Chapter 17

As Elise stepped out of the church, the wind sliced through her wool coat, making her want to retreat inside where the crowded sanctuary and the corner stove had lent heat on the cold November morning. But Fanny and the other women were already moving ahead of her, down the wooden steps into the street.

Everyone in town had been invited to attend the first service in the new church. The pastor and his family had moved to Quincy only last week. Even though he’d just arrived, he was eager to begin services.

Like her, the other women admitted they hadn’t been in a real church in a long time. Elise hadn’t gone since Mutti had died. Of course, she’d attended chapel at the mission, as had Fanny, but she’d only done so because it was one of the requirements for the seamstresses. She hadn’t really listened to Reverend Bedell’s sermons, too angry at God and life to pay attention.

But after two months in Quincy, she felt as though she owed God some gratitude. She should be thankful Marianne and Sophie were able to live at the mission, especially when the other women talked about the dire situations for the families they’d left behind. Betty Lou cried whenever she talked about how her mother had to place her younger siblings in different asylums in order to keep them from going hungry.

Thornton’s recent generosity had helped a little. He’d dismissed their travel costs and had given raises in their wages. Now most of them were sending every penny they could spare home to their families, yet it still wasn’t enough to keep them from hardship.

Elise felt Betty Lou’s pain. The young woman’s tears made her all the more aware of God’s provision. Not only was her family safe, but God had also given her a job she loved. It was better than anything she could have imagined, and she had plenty of food and a roof over her head.

In the dismally cold morning, the other women huddled in their thin coats just as she was doing. They spoke quietly to each other, their noses and cheeks turning red as the cold wind stung their faces. The Engle sisters stomped their feet while walking as though attempting to bring them warmth, and they blew into their red chapped hands every few moments. Betty Lou and Rachel huddled close together, their arms linked. And Fanny clutched her coat to keep it closed, the buttons long gone.

Elise wouldn’t have guessed this unlikely bunch of women could ever come to mean anything to her. But over the weeks of living together in the cramped dormer room, talking every evening, sharing news from home, she’d come to know the women. They felt like friends now.

Elise shuddered at the same time as Fanny. “It’s too cold here in Illinois, that it is,” Fanny grumbled. Her knuckles were white, her fingers a shade of bluish-purple. Her freckles were more pronounced on her pale face, which thankfully was devoid of bruises.

“Mrs. Gray has warned me it will get much worse.” Elise peeked toward the low clouds overhead that spread out in all directions, like an endless gray coverlet that had seen too much usage and too many washings.

The businesses along Main Street were closed for the Sabbath. The doors were locked, the storefronts dark, the street devoid of the usual comings and goings. Even so, the town was alive and taking shape. The construction crews had made good progress during the past month. The shell of a school stood at one end of the street, and several private homes were under construction as well. A new large feed store that Reinhold had helped build was ready for its first coat of paint.

Every week the train brought a new family or two. With each passing day, her depot restaurant grew busier, not just from the residents of the town but also from more passengers riding the Illinois Central.

“Elise, wait!” a voice called out behind her, making her heartbeat stumble. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was, and apparently neither did Fanny. The warning scowl she tossed Elise said it all. Fanny still didn’t like or trust Thornton.

“Don’t let him sweet-talk ye,” Fanny said under her breath.

“I won’t.” Elise slowed her steps. “We’re just friends.”

“Maybe that’s all he is to ye. But I’ve seen the way he looks at ye, and he doesn’t have friendship on his mind.”

Elise shook her head. “No, he’s only a friend, like Reinhold is.”

Fanny snorted. “Reinhold is smitten with ye too. He worships the ground ye walk on, that he does.”

She wanted to deny Fanny. But she wasn’t entirely oblivious to Reinhold’s increased attention. While he couldn’t afford to eat in the dining room except occasionally, he waited for her to be done every night so he could walk her back to the hotel. At first she’d assumed he came after her because she always gave him a leftover desert. And because he’d wanted to make sure she returned home safely. At the late hour, the tavern was overflowing with rowdy construction workers. Although she wasn’t worried about anything happening, Reinhold had insisted.

