Hidden in a Whisper (19 page)

“I've always liked it very much that way.”

She shook her head. “You've never seen it this way, as far as I can recall.”

His grin broadened. “I have in my dreams.”

He watched as her ruddy complexion darkened to crimson in her embarrassment. He thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. “Good night, Rachel. Don't forget.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Don't forget what?”

“That I love you.” He barely whispered the words, but they seemed to echo loudly in the room. It seemed an inadequate represen-tation of all that he felt for her, but he knew they were the words she would most understand.

She nodded but said nothing more, leaving him there to watch her leave. He went to the doorway and watched her cross the lobby to her own quarters. His arms ached to hold her again, and it was all he could do to keep from running after her.
I have to give her time
, he reasoned.
I have to be patient and steadfast and prove my love to her all over again, if that's what it takes to win her heart
.

  
THIRTEEN
  

SEEING BRAEDEN AND RACHEL greet each other rather amicably that morning at breakfast, Ivy Brooks could only imagine that they had resolved their differences and had agreed to be friends. Such a development didn't fit into Ivy's plans at all.

Finishing the last of her breakfast, Ivy considered how to spend her day off. She had planned to go to her aunt's house and spend a luxurious amount of time in a hot bath where not only would there be no line of giggling girls awaiting a turn, but she would have peace and quiet to think. However, seeing Rachel smile demurely at Braeden's comments caused Ivy to feel a bit riled. She had hoped they would go on being enemies. At least as long as it took to find out from her aunt Esmeralda who Braeden Parker was and what prospects he might afford her as a potential husband. She'd already overheard bits and pieces of information pertaining to his relationship with Rachel, including what she'd overhead that night at the pool.

“Wish I could spend the day with you,” Faith said as she cleared away some of Ivy's dishes.

“I'm sure Rachel arranged to keep us separated,” Ivy said snidely. “She claims to want us to act and relate as one happy family, but she certainly goes out of her way to see that we are kept from spending too much free time together.”

Faith frowned. “I suppose that's true. I simply hadn't considered it.”

Ivy nodded, knowing there was a great deal Faith had never bothered to consider. The girl was positively daft, and Ivy wondered quite seriously how she managed to remember how to breathe without someone standing by to instruct her.

Tossing her napkin atop the table, Ivy got to her feet. “Well, I must go and visit my auntie. She pines away for me, you know.”

Faith nodded as if fully understanding this to be true. “At least you have somewhere nice to go.”

“Don't fret, Faith. One day I shall take you to the mansion with me, and we shall have a lovely tea and you may try on my Worth gowns.” Ivy threw this last temptation in to remind Faith just how far beneath Ivy's status she truly was. She might be the granddaughter of one of the Santa Fe board members, but she was still a simple girl from Kansas. Ivy, on the other hand, had been abroad, had shopped in the finest stores in New York, and was more than a little aware of the differences between her life and Faith's.

“Oh, that would be simply divine,” Faith said, hugging the plates to her apron.

Just then Rachel walked by. “Miss Bradford, is that a stain I see on your apron?”

Faith looked down rather mortified. “I hadn't noticed.”

“Well, now that you have, I would suggest you go change immediately. You know Mr. Harvey's rules.”

“Yes, Rachel,” Faith replied and hurried off to do as she was instructed.

Ivy looked at Rachel and smiled. “Well, I'm off to enjoy my day. I don't suppose that nice Mr. Parker also has the day off?”

Rachel frowned. “No, I don't suppose he does, and even if he did, you know Mr. Harvey's rules on that issue as well as rules about stained aprons.”

Ivy laughed. “Rules are made for those who can otherwise not figure out how to govern themselves. I, Miss Taylor, am certainly not amongst that crowd. I can think for myself, and I can certainly structure my life accordingly. I'm very organized.”

“Well, I would keep in mind the time, Miss Brooks,” Rachel said, squaring her shoulders. “You were late returning on your last day off. I certainly wouldn't want to assign you extra duty in order to make up for that infraction of the
rules
.”

“Don't worry. I'll be back,” Ivy said, giving Rachel what she knew would be her haughtiest stare. “So long as this job suits my needs, I'll be here.”

She sauntered off toward the lobby, thoroughly enjoying the fact that she'd just made Rachel very uncomfortable. Ivy was one of the few people to stand her ground with the spinster and she enjoyed making it clear that she didn't need the position, but rather was entitled to it if she wanted it. Rachel might be a problem to her immediate plans, but Ivy decided it was a problem she'd soon take care of. The likes of Rachel Taylor was hardly an adversary worth fretting over.

Moving down the hall, Ivy exited the building out the side door. This door opened onto the wide, sweeping sun porch that lined the garden side of Casa Grande. Here guests could sit and study the parklike garden that stretched out for acres between Casa Grande and the Needlemeier estate. It was quite picturesque and said to be some of the loveliest country for miles around. But it could never be lovely enough to entice Ivy to want to stay. She hated Morita. Hated it more than any place else on earth.

She remembered coming here after the death of her parents. The house fire that had taken their lives had left her with little but borrowed clothes and bad memories.

Ivy frowned. Thinking of her parents pricked a spark of conscience that Ivy had long since refused to deal with. It had a way of making a person regret their mistakes, and Ivy had no time for such things. The past was the past and nothing would change it. The future, however, still held great possibilities … no thanks to her aunt or this pitiful town.

