The Calm of Night (Kansas Crossroads Book 10)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Chapter Ten

  The first thing Nancy Ann saw when she opened her eyes and looked out the window was a black night sky dotted with stars. How long had she been asleep? She rubbed her eyes, wondering what time it was, and then the reality of the moment hit her. Stars! She could see stars!

  She threw back the covers, shoved her feet into her shoes, and ran down the stairs. She hadn’t bothered to change into her nightclothes when she went to sleep because she thought she was only taking a short nap, and now she was glad she was still decent. Down the first flight, down the second flight, and she threw open the door and stepped out onto the porch. The night air was bitter and chill, but the sky was clear, and no matter where she looked, stars shone down on the land below, almost making it hard to believe they’d just been through a harsh storm. It was so still and calm that if it were summer, she would have expected to hear crickets. As it was, she could make out the barking of a distant dog.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She turned at the voice to see Mr. Howard stepping out onto the porch as well. He tugged the door closed and joined her at the railing. “I didn’t think we were ever going to see the sky again. Now I can’t wait for morning and to see the sun.”

  “Yes, it had become rather oppressive.” He leaned forward and put his forearms on the rail. “Miss Morgan, I’ve apologized before, but I believe I’m even more sincere now. Watching your dogged diligence in that storm, your insistence on doing the right thing—I’m thoroughly ashamed of my behavior, and I ask you to please forgive me. I truly am a selfish beast.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have called you that, but I would say that there have been times when you could have been a bit more generous.” She flashed him a smile. “It’s all in the past, Mr. Howard. How can we hold the same prejudices after what we’ve been through?”

  “We can’t.” He held out his hand, and she took it. “Let’s call a truce then and be friends.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” The scene was so similar to the one she’d shared with Timothy, it was almost comical. “Please call me Nancy Ann, you shall be Gilbert, and let’s go in because it’s cold.”

  “Agreed.” He opened the door for her, then pulled it closed after they were both inside.

  “I don’t even know what time it is. I slept the day away.”

  “It’s shortly after nine o’clock.”

  “Ah, not as late as I thought.” She paused. “I’m going to see what’s left in the kitchen. Would you care to join me? A snack to celebrate our newfound friendship?”

  “I’d like that very much.” He gave her a smile that was likely the most sincere she’d seen from him. He’d always seemed a bit guarded before.

  Moments later, they were seated at a table. Sarah was in the kitchen making bread, and she’d found them some corn bread, beans, and apple pie. Gilbert looked at the beans with some measure of suspicion.

  “They’re just beans,” Nancy Ann said, withholding a chuckle. “They won’t hurt you.”

  “I’m just not used to simple fare. I’m sure they’re delicious.”

  Nancy Ann raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never had beans?”

  “Well, I was raised in a mansion.”

  “And you can’t have beans in a mansion?” That seemed too ridiculous for words.

  “My mother always ordered fancy meals.”

  “Ordered them?”

  “Yes, from the cook.” He smiled. “I must sound so odd right now. I realize that not everyone grew up the way I did, and what’s perfectly normal for me is probably utterly preposterous for most others.”

  “I think that’s a fair assessment. I never realized that beans weren’t good enough for rich people. They’re just food to me.” She motioned toward his plate. “Are you going to try them?”

  “I should. Yes, I will.” He raised the fork to his lips, and she watched, curiously, as he chewed and swallowed.

  “They’re delicious. What’s in them?”

  “Sarah cooks them with some bacon and a bit of brown sugar.”

  He took another bite, and then another. Nancy Ann began her own meal, sneaking peeks from time to time at his obvious enjoyment. What other simple life pleasures had he missed because they were considered beneath him?

  She took a breath to say something, but it caught in her throat, and before she knew it, she was coughing so hard, it was bringing up phlegm speckled with blood. The phlegm was nothing new—she’d been coughing it up all day—but the blood was completely unexpected. She stared at it for a moment in her handkerchief, uncomprehending.

  Gilbert rose from the table and called out for help. Sarah was at her side in an instant, rubbing her back as another cough seized her.

  “Help me get her into the kitchen,” Sarah told Gilbert. “I’ve had water boiling in there—the moisture in the air will do her good.”

  Supported between the two of them, Nancy Ann made her way into the kitchen and sat at the table, noticing through some sort of haze that the laundry was gone. Good for them, getting it all done like that.

  “What else can I do?” Gilbert asked.

  “Pour some hot water on that dish towel and wring it out.”

  He did so, and when he brought it, Sarah told him to turn away. Then she unbuttoned the top of Nancy Ann’s dress and held the towel to her chest. The warmth was soothing, but brought on another round of coughing.

  “It’s not tuberculosis, is it?” Gilbert asked, still facing the wall.

  “I don’t think so. Tuberculosis makes people cough up pure blood, and this is just specks mixed with … other things. I believe she has a bad case of bronchitis.”

  “But I was fine,” Nancy Ann protested before coughing again.

  “You were fine, but now you’re not. People get sick, honey. It’s what they do sometimes.” Sarah removed the towel, which was now lukewarm, and closed up the top of Nancy Ann’s dress. “We’ll want to make you some poultices. Harriet’s become very good at that—I’ll get her. Gilbert, perhaps you could tell Nancy Ann an amusing story and keep her entertained. No, don’t—laughing would make her cough. Tell her something very sad instead.”