Of course, she enjoyed talking with Reinhold and hearing about his work. They’d always been able to share openly, and she appreciated his friendship now more than ever. He was her connection to her past. He’d been there during the dark days after Vater died. He’d been a rock for her after she lost Mutti too. Even now, he understood just how much she missed her sisters. Likewise she understood how much he worried over his own family, for he hadn’t received any letters from them since he’d left.

Over the past few nights, however, he’d insisted on accompanying her back to the hotel even though Thornton had come outside with her and offered to walk with her instead. Just last night, Reinhold reached for her hand as they’d strolled toward the hotel. She was too surprised to pull away, and too embarrassed by Thornton’s perusal behind her to dislodge herself from Reinhold. While she didn’t dare look behind to gauge Thornton’s reaction, she could only imagine the mirth in his eyes. He’d likely mock her today. That was probably why he was rushing after her.

“Elise.” Thornton was nearly upon her.

“Do ye want me to scare him off?” Fanny whispered, her brow rising and revealing angry eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Fanny.” She certainly didn’t want Fanny getting fired and sent back to New York for threatening Thornton.

Fanny’s features remained hard and cold. “Be careful.” Then she lengthened her stride to catch up to the other women.

Thornton fell into step beside Elise, slightly out of breath. “Good morning.” His smile was lopsided and much too devastating. It made her pulse tumble and bounce. “Might I walk with you the rest of the way?”

“So long as you refrain from any sort of teasing.”

“Teasing for what?” Flecks of light brown mingled with the dark in his eyes, making them dance.

“For my over-browned cinnamon buns.”

He chuckled. “All right. I won’t tease you about him—them.”

She smiled.

“Although I can’t refrain from saying that one bun in particular was rather sticky.”

“You promised not to tease.”

He laughed again, this time louder, filling her with a lightness that came whenever she bantered with him—which hadn’t been often during the past month.

True to his word, he’d visited among the farmers. What had started as simple offers of help had turned into an all-out effort to bring in the harvest. He’d managed to convince several of the construction men who had previous farming experience to go around with him. She’d heard rumors that in addition to their usual salary and bonus, Thornton promised his workers a discount if they were interested in purchasing their own farmland. Together, Thornton and his small crew had worked from sunup to sundown each day no matter the weather.

He’d been the main source of conversation in her dining room, drawing admiration from almost everyone for how hard he was working. Elise hadn’t been able to contain her admiration. He’d taken to heart her advice about learning the needs of the people around him. But he’d done much more than she’d expected. He wasn’t just learning about the laboring class. He was experiencing it.

Because of his long days in the fields, she hadn’t seen him often over the past month, but mostly on Sundays, like today when he took a break from his work.

“I heard you spent the week at the Johnson farm,” she said.

“Yes, a good family.” There was something harder about his face than when she’d first met him early in the summer. Of course, he was still a gentleman in every sense of the word, from his crisp bow tie to his starched suit coat to his shiny leather shoes. But his features were more solid, more certain and rugged.

“Did you finish the harvesting?” she asked, trying not to stare at him. Instead she focused on the Engle sisters lumbering a short distance ahead with their heavy tread.

“Yes.” The answer came out in a relieved sigh.

“So I take it you’ve decided against switching careers and becoming a farmer?”

“After much soul-searching and agonizing over the decision, you’re right. I just can’t allow myself so much fun every day. It would spoil me.”

It was her turn to laugh.

“I will say, however, I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for wheat bread. Or really anything made from wheat.”

“Since I know you’ll miss the wheat fields so much, I’ll make everything I possibly can out of wheat this week to help ease your grief.”

“You’re too kind,” he said with a grimace.

She laughed lightly again, and for a moment they walked in silence, the crunch of their shoes against the gravel street slow and leisurely. She’d grown to anticipate their brief interactions. She especially loved when he came into the kitchen at night after dinner and talked to her about his day, all he’d done and learned. He’d playfully sneak bites of whatever dessert she had sitting on the table. His gaze would follow her around the room, until she felt as wound up as a toy top, her body off-balance, her mind spinning, her blood racing.

“So . . .” he started.

“So, from the tales being told, you’re quite the hero. Without the help of your crew, people are saying the farmers would have been hard-pressed to bring in their harvests before the first frost.”

