“That’s right,” Camille replied. “What a beautiful baby.” She nodded toward the little girl Ruth now held.
“Isn’t she? I wish I could take credit, but she’s not mine. She’s the Brodys’ daughter. I tend her during the meal services so Adam and Elizabeth can see to running the hotel. My husband and I have a little cottage in the back.”
“Oh, Grace told me about you. Your husband is the handyman, isn’t he?”
“Yes, although he’s getting less and less handy the closer I get to delivering. He’s been a bundle of nerves about the whole thing.”
Elizabeth entered the kitchen just then and held out her arms, and the baby went into them willingly. “Have you eaten yet, Harriet?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Grab a plate while you can. The next train will be here in half an hour.” Elizabeth laughed as her baby grabbed at the necklace she wore.
Camille held back a groan. The next train already? And they’d given her light duty—what would a full day entail once she was fully recovered? Still, she couldn’t complain. No one had scolded her for her mistakes, and they were being remarkably patient with her training. She couldn’t imagine any other employer being as understanding.
Harriet moved to get up, but Camille shook her head. “You sit. Let me get something for you.”
“Thank you, Camille. That’s very kind of you. I’ll just have whatever’s available.”
Camille fetched the piece of pie she’d ruined, along with a bowl of stew and a few slices of bread. She set them in front of Harriet, then brought her a glass of water.
“Grace said the baby will be here soon,” Camille said, wondering just how openly they talked about things like this at the hotel.
“It should be. If I had my way, we’d have had it last month, but Dr. Wayment tells me that’s not a very good idea.” Harriet took a bite and swallowed. “How are you enjoying it here so far?”
If Camille was going to chat, she might as well make herself useful at the same time. She took up a pile of carrots from the counter and sat at the table to peel and slice them while she talked. “Everyone’s been very kind. The work is a little overwhelming, but I imagine I’ll get used to it.”
Harriet laughed. “Some days are harder than others, and some meals are harder than others. You might not have anyone at all for the next service, and then twice as many come dinner. People don’t tend to travel as much during the winter, though, so I imagine that all the services until spring will be somewhat light.”
Camille couldn’t imagine how busy they’d be at full capacity. Yet another way in which she was being started out slow, she guessed—winter had put her at an advantage. “I hope I can get used to it quickly.”
Harriet reached out and touched her sleeve. “I realize I’m being horribly nosy, so please forgive me, but Tom mentioned that he mailed a letter for you, and Grace hinted that you have a tragic story. Are you all right?”
Camille laughed. “I wouldn’t call it tragic, exactly. I was a mail-order bride who decided I couldn’t go through with it. I guess I’m taking refuge here while I sort out the rest of my life.”
“Well, I think you’re very brave. It’s not easy, being on your own like that, but you have us now, and we’ll take care of you.”
“That’s what I find so amazing. None of you know me at all, and yet you’ve taken me in so readily.”
Harriet smiled. “We’re all refugees in one way or another. We understand.”
That warmed Camille’s heart more than she could have explained.
She finished her carrots and put them in the stew pot, then washed her hands and put on a clean apron. Elizabeth came back in the kitchen, carrying a now-sleeping child, and placed her in Harriet’s arms. “See you in a little while, sweetheart,” she whispered, kissing the baby’s forehead.
And then everything became very busy again as the dining room filled with customers.
This time, it was much easier for Camille to keep up. She filled the trays quickly, and when it was time to slice new pies, she was able to lift out the first pieces mostly intact. It helped that there were fewer diners this time, but that didn’t mean the waitresses slowed down—there was still a train schedule to keep.
As the waitresses came and went, Camille asked their names and began to work on memorizing them. Of course she knew Grace. Giselle was the girl assigned to manage the dining room—if there were any problems, they were referred to her. Nancy Ann was the one getting married soon. Then there were the sisters, Susan and Polly Appleby. They didn’t room at the hotel—their father owned the general store in town, and they lived at home with him. Hattie and Georgia were the last two she met, and she kept confusing them in her mind. She’d get it eventually—she just needed time and practice.
And little by little, she’d earn enough to pay Mr. Johnson back. She just hoped he could forgive her.
Chapter Four
David met every west-bound train for the next two days before he gave up. It was frustrating, maddening, and disappointing all at once, and he didn’t know whether to feel compassionate or upset. Why would Miss Waterford do something like this? Had he said something to offend her? He’d thought they were getting along rather well.
After milking the cows on Thursday morning, he headed over to the post office and found a letter waiting for him. He recognized the handwriting and read it at once as he walked back down the street. Then he stopped, barely noticing the stream of people passing him on both sides.
She wasn’t coming—that was obvious by now. But seeing it there in front of him sent another shard of disappointment through him. She planned to pay him back, and that was good. He was glad to know that she hadn’t meant to steal from him. Still . . . he shook his head. This wasn’t at all what he’d hoped for.
Flour was getting a little scarce at the house, so he stepped into the general store to pick up a sack and a few other things. Caroline Dupree was also there, and she greeted him with a smile.
