Chapter 22

Elise stood as still as she could and tried not to breathe as Fanny pinned the back of the bodice in place. Even though Fanny’s fingers were deft and steady, Elise was unaccustomed to having tailor-made garments. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten something new, much less a garment fashioned just for her.

“There ye are.” Fanny stepped around to the front and examined her handiwork. Her green eyes had a spark of life to them that hadn’t been present before, almost as if spring had bloomed there and pushed away all traces of bleakness.

Despite Fanny having experienced crushing degradation. Despite how she’d been beaten down and taken advantage of once again. Despite that she’d nearly lost the will to live. Even so, she’d held on. She’d fought her way back and somehow began moving forward again.

“It’s a very pretty color on ye,” Fanny said, admiring the royal blue damask that boasted swirling silver flowers.

The large front window allowed plenty of sunlight into this room of the shop, which was now in disarray. Tape measures, pincushions, scissors, scraps of material, and colorful spools of thread were strewn in almost joyful abundance throughout the room.

“I shouldn’t have accepted the material,” Elise said again, just as she did every time she came into the shop. “It’s too kind. It’s too much for him—”

“Oh, shut it,” Fanny snapped, adjusting the lacy cuff on the wide bell-shaped sleeves.

Elise pressed her lips together to keep back further protest. When the bolts of cloth had come in a delivery last week, along with several pairs of shoes, Elise marveled at the sight of them. And as she read the accompanying note, she nearly collapsed.

As I traveled along the Illinois Central to Chicago, everyone was talking about your restaurant and the quality of your meals. You’re making a name for Quincy, and because of that I owe you more than I can repay. As a small token of my gratitude, please accept this bonus. Instruct Fanny O’Leary that her first commission as Quincy’s newest head seamstress is to make garments suitable for your position as manager of the best restaurant in the West.

The note had touched Fanny too. Once Mr. Hewitt had confirmed, albeit through tight lips, that the tailor shop was now hers and that she was to take over the business, she’d broken down and wept in Elise’s arms.

Elise doubted Thornton realized how his tokens of kindness were affecting the young Irishwoman. His actions probably meant little to him; he likely didn’t give them a second thought. But they were just what Fanny needed to restore her faith in life. Of course, Mrs. Gray doted on Fanny too, treating her like the daughter she’d never had. Mr. Gray took a liking to her as well.

As a result, Fanny’s hard edge was dulling every bit as much as the bruises on her body.

“I doubt you’ve gotten any sleep all week,” Elise said, “working on my dresses as you have.”

Fanny shrugged, led her to a small curtained area, and then began to unbutton the bodice. “I’ve always wanted to work with such material and make something this pretty. Doing this is a dream come true.”

Elise smiled at Fanny over her shoulder. She could completely understand dreams coming true. She felt that way about her restaurant. Even if the work was hard and the hours long, for the first time since her father’s bakery, she finally felt as though she’d come home to where she belonged. Now if only Marianne and Sophie and the two little ones would join her, then her life would be complete. Well, almost.

She tried to ignore the empty ache that had been growing since the day she’d said good-bye to Thornton outside the kitchen. She’d expected time and distance to ease the burning in her chest. But it never went away. Sometimes, like in the quiet of the night, the burning seared as if someone had taken a hot knife and carved his name in her heart.

“You’re talented at dressmaking.” Elise forced herself to think on other things. “They’ve all turned out so lovely that I doubt I’ll be able to wear them.”

The other two dresses hung on the wall and needed only minimal hemming to complete.

“You’ll wear them,” Fanny replied, slipping the satiny fabric down Elise’s body, “especially when you see him again.” She didn’t have to explain who him was.

“He’ll be married the next time I see him.” She’d already explained the situation to Fanny, apparently to no avail. “It won’t matter what he thinks of me in my new dresses.”

“Don’t yet go denying that ye’ll look forward to the day when ye can strut around in front of him wearing one of these fancy dresses.”

Fanny pulled the curtain closed so Elise could don her other garments in private. She took her worn bodice from the peg in the wall and put it back on. The linen was loose and gray from so many washings over the years. What must she look like wearing it compared with the satiny material of her new dresses?

“Mark my words.” Fanny’s voice rang with confidence. “He’ll not be marrying anyone else but ye.”

Elise paused in adjusting her skirt. “He has to marry Rosalind in order to win the competition.”

“And I suppose ye are the expert on what kind of woman his father said he must marry?” Through the slit in the curtain, Elise could see Fanny hanging the blue damask gown onto a hook next to the other two.

“He needs to marry someone of his class, someone who understands his world and his responsibilities.”