He nodded and waved at a family climbing aboard the bench of their wagon. They greeted him with friendly smiles and “Guten Tag.”

She’d heard there were a number of German farmers, but she hadn’t met them yet. She guessed they were too busy and poor to come into town to socialize at the depot dining room.

“I don’t consider myself a hero,” he said, the humor gone from his voice. “But if I am, then I have you to thank.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she protested.

“I wouldn’t have gotten off my royal throne if not for you.”

“Then you’re accusing me of taking down the monarchy?”

“I’m crediting you. It’s been a good thing.”

She had to peek at his face to make sure he wasn’t jesting. Sometimes it was difficult to tell when he was being serious. And studying his features helped. Like now. His eyes were darkly sincere, his expression somehow reflecting a peace she hadn’t seen there before.

“I’ve realized,” he continued, “just how much I still have to learn about being a good leader.”

“I hear mostly positive remarks.”

One of his brows arched. “Mostly?”

A month ago she would have blurted out her frustrations without much thought. But perhaps she was growing too, because she searched to find the right words that would express her concerns in a forthright but kind way. “See the women ahead of us?” she asked. The distance had grown as a result of Elise’s dawdling pace.

“Ah, yes,” he said, watching the band of women as they stopped in front of the hotel door and began to file inside. “What did you call them? My slaves?”

“Yes.” And she was only a tad sorry for such a severe accusation. While her work situation had vastly improved, the other women were still earning a pittance for the long hours they put in every day. “How much do you know about what they do on a day-to-day basis?”

“I admit, I’ve never cooked or sewn or done laundry.” From the slight haughtiness of his tone, she could tell he thought such work was suited for women and not men.

“So you think it’s worth your while to understand the men but not the women?”

He grinned down at her. “Is this your way of saying you want me to work in the kitchen with you?”

She snorted. “No, I’m saying I think you’re arrogant and patronizing.” Okay, so maybe she hadn’t grown as much as she thought she had.

His grin only widened. “If I remember right, you promised I could work a day with you once I worked with the men.”

“I didn’t promise.”

“I took it as such. And since I clearly need to learn to empathize with my women workers, why don’t I start with you?”

“Why don’t you start by washing laundry?”

“Maybe. For how long?”

“I doubt you’d last more than a day.”

“If I’ve been able harvest wheat for the past month, I think I can wash a few clothes.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They walked in silence for a moment, and she began to wonder if she’d overstepped her bounds and offended him.

“So . . .” he started again, as though he had something to say but didn’t know quite how to say it. His footsteps slowed even more.

This time she waited for him to finish.

“What did you think of this morning’s service?” he finally asked.

She could tell the question wasn’t what he’d planned to ask, but she responded honestly nevertheless. “I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms with God over the past years, especially since Mutti died. I suppose I felt abandoned by Him. But lately I’ve begun to think maybe it was less Him abandoning me and perhaps the other way around—me leaving Him.”

“That’s an interesting observation.” The sincerity of his tone beckoned her to share more.

She reached up to finger the cross ring Mutti had given to her that she still wore on a leather strip like a necklace. Mutti had beseeched her to find her fulfillment in a life of surrender to God because Mutti had noticed how she’d pushed God away, first at arm’s length, and then further. Elise wanted to blame God for all the bad things that happened to them, just as she’d wanted to blame Count Eberhardt. Just as she’d tried to blame Thornton.

But even if life was unfair at times. Even if people were calloused. Even if bad things happened. Mutti had always said that was a result of living in a sinful and fallen world. God didn’t like the bad any more than they did. Someday He planned to create a new earth where the difficulties and tragedies didn’t happen anymore.

In the meantime, Mutti tried to reassure her God promised to walk alongside them during their hardships. He promised never to leave them or forsake them. He even promised to give them strength during the long, uphill struggles.

“Let’s just say,” Elise finally remarked, “I’m beginning to realize God’s been there waiting for me and offering me peace. But I’ve been too bitter to see it or accept it.”

He stared ahead, his expression thoughtful.

Elise appreciated that he didn’t respond with a glib answer about how everything would work out in the end. She was under no illusion that her life was magically better or that it would all end up perfect. In fact, she was sure there would be many more hardships to come. The decision for her was whether to face those hardships on her own as she’d been doing or accept God’s offer to walk with her through them.

