A Shelter of Hope (34 page)

Louis knew the boy was lying, but he couldn’t figure out why.

What should it matter to the boy whether he told Louis where Simone was? Frustrated, Louis headed down the rails to where the group of men were working on switching out cars. The boy spoke to one of the men, then motioned ever so slightly as Louis approached them.

“Howdy,” Louis called in a nonchalant manner.

“Howdy, yorself,” an older man replied, stuffing a blue-and-white kerchief in the back pocket of his overalls. “What can I do for ya?”

“I just got into town,” Louis lied. “I’ve come in search of my daughter.”

“Your daughter? Why would ya be lookin’ for her down here?”

Louis shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure where to start. I’d heard she’d come to Topeka, and other than that I had no idea where I might find her.”

“Lots of folks come through and a good enough number stay,” the white-haired man related. By this time the other men had moved off down the track to where the engine of one train was being hooked up to the cars of another. “Wish I could help ya.”

Louis nodded and feigned a deep sorrow. “We’ve been parted for ever so long, and I just fear for her safety. She’s just a wee thing like her mother, God rest her soul.”

The older man removed his cap out of respect. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, it’s been ever so hard on us. Just me and my little Simone.”

“Simone? You don’t mean Miss Irving, do you?” the man questioned, his face suddenly lighting up.

Louis nodded. “Dark black hair and blue eyes. Stands about this tall.”

“Why, shore, I know the filly you’re talkin’ about. Why, she’s one of the best Harvey Girls in town. Works—or I should say, worked—in the restaurant right over there at the depot.”

“Worked? You don’t mean,” Louis paused to give the man a mournful expression, “she’s gone?” His voice cracked slightly from the dusty dryness, and Louis thought it lent a poignant air of longing.

“There, now, Father Irving,” the man said as though they were the best of friends. “She’s not gone far. Just about four hours south of here. Florence, to be exact. She’s working at the Harvey House there.” The man leaned closer. “Although not many folks know that. I don’t rightly know what gives, but they asked me to keep quiet about it.”

Louis again changed his expression. This time he beamed the man a smile and hoped he looked as excited and happy as a loving father might be at the thought of reuniting with his long-lost child. “Just four hours away. Oh, what glory!” Then he frowned and looked down at the dirt and rails. “But I’ve just spent my last dime coming this far. Now I’ll never find her.”

“Nonsense,” the man said with a sympathetic smile. “There’s a freighter what’ll take you right through to Florence. I work that train tonight. If you can wait that long, I’ll see you find a spot on it, although regular passengers ain’t allowed to ride on freighters—it’s against the rules. But the fact is, Miss Irving herself took a freighter down just a few days back.”

“What will I owe you for that?” Louis asked hesitantly.

“Not a penny,” the man replied. “I’m right happy to help put the two of you back together. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No,” Louis said, shaking his head. “I figured I’d just wait.”

The man dug into his pocket and came out with a handful of change. “It ain’t much, but it’ll get ya some grub. Now, the Harvey House is good eating, but if you have a mind to see the town, then I can suggest Home Bakery at Eighth and Kansas. They have a great meal for twenty cents. I can guarantee ya won’t go away hungry.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” Louis said, trying hard to maintain his role.

The man shoved the change into Louis’s hand. “Ain’t no imposition. You’ve raised a right good young woman. She was always kind and good tempered with us workin’ folk. Didn’t take on any airs. You should be proud.”

“Thank you.” Louis barely managed to force the words out of his mouth. The man made Simone sound like a pillar of the community—all sweetness and goodness. He didn’t need that. What he had in mind for Simone would require a more seductive nature.

“Pleased to help you, mister,” the man replied. “I’ll see ya back here tonight. Just come on over to that shed about nine,” he said, pointing. “I’ll be there.”

Louis nearly did a dance as he left the train yard. Tonight he would close the final distance between him and Simone! Jiggling the change in his hand, he headed up the street to Kansas Avenue, a path he’d taken in following Matthews. His luck was changing and he felt like celebrating.

“Say,” he questioned the first man he came across, “where can a fellow get a drink in this town?”

The man looked at him strangely for a moment. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Nope, just came in on the train,” Louis admitted.

The man nodded. “Well, that explains it. Kansas is a dry state. We don’t have a saloon here.”

“What?” Louis asked in surprise. “No liquor?”

“That’s right. Not a drop,” the man replied, then leaned closer. “Unless, of course, you have a prescription for it.”

“A prescription? You mean a fellow has to go to the doctor in order to get a bottle of whiskey?”

The shorter man pulled back and laughed. “That’s exactly right. Keeps most of the common folk from having the stuff, but every legislator in town is under a doctor’s care. If you get my meaning.” He walked off, laughing at his quip, leaving Louis to stare after him as though the man had gone mad.

“No whiskey,” he muttered. “What a brutal place.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

SOMEHOW KNOWING WITH certainty that she was a wanted woman caused Simone to cling to her freedom like never before. Once again sharing a room with Una at the Florence Harvey House and Clifton Hotel, Simone spent quiet, reflective moments long into the night while her friend jotted letters. It was as if seeing the Wanted posters and considering her own execution had caused a fight for life to rise up in Simone. The significance poured over her in a stunning way. She wanted to live—wanted to grow older, marry, bear children. For the first time in years, Simone yearned to open her heart up to love and happiness. But now it was too late. She felt suffocated at the thought that she would never be able to clear her name … and that ultimately she would be found guilty of murder.