Ivy had hoped and prayed that Morita would be something exotic and wonderful. Instead, she found a desertlike town with a funny little hot springs oasis and a vast garden that her aunt likened to Eden. But other than this and a few minor business establishments, Morita was as desolate as St. Louis had been exciting.

Leaving the porch to venture along the stream, Ivy tried to take some pleasure in the series of tiny waterfalls. They traveled in rapid succession downward to the greater Morita Falls, allowing for the energy that provided some parts of the town with electricity. Aunt Esmeralda said very soon the entire town would have access to the power source, but it still wouldn't be enough for Ivy. It was hard to get excited about something that had once seemed rather commonplace in her life.

No, Ivy longed for the thrill of the uncommon. She longed to travel again as she had when she'd been a child. She wanted to see the world, at least more of the world than this little stop along the Santa Fe Railroad. Faith had chided her to be patient because after one year of service, Ivy would be entitled to a vacation and a free pass to go anywhere the Santa Fe Railroad went. Ivy thought the idea laughable. There was no destination on this wretched railroad that enticed her to travel. Unless, of course, she considered the possibility of Kansas City or Chicago. Both places would be accessible along the line. But even this idea held little interest. What Ivy really wanted was a wealthy husband—someone who could arrange for her travels and see to it that she never wanted for anything.

Smiling, she made her way across the small footbridge that connected the Casa Grande side of the gardens to the Needlemeier side.

It was all open territory for the guests of Casa Grande. Her aunt had even offered to give her gardeners to the resort, and Mr. Harvey and the Santa Fe had eagerly accepted. They reasoned that if this team of workers knew how to create a garden in the middle of the arid, sandy soils of New Mexico, they were well worth any pay to keep on staff.

Of course, the Santa Fe officials had never had to spend a winter in Morita. When winter came, everything seemed rather dried up and dead in spite of the usually mild temperatures. But sometimes the snows came, and then the boredom of sitting in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do was almost maddening. But with or without snow, Morita was sheer misery to Ivy.

Aunt Esmeralda had tried to interest Ivy in everything from needlework to music lessons, but nothing appealed to her. Ivy had pleaded her case to go east, to live in a bigger city where she might truly benefit from the agenda it could offer. Her aunt was nearly convinced until the Santa Fe and Mr. Harvey had taken notice of her oasis. Of course, Ivy hadn't learned until recently that Esmeralda had been issuing a barrage of letters to those officials, enticing and urging their interest in the property. She had made all manner of promises, and with their purchase of the land, Ivy saw her dreams go up in smoke.

“I hate it here,” she muttered, cursing the very ground that she walked on. “If I have my way, I won't spend another winter here.”

The real trick was to figure out how she might make her dreams come true. She needed a wealthy husband—someone who was already established in one of the eastern cities, or who had a mind to go there once Ivy assured him it was for the best. The grand opening celebration was sure to bring in dignitaries and wealthy investors, and Ivy figured to give them all a lengthy consideration before deciding her true course.

She passed her aunt's beloved roses and stopped to pick a particularly delightful pink blossom. The thorns pricked her finger as she ripped the stem away from the plant.
I'm like this flower
, she thought.
I, too, have my sting. Pluck me if you will, but it comes at a price
. She put her bleeding finger to her lips in order to ease the pain and smelled the sweetness of the rose at the same time. It was exactly as she saw herself. Lovely and sweet to the senses, but deadly and painful if taken the wrong way.

Humming to herself, she went into the house through the kitchen door, snagged one of the cook's cherry tarts, and tossed the rose to the housemaids as she came down the back stairs.

“Put this in water and leave it in my room, Liza.”

The girl caught the rose, grimacing as the thorn stuck her thumb. “Yes, miss.” She curtsied, and Ivy gave a nod as she left the kitchen.

Ivy nibbled at the tart and made her way through the house. She had planned to take a bath first and change out of her uniform into some of her lovely clothes, but she needed information, and that would only come from her aunt. Ivy was desperate to learn more about Braeden Parker, and if anyone would know his history, it would be Esmeralda Needlemeier.

“Aunt Esmeralda,” Ivy said, going into her aunt's favorite sitting room. She could see the old woman was poring over her mail and telegrams. No doubt spending more of Ivy's inheritance trying to further populate the tiresome little town.

“Ivy,” the woman said, glancing up momentarily. “I expected you to come home last night.”

Ivy shrugged and took another bite of the tart. “I had things to take care of and it wasn't convenient. So what are you doing today?”

“Business as usual,” Esmeralda replied. “I have the possibility of luring a New York seamstress here to Morita.”

Ivy sunk casually to her favorite rococo-styled chair. This particular chair had been fashioned in Italy, and the arms had been inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The exotic design against the ornately carved walnut wood gave Ivy the feeling of being a queen on her throne. A fitting depiction, in Ivy's mind.

“And what would Morita do with a New York seamstress?” she asked, toying with the last bits of her treat.

“Casa Grande will attract a high class of clientele. A seamstress already well acquainted with the desires of such women will stand ready and able to meet any necessity they might have. Perhaps those staying for lengthy respites will find themselves in need of lightweight but fashionable clothing. A seamstress could provide this and make herself a reasonable living, while also serving the community. You yourself have complained about the quality of the local gowns.”