“I find it interesting that even though you’ve been pushing God away,” Thornton said, “He’s still chosen to use you anyway.”

“Use me?”

“To make the lives of the people in this town better.”

“I think you’re the one doing that. Not me.”

“What if God is using us together to make a difference?” Thornton’s tone was as earnest as his eyes.

She paused to consider his statement. “You’re kind to say so, Thornton, but I don’t have any power or influence. I’m just a poor immigrant woman.”

Before Thornton could respond, the call of her name interrupted them. They glanced down the street to see Reinhold emerge from the depot.

“You’ll join me for dinner, won’t you, Elise?” Thornton said quickly, stiffening and straightening his bow tie. “I’d love it if we could talk more.”

“I can’t—”

“Do you have feelings for Reinhold?” His question slipped out, and once said, she realized it was what he’d been trying to ask her all along during their walk home.

Reinhold had begun to stride toward them with rapid steps, which meant her time alone with Thornton was ending. Elise couldn’t keep her disappointment at bay. Not that she didn’t enjoy spending time with Reinhold, because she did. But she was hungry for more time and more conversation with Thornton. In fact, the more time she spent with him, the hungrier she grew. It was as if the small snacks only fueled her appetite.

“Do you care for him?” Thornton demanded.

“Of course I care.”

“Then you love him?” Thornton’s voice was taut, almost demanding.

“Yes, he’s a brother to me.”

“A brother? That’s all?”

“My relationship with Reinhold isn’t your concern.” She stepped away from him.

Thornton’s attention was riveted to her with a strange intensity. “If he’s nothing more than a brother to you, then why were you holding hands with him on your walk home last night?”

Elise studied his face. When he cast Reinhold a dark look, a spark of understanding ignited. “Are you jealous?”

He started to deny her, but then cut himself short with a simple shake of his head.

“I think you are,” she said with a slow smile.

“I’m just concerned about you,” he replied.

“Don’t be.” She inwardly chuckled at the fun she could have with this new revelation. “He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. And he’s good-looking too. Don’t you think?” She pretended to study Reinhold.

Thornton sputtered, but before he could say anything more, Reinhold was mere steps away. When he stopped in front of them, he nodded curtly at Thornton. “Good day, Mr. Quincy.”

“How can I help you?” Thornton pulled himself to his full height, his features chiseled out of a block of ice.

Reinhold glanced at Elise, his eyes taking on a spark that matched Thornton’s. Was he jealous too? Fanny’s words from earlier replayed in her mind. “Reinhold is smitten with ye. He worships the ground ye walk on.”

Apparently she needed to remind Reinhold they were friends and nothing more. At least she had nothing more on her mind. She didn’t have to tell Thornton that, though. She might have a little fun teasing him a bit longer about his jealousy over Reinhold.

“I came to see Elise,” Reinhold said matter-of-factly.

“She’s busy right now,” Thornton countered. “We were on our way to the dining room to have dinner together.”

“We were?” she asked.

Thornton shot her a warning look that almost made her burst into laughter. “Yes, that’s exactly where we were going.”

“You’re correct in saying I’m going to the dining room,” she said with as much sweetness as she could muster. “But not to eat. To work.”

Thornton’s eyes widened as though her statement had thrown him off guard. “To work? But it’s Sunday. After working so hard all week, you deserve a day off.”

“The dining room won’t run itself.”

“Let Mrs. Gray do it today.”

“She already insisted I take time off this morning to go to church. I won’t leave her to manage by herself longer than that.”

Thornton had no ready answer to her rebuttal. How could he? It would be heartless of her to take a day off and make Mrs. Gray wait on her, especially when her joints pained her so frequently.

“You really must work?” Thornton asked with a thread of disappointment that tugged at her.

“Yes. There are some of us who get no rest.” She meant to keep her voice light and teasing, but she couldn’t keep an edge from creeping in.

Reinhold’s brows came together in an accusatory scowl. “Maybe you ought to consider shutting down the dining room on the Sabbath.” He averted his eyes. “Sir.”