During her first week in Florence, Simone had nearly gone to turn herself in to the law on a dozen different occasions. The waiting was killing her. She felt the need to constantly look over her shoulder when she was working, and at night when she was alone it was even worse. Even Una noticed her agitation, but Simone refused to share her secret. Jeffery and Rachel already knew, and that was more than enough. Dragging Una into the situation wouldn’t resolve anything.

I can’t deal with this anymore
, she thought, lying on her bed in pensive silence. Immediately her mother’s voice seemed to echo through her mind.

“When all else fails, Simone, don’t forget the power of prayer.”

The power of prayer? Simone had always wondered about the suggestion that prayer held power. She had prayed so hard as a child that her mother’s misery would end—that her own misery could be finished. She thought of the child she’d been, offering up her tearful prayers of repentance, pleading with God to show her forgiveness and give her a happy family. But it had never happened, and it was impossible for Simone to continue believing in a loving God who answered prayers when it was so clear that He wasn’t answering hers.

I suppose that was a selfish way to look at things
, she surmised.
But it seemed so accurate given the misery I suffered. If God is truly as powerful and loving as Mother always said, then why did He let us suffer so?
She focused her eyes on the ceiling of the dimly lit room.
Why, God? Why did you not hear my prayers? Why couldn’t you save me from the circumstance that would lead me to commit murder? You know in my heart I never intended to kill anyone. If you are all-knowing, then you realize even now that I never intended for Garvey Davis to die. I only wanted freedom. I only wanted to save myself from what he had in mind. God, nobody else was fighting for me. I had to fight for myself. Surely you know the truth in this
.

Simone was startled to realize she was praying. After years of declaring it a useless act, and even going so far as to say God didn’t exist, here she was crying out to Him for answers.

Una finished her letter and yawned. “I’m ready for bed now. Do you need the candle?”

Simone shook her head. “No. I’m about to fall asleep.” This couldn’t be further from the truth, but Simone didn’t want to encourage her roommate’s conversation any further. With a nod, Una blew out the candle, leaving only the light of a nearly full moon to trail in through the window. Simone heard Una kneel beside her bed and could see her shadowy figure spend at least ten minutes in prayer on her knees. How could she be so confident that anyone listened? How could she hold on to the hope that God really cared when it seemed so clearly evident that He might not care at all?

When Una finished she got into her bed without a word, and within a few moments Simone could hear her deep, even breathing—a sure sign that the blond-haired woman had fallen asleep. As if waiting for this cue, Simone sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her chest. At least the heat and humidity had lessened. They were having what Una called a very dry autumn-summer. There was even some concern about drought, although folks were just as inclined to suggest waiting a spell for the weather to change. Kansas, they said, was notorious for such changes. One farmer even teased Simone about the weather, saying that just that morning he’d passed from his house to the barn traveling first in rain. He then left the barn to slop the hogs and found himself in a wind so fierce it nearly took off his clothes. Then leaving the pig shed to go check on his wheat, the farmer found himself in a snowstorm, and by the time he got back to the house, the sun was shining and the heat bearing down on him like a furnace. The other people at her table had laughed at this analogy, swearing it was nearly true. Simone had smiled, even laughed. She’d liked the gentle man and his teasing. How different he was from her father.

Jeffery, too, was different. She hated thinking about him. He had promised to join her in Florence within a couple of days of her departure, but he’d telegrammed her saying that circumstances prevented him from leaving Topeka. It caused Simone to feel anxious, almost hurt, and because of that she didn’t know what to say or how to respond. She wanted to guard her heart away from her feelings, but it just wasn’t to be. Then a telegram arrived earlier that evening saying that he would see her tomorrow. That he would arrive around noon and they would talk about the future. And while a part of her looked forward to his arrival, another part feared seeing him again.

I don’t know what to do
, she thought, rocking back and forth, seeking comfort. She remembered a time when her mother would have rocked her. She imagined herself crawling up into her mother’s arms and finding the warmth and protection she sought. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

“Oh, Mama,” she whispered. “I don’t really hate you. In fact, I would give my life to have you here just now.” Her chest ached with this revelation. She had tried so hard, for so many years, to convince herself that she hated the only human being to ever show her unconditional love. “Why? Why couldn’t you have just stayed with me? I was just a little girl. I still feel like a little girl.” Simone sobbed softly into the folds of her nightgown.

Unbearable pain tore through her. The misery of the last seven years began to overwhelm her. How hard she had tried to deny her feelings. How hard she had fought to feel nothing. She had convinced herself that her protection was found in not remembering, but now it was clear that this had only led to further grief and suffering.

I’m hopeless
, she thought, and a shudder washed over her. There was great truth in that statement.
I am without hope. Nothing could more clearly plead my cause or outline my existence
. She pressed her nightgown against her eyes and willed her tears to stop.
This will not help
, she reminded herself.
It never helped in the past and it surely cannot change things now. I am alone. There is no one to help
.