“Is that what his father said?”

“No,” Elise answered reluctantly. She’d already had this conversation with herself. And always, no matter how logically she argued, she came back to the same reasoning—Thornton needed someone better than her. “His father didn’t give any qualifications except that he must fall in love with the woman. But Thornton and I both know I’ll never be the kind of woman his father would approve of. ”

“How do ye know?”

“Thornton didn’t contradict me when I told him so.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know ye love him. Maybe if he knew, he’d be willing to prove to his father what we’ve all seen—that ye are exactly the kind of woman he needs to stand beside him.”

Elise let her hand fall away from her skirt and stared down at the ugly, worn material. Was Fanny right? Was she the right kind of woman? Had she pushed Thornton away? The expression on his face as if pleading with her during their good-bye came back to her.

She shook her head. No, he had a better chance at winning the competition with Rosalind than with her, especially now that the community had rallied together to rebuild the feed store as well as clear the land for several roads Thornton wanted to complete.

Elise pushed aside the curtain of the changing area and crossed to the front window. She peered down the street to the construction crew working on the store. Reinhold had brought together all the available men around Quincy, including the farmers, and divided them into three groups. The men took shifts so that the other building projects and work efforts could continue as scheduled. In a week’s time, the frame of the new store was already in place.

Though Thornton had telegrammed to say he’d finally obtained a small loan and had ordered materials, the town’s working men decided they couldn’t wait for everything to arrive before starting the rebuilding. Reinhold then suggested disassembling one of the construction crew’s bunkhouses to get them started. Various townspeople offered to house the displaced crew, with some moving into the remaining, now-crowded bunkhouses.

Elise was awed once again as she watched the group of men at work, hammering away on the building, giving of their time and energy to help Thornton and the town. At the sight of Mr. Gray scurrying down the street from the direction of the depot, Elise grabbed her coat.

She’d only meant to stay for a few minutes. She had too many preparations for the evening meal to be away from the kitchen for long. Elise shrugged on her coat, mentally bracing herself for the onslaught of the cold December wind. Before she could fully prepare, the door swung open and the chill rushed in to surround her.

“Elise.” Mr. Gray stepped into the shop, his voice containing a strange note. He closed the door, but not before another gust blew in and wrapped invisible fingers around her neck. “A telegram came from Mr. Quincy.”

She wrapped her coat tighter around her body. “Good news, I hope?” From the seriousness in Mr. Gray’s eyes, she guessed it was anything but good.

He shook his head as he handed her the telegram. He stood back and waited for her to read it. Printed in Mr. Gray’s own neat handwriting, the message was easy to comprehend. But her mind refused to take it in, even as her pulse careened forward at a frenetic pace. Tante Brunhilde had placed Olivia and Nicholas on a Children’s Aid Society train and sent them west. No one knew where they were. And . . .

“Sophie is gone too?” The words tumbled out. “She can’t be. She’s with Marianne.” Suddenly Fanny was at her side, clutching her arm. Elise’s legs didn’t want to bear her weight anymore, and if not for Fanny’s hold, she would have dropped into a heap on the floor.

“You must have copied the telegram wrong, Mr. Gray.” Elise thrust the message back to the stationmaster. “This isn’t right.”

Mr. Gray’s eyebrows formed thick clouds over his eyes. “It’s accurate. I wrote the message twice.”

Sophie had run away? Her dear little sister with her innocent blue eyes and silky blond hair, the dainty girl who was like a miniature of herself. The baby of the family both she and Marianne had tried to shelter from the hardships and heartaches they’d experienced.

She was out on the streets somewhere. Alone. Unprotected. Without money or food.

“Oh, God in heaven above,” Elise whispered. Nausea and sobs swelled at the same time. She fisted her hand and pressed it to her mouth to keep from vomiting, from crying out.

Fanny guided her to the nearest chair and helped her to sit.

“What will become of her? How will she survive?” The questions were breathless and desperate.

Fanny’s eyes were grave. The Irishwoman knew the seriousness of the situation every bit as much as Elise did. A pretty young woman like Sophie wouldn’t survive for long on her own. She’d be cold and hungry and helpless. If she didn’t find a shelter to take her in, she’d starve. Worse, she’d end up being accosted by a gang or forced into prostitution.

“How did this happen?” Elise managed to ask, although she didn’t expect Mr. Gray to have the answers.

“Mr. Quincy didn’t give us much information,” Mr. Gray said gently. “But he did make it clear that I’m to purchase a ticket for you to return to New York City.”

Elise stood so quickly she wobbled with dizziness. Fanny steadied her. “Careful now. Ye won’t be going if ye fall and knock yerself out.”