“Hello, David. I’ve been wondering how you are.”
He knew exactly what she was really asking. “Well, I just got a letter from her, and she’s not coming.”
Sympathy flashed across her face. “I’m so sorry. Wallace will be home tonight—why don’t you come over for dinner, and you can tell us about it?”
David’s first instinct was to say no. He’d never been the type to sit around and talk about his feelings and whatnot—that had always seemed a trifle too feminine for him. But he could use the company of friends, and he’d be a fool to pass up the chance to eat Caroline’s good cooking twice in one week. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Excellent. We’ll see you later.”
David hefted his flour over one shoulder and carried the bag with his other supplies in the opposite hand. The Duprees had been awfully kind to him—he’d surprise them with an apple cake. It had been a while since he’d spent any time in the kitchen, and he’d enjoy the break from mucking out stalls. Maybe he’d throw together some bread for the pantry, too. His mother’s recipe.
***
“This smells heavenly,” Caroline said as she took the cake from David’s hands. “Is that nutmeg?”
“Yes, just a little bit. I don’t use much because it’s so bitter, but it sort of perks up the other flavors.”
“I’ll have to try that. Come in and take off your coat. Wallace has built up the fire, and it should be pleasant in the parlor by now.”
David left his coat on a hook in the entryway. The snow had let up just long enough for him to walk over, but he was fairly certain it would be coming down again before he left for the evening. It always seemed determined to have its final say before spring.
“Hello, David. Come on in. Caroline told me you had some news today.” Wallace put the fireplace poker back in its stand and shook David’s hand as he spoke.
“I did.” David glanced over to see Caroline entering the room. “I guess you want the whole story.”
&
nbsp; “Well, of course we do,” Caroline said as she took a seat near the fire. “That’s payment for your dinner.”
He chuckled, then sat down across from his hostess. “I’ll read you the letter, if you like. There’s nothing personal in it.”
“If you’re sure,” Caroline replied.
Wallace sat next to his wife, looking ready for a good tale, and David pulled out the letter and read it aloud.
“She said she’s working at a hotel in Topeka?” Caroline asked, sitting forward. “I know exactly where she is.”
David looked up, startled. “You do?”
“I do. In fact, my nephew owns it.” She gave a little laugh, and then another. “Miss Waterford is at the Brody Hotel right next to the train station. I’m completely convinced of it. They would have taken her in and put her to work immediately, and I can’t think of a better place for her to be. She’s safe there, David. You can rest assured of that.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” David folded the envelope and slid it back into his pocket, his movements slow as his mind raced. “She seems like a very sweet girl, doesn’t she?”
“From the tone of her letter and her willingness to pay you back, I’d say yes,” Wallace replied, and Caroline nodded. “Furthermore, I might even know what she looks like.”
“How can you possibly know that from her letter?” Caroline asked, turning to her husband with surprise on her face.
Wallace laughed. “It was nothing in the letter, my dear. If you’ll recall, I was the conductor the day David was expecting her to arrive. I remember a young woman getting off the train in Topeka and requesting that her satchel be taken from the baggage car. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I think we’ve identified our missing bride.”
“This is quite the astonishing coincidence,” Caroline said. She paused for a moment. “Well, David, are you going to ask, or should I?”
“Ask what?” David hadn’t been following the conversation like he ought—he was too distracted by the thought that Miss Waterford had been so close, and yet, was still so far away.
Caroline shook her head. “Why, what she looks like, of course.”
David chuckled. “Of course. I’m sorry—Wallace, what did she look like? We must put your wife out of her misery.”
“You absolutely must.” Caroline turned to Wallace expectantly.
“Well, from what I recall, she was a pretty thing—blonde, with little ringlets here and there. She was polite—thanked me when I took her ticket and so forth.”
David nodded. She’d said she was blonde, but she hadn’t said she was pretty. That would be an awkward thing for a girl to mention without sounding prideful, though, and maybe she didn’t think of herself as pretty. No matter—it was a nice surprise.
Not that it mattered. She didn’t want to marry him.
David glanced over at the fire. The flames leaped into the air and then settled again, shooting orange and yellow and red. Now that he knew Miss Waterford was safe, it should be easy to let her go and move on, and yet, he disliked that idea very much. There was something about her, even though he’d never met her, that spoke to him. Logic and curiosity warred within him, and he feared he was about to follow one foolish act with another one.
“What are you thinking about, David?” Caroline asked. “You’re pulling the most unusual faces.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I was just wondering.”
“Wondering?”
“About her. About why she decided not to come. I wish I could speak with her for just a moment and make sure she’s all right, see how she’s doing.”
“Topeka isn’t that far from here,” Wallace pointed out. “I happen to know of a train leaving here first thing in the morning that will take you right to it. I might even be the conductor on that train. What a jolly bunch of coincidences.”
“Wallace,” Caroline reproved. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? She said she couldn’t go through with the wedding. Don’t you think she wants to be left in peace?”
