Northern Lights Trilogy (62 page)

As they strolled to the hotel, the boys ran back to them to inquire what all the fuss was about, then ran ahead again, letting it roll off their shoulders as only children could. Joseph thought about what Mary had said. If God had something in store for Tora, perhaps she would soon be a different woman. Perhaps it was what Trent sensed too, and what made him want to keep an eye on her. With God, all things were possible. If he could move mountains, he could transform Tora Anders.

After a long day’s train ride, Tora detrained in Spokane, happy for the sight and sounds of a fresh place, a place not yet entirely closed to her. At least there were a roof and walls on the hotel, which meant someplace for her to sleep for the night. She was down to her last dollar, as incredible as that seemed, unsure where the next would come from. If she could succeed in flattering the other banker in town, and her foreman, she’d be up and running in no time. She simply had to find a means to survive, just until the hotel opened. And then life would return to normal. She’d have her own source of income, a way to pay back Trent Storm the money she had “borrowed,” and the cash to buy back her home in Helena.

She left her trunks at the train station, telling the manager she would return for them shortly, and walked the block to her hotel. Unable to believe her eyes, Tora dropped her valise in the middle of the road. Nothing had been accomplished on the shell of her hotel. There were no windows, no interior walls. On the frame of the front door was a simple sign: F
ORECLOSED
.

She had thought the foreclosure would take time—that she had a few months to work things out. So much for the advice of flimflam lawyers. It was clear to her at last. She had been found out in Spokane as certainly as she had been in Helena. This was not her last chance. She was out of chances.

Feeling woozy, she began to reel, the sight before her fading in and out of focus. Carriages drove by, passengers staring at her in consternation. A cowboy walked up to her and said, “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

But all she could say was, “Fine, fine.”

She stood there, staring for what seemed like hours, unable to do anything else. Suddenly, a small man was at her elbow, rousting her from her seated position and guiding her to the boardwalk on the far side of the street. “A shock for you, I’d gather, Miss Anders.”

Tora looked at him for the first time. “Why, Mr. Campbell. What are you doing here?”

“I have some investments I needed to check on this way.” He studied her for a moment. “I take it that building was yours?”

“Once,” she muttered.

“Now, I’ll not tread warily, Miss Anders. You and I both know you are facing dire circumstances. I insist on looking after you for the evening. I am happily married. This is not some ruse. I do this as a Christian and a gentleman. Please do not confuse the issue.”

Tora looked at him, feeling as if she could not focus, let alone take advantage of the man. “Certainly,” was all she could murmur.

He took her arm. “This way, Miss Anders. I will see that you have a decent meal, bath, and room for the night. Tomorrow, you are on your own.”

Tora awakened late the next morning, feeling as if she had been drugged. It took her several minutes to remember where she was, and what she faced. What came to mind made her want to dive back under the covers. She did so for a bit, groaned, and then threw back the
comforter. For better or worse, she had to face this day. She had to find a job, quickly, and the means to purchase food.

It grated on her nerves to remember Mr. Campbell’s kindness the day before. In a stupor, she had not been able to do anything but accept his charity. It had felt heavenly, but now she owed him.
At least I know where he lives
, she thought grimly. As soon as she had the funds, she would wire him money to reimburse his expenses.

She quickly dressed and repacked her valise, for the first time remembering her trunks at the train station. Who knew if they still remained? The thought set her heart pounding, and she hurriedly made her way downstairs to the man at the lobby counter. “Pardon me. Can you tell me if you have seen Mr. Campbell this morning? I wish to speak to him.”

“He checked out earlier, ma’am,” the man said, using
ma’am
as if it were a derogatory word. No doubt he thought something unseemly had gone on between them, since Mr. Campbell had paid for her room and such intimacies as a bath and dinner. The clerk clearly did not recognize her as the Roadhouse Maven.

“I am sorry to hear that,” she said graciously, ignoring his rude manner. “I will be checking out today as well. Tell me, I am in search of work. Do you know of anyone who is immediately hiring?”

“What’s your experience?”

“Roadhouse work, for the most part. I have done everything from serve food to manage restaurants. I am willing to do whatever’s set before me.” Tora hoped she sounded dignified, not desperate.

“We’re full up here at the restaurant. Only restaurant work around here was going to be … Why, you’re the girl, aren’t you?” He glanced down at his books. “Sure enough. Tora Anders! I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re out of luck in this town. Nobody’s gonna hire the likes of you after what you did to Mr. Storm.”

“Well, of all things—”

“Now before you go off in a huff, Mr. Campbell did do one last
thing for you. He had your trunks transferred to my storage room. I’d appreciate if you’d get them out of there by day’s end.”

“I will do my best. It all depends on my finding employment today.”

He pursed his lips, obviously considering her prospects. “Fine. Just be aware that if they’re not out by the time the stage comes to town, they’ll be sitting in the street. I have no room to store the luggage of no-accounts.”

“Of all the rude … You haven’t seen the last of me, mister. And next time you do, you had better find your manners.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said drolly as she walked out of the hotel and to the street.

Her situation was utterly humiliating. How could it all have come to this? How could Trent have cast her so far from him? This was more than a lovers’ breakup; this was cruel spite. It was one thing to withdraw his company from her, but quite another to take away every shred of her dignity, everything she’d worked so hard for. Someone who loved her could never treat her so foully. Had there ever been a real love between them?

Angry now, Tora began entering every storefront in town, including the saloons. But it was as the hotel clerk had told her: the town was closed to Tora Anders. For the first time, she lamented taking on Trent Storm. And despite everything, she missed him all the more. Should she find her way back to Duluth? Try to talk to him once more? With a dollar in her pocket, how could she even make the trip?