  Sarah left the room, and Gilbert took the other chair at the table. “I’m afraid I don’t know any stories,” he said hesitantly.

  “I heard Stephen say once that you work with the railroad,” Nancy Ann managed to choke out.

  “I did, until . . . well, this will be a rather sad story after all. My father was a top official with the railroad, handling hundreds of dollars in transactions at a time, and some of that money ended up in his pocket. Stephen discovered this, asked for my help, and I provided the last bit of proof that was needed to get my father arrested. Since that time, I’ve been working in a business office on the opposite side of town, away from the people who knew my father best. It was all a very complicated, unfortunate situation.”

  “Do you enjoy business?”

  “I do, to a certain extent. I like the excitement of negotiations and so forth. I do miss working for my father, however.”

  Sarah and Harriet came in just then. Harriet paused at the table, placed her hand on Nancy Ann’s forehead, and shuddered. “That’s quite a fever you have there.”

  “Sarah put a hot towel on me,” Nancy Ann explained.

  “I know the difference between a hot towel and a fever, young lady.” Harriet went over to the cupboard and started pulling out bits and pieces of everything and throwing it into a bowl. “And you, Mr. Howard, will need to say goodnight now.”

  He rose from his chair. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”

  “We will. Thank you.”

  After being so firmly dismissed by Harriet, he really had no choice but to leave. “Goodnight, Nancy Ann. I hope you’re feeling well soon.”

  Once he was gone from the room, Harriet raised an eyebrow. “He’s calling you by your given name? Have things progressed in a more romantic direction than anyone bothered to tell me?”

 
“No, nothing like that. We just reached a truce.”

  Nancy Ann coughed while Harriet mixed up a poultice. She didn’t like the way it felt on her skin, all sticky and scratchy, but she liked the warmth.

  “Stay here next to the fire,” Sarah told her. “Believe it or not, the coughing is good—you’ve got to get all that out of you.”

  “That’s what Dr. Pettigrew said,” Nancy Ann replied. “Well, that’s what he said before all this started. Should we tell him I’m getting worse?”

  “I don’t think you are getting worse,” Sarah said. “I think your body is working extra hard to expel the illness, which means you’re getting better.”

  “Or I’m dying.”

  “Or you’re dying.” Sarah chuckled. “Stop being melodramatic. You’ll be fine.”

  ***

  The night stretched out until Nancy Ann was sure she’d never stop coughing and the sun would never rise. Sarah and Harriet kept her right next to the fire, placing warm compresses and poultices and everything else they could think of on her chest and back. She drank cup after cup of herbal tea, and every time she coughed, Sarah congratulated her like she’d accomplished something marvelous.

  Around five in the morning, the coughing subsided, and Harriet decided they’d tortured her enough and could send her to bed. True, Nancy Ann did feel as though her lungs were a lot clearer, but she was so tired, she wasn’t sure if she was analyzing that correctly. Sarah told her to wrap up snugly and stay warm while she slept, and that sounded wonderful.

  She left the kitchen and was about to climb the stairs when she glanced into the parlor and saw a pair of men’s legs draped over the edge of a chair. Curious, she went into the room and saw Timothy asleep, his mouth wide open, a soft snore coming out every once in a while. She smiled—he looked so much like a little boy.

  She nudged his shoulder. “Do you like sleeping in chairs?”

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I must—I keep doing it. Are you all right?”

  “Better than I was, but not out of the woods yet, I don’t think. I’m on my way up to bed. Shouldn’t you get some real sleep? What are you doing down here, anyway?”

  “When Gilbert came in the room we’re sharing, he told me what was going on, and I wanted to see how you were doing. But of course, he also said the kitchen was off limits, so I figured this was a good compromise.”

  “You slept in a parlor chair because you were worried about me?” That really was very sweet.

  “I suppose that’s silly.”

  “Not at all. Well, maybe a little—why not sleep on the sofa right over there? I’m sure it would be much more comfortable.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.” He looked a little sheepish. “I was just sitting here and then nodded off.”

  “Well, if you’re going to make this kind of thing a habit, I suggest you start choosing more comfortable furniture. I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.”

  “I’ll walk with you as far as the second floor.”

  Nancy Ann climbed each step slower than she would have liked, especially while being watched—she felt like an arthritic little old woman. Sleep—she just needed some sleep.

  “Goodnight,” Timothy told her as they reached the hallway that connected to his room. She gave him a tired nod, then climbed the stairs to the attic and all but fell into her bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  A shaft of sunlight entered through the window and fell on Timothy’s face. The warmth felt good, but it was the light that woke him, and he sat up from his pallet on the floor and stretched. He could see blue sky through the window, bright blue, the kind that only seems to exist in the winter.

  He was tired—it was somewhat early, and he had gotten to bed at an unreasonable hour—but Tom was already gone, and Timothy didn’t want to be lazy. Gilbert was still asleep, but that was hardly any surprise.

