A Fall in Time (Train Through Time Series Book 5)

by Bess McBride

  The sheriff shrugged. “I’d be happy to,” he said. “I don’t really think she belongs here, and I’ve been hoping someone would come to her aid. How did you find out she was in jail? She didn’t send for you though, did she? I would have known about it.”

  Matthew shook his head. “No, she did not. She disappeared from the train two weeks ago. We...we were on a journey to Chicago, and she vanished from the train somewhere in Montana...in Kalispell I now know. We telegraphed the station agent here but received no response.”

  “Vanished?” the sheriff said. “How?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I cannot say. I have not had much chance to talk to her. I thought she might have been kidnapped, but it appears not.”

  Sheriff Langford gave him a skeptical look.

  “You mean she walked off the train voluntarily and didn’t tell you she was getting off?”

  Matthew swallowed hard. He could think of only one response to offer, and Miss Reed would certainly not like it.

  “My sister has been troubled of late,” he said. “A thwarted romance, a broken heart. I cannot say more.” That he had vested Miss Reed’s situation with a description of his own broken heart would not sit well with her, but perhaps she might never hear of it.

  The sheriff nodded. “That is a shame,” he said. “Yes, I understand now.”

  “No wonder she hasn’t been eating,” Corbett offered, his young face a vision of sympathy. “A broken heart will put you off your feed every time, that’s for sure.”

  Matthew regarded the young deputy with something less than warmth. He had been far too familiar with Miss Reed, and Matthew could not approve.

  “Yes,” he said shortly. “Sheriff, if you could give me Mrs. Feeney’s direction, I hope to resolve this matter today and remove my sister to a hotel.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Mrs. Feeney’s husband first. He’s an attorney. He could probably help you reason with her. He really didn’t want to see Miss Reed in jail any more than the rest of us did.”

  “Yes, that will do nicely,” Matthew said.

  Moments later, armed with Mr. Feeney’s address, Matthew left the jail, his thoughts occupied with several ideas for reparations which might interest Mrs. Feeney, ranging anywhere from mere monetary compensation to a free round-trip shopping expedition to Seattle, even more if necessary. Anything to secure Miss Reed’s freedom from jail.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t even want to know how you got her to drop the charges,” Sara said two hours later as she left the jail with Matthew. “I’m just so grateful that you did.” She paused on the boardwalk just outside of the jail with the awful feeling that everyone stared at her, knowing she was a thief.

  “No, wait,” she said. “How did you get me out, Matthew?”

  Matthew adjusted his hat and looked down at her with an enigmatic expression.

  “It was no trouble, truly. I had a short conversation with Mr. Feeney, who consulted with his wife. I offered them a modest compensation for the clothing and Mrs. Feeney’s ruffled feathers, and the deed was done.”

  Matthew smiled briefly as he spoke, but Sara thought his blue eyes glittered just a bit. She couldn’t believe that Mrs. Feeney had accepted just a “modest compensation.”

  “How modest?”

  Matthew put an arm under her elbow.

  “Come, Miss Reed, let us find a hotel for you. We cannot linger in front of the jail.”

  Sara allowed him to lead her down the boardwalk toward a two-storied brick building nestled between several other buildings. Green awning-covered windows faced the main street, and a matching green awning over the front door sported the regal title Hotel Excelsior.

  Sara balked at entering the hotel. Matthew’s comfort with wealth in the early twentieth century threatened to sweep her away into a world she did not understand. She needed to slow him down a bit.

  “Wait!” she said. “Wait. I need a minute.”

  Matthew dropped his hand from her elbow and turned to face her. He set his small overnight case down, the one she had seen on the overhead rack in his train compartment.

  “What troubles you, Miss Reed?”

  Sara dropped her eyes to the toes of her canvas shoes peeping out from beneath her skirt.

  “I don’t know. I just feel...rushed,” she said. “I have to think.”

  Matthew clasped his hands behind his back, and Sara looked up at him with a wince and a shrug.

  “I know I seem ungrateful, and I’m not,” she said. “I’m truly grateful for everything you’re doing for me, but I need a minute to think about things.”

