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“Violet—and the others when they lived here.”
“Who is Violet?”
“The lady Mr. Jude brought here.” Pascal stood a little straighter, his eyes going round. “Didn’t Mr. Jude tell you about them ladies?”
She shook her head. “Will you tell me?”
Pascal took a step back and put up his hands, concern deepening the wrinkles on his high forehead. “There’s nothing to tell, miss. Nothing, at all.”
What was he talking about? Who was Violet and where had Jude brought her from? “Does Violet work in the hotel?”
Pascal looked all around the lobby, everywhere except at her. He reminded her of a cornered animal and she decided to leave him be for the moment. Soon enough she’d have Mr. Allen answer her questions.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doucette.”
“Call me Pascal, same as everyone else.”
“All right, Mr. Pascal.” She left him and walked down the hall, past the double doors leading into the ballroom, past a few single doors she assumed were sitting rooms and into the large dining room. At least two dozen tables were scattered about, and ferns filled every corner. A bank of windows lined one wall facing the street, with sheer curtains draping from brass rods. White linen cloths covered the tables and a single, unlit candle stood in the center of each.
Elizabeth was surprised to find that she wasn’t the first person awake. Already there were three men seated in the room, steaming cups of coffee and large plates of flapjacks before them.
She felt their gazes as she passed through and pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen.
The aroma of coffee filled the room and she inhaled a deep breath. The smell invigorated her and gave her some much-needed energy.
“Morning, lovey. You’re up early.” Martha stood at the stove turning a flapjack. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Another woman sat in the room, polishing silverware, but she paused in her work to stare at Elizabeth. She had bright red hair and brown eyes. At first glance, Elizabeth assumed she was a young woman, but the lines around her hard eyes made her look much older.
Martha glanced at the woman and then wiped her hands on her apron. “Miss Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Miss Violet.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth said, offering her hand.
Violet put out her hand and shook Elizabeth’s with a force that surprised her.
So, this was Violet. Something about the woman didn’t settle right in Elizabeth’s mind. “Do you work here?” she asked.
“Yes, miss.”
It was a simple answer and Elizabeth waited for more of a response, but none came. “What do you do?”
Violet continued to polish a spoon. “Whatever needs to be done. Mostly I clean.”
“Don’t let her modesty fool you,” Martha said with a merry laugh. “She’s invaluable to us.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Violet looked to Martha and Martha hurriedly said, “Long enough to know she’s one of the best maids we’ve ever had.”
So far, Elizabeth had counted three employees at the hotel—four, including Mr. Allen. Were there more?
The door swung open and Mr. Allen appeared with a freshly shaved face, the pleasant scent of cologne preceding him into the room.
He scanned the kitchen and his handsome gaze stopped on Elizabeth. “Pascal told me he met you and that you came in this direction.” He let the door close behind him. “I see you’ve also met Violet.”
“I have.” She took a step closer to him and said quietly. “Are there any more employees I need to know about?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Martha placed a flapjack on a plate. “Will you have some breakfast before you go see Mr. Hall?”
“Mr. Hall?” Elizabeth asked.
“Roald Hall,” Jude supplied as he took the plate from Martha. “My attorney.”
Elizabeth touched the letter in her pocket, hoping the law would be on her side.
They ate in the kitchen, and when they were finished, she followed Jude out of the hotel and into the bright sunshine. The morning was cool, though humidity hung in the air and promised to bring more warmth later.
The Northern stood on the northwest corner of what appeared to be a main intersection. Wide streets fanned out in all four directions, the hard-packed dirt filled with deep wagon ruts crisscrossing from one side to the other. Dozens of clapboard buildings, some complete with false fronts and others fashioned in the same Greek Revival style as the Northern, lined every street, with wooden boardwalks connecting them together. It looked like many of the frontier towns they had passed on their way from Illinois to Minnesota—but it boasted something most others lacked: the rushing waters of the Upper Mississippi River.
“Mr. Hall’s office is near the ravine.” Mr. Allen motioned for her to cross the road.
“Ravine?”
“It’s an old river bed running through the eastern edge of town.”
They crossed the street, and as soon as they rounded a building on the corner, she was able to glimpse the landmark he’d referenced.
A bridge crossed the ravine, with wooden walkways on stilts extending out from either side to four different stores.
Elizabeth tried to keep up with Jude’s long strides, her boot heels clicking on the boardwalk. He was much taller than she and appeared to be just as eager to speak to the attorney.
Before long, Jude stopped in front of an unremarkable building and pushed open the door. He held it for her to enter and she passed by with nary a glance in his direction.
The law office of Roald Hall was not much to speak of. A wide desk, two bookshelves and a few wooden chairs were the only items in the room.
But the man behind the desk lit up the space with a gregarious smile. “Welcome! Come on in.” He stood and waved them inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He looked at Elizabeth, his grin growing wider.
“Roald, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Bell.” Jude nodded at Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, this is Mr. Hall—my attorney.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Elizabeth offered her hand.
“Bell?” Mr. Hall shook her hand and looked from Jude to Elizabeth. “As in Clarence Bell?”
“Clarence was my father,” Elizabeth said.
Jude planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I wasn’t aware of it, but apparently Clarence had three daughters, and according to Miss Elizabeth he sent a letter from his deathbed bequeathing his share of the hotel to them.”
Mr. Hall rubbed his square jaw, his gaze assessing Elizabeth. “Do you have the letter?”
She dug it out of her pocket and handed it to the attorney, her hands shaking as she clasped them together. Her future depended on that letter. It was the most precious and valuable thing she owned at the moment—yet, was it enough?
