“Who are those crazy names?” Tasha asked.
“Just some characters from novels.” They were her heroes. Those swashbuckling adventure stories would always hold a place in her heart. How she loved those stories! Though they were wild, improbable, and completely unmoored from reality, she still escaped into an adventure novel every night. But in the morning she put on a starched collar, sharpened her pencils, and opened her financial ledgers.
The life of an accountant suited her down to the ground. It was a safe profession guided by strict rules and regulations that made perfect sense. Rules were like a trellis that supported a fast-growing vine, letting her thrive and find success in the world.
Tasha looked at the Tiffany box with the silver pen inside. “What about this fancy pen? Will you take it too?”
The Tiffany box was so plain, but it carried a world of meaning. Fletcher Jones was the complete opposite of Alex Duval’s wild-hearted zeal for life. Even his characterization of the “office supplies” was typically understated and sedate.
“Yes, I’ll take the pen.”
The lovely, elegant pen would be a reminder of what she was fighting for. She wanted a baby of her own. It was time. And Fletcher Jones had the potential to be precisely the sort of stable, dependable man who would be an excellent father. All she had to do was survive the next four months in Duval Springs, and then she could return to her safe world of rules, regulations, and respectability.
Chapter
Four
Eloise hadn’t wanted to go to Duval Springs, so the surge of anticipation she felt as the carriage pulled into the center of town took her by surprise. How many years had she studied this town through the lens of that telescope? It was a place she secretly believed she had always belonged, and now at last she was here.
All four members of the demolition team were squeezed into a small carriage, but Eloise gazed out the window with delight as they rolled into the town square. A manicured lawn featuring a copper-topped bandstand was bordered by streets filled with shops, cafés, and a few homes so quaint that the people who lived inside simply had to be happy. The carriage drew to a halt before the Gilmore Inn, where they would stay for the duration of their assignment.
“Come along,” Claude ordered in an impatient voice. “As soon as we’ve stowed our bags, we can start evaluating the town. We can still squeeze in a few hours of work.”
“But it’s Saturday,” Roy Winthrop, their land surveyor, said.
“Yes, the first of many we’ll be spending in this backwater town. Don’t plan on a five-day workweek while we’re here. The sooner we accomplish our task, the sooner we can get back to civilization.”
“You haven’t seen civilization until you’ve seen Rome, my friend.” Enzo Accardi was the team’s junior explosives expert. His thick Italian accent and cheerful demeanor made Eloise grateful for his company, even though the more Enzo smiled, the more it seemed to annoy Claude.
Bickering between Claude and Enzo commenced, but Eloise was too entranced by Duval Springs to pay attention. It was as though she’d stepped into the pages of a picture book she had learned by heart, for it was just as she remembered. Prosperous shops lined the streets, neatly groomed flower boxes brimmed with chrysanthemums, and the storefront windows sparkled in the sunlight. There was a library on one corner. She still had one of their books. Alex had once loaned her the library’s copy of Treasure Island, and she still had it on that terrible day Bruce discovered them.
This town felt like home. It was a shame it was going to be dismantled, but oh, how lucky she was to finally see it. Its days were numbered, but she would touch, smell, and experience everything this idyllic town had to offer before it vanished.
“Miss Drake!”
The shout interrupted her reverie. Claude stood in the doorway of the hotel, beckoning her inside. The Gilmore Inn’s four stories of white balconies made it look like a wedding cake when she gazed at it from afar. She had always wondered what it looked like inside, and now she was about to find out.
The spacious lobby featured an oriental carpet and lots of ferns in brass planters. Fine wood molding and wainscoting covered the walls, and mounted behind the counter was a charming clock that looked like a miniature Swiss chalet. Nobody manned the front counter, but an arched doorway led into a dining area crowded with rough-looking men and a waitress busily filling coffee cups and clearing plates.