  “What ‘things’ confuse you, Miss Reed?”

  “Everything at the moment,” she said ruefully. She watched as well-dressed guests walked in and out of the hotel, their elevated economic status reflected in the touches of satin, velvet and lace on their clothing.

  “I don’t know why you’re doing all this for me,” she murmured. “I can’t just take your charity.”

  Matthew cocked his head and grimaced.

  “You asked for my help,” he said simply.

  Sara grimaced. “I did, I know, but I had no idea I would become such a burden. I was desperate at the time.”

  “And yet you disappeared,” he said.

  Matthew hadn’t yet asked her about the clothing or why she had left the train, but she suspected he would. She had nothing to offer him. No excuses, no stories. She hadn’t had time to concoct some plausible tale, nor did she really have the energy. She was physically and emotionally exhausted from her weeks in the jail—from inactivity, cold and lack of appetite as well as hoping, wishing and praying that she could get out of the mess she was in by traveling back to the future.

  “I did,” she said with a faint nod. She avoided his eyes but knew he watched her.

  “You need rest, Miss Reed. You need a hot bath, food, warmth and sleep, in that order.”

  His words sounded wonderful, but still she hesitated.

  “And then what?” She looked up at him then. Why was he helping her? If this had been the twenty-first century, and a handsome man offered her a stay in a hotel, she would have immediately suspected an ulterior motive.

  As if he could read her mind, Matthew turned to look toward the hotel and then drew in a sharp breath. “I trust you do not think you are indebted to me in any way, Miss Reed. I simply want to ensure your safety and comfort. I do not know what has befallen you to bring you to this state, and perhaps some day you will tell me, but until then, I only want to help.”

  “I wish I could tell you, Matthew, but I can’t. And I don’t know how I can pay you back,” she murmured.

  “Do not worry about that now, Miss Reed. Come,” he said with a gentle hand at the back of her waist urging her forward.

  “It’s a small town,” Sara said. “Do you think everyone knows?”

  “Knows about...”

  “Me,” she said. “The clothes, Mrs. Feeney.”

  “I trust not,” he said, “but I cannot guarantee that Mrs. Feeney has not shared her...misfortunes about the town.”

  Sara sighed heavily. “I really should apologize to her,” she mumbled.

  “There really is no need,” Matthew said. “The less you see of that woman, the better.”

  Sara looked up at Matthew to see his jaw set into a firm line.

  “Oh! It was a tough sell, I guess.”

  “It is over. Shall we?” Again, he urged her forward, and Sara allowed him to propel her through the door.

  They stepped inside, and Sara drew in a sharp breath. The modest exterior didn’t do justice to the fairly opulent interior. Ruby-red carpets covered most of the highly varnished wooden lobby floor. A long counter in a dark wood like mahogany flanked one wall. Comfortable-looking easy chairs grouped around small coffee tables filled the rest of the large lobby.

  The hotel bustled with activity as guests checked in or out, porters carried luggage, and other guests took tea, coffee or drinks in the lounge ar
ea of the lobby.

  Sara felt extremely self-conscious in her wrinkled, ill-fitting clothing, and she was sure she caught several glances thrown her way from women. That she hadn’t had a shower in two weeks only worsened matters. She knew her hair was matted, and she hoped she didn’t smell as bad as she felt. The soap and pail of cold water Corbett had brought her on a daily basis had served only as a sponge bath, and a poor one at that, as she had worried someone would come into the cell while she was washing.

  Matthew guided her purposefully through the throng and up to the desk.

  “Good afternoon. I would like two rooms for my sister and myself,” he said to the middle-aged desk clerk. A small man with glasses, the clerk’s eyes narrowed, and his welcoming smile faded when he looked at Sara.

  Sara swallowed hard, ran a hand down the frilly front of her wrinkled blouse and tried to tuck herself out of sight behind Matthew.

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk tore his eyes from Sara to return them to Matthew’s face.

  “Names, please?”

  “Mr. Matthew Webster and Miss Sara Reed.”

