Helen Heals A Hotelier (Brides With Grit Book 10) Page 2

  The November morning was cold, so she enjoyed the warmth of the depot as she walked in after standing outside the past hour waiting for the train.

  Helen was too nervous to eat much for breakfast, but forced herself to eat part of it. The rest she’d sneaked upstairs for the girls to eat later in case she wasn’t back by noon. She gave Iva Mae strict instructions to keep all her sisters in their room until she returned, and Helen prayed Mr. Paulson didn’t hear a peep out of them this morning while she was gone.

  She looked around the interior of the waiting room and saw five women and three children, but no man. Oh no. Was he outside when she pulled her “departure”?

  “Miss Helen Higby?” Helen whirled around when a man called her name behind her. He was average height, brown hair, trimmed mustache, and wearing a nice overcoat. His hat was in his left hand and his right extending toward her.

  “Mr. Maurice Jensen?” Helen questioned the man looking to be closer to forty than her thirty years of age.

  “Yes I am, and may I say it’s simply a pleasure to meet such a stunning beauty as yourself.” He took her gloved hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Then his dazzling smile made her feel at ease. This was going to work out, she thought with relief.

  “I’ve been counting the days to your arrival and can’t believe I’m finally meeting my bride.” He still held her hand, now clasped between both of his.

  “You are so pretty, and I’m embarrassing both of us by staring at you.” Maurice stroked her gloved hand, giving her an odd sensation of feeling like a cat. Well at least he was friendly and affectionate.

  “I’ll arrange for your luggage to be transported.” He let go of her hand and started to step over to the agent’s window.

  “No I...” Helen stalled thinking of what to say. “I’ve already arranged for it to be taken to the Paulson Hotel so you don’t have to bother.” Helen smiled sweetly, seeing the frown on Maurice’s face a second before his forehead smoothed again.

  “Well, an efficient woman. I like that. I planned to spend our wedding night there anyway, so that’s perfect.” Maurice gave a slight nod and another smile.

  “But first, I’ve already made plans for our day. After our marriage ceremony, I thought we’d take a drive out to see our ranch. I’m having some work done on the inside of the house so we won’t be able to go inside for a few days.”

  Helen panicked, thinking about being away from her daughters.

  “I hear Clancy’s Café has a lovely lunch menu. May we eat there before we go out on our drive?” She had to break the news to Maurice she’d brought four daughters with her, and she wanted the conversation to happen in a public place.

  He paused, like he wasn’t sure how to take her making decisions without her asking him first.

  “Um, of course. I was thinking of eating elsewhere, but whatever my bride wants. But first, I arranged for us to be married at the Methodist Church in Ellsworth, so we need to step back on the train to ride to the next town.”

  He extended his elbow for her to take it to go back outside, but she froze, thinking of leaving the girls in Clear Creek by themselves. “Why not marry at the church here in town?”

  “It’s only a little community church and I wanted us to have a proper marriage in an established church. It will only take a few hours and we’ll be back in time for lunch. The ride will give us time to get to know each other, too.” Helen tried to relax as Maurice opened the depot door to usher her back on the train.

  Iva Mae, please take care of the girls...and don’t let them run up and down the halls of the hotel...

  ***

  Ethan cocked his head, listening to the girls upstairs, and wondered what they were doing. Their room was almost down to the end of the hall on the second story, but he could hear their bickering all the way down to the front desk. Ethan knew by their conversation yesterday that their mother was marrying this morning. So why weren’t the girls attending the ceremony?

  He had seen them together at breakfast, with Mrs. Higby hiding food, probably toast, in her napkin, to take up to the room. He hadn’t heard a peep from the room for the first couple of hours and thought he’d missed their leaving the hotel this morning on the way to the church. He assumed Pastor Reagan would be marrying them, anyway.

  The noise had ceased so he decided to investigate. He turned to go up the stairs and saw all four girls looking through the stair posts down at him. Something was up.

  “What do you need, girls?”

