A Shelter of Hope (27 page)

“Simone, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Rachel asked softly.

Simone nodded but still kept her head bowed. “I’m fine.” She glanced back up and gave Rachel the briefest smile. “Honestly, I’ll be just fine.”

Rachel pushed back the papers she’d been toying with and leaned forward. “Simone, there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Simone met Rachel’s expression and instantly realized that she’d opened herself up for something much more personal than she’d planned.

“This isn’t easy for me, and I’m not usually given to prying,” Rachel began. “But there’s a concern I have for you that will not be easily dismissed.”

“I see,” Simone said in a stilted voice that she hoped would discourage Rachel’s interrogation.

“Simone, I know this isn’t easy for you. I just want to be your friend. I want you to trust me and know that I will help you in any way I can.”

“I don’t understand,” Simone said, a spark of fear igniting her soul.

Rachel bit at her lower lip and looked upward as though seeking help from above. “I cared for you while you were ill—that’s something you already know. But perhaps you don’t realize how sick you were. You were delirious for several hours. Then, too, it was necessary for me to undress you in order to bathe you through the night.” She halted, obviously uncomfortable, perhaps even uncertain as to how she might continue.

Simone shifted uneasily. “I’m grateful for your care, Rachel.”

“I know that,” she replied. “But that’s not why I brought it up.”

Simone steeled herself against what Rachel might say next. She couldn’t figure out whether Rachel knew something about Garvey Davis and her escape or if she was concerned about something else.

“Simone, you have some very ugly scars on your back.” The statement was made so matter-of-factly that Simone could hardly hide her sharp intake of breath. Rachel continued quickly. “Look, I know you must have suffered horribly. I know from the way you fought me during your fever that someone has hurt you greatly. I just want you to know that none of that matters anymore. I want you to feel safe here—safe wherever you work on the Santa Fe line.”

Simone hadn’t even realized that she’d risen to her feet until Rachel, too, stood and came around from behind the desk. “You don’t have to be afraid that I’ll think badly of you, Simone. No one should have to endure the misery you have obviously suffered.”

“Please don’t say any more,” Simone murmured, barely able to form the words.

Rachel gently touched her arm. “I just want you to know that I’m your friend. I don’t know where you’ve come from or who you might be running from, but it doesn’t matter. God knows all that you’ve had to endure. He knows and He cares.”

“He cared so much that He interceded on my behalf,” Simone said sarcastically.

Rachel shook her head. “Simone, I don’t know why things happen as they do, but I do know that God cares about His children. He isn’t the harsh taskmaster that you make Him out to be. He’s a loving father.

He cares deeply for you, Simone.”

Simone gathered her strength. She knew she had to put an end to Rachel’s loving speech about God. She had to push Rachel away and prevent her from trying to get any closer.

“I don’t know anything about loving fathers, Rachel. I’m glad that you had one, and even happier that you have pleasant memories from the past. I can’t share your image of God because I have no one on which to pattern that image. Please don’t pry any further. By what you saw, you should easily realize that it isn’t something I wish to talk about. Please respect that.”

Rachel nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Simone felt an aching in her chest and fought to ignore it.
I don’t want to feel anything for her. I don’t want to care
.

Rachel sniffed back tears and smiled. “I suppose I should get back to work. You do know that Jeffery’s due in from Chicago, don’t you?”

Simone felt her knees go weak. She had tried so hard not to think about Jeffery and the way he felt about her … and the way he made her feel about him. She’d worked fervently to dismiss any tempting thought that he just might be right about how things could be between them. She couldn’t afford for anyone to be her friend—especially not Jeffery.

“I didn’t realize he was coming to Topeka,” Simone finally admitted.

Rachel smiled and walked to the door. “I can hardly keep him from coming to Topeka. He’s here so much more frequently than he used to be, and I can only guess the reason.”

Simone said nothing and waited for several seconds before turning to follow Rachel back to the dining room. Somehow she had to make Jeffery understand that he could no longer care about her. But in the meantime, the northbound train would soon be arriving and she needed to be on duty at her station, as Mr. Harvey required.

The number of passengers requiring breakfast were few. It was a rare moment for the Topeka Harvey House, but Simone was secretly relieved. She found it easy to get back into the routine of servicing the large-portioned meals, but in truth, she was still rather weak from her sickness. Of course, she’d never let Rachel or Henri know the truth. Both had pampered and spoiled her until she could hardly stand it. Henri had fixed special meals and had them brought to her on silver trays with beautiful china dishes. Simone had never known such elegance and beauty. Even Una maintained a special attentiveness and often left her letters unwritten to sit at Simone’s bedside.