  The clerk, who had bent to consult a ledger, looked up quickly and stared hard at Sara. His nose twitched, and he shook his head.

  “I am sorry, sir, but we do not have any available rooms.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Matthew said as if he hadn’t heard the clerk right. “No rooms at all?”

  “No, sir,” the clerk said, his eyes sliding toward Sara again.

  Sara tugged at Matthew’s sleeve.

  “Let’s go. It’s because of me,” she whispered.

  “Nonsense,” Matthew said, drawing himself even taller than he already was. “I wish to speak to the owner of this hotel.”

  The clerk pursed his lips. “Yes, of course. Just a moment, please.” He straightened his tie and tugged at his jacket as he turned to head for a door behind the counter.

  Sara, wishing the floor would swallow her up, peeked out from behind Matthew. Luckily, no one waited behind them.

  A tall, slender, gray-haired woman, dressed all in black, emerged from the doorway, followed by the clerk.

  “Yes, sir, I’m Mrs. Calloway. How can I help you?” Her eyes flitted over Sara before settling on Matthew. The desk clerk hovered at her elbow.

  “My sister and I would like to have two rooms. Your clerk stated you have no rooms available,” Matthew said briefly. “I wonder if you could check again.”

  Mrs. Calloway didn’t even bother to consult the ledger. She directed a sidelong glance at Sara before responding.

  “No, I am sorry. We do not have any rooms available.”

  Without touching him, Sara could feel the tension in Matthew’s body.

  “Very good,” Matthew said. “Is there another hotel nearby?”

  Mrs. Calloway pursed her lips, much as the desk clerk had done.

  “There are others in Kalispell,” she said unhelpfully. “But I am not sure they will take a thief.”

  They knew! Everyone knew! Sara swung around and ran out the front door, turning to the right without any idea where she was headed. A strong hand grabbed her arm, stilling her. She knew it was Matthew.

  She turned blindly, tears streaming down her face, and Matthew pulled her into his arms.

  “Forgive me for taking you to such an abysmal hotel, Miss Reed. I am so sorry to subject you to such ill-mannered boorishness.”

  Sara buried her face against the smooth surface of his overcoat.

  “Everybody knows!” she muttered against his chest. “Everybody knows!”

  “Surely not everybody,” Matthew murmured. She heard the rumble of his voice in his chest. “Small towns, etcetera.”

  He released her and produced a handkerchief from a pocket in his suit jacket.

  Sara, wishing he’d come up with a tissue so she could blow her nose, took the handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes and handed it back with a sniff.

  “Well, let us explore then,” Matthew said. “Surely, there must be some establishment that Mrs. Feeney has not yet influenced with her gossip, because I am sure that is what happened. Had I known that when she withdrew her complaint, I would have pursued some sort of nondisclosure measure.”

  “Well, I’m sure everyone knew about it long before you arrived.”

  “Yes, more is the pity,” he said. “There is another hotel.” He propelled her forward toward another brick building further down the street, but he acquiesced when she insisted on staying outside.

  He returned within minutes.

  “We have rooms!” he said, dangling two sets of keys. “The hotel is not what I am used to, but it will do. I gave your name as Sara Webster. I hope you do not mind. I apologize for this subterfuge, but I do not wish to see you humiliated again.”

  “I still have to get through the lobby,” Sara said with a rueful smile. “I doubt my picture is plastered on the post office wall, but I do look pretty awful.”

  “Stealing clothing is hardly a hanging offense,” Matthew said with a matching wry smile. “And I am certain your photograph is not affixed to a wanted poster.”

  The corner of Sara’s mouth twitched for the first time since she’d found herself in the depths of a time-traveling nightmare.

  “So, how are we going to sneak me in?” she asked. She dropped her eyes as several men exited the hotel.

  “Boldly, on my arm,” Matthew said. His deep-throated chuckle, the first she’d ever heard from him, warmed her heart like no hot bowl of soup ever could. Things suddenly looked much brighter, though nothing had really changed. Matthew held out his arm, and Sara tucked her hand underneath.