Mr. Hall read the letter, nodding now and again as he perused its contents. Finally, he lowered the paper and looked at Elizabeth. “I don’t see why this letter wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.”
She wanted to collapse in relief.
“However, you’ll have to gather several other documents to prove you are Clarence’s heir. You’ll need your birth certificate and his death certificate for starters. You’ll also need to find documents with his handwriting to prove he wrote this letter.” He handed it back to Elizabeth, his face grim. “It could take months, or even up to a year to gather everything you need and present it to a judge.”
“A—a year?”
“Not to mention a great deal of money for legal fees.”
She didn’t have a penny to her name. How would she pay for legal fees?
“And,” Mr. Hall continued, “until then, Mr. Allen isn’t required to house you and your sisters. You’ll need to find somewhere to live.”
Elizabeth sank into a chair nearby and tried not to let panic overwhelm her. She’d been in a similar situation right after her father had left, before she found work with Mr. Brown. She had been so desperate to keep her sisters alive and there hadn’t been any work to speak of, she’d almost sacrificed her virtue. Would she be required to make that choice again?
* * *
Jude watched Elizabeth collapse into the chair, her shoulders rolling forward in defeat. She hadn’t received the news she’d hoped for—yet neither had he. It was clear these were Clarence’s daughters and they had nowhere else to go. He wouldn’t sit back and let the worst happen to them, no matter what it might cost his business. What kind of a man would he be? Especially when he spent his life protecting defenseless women just like her.
The Bell sisters weren’t all that different from the others, after all. They were victims of their circumstances and forced to make the best of their lives. Some women went into prostitution to provide for themselves and their families—but Elizabeth had been able to avoid that trap. She was clutching her father’s letter as if it was a lifeline, and in many ways, it was.
“I have a proposition, Elizabeth.”
She glanced up, yet didn’t really look at him.
“I have no doubt Clarence wrote that letter,” Jude said, “and regardless if it’s binding or not, I’d like to propose a solution.”
“What?” Her gaze finally focused on his face, though mistrust lay deep in her eyes.
Roald also looked at Jude, though with more calculation than Elizabeth.
“Shall we take a walk and discuss the terms of the agreement?” Jude asked her.
“W-What kind of an agreement?” She stood slowly and looked at him like he was about to propose a tryst.
“It’s a proper agreement,” he said quickly. “I’ll not ask anything immoral of you.”
Her cheeks filled with color and he looked away from her. If only she knew who she was talking to.
Elizabeth offered her hand to Roald. “It was nice to meet you.”
Roald bent over her hand in a great show of aplomb. “The pleasure was all mine. I do hope we meet again soon.”
Could Roald be the one who would capture Elizabeth’s attention? It wouldn’t be a bad match. Roald was loud and boisterous, but he made a decent living and was a good man. Yet he didn’t seem right for Elizabeth. She was almost regal in her bearing and she deserved someone who would complement her graciousness and not draw all the attention, as Roald was wont to do.
Jude opened the door and waited until Elizabeth passed.
“Sorry for troubling you,” he said to Roald.
Roald’s eyes were on Elizabeth. “No trouble at all.”
Jude joined Elizabeth on the boardwalk. She watched him warily and he wondered if she had trusted any man since her father left her.
“What is your proposition, Mr. Allen?”
The street bustled with people and several men stop to stare at Elizabeth. “Would you like to take a walk as we discuss my idea?”
She nodded and he led her up Broadway, past the Northern and toward the river.
“I am sorry about your loss,” he began. “And I’m sorry that your father left the way he did. I wish he would have told me about you and let me know he was offering his share of the hotel to you, but he didn’t and I’ve made plans and adjustments accordingly.”
She was silent as she walked beside him. He wished he knew what she was thinking.
“So I have a proposition. I will allow you and your sisters to continue living at the Northern, if you work for your room and board—”
“My father didn’t intend for us to simply work there,” she said with frustration in her voice. “He intended for us to be owners.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” He tipped his hat at an acquaintance, but didn’t stop to chat, though the young man looked like he wanted an introduction. “This town is rough—too rough for a sensible woman. I don’t know what your father was thinking when he wrote that letter. The frontier is no place for an unmarried lady to make her way.”
Elizabeth stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Are you saying I’m too weak to endure the frontier?”
He also stopped. “It’s nothing personal. Most women would struggle.”
“I’m not most women.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll be hard-pressed to make it through the year. After winter sets in you’ll be stuck—if you make it that long. So here’s my proposition. If you can make it until January, I will put you and your sisters on the deed. If, before that time, you decide life in Little Falls isn’t what you had hoped, I will pay for you and your sisters to go back to Rockford. I don’t have enough to buy your share of the hotel, but I have a little saved that could set you up in a comfortable place to live.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If she and Grace were married before then, he wouldn’t have to pay for them to go back. They would all be happy then. Elizabeth and Grace would have homes with husbands to provide for their needs, and he’d have his hotel.
She started walking again, her shoulders stiff. “I think you underestimate me, Mr. Allen.”
“Call me Jude.”
“I’ll make it until winter,” she said with certainty, “and beyond. You’re stuck with me until I can earn enough money to buy your share of the hotel.”
“Buy my share?” He reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her.
She looked down at his hand and up into his eyes, a pretty scowl on her face.
“It’s not for sale,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “Everything is for sale.”
“Not my hotel.”
She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “It’s my hotel, too—or, at least, it will be when I am still here in January. As soon as I have enough money saved, I intend to buy your share. It might take me a long time, but I have no intentions of going anywhere or doing anything else.”