  “I was supposed to keep them in our room,” Iva Mae waved at her line of sisters, “but the smell of chicken cooking in the kitchen is about to drive us crazy. Momma’s not back yet and we’re hungry.”

  “So where is your momma and why aren’t you with her?” Ethan folded his arms and looked up at them.

  “Momma got to marry Mr. Jensen first, cause he don’t know about us girls,” Maridell announced matter-of-factly.

  “Maridell! You’re not to tell anyone that!”

  Oh, oh, Ethan thought. Daughter number two is now going to hear it from her big sister. Ethan counted to ten to let them get over their arguing. Are all little girls this dramatic?

  “Okay, that’s enough, girls. Let’s go down to the dining room and Naomi will get you something to eat.” All chattering stopped and blue, green, brown and gray eyes darted to his mention of food.

  “Chicken pot pie? That’s what it smells like. When Momma was married to Avalee’s poppa, we had it all the time since he was fond of it.” Iva Mae stated while trying to carry a protesting Luella down the stairs.

  And Iva Mae thought Maridell talked too much about their family? Well, daughter number one was dishing out facts about her mother like it was gravy over a big plate of mashed potatoes. How many times had Mrs. Higby been married anyway? Did he dare ask?

  The girls ran to the table they had sat at for breakfast, the youngest struggling to climb on a regular chair. “Here, Luella, let me put you in your high chair.” She didn’t make a peep when Ethan picked her up. The toddler was as light as a feather, but she had problems getting her left foot lifted straight so he could slide her legs between the chair and the little table attached to the top of it. Luella’s foot curved in at an odd angle. Was that why she seemed to have problems walking?

  “What’s wrong with Luella’s foot?” He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but apparently he did when Iva Mae answered him.

  “She’s got a club foot. Momma’s been rubbing and stretching it since she was born, so it’s not as crooked as it used to be.”

  “That’s why Luella’s poppa divorced us,” Avalee sadly whispered.

  “What? He left you because of her foot?” Now Ethan’s voice was rising at her declaration.

  “Yep, left us at the train station in September and we’ve been riding the train ever since.” Iva Mae seemed intent on stating the facts. Was this what Helen had told the girls, or was this their version of why they were fatherless again?

  Naomi returned with a tray of bowls and a tea towel on her shoulder. She set the tray down on the corner of the table and placed a bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of each girl, and him. “Here’s a tea towel to tie around Luella’s neck, Mr. Paulson. She’s going to need help cutting up those big dumplings and eating them, too.

  “Food is hot, girls. Let it cool a minute. Mr. Paulson, do you want milk—same as the girls—or coffee with your meal?”

  What? He didn’t plan to sit and eat with the girls, let alone feed Luella. What about watching the front desk?

  “Uh, coffee, please.” At least he was sitting where he could watch the foyer from this particular table. When was their mother coming back? He hadn’t planned to provide child care with the room, too.

  “Are you married, Mr. Paulson?” Iva Mae caught him off guard as he tried to cut the dumplings in quarter pieces without slopping all the hot broth out on the high chair top.

  “No.” Unfortunately not since Sarah decided to marry another, and be the
mother to eight orphaned children. These four would be a piece of cake for Sarah, because three of her adopted children were triplets, only a few months old.

  All he’d planned to have was one son to carry on the family name. Which was one of the problems he and Sarah had argued over. But why only one child he thought now? Because he’d been an only child myself, or because his mother had drilled that into him since he became marrying age, a decade ago. No woman he’d been interested in, in the past, had measured up to his mother’s specifications until she met Sarah.

  Boy, would his mother have a fit seeing four little girls running around the hotel, and him feeding them instead of watching the front desk. But instead of panicking like he would have done in the past, he kind of liked going against her grain.

  “What you grinning about, Mr. Paulson? Luella just threw a dumpling on your sleeve. You got broth running down onto your jacket.” Maridell asked, and Ethan realized both were true. These girls had upended his world in just twenty-four hours—and—he really didn’t mind.