No
, Simone thought,
I mustn’t admit to anyone that I’m less than capable of continuing with my duties
. She continued to argue with herself throughout the aftermath of the morning meal. As she polished the silverware, she tried to imagine what she should do with her future. She had no way of knowing how much Rachel actually knew or, for that matter, suspected. If she spoke out in her delirium, it was possible that she could have said almost anything. The idea sent a chill down Simone’s spine.

“Simone?” Bethel called from the archway of the hall.
Simone was startled from her quiet reverie. “Yes?”
“Mr. O’Donnell wishes to see you in the manager’s office.”
Simone swallowed hard and put down her polishing rag. There was no way she could avoid dealing with Jeffery, but nevertheless, it wasn’t something she was looking forward to. Jeffery would no doubt restate his interest in their becoming better friends, and there was no way Simone could allow that. Simone firmly believed that when she’d made the choice to hit Garvey Davis over the head, she denied herself the right to any future relationships.

With a sigh, Simone got to her feet and slipped off the white gloves she’d been wearing. Walking down the corridor to the house manager’s office, she tried to think of what she would say. Perhaps the best way to approach it would be to announce her departure for Florence or Raton.

Knocking lightly on the closed door, Simone heard Jeffery call out, “Come in.”

Pushing aside her fear, Simone turned the handle and entered the room. Jeffery sat looking much the same as he had at his departure some days before. He wore a dark blue suit with a freshly starched shirt and blood red tie. His dark brown hair had been carefully parted and slicked back on either side, but it was his eyes that immediately caught Simone’s attention. Locking her gaze with his, she tried to imagine why he stared at her in an almost grieved manner.

“Have a seat,” he told her softly.

“I’m in the middle of polishing the silverware, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Yes, I know.” He smiled slightly. “I also know we had an agreement that you would call me Jeffery.”

“Jeffery, I don’t have time for this. Today is my first day back on the floor, and the other girls have been greatly overworked in my absence.”

“Sit down, Simone,” he insisted, leaning forward.

He appeared gravely concerned about something, so Simone finally did as he told her and sat down on the edge of the nearest chair.

“Simone, you know how I feel about you. I’ve come to care a great deal about your well-being—”

“Don’t, Jeffery,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Please don’t.”

“Why not, Simone?” he asked her flatly. “Why can’t you trust me?”

“There are a great many reasons,” Simone said, trying to sound casual.

“Such as?”

“Jeffery, I have to get back to work,” she said, getting to her feet. “We can discuss this later.”

“I’d like to discuss it now. Along with this,” Jeffery replied, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. With slow, methodical care, Jeffery spread the paper open and flattened it out on the desk. “See for yourself. Don’t you think there’s some sort of explanation due me … Miss Dumas?”

Simone started at the use of her real name, but it was the charcoal sketch showing a likeness of her father and a detailed drawing of her own face above the word
WANTED
that caused Simone to nearly faint dead to the floor.

TWENTY-ONE

AFTER MULTIPLE MISHAPS and train delays in cities that he would just as soon forget, Louis Dumas thought Chicago the perfect cover for a man—or for that matter, a woman—trying to hide out from the law. The sheer numbers of people made the job of gaining anonymity a simple task. No one knew him or had any reason to care about him, and this worked greatly to his advantage. The bustling crowd seemed unconcerned with the filthy man, and Louis found this fit perfectly with his plan.

The first thing he’d seen as a necessity wasn’t a place to live or even a good stiff drink but rather a bath and change of clothes. Louis realized that should anyone come after him, they’d be looking for a trapper named Louis Dumas. They’d have their sketches and drawings of a burly fellow in roughly fashioned buckskin, with a face full of hair to match the shoulder-length mass on his head. Keeping that in mind, Louis soaked in the tub of a private bathhouse and figured out how he would rearrange his appearance. Only hours ago he’d managed to steal a suitcase from a well-dressed stranger bound for Cleveland. The man had sat opposite Louis on the train and boasted of his wealth and the fact that he owned not one but two very nice suits. Louis figured the man to be too prideful for his own good, and while the man dozed through the stop in Chicago, Louis simply relieved him of his burden and exited the train. It had been so simple. With the case sitting beside the tub, Louis contemplated how he would pull off his charade.

“You gonna want a shave as well as a haircut?” the proprietor called from the doorway.

“I figured on it,” Louis replied, climbing out of the now tepid water. He pulled a towel around his body and grabbed his case. “No sense dressing till we get it done.”

The proprietor, a short, bald fellow who apparently was used to dealing with Louis’s kind, only nodded and pulled back the curtain. “Have a seat in here.” Louis followed him into a room off the main area. “This will give you a bit more privacy.”

Louis didn’t know if the man sensed his desire to remain anonymous or, rather, desired to keep Louis, in his undressed state, out of his main business area. Either way, Louis didn’t care. “I want it all cut off. I want the hair short and the beard and mustache gone. No, wait … leave a small mustache.”