“When is the next northbound train coming through?” Elise asked Mr. Gray.

“This evening.”

“Then I need to be on it.” There was no question about it—she had to go. She was grateful Thornton had realized how upset she would be and that she’d be desperate to return and locate Sophie. “But who will help Mrs. Gray? I can’t leave her to run the dining room by herself.”

“I’ll help her,” Fanny offered.

Elise waved a hand at the stacks of clothes on the worktable waiting for attention. “But your shop—”

“Everyone can get by without a seamstress for a while.”

Elise nodded reluctantly.

“You go and rescue your sister. Do it for all of us who’ve been lost at one time or another.” Fanny squeezed her hand, but Elise reached for the seamstress and pulled her into an embrace. Fanny’s arms came around her without hesitation. Tears stung Elise’s eyes. Tears of gratefulness for this unlikely friendship.

But she fought them back. She wouldn’t cry. She had to stay strong. And she had to bring her family back together.

“While you’re there, you tell Thornton how you really feel,” Fanny whispered. “This is your chance to do something before it’s too late.”

Elise shook her head. She couldn’t think of her relationship with Thornton right now. All that mattered was finding Sophie and getting her family back together again.

Elise gave one last wave to Fanny and Mrs. Gray in the dining room, where they were busy serving the dinner customers. Then she opened the depot door and stepped out onto the train platform. In the dark winter evening, several lanterns hung from posts to illuminate the train and the few loitering passengers. The huge black hulking engine and cars rattled and hissed like a giant serpent anxious to chase down its prey.

She hefted her carpetbag, the same one Miss Pendleton had given her for the long trip west to Quincy. It represented all her hopes for the future, the possibilities of a new life, a home, safety, and security for her family. But in her attempt to win freedom from their bondage in New York City, she’d lost the thing that mattered most—being a family.

She shouldn’t have left in the first place. She’d been so foolish to assume they’d get by without her. They should have stayed together no matter how difficult.

The cold night air chafed her cheeks as though rebuking her. Sucking in a deep breath, she started for one of the passenger cars. While the train had stopped long enough for refueling and for passengers to have supper in her dining room, Elise was anxious to board so she could be one step closer to finding Sophie.

“Miss Neumann, before you board the train I need to speak to you.” Mr. Hewitt emerged from one end of the platform and walked briskly toward her. He was bundled in a long wool overcoat with a scarf wound around his neck. “I just received another telegram from Mr. Quincy with further instructions regarding a few things he wanted you to bring home for him.”

How could she say no to Thornton when he’d been kind enough to make a way for her to return to New York City so quickly? Surely she could do this little thing for him. “Very well. If you’d like to bring them to me on the train—”

“No,” Mr. Hewitt said curtly, motioning for her to follow him. “You’ll need to come with me and get them.”

Elise started after Mr. Hewitt, and as she did so, she stowed her bag behind one of the crates near the door to free herself to carry whatever Thornton wanted her to bring with her. Perhaps some of his books? She trailed Mr. Hewitt off the platform and toward a storage building near the tracks.

The light from the depot lanterns hardly touched the blackness of the night, made darker by the starless, moonless sky overhead. Mr. Hewitt inserted a key into the door’s lock and, after a moment of fidgeting with it, slid the door open.

“Over there.” Mr. Hewitt pointed to the far corner.

Elise stepped inside and was greeted by the scent of white pine. “Why, Mr. Hewitt, when did the timber arrive?” Elise took a few more steps inside, holding out her hand to keep from bumping into anything in the darkness. She was unable to see all but the most basic outlines, which told her there were several large stacks of boards. Reinhold and the workers would be delighted to discover they had more supplies.

Why hadn’t they known the long-awaited supplies had arrived? If they hadn’t seen them being unloaded from the train for themselves, certainly Mr. Gray would have informed Reinhold and the other construction workers right away, especially since he knew how desperately they were waiting.

Unless the supplies hadn’t arrived recently. Unless they’d been in the warehouse all along. At the thought, Elise spun.

Mr. Hewitt stood just outside the door. She couldn’t make out his face in the dim light, but she could see the outline of his body, stiff and proud.

“This wood has been here all along and you didn’t tell us,” Elise said.

“And why would I tell you about it? You might think you’re the manager of this town, but you’re not.”

“You didn’t have to tell me in particular, but you could have told Reinhold.”

“Why would I tell him?”

“Because you know that he’s working to rebuild the feed store.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell him.” Mr. Hewitt’s words were clipped, final.

Elise stared at him for a moment, speechless, trying to make sense of what Mr. Hewitt was saying. Had he purposefully withheld information from the workers so they would be unable to rebuild the town?