Oddly, a well-dressed man slumbered on a padded bench in the lobby, a homburg balanced over his face. A gold watch chain dangled from his vest, but before Eloise got a better look, the clock above the front counter began chiming the hour. A flap on the clock swung open, and out popped a cuckoo. The screech of cuckoo calls interspersed with chimes made her wince. Would she ever outgrow those old childhood wounds?
The clock roused the slumbering man, who lifted the hat from his face as he slowly unpeeled himself from the bench into a sitting position.
“Someday I’d like to shoot that bird,” he mumbled.
“Fine, but we need to check in,” Claude told him. “We’ve got four rooms reserved.”
The gangly man looked a little amused but made no effort to rise from the bench. “You’ll have to speak with the manager for that. I only run the telegraph station.”
Sure enough, he wore a nametag identifying him as Kasper Nagy, operator for Western Union. He was whip thin but handsome, with twinkling blue eyes and a healthy head of blond hair—unusual in a man who looked at least fifty years old. Unbelievably, he gracefully lay back down on the bench and replaced the hat over his face.
Claude wouldn’t tolerate it. He banged the call bell on the front desk repeatedly, but no one came. Perhaps the hotel was understaffed, for despite its charm, mud trailed across the floors, and the ashtrays could use emptying.
Finally, the waitress from the dining room made her way to the lobby.
“We need someone to check us in, and that man is completely useless,” Claude said.
“I’m afraid you’re right about that,” the waitress said with a gentle laugh as she consulted a ledger on the counter. “It looks like we weren’t expecting you until this afternoon, but not to worry. Mr. Gilmore is just down the street at the tavern, if you want to go fetch him. He can check you in.”
Before Claude could reply, the waitress disappeared into the kitchen. “What a fine, professional operation this is,” he grumbled.
The man on the bench lifted his hat a few inches. “It’s Saturday. Everyone heads over to the tavern on Saturdays.”
“Let’s go,” Enzo said cheerfully. “I could use a mug of something after the dust of the road.”
The carriage driver agreed to wait with their luggage as they set off for the tavern only a block away. Claude and Enzo started analyzing buildings as they strolled. Some of the buildings would be burned, some knocked down by bulldozer, and others would be dynamited. Claude suspected the tavern would be one of their more complicated jobs. Built of old weathered stone on the first floor, it had an overhanging wooden second story. Above the front door was a placard with ornate lettering: Duval Tavern & Table, est. 1725.
“Sledgehammers and a strong back are going to be required to bring this place down,” Claude said as he stepped onto the landing before the tavern. “Explosives are too dangerous, as they’ll send these rock fragments flying. We’ll burn the top floor, but the ground level will be done by sledgehammers.”
“Shh,” Enzo said with a nod to the tavern’s open door. “People inside might overhear.”
“So? It’s not like they don’t know this place is going to be torn down.”
Eloise shifted uneasily. This tavern was owned by Alex’s older brother, and there was a chance Alex might actually be inside. She’d assumed their first meeting would be in the formality of an office, not a tavern. That complicated things. What would she say to him? He’d probably want to apologize for the way he’d taken advantage of her. Or, if Bruce was right, Alex wouldn’t even remember her, for men rar
ely thought about the notches on their belt.
She tamped down her misgivings and stepped inside the tavern, a little appalled at the rowdy behavior so early in the day. A quick glance around did not reveal Alex, and she breathed a sigh of relief and approached the bartender, a giant of a man. She’d never met a Viking, but this man with his massive build and messy light hair could easily pass as one. She raised her voice to be heard over the din.
“I’d like to speak with the manager of the Gilmore Inn. Is he here?”
Alex concentrated on the heavy mug balanced on the center of his forehead as he leaned farther backward, both arms stretched wide for balance. Onlookers in the tavern roared to distract him, but he was going to win this bet. When he was in the army, he was famous for managing this ridiculously impossible backbend, leaning so far backward that his spine was parallel to the floor. The mug of beer balanced on his forehead added to the challenge, but he was up for it.
“He’s even!” his nephew shouted.
“No, sir!” someone said. “He’s got two more inches. Look! He’s wobbling. That mug’s about to spill.”
