Intrigue a la Mode Page 4

  “But I have no desire to call you Kentworth,” he said. “There has to be a better alternative.”

  “Willow. You may call me Willow.”

  “It’s not too familiar?” He held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I accept and thank you for the privilege.”

  She looked down at the plate in front of her. “Don’t forget,” she said, “everything you touch has to be replaced. You’re making more work for someone.”

  His eyes caught hers with a sadness that was unexpected. “Do you count your time by the tasks to be accomplished or by the joy of the moment?”

  “Setting a table does not bring joy,” she said.

  “Then you need another job.” He pretended to ladle something into his bowl, then offered her the same. She refused with an upheld hand, so he picked up his soup spoon and pantomimed his first course.

  “I’m proud of the work I do,” she said. “It pleases me when my table is perfect, but it doesn’t bring me joy. Not directly, anyway.”

  He lifted his empty glass and held it aloft. “Then what joy of yours should we celebrate?”

  Willow smoothed the tablecloth. Doing her job made her proud and getting paid was fulfilling, but that wasn’t her motivation. “The joy comes after I get paid. I go to the Western Union office with my paycheck, and I give them the address for the wire.” The clacking of the telegraph machines, the smell of tar on the new roof of the office, the smile of Mr. Mobley when he saw her enter . . . that was the moment she worked for. That made the late nights and the fight for perfection worth it. “That’s when I’m the happiest.”

  He lowered the glass. “When you place that wire,” he said, “who are you thinking of?”

  “My family. Mother is sick. Father is a foreman at the ore mine, but there’s never enough money for her doctor bills. My sister does the nursing. She’s sacrificed so much. More than I have. And then I’m thinking of home. How the bread box my grandpa made won’t be empty. How Father will have time for fishing. I think of the linen closet and the smell of the lavender sachet when I open it, and how there’ll be blankets enough to keep everyone warm in the winter. All of that. I think of all of that.”

  Willow folded her hands in her lap. Why had she rambled on? Maybe because she’d never held someone’s attention as strongly as she held his at that moment. The moonlight accentuated the hollows of his face, particularly the cleft in his chin and his deep-set eyes.

  “No wonder you are so good at your work,” he said. “There’s love behind it.”

  His tone made her blush. “God has been good to me. He’s given me a lot of people to love.” Then, to break the tension, she asked, “How about you?”

  Her question took him aback. His spoon rattled against the rim of his soup bowl. “Me? I have people to love, yes, but not someone in particular.”

  “I wasn’t prying,” Willow said, now flustered. “I was talking about your job. Do you find joy in washing dishes, or is there a reason behind the labor?”

  “Oh.” He lowered his spoon and stretched his fingers. “There’s family—my parents, my brother. People I work with that I don’t want to let down.”

  “People you work with in Emporia? Do you know someone there?” She breathed easier now that they were on safer ground.

  He scraped his knife against the plate, stabbed at the air with his fork, then put it in his mouth. “Delicious. You really should try your dinner. If it’s not to your liking, I can send it back to the chef.”

  Watching him was tantalizing, but he hadn’t answered her question. “What is not to my liking is that I told you something personal. Now it’s your turn. I know nothing about you.”

  “That woman I saw you speaking to at the depot, the one who kept you from returning to your table. How do you know her?”

  Calista? Her cousin’s concerns came back as clear as the crystal goblet on the table before her. “Why? Do you know her?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You’ve yet to answer any of mine. What brought you to work in Emporia? Where are you from? And the big question, what were you doing by the warehouse after curfew tonight?”

  He studied her for a moment, then raised his napkin to his lips as if wiping off the remains of a delicious meal. “I’m disappointed.”

  “In what? In me?”

  “In myself. I underestimated you, and I underestimated how difficult this job would be. That’s not to say that I lack the ability to see it through, but it will take more effort than I expected.” His fine words and manners made it impossible to remember that his white busboy uniform wasn’t formal dinner dress.