  She ran her free hand along the surface of her hair to smooth it as she and Matthew stepped into the hotel. Not as grand as the first hotel, the lobby of the Kalispell Arms appeared to cater to travelers who did not have the luxury of lace, velvet and satin trim on their clothing.

  As with the Excelsior, several guests relaxed in the lobby, sipping tea, coffee and drinks. The carpets were a subdued cobalt blue, and the furnishings a bit more utilitarian than that of the Excelsior.

  Matthew strolled boldly past the desk clerk, a stout man whose back was turned to the lobby as he sorted through room key slots on the wall behind the counter.

  They reached the stairs without a shout of “thief” and ascended to the second floor. Matthew stopped in front of one room and inserted the key. He pushed open the door and stepped in.

  “I hope this will do,” he said, awaiting Sara’s approval.

  “I’m a beggar,” Sara said with a twitch of her lips. “Anything but a jail cell will do.” She stepped into the room. A brass double bed with a pale-blue quilt dominated the small room. A well-polished dresser flanked one side of the room, and a small desk and straight-back chair rested against the other wall.

  “I believe these rooms have their own bathrooms,” Matthew said. He opened a door and looked in. “Yes.”

  Sara peeked in. The bathroom, though small by twenty-first-century standards, was not markedly different from others that she had used. The claw-foot tub looked inviting.

  “They do have hot and cold running water, unlike some of the smaller hotels,” Matthew said.

  Sara thought about that statement. In her time, few people asked if a hotel had hot and cold running water...at least not in Spokane.

  “Is that unusual?” she asked as she turned back to survey the room. Festive blue drapes in a flower pattern hung from the single window that looked out over the main street.

  “Hot and cold running water?” Matthew asked. “You cannot have traveled much, Miss Reed, if you have not had to ask the hotel staff to have hot water delivered for your bath.” A charming smile of even, white teeth lightened his face, and Sara drew in a steadying breath as she looked at him. He didn’t wear a mustache as so many of his contemporaries did, and he was that much handsomer for it.

  The irony of his statement was not lost on her.

  “No,” she said. “I guess I haven’t traveled much.”


  Matthew handed her the key to the room. “I am just next door,” he said. “I asked the clerk to have some food, tea and coffee sent up in about an hour. Will that be sufficient time for you to attend to your needs?”

  By needs, Sara assumed he meant a bath. She looked down at her clothes, the blouse and skirt that had gotten her into so much trouble. She couldn’t bear to put them back on, not only because they stank from the dingy mattress at the jail, but because they were a constant reminder of her shame...her theft.

  She looked up at Matthew helplessly, hoping he would understand her wordless plea. He did.

  “Yes, I have been giving that some thought,” he said, chewing on his lower lip as he studied her wrinkled skirt. “Emily would know what to do,” he said, almost as if to himself.

  “Emily?” Sara asked.

  Matthew blinked and looked up.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You said ‘Emily would know what to do.’”

  His cheeks took on a bronze tinge.

  “Did I? How silly of me. I cannot think why. I do not have sisters and have no experience with shopping for women’s clothing. Emily is an old friend, and perhaps I spoke my thoughts aloud. I think I must find a shop in town that sells ready-to-wear women’s clothing. There is such a thing, is there not?”

  Sara’s eyes widened.

  “I have no idea,” she said. “Well, I don’t know about Kalispell,” she amended hastily.

  “But are there such shops in Spokane? I know there are gentlemen’s stores in Seattle where one can purchase ready-to-wear shirts in the appropriate size. Suits and trousers must still be tailored, of course.”

  “Oh, there must be,” Sara mumbled. She had no earthly idea what was available at the turn of the century. None. Not hot and cold running water, not ready-to-wear clothing, not a way to get back home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew left Miss Reed to attend to her needs, and he returned to the lobby to speak to the desk clerk who had introduced himself as Gerry Martin.

  “Yes, I wonder if you know of any women’s clothing stores that sell ready-to-wear clothing? My sister is in need of a few new dresses, and I wish to surprise her for her birthday.”