  Chapter 3

  Helen was so thankful to be back in Clear Creek, sitting in the café within sight of the hotel. She about had a panic attack on the train to Ellsworth. She’d never been apart from her girls like that and her mind thought of every large catastrophe to small incident that could have happened while she was out of town. What if the train wrecked and she died? What if Maurice was a serial killer? What if Luella got out of the room and fell down the stairs?

  She still wondered why they had to go to another town to marry. They just walked into the Methodist church, were married at the altar by the minister without any fanfare, he signed the marriage license, and they walked back out. Besides the minister’s wife, who looked like she paused cleaning house before walking in to witness the vows, no one else was there.

  If he was a local rancher, why weren’t people from the ranch invited to the ceremony? Didn’t Maurice want the community to know he ordered a mail-order bride? He talked about the ranch in detail on the train ride to Ellsworth. How many thousands of acres he owned, how large the cattle herd was, how many ranch hands and head of horses it took to run the enterprise. The lavish homestead house, built of native rock by local craftsman.

  Helen couldn’t fathom the amount of land he was talking about. She grew up on a farm outside of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where fields were patches cut out of wooded areas or on rolling hills. The topography and population between her home state and this part of Kansas was about as opposite as she could imagine.

  “I wish the waitress would get over here. This place doesn’t seem to be very efficient.” Maurice looked around the café, but didn’t nod to any of the customers.

  This place? And since he lived in the area, why didn’t he say hello to people?

  “This is your hometown, Maurice. You act like you’ve never set foot in this café.”

  He gave her a startled look before smoothing out his face and replying, “I’ve an excellent cook at the ranch so I rarely eat in town.”

  “We have a cook and housekeeper?” She hadn’t thought of that possibility before, but since he was a rich rancher it made sense, and would make life so much easier for her with four children, and very possibly more in her future.

  “Oh, I let her go because I was marrying you. I wanted the house all to ourselves...and I’m sure you’re an excellent cook and housekeeper.” He reached across the table for her hands and she met his half way, hoping he didn’t feel the tension in them. She hadn’t mentioned yet that there would be four children in the house with them.

  “Yes, about that...I have...” Helen started her confession speech when she was interrupted by the waitress who stood by their table, notepad and pencil in hand ready to take their order.

  “Our specials today are fried chicken or beef stew. Both come with mashed potatoes and biscuits.”

  Maurice hadn’t even looked up at the waitress while she stated the choices, just kept his hands stretched across the small table holding her hands.

  The waitress cleared her voice and turned to Helen. “Ma’am, did you prefer the chicken or the stew?”

  Helen smiled up at the woman. She was very round with child and looked like she’d prefer to be sitting somewhere with her feet up instead of working. Going through the same situation four times herself, she knew how the woman felt. “I’ll have the chicken, please. We were married this morning, so I hope you have cake for dessert, too.”

  “Well, congratulations! You’re in luck as we have both angel food cake and sunshine cake available.”

  The waitress turned her attention to Maurice, who sat looking at the woman with a puzzled look on his face.

  “And for you, sir? The chicken or the stew?”

  “Uh…” Maynard quickly withdrew his hands from Helen’s and moved them on the table—like he was ready to push away and bolt.

  “Which meal do you prefer to celebrate your latest wedding?” What did she say? Your latest wedding? The waitress stood there expectantly; ready to write down his choice on her notepad. She smiled while Maurice’s eyes grew wide and his face turned pale.

  “I remember you had roast beef after our wedding ceremony, and I had chicken.”

  What was the woman talking about?

  “Maurice, do you know this woman?” Helen asked with concern. Something wasn’t right here.

  “Ma’am, I believe you’re confusing me with someone else.” Maurice’s face had turned even paler as his eyes traveled down to the woman’s protruding belly and stayed there an extra second.