  “Washing dishes is harder than you imagined?” she asked.

  His eyes crinkled with his smile. Maybe it was the late hour, but the warmth of his gaze made her feel giddy.

  “Tenacity. It’s a trait I admire greatly,” he said.

  “Exactly how I feel about honesty.” Forgetting that it was all make-believe, she raised an empty glass to her lips while peering at him over the rim.

  His smile deepened, but he lowered his eyes. Laying the napkin next to his plate, he stood. “Come. We have a few hours before the train arrives. Let’s reset the table, then wait outside. We can watch the sunrise in a bit. It’s nearly dawn.”

  Yes, it was, but Willow was still in the dark.

  Chapter Five

  Graham lugged another tub of dirty dishes to the kitchen. Pity he couldn’t have kept his custom-made Italian leather shoes when he embarked on this adventure. The simple wooden-soled boots that busboys wore made his feet feel like they were crammed into tin cans. Over all, though, the work wasn’t too strenuous. His biggest complaint was boredom. The drudgery of gathering dishes, washing dishes, drying dishes, then stacking dishes had him looking for any common diversion. Instead, he’d found the exceptional Willow. Not what he’d expected.

  She was as pure and consistent as a bar of gold. Scratch the surface, and you’d find another layer of the same flawless character. In her, he’d found someone he valued, someone he could trust. Or was it too soon to make that determination?

  In the two weeks since he’d arrived, he and Willow had grown closer every day. When he’d discovered that her first task in the morning was to gather empty liquor bottles from the tracks and move them out of the customers’ view, he was ecstatic for two reasons. First, here was firm evidence that smuggling was taking place in dry Emporia. According to Mr. Cecil, the county sheriff wasn’t interested in their concerns, but Graham had to answer to authorities that could confiscate the railroad’s property. Disposing of the evidence didn’t solve the problem.

  Secondly, he was thrilled because it was an opportunity for him to work with Willow. How he loved seeing the early-morning world through her eyes. He was amused by her assessment of the grand houses they walked past as they lugged sacks of bottles to the dump. He was astonished by the stories she told of her raucous extended family. And he adored her honest gaze. In it, he felt real, and he felt that he needed to impress this conscientious, determined woman.

  Graham took the kettle of hot water off the stove and added water to his basin. He might trust Willow, but he didn’t trust her friend from the depot. He watched for the mysterious lady with every train, although now that he was disguised as a busboy, he had no authority to detain her for questioning. His instinct told him that she was tied to the secret shipments. His instincts also told him that Willow knew more than she was admitting. Two weeks ago, when they’d gone on their overnight excursion, Willow hadn’t been forthcoming when Graham asked about the woman. She had offered no information to help him, but maybe Leo would.

  Leo punched a loaf of dough on a floured board. It had been two months since Leo had started work at the Harvey House as the baker’s boy, but the angry red knot on his cheekbone was a new development.

  “What happened?” Graham whispered as Leo folded the dough and punched it again. “Who did that to you?”

  “Don’t know. I was on the
first shift this morning. Got up before the bell rang and went to the warehouse to get another bag of flour. The last thing I remember was wondering whose wagon was pulled up to the loading dock. Munsy found me on the ground when he came along later.”

  An unknown wagon? Graham had searched the warehouse repeatedly and found nothing, but maybe it was time to try again. “What did Mr. Cecil say?”

  “After making sure that my skull wasn’t cracked, he asked if anything was missing from the warehouse. The boys checked our inventory, and everything was there. Whatever they were doing, they weren’t robbing.”

  “Or they were, and you interrupted them before they got the wagon loaded.”

  Leo touched the raw portion of his cheek and winced. “If I saved the company money, you’d think they would let me have the rest of the day off. See if I ever show up for work early again.”

  But Graham knew where he’d be the next morning.

  “I’m not interested in cowboys, with their dusty clothes and forward ways,” Etta Mae announced as she spread a clean cloth over her table. “I won’t settle for anything less than a railroad man. Sophistication is what I’m after.”