After leaving the mercantile at the center of town, she collapsed on a bench just outside the door. No one was going to hire her. The only people who gave her a second glance were the barkeepers in the saloon, obviously thinking of less virtuous ways to make a dollar. The thought was preposterous. Never would she stoop to such levels!

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, and she again considered her lack of funds. How was she to survive? Perhaps she should spend her last coins on a wire to Trent! As angry as he might be with her,
surely he did not intend to turn her out on the streets … or perhaps he did. The thought made her genuinely sorry for her actions. She stared through a dust cloud kicked up by a passing stage, seeing only Trent’s face as he had seen her off on her Montana adventure four years before. What could have changed between them? Why had her move driven him away, rather than straight into her arms as she’d planned?

She shook her head as if to shake out the image, and looked down the street to where the stagecoach had stopped in front of the hotel. True to his word, the hotel clerk had deposited her trunks on the street. “Of all the nerve!” she muttered angrily, rising to have a word with the man. But as she neared, Tora realized she had little to say, and shaky footing on which to stand. He was right; she had no call to assume he could keep her things. They belonged to her, and they were in his way. But how was she supposed to move all of these trunks? And to where?

She sat down dejectedly atop the largest, her head in her hands as she strained to find an answer. But none came, even as the sun set and the long arm of dusk enveloped the town. Fewer people remained on the street, and Tora became desperate. Where could she go? What would happen to her if she stayed out on the sidewalk for the night? Surely the whole town could not be as cruel as that! If only Mr. Campbell had remained!

Seeing no other choice, she approached the clerk again, asking to work for the night in his restaurant in exchange for a meal and a bed. He threatened to throw her out. With as much dignity as she could find, she walked out, head high, even as her heart sank to her toes.

Never in her life had she felt so lost, so afraid.

Tora vaguely heard the sound of creaking leather. Horror overtook her. Weak from hunger and exhaustion, she had fallen asleep among her baggage! Grimly, she opened her eyes to see a horse, and beyond him, a middle-aged man in a wagon who had paused beside her, peering at
her through the darkness as if she were a vision. “Ma’am?” he tried tentatively. “You needin’ some help?”

Tora fluttered her eyelashes, wondering at the proper response. At last! Someone who did not know her or of her reputation! “Oh yes, sir. I am afraid I’ve just arrived in town in search of work, and cannot find a soul who will consider employing me.”

The man took off his hat and scratched his head. “Now that’s funny. Thought there was more work in this town than there was workers. What kind of job are you seeking?”

“Well, most of my experience has been in running restaurants, but I am a good cook, and I have taken care of children in the past.”

“Sound educated,” he said softly, studying her eyes. His own were weary, sad.

“Quite a few years in Norway,” she said, lifting her chin. “I learned English before I arrived in America, and tend to think I’ve done a good job in perfecting it.”

“Know your numbers?”

“Very well.”

He was silent, continuing to stare at her as if he could discern what she might not be telling him. It was as if she could hear his questions out loud. After all, if there were plenty of jobs in town, why had she not found a position? And what kind of woman took off to parts unknown without enough money to stay in a hotel until she was safely employed? Tora willed herself not to shift her position but rather to return his gaze as if unafraid that he, too, might leave her there on the street.

“Name’s Owen Crosby,” he said carefully. “You are …?”

“Tora Anders,” she said without thinking, then held her breath to see if the name meant anything to the man.

“Got a spread about five miles from here. Got a schoolhouse in need of a schoolmarm immediately. Want to give it a try?”

A teacher? He wanted her to teach a bunch of children? “Oh, Mr. Crosby, I’m afraid I have no teaching experience.”

“There’s a shanty attached to the schoolhouse that’s all your own. The missus could give you a hot meal tonight.”

“I’ll try it,” she said a second later, unable to pass up the chance at a warm supper and a decent bed for the night. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try for a few days, and it would buy her time to decide on her next step.
Forward
, she told herself,
no longer backward
. She would show them, she coached herself with renewed vigor. They would all see who would win when it came down between Trent Storm and Tora Anders! “Now, Mr. Crosby, if you would be so kind as to help me with my luggage …”

Once they were loaded up, Mr. Crosby stopped at the mercantile, placing the merchandise he purchased in the back beside her trunks. As they drove off, Tora looked again at the window. For she was certain that she had glimpsed a man who looked exactly like Mr. Campbell. But then, she was so hungry, she supposed she could be hallucinating by now.

Early September 1886

E
lsa sat at the edge of her bed as Riley saw the
Eagle
to port. Kristian sat by her side, silent, as if aware of her anguish. For weeks she had longed to disembark, to get off this ship of memories and to her home. But now, with bags packed, the voyage over, she was reluctant to leave the last place she had shared with Peder and return to a home of other memories. A knock sounded at her door. “Enter,” she said.

“Mrs. Ramstad,” Riley said, hat in hand. He was a silhouette against the bright sunlight of one of Seattle’s brilliant early fall days. “The ship’s in, and I’m ready to see to her needs. I thought you and Kristian might like to take the first skiff to shore.”

“Indeed,” she said, standing at last. She turned around to glance at the room, the last room she would ever share with her husband. “You will see to our things?”

“We’ll get ’em delivered to the house,” he said gently. “You want me to clean out the cap’n’s belongings as well?”

“Do whatever you think necessary, Riley.” She moved forward, suddenly conscious of the tears ready to come. It had been weeks since she had cried, but clearly, her mourning had just begun. For to have Riley clear out Peder’s things meant that another would captain his ship, another would inhabit their cabin.