He’d never for a moment imagined that Simone was married to the Davis man.

  “Well, we didn’t have a preacher in Uniontown. Churches and religion didn’t seem overly important to the folks around there. So my father gave me to Mr. Davis to live as his wife until the preacher came around.” Simone grew quiet.

  Jeffery still found it hard to believe that a father would sell his child to another man. What kind of person would do such a thing? He had a million questions he longed to ask, but it was clear that Simone felt significant pain just in revealing the minimal circumstances to him.

  “Did your father leave for Colorado?”

  “Yes,” Simone managed to say. She took a deep breath, and Jeffery watched as she seemed to will herself to be strong. “He left. I was there alone with Mr. Davis, and when he asked for supper, I fed him. While he ate, I packed, determined that I could never be this man’s wife.” She paused and looked at Jeffery for the first time since admitting the truth. “I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now, why I felt so strongly that I couldn’t do what my father expected.” She shuddered and grimaced. “But I couldn’t let that man touch me. I just couldn’t.”