  Billie rolled her eyes. “Those railroad men are nothing more than glorified butlers. I’d rather have a man who’s his own boss, chivalrous and independent. I’ll find me a cowboy before the end of the year. See if I don’t.”

  “What about Willow?” Etta Mae asked. “Will anyone ever turn her head, or will she be so busy re-polishing the silverware that she’ll never notice a man?”

  Willow separated out one of each utensil to set the place before her. “When the right man comes along, I won’t care about his profession. It’s his character that will win me.”

  “I hope so,” Etta Mae laughed, “because that new busboy will have his heart broken if you want a rich man.”

  Willow hid her smile and rearranged the silverware even though she’d gotten it perfect the first time. In the mornings before the restaurant opened, she and Graham had found treasured moments alone. He was a purposeful man, and his current fascination seemed to be learning everything about her—that, and learning everything about the railroad and the depot. She shouldn’t be surprised. Someone of Graham’s intelligence wouldn’t be a busboy forever. She’d never met anyone like him, but fraternization meant the loss of her job. For now, their growing relationship had to be kept a secret.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Which busboy?”

  “Etta Mae is talking about the one who never lets you out of his sight,” Billie said. “He’s handsome enough, especially if you aren’t particular about money.”

  “I’m not going to marry a busboy, no matter how handsome he is.” Willow looked up from the table to see the unflappable Buck Graham standing in the doorway.

  Etta Mae covered her mouth while Billie ducked her head and scurried out of the dining room. Willow felt heat blooming on her cheeks, but she faced Graham bravely, refusing to give in to girlish antics like her friends. “May I help you?”

  His mouth twitched, the only sign that he’d heard more of the conversation than she’d wish. “Yes, ma’am. A cargo train is due, and I need some guidance on what we’re to get from the ice car.”

  “Where’s Mr. Cecil?”

  “He’s occupied.”

  Etta Mae elbowed Willow. “What’s wrong with you? He’s asking for your help.”

  Willow looked around the dining room. They were between meals. The only customers were local cowboys, and Billie had already claimed them. Willow dusted off her hands and in her most matter-of-fact voice said, “I can give you a minute, but just a minute. No more.”

  Graham bowed his head as she sailed past him and out onto the platform to await the train.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and came to stand at her side, watching up the track. “You know, I’m not offended if you think I’m handsome. It’s an honest assessment.”

  He might be laughing, but he wasn’t trying to put her at a disadvantage. Her courage grew. “I regret that you didn’t hear all of the conversation. The main gist was my assertion that it didn’t matter to me what profession my future husband has. Rich or poor, good character is what I find most attractive.”

  “Unless he’s a busboy.”

  “They were teasing me. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “And now that I asked for your help, they’ll tease you even more,” he said. “I hope you can still enjoy my company, because I certainly enjoy yours.”

  Willow looked up at him. In their short acquaintance, they’d shared a lot with each other. No, that wasn’t true. She’d told him a lot, but she knew nothing about him. What was he hiding? A financial failure? A lowly beginning? He needn’t have worried. She thought it likely he’d find success in life no matter how humbly he’d begun.

  The train roared down the track, making further conversation impossible. This train only had a handful of passengers, and it wasn’t a meal time. Willow kept an eye on the few people heading to the restaurant, but she decided she wouldn’t be needed and followed Graham to the ice car.

  The freight man rolled open the door to the ice car, then waved the waiting wagon forward. Graham followed the freight man as he climbed up into the car, but Willow, ever conscious of keeping her apron clean, waited at the door, where she was greeted with an icy blast of air.

  “These barrels here are yours and those blocks of ice,” the freight man said, pointing. “Look at the floor markings. Everything in the Emporia section gets unloaded into that wagon and delivered to the ice house.”

  Graham nodded. “The process seems fairly straightforward. I was curious how it worked.”