David barely heard the comment. If he hired the neighbor boy to come over and milk the cows and feed the horses, he could make the trip quite easily. Chores around the ranch had all but come to a halt with the arrival of winter, and he wouldn’t be gone long—a few days at most.
“I think I will,” he said after another moment of contemplation. “I just want the chance to see her and wish her well. Then I’ll place another ad or give the young ladies around here a second look. I won’t be hung up on Miss Waterford forever, I promise.”
Caroline shook her head. “I still think it’s a bad idea, but if this is something you feel you need to do, I suppose I won’t give you a very hard time about it.”
“Well, that’s settled,” Wallace said, slapping his knee. “Is dinner about ready, my dear?”
“It is. I just wanted to hear David’s story first.”
They moved into the dining room and took their seats. David enjoyed his meal, but his mind was too far away to listen to the conversation, as it had been for the last several minutes. It was already on a train headed for Topeka.
Chapter Five
Camille took a deep breath. This would be her first shift in the dining room, and she was worried that she wouldn’t do a good job. Everyone had assured her that it would be all right, and Elizabeth had even given her a quick hug and promised that if things didn’t go well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Even so, her stomach was in knots.
She smoothed down her apron over the black dress Giselle had lent her. Mr. Brody had indeed slipped her some money so she could get what she needed, and that afternoon, Grace planned to take her to the general store for fabric. A woman in town owned a sewing machine she let the girls use, and Camille could hardly wait—she’d never used one before, but Giselle said it made sewing almost magical. Anything that could make sewing magical would be . . . well, like magic.
The waitresses stood in the lobby ready to meet their customers, and sure enough, a moment later, the door opened and people streamed in. The snow had stopped and the sun was shining, and it looked like a lovely day was shaping up. That didn’t keep Camille’s nerves under control, though, and as she greeted their guests and led the way to the dining room, she felt her hands shaking. What if she dropped a tray on the floor? Even worse, what if she dropped a plate of hot food on someone’s lap?
She couldn’t think that way—if she filled her mind with negative thoughts, she was sure to make them happen. She approached her first table, gave a big smile, and said, “Welcome to the Brody. Today we’re serving chicken pot pie, roast beef, or fried chicken. What would you like?”
“I’ll take the fried chicken,” said the man on the left.
“I want the roast beef,” said his wife.
Camille took note of the orders all around the table, gave a nod and promised to be right back, then entered the kitchen. “I need two fried chicken, two roast beef, and a pot pie. I also need two cherry pies and an apple.”
Sarah gave her a wide smile. “I’d be more than happy to help you with that if you were holding a tray.”
“Oh!” Camille’s face burned as she grabbed a tray and held it out for Sarah to fill. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re doing fine. Just relax.”
Camille nodded. “Thank you. I’ll try.”
She returned to the table and set the food down in front of each customer. It took her a moment to remember who got the apple pie, but everything else went as it should, and she was on to the next.
A family with small children occupied that table, along with a young man who seemed to be traveling alone. The mother of the family said they needed a moment to decide, so Camille turned to the young man. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll take the fried chicken, please, and some corn bread, if you have it.”
“Our cook makes the best corn bread I’ve ever tasted,” she told him. She liked it when he smiled—he had a dimple in one cheek, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would
you like anything else? Pie, maybe? We have apple and cherry today.”
“I’ll take apple.”
She turned away from him, although reluctantly, to take the family’s order, and within moments, she was back. That young man’s eyes were still warm and friendly, and she found herself glancing at him maybe just a little more often than she ought to as she placed the dishes on the table. He had hair dark enough that it might have been black, though she couldn’t quite tell, and his eyes were hazel. He seemed tall, but that was hard to determine with him sitting down. He was definitely broad in the shoulders, one thing she’d always liked, but she couldn’t dwell on that. She had work to do.
Except for neglecting to bring butter to one guest, the rest of the meal went smoothly, and Elizabeth and Giselle both praised Camille for how well she’d done. Their kind words lifted her spirits considerably, and she fell to work stripping the tables and resetting them with a light heart.
She had just gathered up a large bundle of dirty linens when she heard a quiet cough behind her. When she turned, she saw the young man from before. He held his hat in his hands, and looked a little uncomfortable.
“I just wanted to thank you for a nice meal,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome, but haven’t you just missed your train?”
“No, I’m in town for a few days. I’ll be getting a room here at the hotel.” He nodded toward the staircase.
“Oh, good. I’d hate to think you were left behind on my account.”
“No, not at all.” He gave her a quick nod. “My name is Jem Baxter.”
“And I’m Camille Waterford. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. I believe I will.”
She nodded in return and went back into the kitchen, where she put the linens into a basket and then dished up some leftover chicken pot pie. The waitresses would all eat and then tackle the laundry. She’d been given lighter duty the other day when they did the linens, but she was fully recovered now and expected to help out. She couldn’t say she was looking forward to the task, but if that was part of working here, she’d find a way to make it tolerable.
A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11) Page 3