  There was a moderate amount of bustle downstairs as the hotel guests mingled in the lobby and the waitresses prepared to serve breakfast. Timothy had just entered the dining room ready to offer a hand when he heard a commotion from the front of the hotel, and he turned around to see what had caused such a ruckus.

  “The trains will begin running again this morning,” Mr. Hoover announced. He must have just come in—Timothy hadn’t noticed him a moment before. “The two trains here at the Topeka station will be leaving in ninety minutes. The railroad is clear and stands ready to see you along your way.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” one woman exclaimed. “I just know my daughter has been sick with worry.”

  “We need to pack,” another said, and a mass of people headed up the stairs to the rooms to gather their things.

  Timothy glanced over to Mrs. Brody, who stood behind the check-in desk. “I’m sure you’re glad to hear this news.”

  “So glad, it’s unbelievable. We’ve gotten along quite well, all things considered, but it will be nice to get back on our regular schedule. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Hancock.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do very much,” he said. “I was mostly underfoot.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit. We appreciate you.”

  After everyone had gathered their things, they came back downstairs for breakfast, many of them eating in a hurry for fear they would miss the trains. One woman was eager to be on her way so she wouldn’t miss her daughter’s wedding anniversary party. A gentleman had been traveling to meet his soon-to-be bride and worried that she’d think he changed his mind. Everyone was ready to be on their way, and Timothy couldn’t blame them, but he was a bit reluctant to leave. Perhaps he’d made a mistake moving into the small house he’d chosen. Maybe he should have taken a room at the hotel. Yes, it would have been much more costly, but he’d get to spend time with a certain dark-haired waitress every day.

  He looked around, but didn’t see Nancy Ann. Although he missed her, he was glad she wasn’t trying to work this breakfast meal—she needed rest, even if she hated taking it.

  When the train whistle sounded a short time later, a giant cheer went up in the dining room, and people streamed out of the hotel, carrying their suitcases and dragging their little children along behind them. Many of the children had made fast friends and didn’t want to leave them, and it was only the promise that they could write each other letters that got them out the door. Mr. Brody was kept busy settling accounts, and Timothy noticed, because money was his area of expertise, that the hotel owner was charging far less than he ought to.

  After the last guest left, Mr. Brody glanced over at Timothy, who was leaning against the wall. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s fairly obvious, from the way you were flinching every time I told someone their total. I couldn’t charge them full price—they had no idea when they got on the train that they’d have to spend so much time here.”

  “I just hope you covered your costs.”

  “It’s good of you to be concerned. I’ve found, though, that when I’m generous, it always comes back to me somehow.” Mr. Brody went into his office, whistling a cheerful tune.

  Everything was now so quiet in comparison to what it had been. Timothy listened to the muted chatter of the waitresses as they worked in the kitchen, then turned and climbed the stairs. He supposed it was time for him to go home. He needed a bath and a change of clothes, and he needed to make sure that the harsh weather hadn’t done any damage to his roof or walls. So many mundane tasks that he didn’t want to perform.

  Because he thought everyone had just left the hotel, Timothy was surprised to see Gilbert when he stepped into room one. “Good morning. The trains are running again.”

  “That is good news. I’ll be glad to get back to Denver. I don’t suppose you know the schedule.”

  “No, but with the ticket office just across the way, it should be easy enough to find out.”

  “True.” Gilbert finished putting on his boots and then stood. “I’ll head over and get myself a ticket, then. It’
s been a pleasure.” He held out his hand, and Timothy shook it, a little startled at this show of friendship. “Is Nancy Ann downstairs?”

  “No, she hasn’t come down yet.”

  “Must be sleeping off her rough night.”

  “Must be.” Timothy didn’t like how they were both speaking so familiarly of her, as though they both had some right to care about her wellbeing. Who was Gilbert, anyway? Some rich man’s son who came rolling into town, expecting everyone to fawn over him the way they did back home? He didn’t like that notion at all.

  Gilbert slipped his arms into his coat sleeves. “Maybe I’ll see you again on another trip to town.”

  “Oh? Are you planning to come back?”

  “Well, my brother lives here now, so I’m sure I’ll be by this way. And perhaps for other reasons, too.”

  Timothy almost wanted to ask what those other reasons might be, but he could guess well enough, and he knew that if he heard this man state any sort of intentions toward Nancy Ann, he’d have to punch him in the nose. He’d just have to. There wouldn’t be any choice in the matter at all. Instead, he decided to ignore that little part of Gilbert’s comment. “I’m sure your brother will be glad to see you return.”

  Once the room was empty, Timothy gathered up his things, few as they were, and headed downstairs. Mr. Brody absolutely refused to accept any payment. “You were a help to us, Mr. Hancock. Your money’s no good here.”

  “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

  “You’ve already more than paid us in full.”

  Timothy nodded, stepped away, and walked out the front door of the hotel into a world of white-covered lawns and muddy streets, and felt the keen loss of not getting to say good-bye to Nancy Ann Morgan.

  ***

  “How are you feeling?” Giselle asked as she set a tray down on the small table next to Nancy Ann’s bed.

  “Like I might actually live. I’m not coughing nearly as much, and my head’s not as muddled.”