Читать книгу Inherited: Unexpected Family - Gabrielle Meyer - Страница 11

Chapter One

Minnesota Territory

June 26, 1857

There was no telling what awaited Elizabeth Bell and her two sisters when they reached the Northern Hotel. Elizabeth inhaled the humid air, wishing for a breeze as the stagecoach lurched and swayed over the Wood’s Tail. They had left St. Paul early that morning and her anticipation had mounted with each passing mile. By night’s end she would know how much work lay ahead before they could open the hotel. Maybe, just maybe, they would finally have the lives they had dreamed about since Papa abandoned them four years ago.

The last vestiges of daylight streaked across the sky, casting long shadows over Grace, who sat across from Elizabeth. A sudden bump forced Elizabeth to dig her feet into the floor to stay seated. She clutched Rose tighter on her lap so her little sister wouldn’t fall.

“Grace?” Elizabeth spoke quietly so she wouldn’t wake Rose.

Grace, just barely nineteen, stared out the window with thinly veiled hostility, unwilling to acknowledge Elizabeth. She had not wanted to leave their home in Rockford, Illinois, and had made the weeklong trip unbearable. “Could you hold Rose for a bit? I’d like to look at Papa’s letter one more time to make sure we’re going to the right place.”

Papa’s letter had been the only correspondence they had received from him in four years, and it had been written on his deathbed. He’d left them a hotel in Minnesota Territory. It was the perfect solution to so many troubles Elizabeth had faced in Rockford. She could get out from under a domineering employer, start over with a fresh reputation and take Grace away from the rough crowd she’d been going around with. If only Grace would cooperate.

She continued to look out the window and didn’t bother to respond to Elizabeth’s request.

Elizabeth sighed and repositioned herself on the hard bench, causing Rose to stir in her sleep. The four-year-old cuddled close on Elizabeth’s lap, her cheek pressed against Elizabeth’s shoulder, her soft curls tickling Elizabeth’s cheek. Mama had died giving birth to Rose, and Papa had disappeared the moment they finished burying her. His sudden departure had left Elizabeth to provide for her sisters. Thankfully, sweet Rose knew very little about all the pain they had endured and she had no memory of losing either parent.

Elizabeth squinted into the fading sunlight and noticed the first building they’d seen in several miles. She sat up straighter. Was this Little Falls? Their new home? She knew virtually nothing about the town, except for the gossip their stagecoach driver had shared with them—and none of it was good. A failing economy, a gang of desperadoes and a decline in population threatened her plans for the hotel—but surely hard work and dedication would go a long way toward their success.

Anything was better than their life in Rockford.

Another building rushed by, and yet another. The orange sunset sparkled off the Mississippi River in the distance. A sawmill appeared on the banks at the bottom of a hill, with a house and barn outlined in the shadows nearby. Soon dozens of various-sized buildings lined the main stretch of road. A church, a bank, a two-story general store and even a hotel called The Batters House Hotel. Elizabeth hadn’t anticipated competition, but hopefully her hospitality would draw customers to the Northern.

Grace’s stiff shoulders did not indicate any interest in the new town until a group of men shouted a hello at the passing stage.

Here and there people stood on the wooden boardwalks watching the stage roll by. Some came and went out of buildings, and others gathered in small clusters talking.

Most of them were men.

Elizabeth turned her attention toward the Northern. No doubt the hotel would be boarded up after Papa’s death. They might need help prying off the boards to get inside, but maybe the driver would have a tool for them to use. From the date on the letter, and the finality of Papa’s words, Elizabeth estimated that he had died about a month ago. She had mourned his loss, but had little time to dwell on what it meant. She’d worked for a week to sell their meager belongings in Rockford and secure their travel plans.

“We should be getting close,” Elizabeth said, excitement and trepidation making her voice sound higher than she intended. “The driver told us the stage stops right outside the Northern.”

Grace didn’t respond, her blue eyes, so like Elizabeth’s, focused on another group of men walking in the same direction the stage was headed.