Alex wasn’t wobbling, but he wasn’t horizontal yet either. Holding his breath, he leaned back another inch. Hearty masculine roars of approval mixed with groans filled the tavern.
Was that a woman’s voice? It sounded like some lady asking for Willard Gilmore, but he ignored her as he tried for another inch. The mug tipped, sloshing beer across his face before it smashed to the ground. He toppled backward, slamming to the floor amidst howls of laughter and disappointment.
He grinned as he got to his feet. “Sorry about that, Bill,” he said as he shook his nephew’s hand.
“That’s okay,” the boy mumbled, but Alex felt bad for letting the kid down. All around him money was trading hands, and he’d be making plenty of apologies tonight.
He squinted to see what had caused the distraction at the front of the tavern, and it wasn’t hard to spot her. A snazzy-looking lady gaped at him with an appalled expression on her face. He sent her a helpless shrug, a little embarrassed at his beer-soaked state, but everyone in this town had had a long week and was entitled to a little fun. She was still glaring at him, so he’d better go see what she wanted.
He wended through the crowd toward her, wondering how she could breathe in that wasp-waisted getup. It was dim, and he couldn’t see much of her face, but she had piles of pretty red hair mounded on her head.
“Hello, Alex,” she said primly.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” For some reason she seemed to be getting madder by the second. “Ma’am? We haven’t been introduced. I’m Alex Duval.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked ready to combust. “Oh, Alex. I think I’m finally seeing the real you, and it’s a sad, sorry letdown.”
He used the cuff of his shirt to wipe at the beer stinging his eyes, completely befuddled. They’d never met. He would remember hair like that. The last time he saw hair that red—
Recognition dawned, and a blast of delight ricocheted through him. “Eloise?” He lunged forward to grab her arms and pull her toward the window to see better. “Eloise! Is it really you?”
“It’s really me.”
And he hadn’t recognized her. “Welcome back,” he managed to stammer, then looked over his shoulder to Hercules, who watched from behind the bar. “It’s Eloise Drake.”
Hercules stilled. “The Eloise?”
“Yes, the Eloise,” Alex said, turning his attention back to her. Then a terrible thought struck. “It is still Eloise Drake, isn’t it?” he asked with a glance at her bare left hand.
“Still Eloise Drake,” she confirmed.
He grinned. This was good. This was beyond good, this was stupendous. Eloise seemed miffed that it had taken him a minute to recognize her, but she had never dressed like that when they knew each other all those years ago.
“I’m not married either,” he said a little breathlessly. Not that she was asking, but he couldn’t stop smiling because she was here and she was beautiful and he wished he knew what to say to her. She seemed different.
She cast a chilly look at his nephew. “Perhaps the boy should step outside,” she said. “This isn’t the healthiest environment for a youngster.”
He followed her gaze. Bill was trying to imitate his ridiculous backbend and not making much progress. “Oh, that’s just my nephew, Bill. Don’t worry, he’s used to seeing crazy things.”
“And how old is Bill?”
“Hey, Bill,” Alex hollered across the tavern. “How old are you, lad?”
The boy straightened. “Fourteen!”
Alex turned back to Eloise. “He’s fourteen, but more like forty. He’s been helping at the tavern since he could walk. I’ve never seen a kid so eager to earn a buck.”
“Gambling, betting, and drinking—all before lunchtime,” she said in an artificially bright voice. She’d always been a lot fussier about the rules than he was, and it looked like that trait had grown with age.
“So what brings you to town?” he asked, keeping his voice pleasant.
“I’m looking for the manager of the Gilmore Inn. I understand he can be found here.”
She sounded frosty, but maybe she was only nervous. Her sudden reappearance certainly made him nervous, but thrilled too. He kept his gaze locked on her as he shouted over his shoulder. “Willard? A lady wants to see you.” He swallowed, both flustered and delighted. “I never thought I’d see you again. Whatever brings you back to the valley . . . I’m glad. Really glad.”