“Why don’t you want us to help repair the damage? Don’t you want Thornton to win?”

“Not anymore, no.”

Elise couldn’t keep from recoiling at the news. “I don’t understand. After how hard you worked to help him organize and plan this town, why wouldn’t you?”

“I thought Thornton might actually be able to come out on top. He had more motivation than Bradford. He wanted the win so badly.”

“But . . .”

“But then he met you,” Mr. Hewitt spat. “And you beguiled him, made him a weakling. The laughingstock of businessmen everywhere.”

Elise’s throat tightened. Had she really done that?

“He listened to all of your moaning and complaining and couldn’t resist your pretty face. And when he started lowering himself to the level of his workers and ignoring my advice, I decided it was useless to try to help him any longer. Then Bradford made me a deal, and I decided to jump ship while I still could, before Thornton sank my career.”

“You’re working for Bradford now?” Elise’s pulse sped with both anger and concern. “I suppose you started the fire that burned down the feed store.” She threw out the charge, knowing it was an exaggeration, that a man like Mr. Hewitt wouldn’t consider hurting Thornton so badly. He wasn’t that bitter, was he?

When Mr. Hewitt didn’t answer her question, her breath whooshed out in disappointment. Though she and Mr. Hewitt had been at odds, she hadn’t wanted to believe the worst about him. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

Again he didn’t speak but instead took a step back and began to close the door to the building.

“Bradford must be afraid Thornton will win if he’s having you stay here and undermine Thornton’s efforts.”

“There’s no doubt that Bradford is the better man and will win the contest,” Mr. Hewitt said through a narrow crack in the door. “He’s just making sure everyone understands that.”

Mr. Hewitt shut the door then, leaving her in darkness. Without any windows, the building’s interior turned black and impenetrable. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. At the rattle of the key in the lock, Elise lurched forward. “Mr. Hewitt! You can’t shut me in here.”

“I can. And I will.” The key clinked back and forth one last time.

Elise stumbled toward the entrance, tripping over something on the floor. Her hip and shin connected with a pile of boards with bruising force. “Mr. Hewitt, please let me out. I have a train to catch.” She scrambled forward, trying to find the door but only clawing at the air.

“Never fear,” he said. “There will be plenty of other trains.”

“I don’t understand! Why won’t you let me leave tonight?” Her hand brushed a wall, and she felt along the side until she came to a door handle. She yanked it several times and then kicked it. It didn’t budge. Perhaps if she made enough noise, other passengers or someone nearby would come investigate.

“Don’t even think of drawing attention to yourself,” Mr. Hewitt said in an ominous voice from outside as if reading her mind. “If you do, I’ll come back. And I’ll bring your dear little Irish friend to keep you company.”

“You better not touch Fanny.”

“Then be a good girl and stay quiet.”

“Until when?”

“Until it’s too late for you to make it back to New York City by Christmas.”

A new fear rolled in and surrounded her like a cold mist. There were six days until Christmas. If he held her prisoner that long, she’d die of thirst if she didn’t freeze to death first. “I know you haven’t approved of my running the restaurant or my pay raise, but why kill me? That seems a little extreme.”

“I’m not intending to kill you, Miss Neumann. I’m simply following instructions to keep you out of New York City so you can’t interfere during the final days of the competition.”

“I’m not planning to interfere. I’m only going so I can search for my sister.”

“I’ll release you in three days,” he hissed through the door. “Now be quiet, Miss Neumann, or you’ll have company.”

Her mind spun furiously, trying to make sense of everything he’d revealed. He was planning to hold her captive for three days. With the length of the train ride, she wouldn’t reach New York City until December twenty-sixth, the day after the competition ended.

Since Mr. Hewitt was working for Bradford, then Bradford was probably the one who gave him instructions to detain her. For some reason, Bradford assumed if she arrived in New York City before Christmas, she’d somehow interfere with the competition. But how? What could she possibly do?

“If I promise I won’t interfere,” she said, “that I’ll stay away from the Quincy family once I arrive in New York, will you let me go?”

Silence answered her.

“Mr. Hewitt?”

Again she was met with silence. Had he left, or was he ignoring her?

She pressed her ear against the door and strained to hear outside. The only sound that rose in the night was the lonely whistle of the train preparing to leave. Without her.

She sank to her knees, hitting the frozen dirt floor. She sucked in a breath, the frigidness of the air stinging her lungs. Her fingers and toes were already cold. Being locked up for three days was better than a whole week. Even so, how would she survive the winter temperatures locked up in an unheated building?