  “Curious?” the freight man said. “Why would a busboy and waitress need to watch us unload? The warehouse men have it well in hand.”

  The freight man had a point. It wasn’t usual for Mr. Cecil to send a busboy to meet the cars. Willow blinked as the thought took form. Had Graham conspired to get her alone? Were their morning talks no longer sufficient? But he seemed more interested in the ice car than he was in her.

  The workers rolled the barrels out of the car and into the wagon beds. Cold air rose off them like steam beneath the afternoon sun. Wooden ice cream freezers were packed tightly against each other to lessen their exposure to the elements. Lastly, they separated giant blocks of ice from the sawdust packing and shoved them out of the car. Burlap sacks helped the blocks scoot across the car and into the wagon. Graham watched with a critical eye, but she still had no sense of why he needed her help.

  “That’s all you get this load,” the freight man said as Graham hopped out of the insulated ice car. The freight man rolled the heavy door of the car closed, then climbed aboard the train and disappeared from view.

  “Why did I have to be here, again?” Willow asked.

  “Because I wanted your company.”

  “And you feel entitled to my company because . . .”

  Something behind her caught Graham’s attention. “Look!” he said. “That lady, right there.”

  Willow could only pray that Mrs. Sykes wasn’t looking out of a window as she let Graham drag her toward the depot. As the last passengers were boarding, she saw Calista. The veil of Calista’s surah bonnet hid her face, but Willow recognized her, and so did Graham.

  “Isn’t that the woman you were speaking to my first day here?” Graham asked.

  Willow bit her lip. How could she explain Calista and her cockamamie ways when Willow herself didn’t understand? While she did her best to satisfy Graham’s rabid curiosity about everything from cargo shipments to the bottles in the trash, she grew tired of his refusal to disclose anything about himself. He had his secrets. It was high time that she be allowed a few of her own.

  “You never did tell me who she is,” Graham said.

  “Why is it important?”

  For the first time, he seemed unsure of himself. His eyes held hers, but his plea was not what she expected. “It
’s important because I’m trying to decide whether I can have you in my life.”

  Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected this. Hoped, someday, but not this soon. And not this demanding.

  “You’re so full of secrets,” she said, “but you won’t allow me to have this one?”

  “You trust her, but you don’t trust me?”

  She couldn’t help her sharp laugh. “Let’s discuss your habit of disappearing from your station, dragging me around chasing wild hares, and avoiding straight answers to any questions.”

  “Don’t do this, Willow. If you understood, you’d help me. I want to trust you, I do, but I can’t jeopardize my work.”

  “Your work as a busboy?” Willow rolled her eyes. “Speaking of jeopardizing work, Mrs. Sykes is going to be livid at my absence. Excuse me.”

  Over her head, the flag snapped in the wind as she sailed into the restaurant and gathered fruit dishes for her tray. It wasn’t fair. If her mother hadn’t taken ill, then maybe her family would have more money. Maybe she’d be as independent as Calista. Maybe she could hop on the train and ride away when faced with a conundrum. Maybe a man like Graham would take her seriously instead of yanking her around on foolish errands.

  But that wasn’t her world, and she had a job to keep.

  Chapter Six

  Every climb down the drainpipe of the men’s dormitory got easier, but it also increased his chances of getting caught. When his feet hit the pavement below his window, Graham dusted off his hands and turned to the dark warehouse. After Leo’s attack, the kitchen boys and chefs refused to go to the warehouse alone. Several had placed requests to be moved to other restaurants down the line, which was exactly what Graham was trying to prevent. Their caution meant that no employees were out at night, and that sounded too convenient for anyone who wanted to conduct illicit business. It sounded like the perfect place for Graham to be.

  But it wasn’t perfect. Tempering his excitement to solve the problems at Emporia was the fear that somehow Willow Kentworth was involved. She’d told him that her family was desperate. She’d told him that she’d do anything to help them. What did that mean? He couldn’t believe that she’d do anything against her conscience, but could it be that she was trusting the wrong people?