Willard tore himself away from the dartboard. At least Eloise couldn’t disapprove of Willard Gilmore, with his starched bow tie and handlebar mustache that was perfectly waxed and curled. He still carried a handful of darts from the game he’d been playing. “Ma’am?”
Eloise kept using that prim voice. “My supervisor has reserved four rooms at your hotel, and we would like to check in.”
“We weren’t expecting you until this evening, but I can check you in early.”
She was staying in town? This was getting better and better. Maybe he’d have a stab at winning her back, or at least learning where she had disappeared to all those years ago.
Before he could say anything, a group of men entered the tavern, deep in conversation. They were all strangers, but the oldest scrutinized the underside of the balcony that circled the interior of the tavern, pointing out features to a younger man beside him.
“Those cantilevered brackets need to come down first,” he said. “Then we take down the secondary beams. The load-bearing walls come last.”
“Let’s speak about this later, shall we?” Eloise said. It was obvious she knew them, and a cold feeling settled in the pit of Alex’s belly.
“No, let’s speak about this now,” Hercules demanded from behind the bar. “Did I just hear you talking about how to tear down this tavern? Who are you people?”
The older man drew himself up to his full height. “My name is Claude Fitzgerald, and I am leading the demolition team charged with safely dismembering this conglomeration of rock and timber. It’s going to be a monster of a job.”
Behind the bar, Hercules slammed down a mug. “Then you can get out of my tavern. You aren’t welcome here.”
The entire bar fell silent, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees.
“Take it easy, Hercules,” Alex said. He didn’t want an ugly brawl in front of Eloise. She’d never had a chance to meet his family all those years ago, and he didn’t want her seeing them at their worst.
“No, I won’t take it easy,” Hercules retorted. He planted a foot on the bar, then vaulted over it to land with a thump only a few feet from Claude. “Look at you,” Hercules scoffed, flicking at the handkerchief in the older man’s suit pocket. “City-slicker shoes and that prissy silk handkerchief. Walking in here like you own the place.”
Claude tugged his vest down. “Keep your hands to yourself. Touching me is considered battery, and you can be prosecuted for it.”
/>
“Why don’t you add it to the rest of the demands you trespassers are cramming down our throats?” With his clenched fists, Hercules looked ready for business, and Alex slid forward to separate the two men.
Claude retreated, as did Eloise. A niggle of dread cut through Alex’s exhilaration at seeing her again. “Are you with these people?” he asked.
“I’m here as an accountant,” she said coolly. “I’ll be setting the values for the condemned buildings in town.”
His confusion vanished, replaced by a searing sense of betrayal. “You’re working for the state?”
“Yes, I’m working for the state,” she said. “I’m also working on behalf of Duval Springs to ensure its citizens are fairly compensated for their inconvenience.”
“‘Inconvenience,’” he snapped. “Is that the word the state is using for throwing thousands of people off their own land?”
She lifted her chin. “It is for the betterment of all citizens in New York. The fact that a few people will be inconvenienced can’t be avoided.”
It was only his army training that kept him standing erect after this appalling blow. The old Eloise was gone. The woman before him looked like her but was a stranger.
“I wanted such wonderful things for you,” he said in an aching voice. “I thought you’d be a great pianist or a poet or something grand. Not an accountant. Not working for the state.”
“Another fine reason not to stay in this town,” Claude groused. “We gave it our best, Miss Drake, but why should we stay in a place that doesn’t want us, lacks all form of common courtesy, and doesn’t even have running water or electricity? We’ll be better off in Kingston, regardless of the expense.”
“Did you expect us to throw rose petals in your path?” Alex directed the question to the surly leader, but Eloise answered.
“As the mayor of this town, I expected you to be sensible and help us,” she said. “We are working toward the same goal, even if you find that goal abhorrent.”
That scolding tone of hers was starting to grate. She turned to leave the tavern, the three men following, but Alex wasn’t going to let her get away. Not again. He darted after the group as they made their way outside.
A Desperate Hope Page 4