  Now Maurice glanced around the room in a panic, like he was trying to gauge how many steps it would take to get out the front door. A man coughed loudly across the room and Helen glanced his way. The man turned in his chair and she noted the star pinned on his vest. The local town marshal perhaps?

  “Helen, I….” Maurice started to say.

  “How did you meet your groom?” The waitress butted in, not letting him talk. “It’s always fun to hear how newlyweds meet.”

  Helen looked back and forth between the two in confusion.

  “Are you by chance a mail-order bride? A lot of western ranchers look for brides back East since there is a shortage of women on the frontier,” the waitress continued talking over Maurice’s sputtering.

  “Um, yes, I did answer an advertisement and traveled from Pennsylvania to marry.” Helen answered but watched Maurice staring at the marshal, who was blatantly watching and listening to their table’s conversation.

  “Well, so did I! Helen is your name, right? Well, nice to meet you, Helen. I’m Mrs. Maynard Jantz from Boston, but please call me Lorna since we’ll become friends very soon. What church did you have your marriage ceremony at?”

  “Um, at the Methodist Church in Ellsworth. Are you familiar with it?” Helen asked.

  “I’ve been by it. My husband and I were married in the Episcopal Church in that town.”

  Maurice shoved his chair back, almost hitting the waitress in her enlarged midriff. “I’m not feeling well, so we need to leave, Helen.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t stay and enjoy your meal, Maynard. However, instead of fleeing to who knows where, I suggest you go with Marshal Wilerson and my attorney, Lyle Elison, over to the jailhouse. I believe we need to discuss the matter of my missing money, and other things,” the waitress said while patting her extended belly.

  Why was the waitress touching her middle, and then looking at Helen’s new husband?

  “What are you talking about, Mrs. Jantz? My husband’s name is Maurice, not Maynard, and what would my husband have to do with your money?” Something wasn’t right here.

  The waitress addressed Helen as the marshal and attorney walked up to block Maurice’s departure.

  “Your—or my husband—Maynard Jantz, and I were married several months ago, but then he disappeared the next day…along with my inheritance money. This is the first I’ve seen of him since then.”

  “Maynard?” Helen’s voice
quivered with panic, “Uh, no. I’m sorry, but his name is Maurice Jensen. You have the wrong man.” And why didn’t Maurice know the marshal in his own town?

  “Let’s go over to my office to sort this out, then,” Marshal Wilerson said diplomatically while pointing toward the door with his left hand, while placing his right on his hip above his revolver.

  Helen nervously rose from her chair, picked up her reticule and walked through the door the marshal held open for her. “Turn left and we’ll walk down the boardwalk about half a block.”

  “First, welcome to Clear Creek. I hope your stay is pleasant,” Marshal Wilerson acted as if it was normal to invite all visitors to see the interior of the town’s jailhouse. “Please sit down.” The marshal waved at the two wooden chairs sitting in front of his desk.

  They had walked down the simple boardwalk to a small, unpainted wooden building. A black and white painted sign saying “Jailhouse” was hung above the door they entered. Not the first business Helen planned to enter when exploring her new town.

  “I wouldn’t call being dragged to the jail as welcoming, especially on my wedding day,” Maurice huffed out. Helen noticed Mrs. Jantz and the lawyer had joined them.

  “You know, I’d like to see your marriage certificate, if I may.”

  “Why?” Maurice questioned, before glancing at Helen.

  “It would clarify your name since Mrs. Jantz disputed it.”

  “Not a problem, I have it in my reticule,” Helen opened her drawstring bag, pulled out the piece of paper, and handed it to the marshal.

  The marshal carefully unfolded the paper and read it aloud. “Helen Higby and Maurice Jensen. Yep, married today in Ellsworth.”

  “Lorna, may I see your certificate?” Mrs. Jantz stepped forward, handing the marshal her folded paper, and then stepped back by the lawyer, standing at the front door.

  “You’re welcome to have a seat, Lorna.” The marshal indicated another chair off to the side of the room. “I’d think you’d want to sit as much as you can in your condition.”