The stage came to a stop outside a large white clapboard building. It was an impressive Greek Revival structure that covered the length of one city block, and looked out of place with the humble buildings in the rest of town. Several lights had already been lit within the pretty establishment, and at least half a dozen men entered through the front door.

Elizabeth frowned. “I thought the stage stopped at the Northern Hotel.”

“Maybe this is the Northern Hotel,” Grace said in a dry tone.

“How could it be?” Elizabeth handed Rose to Grace, not waiting for her sister’s approval, and ducked as she stepped to the door. “The Northern Hotel is supposed to be boarded up and empty.”

The driver appeared at the door and pulled it open. “Welcome to Little Falls.”

Elizabeth lifted her hem and stepped onto the boardwalk. “I thought the stage stopped at the Northern.”

“This here is the Northern.” He nodded at the large building.

Elizabeth looked at the structure again. “But how is that possible?” Another group of men approached and stopped outside the door to stare at her.

The driver scratched his head, tilting his hat at an odd angle. “It’s possible—’cause it just is.”

“But—” Elizabeth gasped. Was someone squatting in her hotel? Operating it in her absence? She pursed her lips, her heart rate escalating. Whoever was trespassing would soon be turned out, of that she was certain.

Elizabeth went back to the coach to speak to Grace. “I’m going in to confront the squatter. See that our luggage is unloaded properly.”

Grace nodded and Elizabeth squared her shoulders. She’d been forced to deal with her fair share of stubborn men in the past four years. One more shouldn’t be too difficult...she hoped.

A man standing near the building pushed open the front door and doffed his cap as she marched over the threshold and into the lobby.

The interior of the building was just as impressive as the exterior. Elizabeth paused to let her eyes roam over the white wainscoting, the wide stairway and the floral sofa near the door. In the opposite corner, to Elizabeth’s right, was a sturdy counter covered with the same wainscoting. A man stood behind the counter, his back to the door, his head bent over a thick ledger. When he stood straight, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice his height and the breadth of his shoulders under a well-tailored suit coat.

So this was the squatter.

Elizabeth clenched her jaw and prepared for battle. She strode to the counter, ignoring the curious looks she garnered from dozens of patrons milling about the lobby. The air was thick with conversation and the smell of heady cologne mixed with cigar smoke.

She stopped at the counter, but he did not turn.

She cleared her throat, but he must not have heard over the conversation.

Finally, she did something most unladylike and tapped his broad shoulder. “Pardon me.”

He turned, his dark brown hair shimmering under the light above his head, his equally brown eyes holding a hint of surprise. “May I help you?”

Elizabeth swallowed the nerves quivering up her throat. My, but he was a handsome man—much too handsome to be a squatter.

But, then again, weren’t most scoundrels handsome? Her ex-fiancé, James, had been very good-looking.

She straightened her backbone and lifted her chin. “Who are you?”

Humor twinkled in his eyes. “Jude Allen. Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. What are you doing in my hotel?”

His humor subsided, just a bit. “Your hotel?”

“You’re squatting on my property and I demand you leave immediately before I contact the local authority.”

He did laugh this time. “I’d like to see you try to get the sheriff to do something useful around here.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re trespassing and I want you to leave.”

He leaned forward, his hands on the counter, all trace of laughter gone from his deep voice. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny or just annoying. If you’re here for a room, I’m sorry, but we’re full because of the ball.” He tilted his head to a set of double doors leading into a ballroom where dozens of people spun about the room.

She put her hands on the counter, too. “I don’t want a room—I want my hotel.”

He leaned even closer, his voice lowered. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but this is my hotel. Has been for two years.”

Elizabeth’s lips straightened into a tight line. “This was my father’s hotel, and he left it to me and my sisters. I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but this is my hotel.”

“That’s impossible. I don’t even know who your father is.”

“Clarence Bell, the owner of the Northern Hotel.”