The distant train whistle rose in the morning air and prodded Elise. It wouldn’t be long before the train stopped and brought passengers to her dining room. Though the train operated less frequently on Sundays, she wanted to be there when it came in.

“Speaking of work,” she said to both men, “I really must go.”

“Wait, Elise.” Reinhold stopped her departure with a touch to her coat sleeve. “I have a letter from my mother.”

“Is everything all right?” They didn’t hear often from home. Not only was mail slow and irregular in delivery, but they all had better use for the three cents it cost to mail a letter. Elise had splurged and sent Marianne another note to inform her of the change in her employment, and she hadn’t yet heard back. While anxious to learn how her sisters were faring, she’d rested in the knowledge that Miss Pendleton was there watching over them.

Reinhold tugged a rumpled sheet from his coat pocket and began unfolding it. “The letter came on the last train yesterday, but Mr. Gray didn’t think to give it to me until just now.”

The tremor in his fingers stirred the anxiety in her stomach. “Your brothers are still selling newspapers?” The small income the boys made from the long hours of selling papers had provided something to tide the family over until Reinhold could send them his earnings.

“They’re still working and they got the money I sent.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.” Yet something was wrong. She braced herself for the real news.

Reinhold scanned the letter written in German. “Mother says Marianne and Sophie and the two little ones have come to live with them.”

Disbelief flooded Elise. “I don’t understand. Why? They’re supposed to be at the mission.”

“According to Mother, the mission had to close its doors.”

As the disbelief receded, fear was strewn in its wake.

“The Seventh Street Mission run by Miss Pendleton?” Thornton’s voice was incredulous, as though the possibility of the mission closing seemed impossible.

“What happened?” Elise asked. “I thought everything there was secure, that she had the funds to keep the building open. Even if the women didn’t have work, at least they had a place to stay.”

“Mother doesn’t explain,” Reinhold said, his hand shaking even more. He kept his focus on the letter and didn’t look up at her. “She says . . . she says . . .” His ruddy complexion deepened to crimson.

“Spit it out,” Thornton said.

Reinhold visibly swallowed hard. “Mother says that Marianne is with child.”

Bile rose in Elise’s throat. Her legs turned to pudding and began to buckle beneath her. But before she fell, Thornton’s arm wound through hers, catching and steadying her.

“Surely you’re mistaken,” she heard Thornton say, his voice as confident as his strong grip. “Or at the very least, your mother is mistaken.”

Thornton’s words somehow gave her enough courage to swallow the bile and drag in a breath of cool air. “Marianne would never—”

“She claims I’m the father.” Reinhold’s voice was strained.

Elise sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, the long blast of the incoming train’s whistle filled the air around them like the scream of a woman in labor. Elise tried to think, tried to find words, to make sense of everything Reinhold was telling her. But she couldn’t.

Sudden, sharp anger sliced her chest. She took a quick step toward Reinhold and lifted her hand to slap him. “How dare you defile Marianne!”

He caught her hand before it connected with his cheek. And for the first time since he’d opened the letter, he met her gaze, his eyes tortured. “I swear to you, Elise. I’m not the father. I’d never, ever do anything to hurt her or you. You have to know that.” The anguish in his voice matched his expression.

Her hand began to shake violently, and she jerked it out of his grip. Deep down she believed him. Reinhold was too honorable to take advantage of Marianne. Even so, her anger was too raw and she needed to blame someone.

She stumbled backward. A wall of strength met her as an arm slipped around her, supporting her and keeping her from falling. Once again Thornton was there. She sagged against him, needing him, unable to bear the weight of the news on her own.

What had Marianne done? After the mission closed, had she resorted to prostitution to support Sophie and the children? The very thought of Marianne having to degrade herself in such a way broke Elise’s heart. She closed her eyes to block out the images, the horror, the pain and desperation Marianne must have experienced under the filthy hands of a stranger. Sweet, delicate Marianne, so much like their mother.

Elise pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.

Thornton’s arm around her waist tightened, and he drew her closer. She wanted to bury her face into his chest and weep. Her throat ached and her eyes stung with the need. But she swallowed the sobs.

Elise Neumann never cried. She hadn’t cried when Vater died. She hadn’t cried when Mutti died. And she wouldn’t start now.