His face became still and he slowly stood straight, disbelief lining his handsome features. “Clarence had a daughter?”

She planted her feet. “Three daughters and we’re here to claim our inheritance.”

They had come so far she wouldn’t let this man stand in her way now.

* * *

Jude couldn’t take his eyes off the beauty before him—the woman who was making such a ludicrous claim. Her sparking blue eyes were filled with determination and certainty. Her gown looked outdated and almost worn through, with frayed cuffs and carefully placed patches. Was she Clarence’s daughter or a desperate woman looking for a free ride?

“It’s impossible,” Jude said. “Clarence never mentioned being married, let alone fathering children.” He had never said much at all, which made their partnership ideal.

The door opened and another woman entered the lobby, her chocolate-brown curls and stunning blue eyes indicating she was related to the woman standing on the other side of the counter. She held a sleeping child in her arms and she looked just as exhausted and threadbare as the first.

“I don’t know why Papa failed to mention us,” the first woman said—though her tight lips and stilted voice suggested she wasn’t surprised. “But, regardless, we are his daughters and heirs to his hotel.”

The conversation in the lobby stilled as several people stopped to listen to their exchange. Jude was highly respected as one of the first business owners in Little Falls. He’d built the American Hotel in 1855, but it had been nothing compared to the impressive Northern. When the Northern had come up for sale just a few months later, Jude sold his smaller hotel to Mr. Batters. He didn’t have enough money to buy the Northern, so he’d taken on a business partner, Clarence Bell. The man was moody and taciturn—though he was a good businessman. He’d taken over the bookwork and behind-the-scenes operations, while Jude worked at the front of the hotel with the customers and staff. It had been a good partnership—until Clarence fell ill and died a month ago.

Jude had assumed he was the sole owner of the Northern after Clarence’s passing...apparently he’d been wrong. But how could he be sure? “Do you have proof? Did Clarence have a will I’m not aware of?”

“I have a letter.”

“A letter? That’s all you have to prove you’re his heir?”

“What else do I need?”

“A legal document, at the very least. A birth certificate, a will—something substantial.”

She anchored her gloved hands on the counter, her voice level, her jaw firm. “My father abandoned us four years ago. The only thing I have from him is a letter.”

How could Clarence have abandoned his own children? “Where is the letter?”

She opened the reticule dangling from her wrist and pulled out an envelope as the other lady approached.

The second woman stood behind her sister and surveyed the room with disdain wrinkling her brow. It was hard to imagine these beautiful women were Clarence’s daughters. They looked nothing like him. The man had been unkempt and disheveled, to say the least. Why had he never mentioned a family?

The first lady handed the letter over to Jude. It was addressed to Elizabeth and Grace.

“I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “This is Grace.” She indicated the other woman. “And the child is our youngest sister, Rose.”

Jude lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at each of the women, his gaze stopping on the sleeping child.

He looked back at the letter and, sure enough, it was Clarence’s handwriting. He’d know it anywhere. And the letter seemed legitimate, written the day before Clarence had died. He apologized for leaving them four years ago upon the death of his wife and asked for their forgiveness. He’d planned to invite them to Little Falls once he had enough money to send for them, but he’d used it all to buy the hotel. As a way of recompense, he offered the hotel to his daughters.

Pain began to pulse in the back of Jude’s eyes as he lowered the letter. This couldn’t be happening. He had gone into the hotel business for one reason only: to rescue defenseless women from prostitution. The profits from the hotel allowed him to help them escape and then give them a job while his cook, Martha, taught them domestic skills. Over the past two years, they had rescued ten women, including his current maid, Violet. The other nine had either married or found jobs far from where they had been enslaved to their former profession.

Jude was driven to redeem the sins of his past, but no matter how many women he rescued, he could never bring back to life the one woman he wanted to save, but couldn’t.

His mother.

What would the Bell sisters think when they met Violet or found out what he did with the proceeds from the hotel? Clarence hadn’t liked it, but he’d allowed Jude to continue if it didn’t interfere with the business. There was no way the prim and proper Miss Bell would approve—and, as 50 percent owner, she would have a say...if she found out.

Jude handed the letter back to Elizabeth, resolve strengthening his voice. “I plan to speak to my attorney in the morning.”

She put it back in the envelope. “What’s there to discuss? We own half of this hotel.”

Jude cringed. It couldn’t be true. What did they know of running a business? “I don’t believe this letter will hold up in court. It’s not a legal document—just a piece of paper written when your father wasn’t in his right mind.”

“His right mind?” Elizabeth spoke the words in a sort of hushed anger. She looked over her shoulder at her sisters and then around at the room of men watching them. She lowered her voice. “Mr. Allen, I do not believe we are in a frame of mind to argue this further tonight. I propose we both visit the attorney tomorrow and sort this out.”

“Fine.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

The little girl roused in Grace’s arms and lifted her head to look around the room. She, unlike her sisters, had golden-blond hair and deep-brown eyes—the same color as Clarence’s. They blinked with sleep and came to rest on Jude. She studied his face and didn’t look away, even when she reached for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth took the child and then addressed Jude. “We are all tired. Will you please show us to our father’s room?”

Martha appeared from down the hall where she spent most of her time in the kitchen. She wiped her knotted hands on her apron, her concerned gaze hopping from one Bell sister to the other and finally landing on Jude. Her droopy bun hung loose at the back of her head and wisps of graying hair poked out around her face. She was one of the hardest workers Jude had ever met, which was one of the many reasons he trusted her explicitly. She watched all of them closely, but didn’t take a step forward to interfere.

“Your father’s rooms are occupied,” Jude said.

“Then we’d like whatever you have available. My sisters are tired.”

How could he refuse Clarence’s daughters a place to stay, especially the child? But where would he put them?

“Jude.” Martha finally approached, a frown of disapproval on her face. She had become his surrogate mother over the years and he felt her chastisement now. “Are these Clarence’s daughters?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “They’re tired and grieving and should have their papa’s rooms. You can sleep on one of the sofas in the parlor.”

Elizabeth looked at once relieved and irritated. She addressed Jude. “You’re the one occupying my father’s rooms?”

Jude had given the master’s suite to Clarence when they had purchased the establishment, but he’d moved in after Clarence passed. “I will give them to you and your sisters for now, but as soon as we clear up this mess, I’ll see you on the next stage out of town.”

“Hush, now,” Martha said in her no-nonsense way. “All that can be worked out later. I’ll show them to their rooms.” Martha turned to the Bell sisters. “Don’t mind Jude. He’s just surprised, is all. I’m Martha Dupree. I’m the cook around here, but I’m more like the mama hen.” She chuckled at her own joke as she pulled the women close around her. “I’ll show you to your rooms and Andrew can bring up your things.” She glanced at Andrew, the stagecoach driver.

He dipped the brim of his hat and headed out the door.

Martha ushered the ladies up the stairs, clucking all the way about how tired they looked and how hungry they must be.

At least two dozen men stood around the lobby, watching their ascent with keen interest, no doubt wondering who the pretty strangers were and when they’d get a chance to meet. The town was young, only a few years old, and like many frontier settlements the single-male population far outnumbered the eligible females. It was probably a good thing they were going up to his room. With a ball going on, they’d soon be bombarded with attention and they didn’t look energetic enough to deal with that sort of problem.

A thought struck Jude and he scrambled to get out from behind the counter. He raced up the stairs and ran down the hall, but he was too late. Martha had already showed them into his room.

He had to get his journal before they noticed it lying open on the secretary. It was full of details about his mission work, his contacts throughout the territory and notes about several women who were in need of help.

If they saw what he did, he was sure they would not think very highly of him or the women he rescued. Most proper young women didn’t.

He and Martha worked hard to keep their mission work a secret from the citizens of Little Falls. It would be much harder to keep it hidden from two women and a child living under his roof.