A Free Heart

A Free Heart

Kansas Crossroads, Book Two

by Amelia C. Adams

This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2015 Amelia C. Adams

Acknowledgements

With special thanks to all my new fans—knowing how much you enjoy my writing makes it even more fun.

Thanks also to my beta readers—Bobbie Sue, Cissie, Kristi, Kristen, Lachele, and Nancy. You are awesome!

My gratitude once again to my formatter, Karen Hoover, who always does a fantastic job. Steven Novak, thank you for another cover that I just love!

Author’s Note: As a lover of history, I’ve done my best to create a story that’s true to the era, with one notable exception. Train travel in the 1800s was very slow, and I show it happening much faster. This was done to facilitate the telling of the story in a quicker way. If I followed the actual train schedules of the time, Aunt Caroline might
still be making her way to Kansas from New York.  Thank you for your understanding of this moment of literary license, and enjoy the read!

Amelia C. Adams

Chapter One

Topeka, Kansas

1875

Harriet Martin looked out the window of the hotel parlor and saw Mr. Adam Brody, her employer, coming through the front gate. He had promised to check in at the post office to see if there was any mail for her, and he did hold a bundle of letters in his hand. She carefully set down the trinket she’d been dusting and then ran out to the porch to meet him.

“Is there anything for me, Mr. Brody?” she asked, trying to appear calmer than she felt.

He chuckled. “Yes, Miss Martin, there is an envelope with your name on it.” He shuffled through the stack. “Let’s see. There’s something here for Aunt Caroline. I wonder what that could be.” He held it up, squinting as though he could see the contents. “Oh, and here’s something for me. Must be a bill of some sort. I’ll look at that later. And another one for me, and another one for me . . . My, I’m quite popular today.”

Harriet knew he was deliberately taking his time just to vex her. He enjoyed teasing his employees. She heard a soft chuckle from behind her as Elizabeth, Mr. Brody’s soon-to-be wife, walked up behind them and put her arm around Harriet’s shoulders, her other hand still clutching the handle of a broom. “Just give her the envelope, Adam,” she chided gently.

Mr. Brody pretended to be surprised. “Oh, that’s right. She’s waiting for a letter. My apologies. Here you are, Miss Martin.” He finally handed it over, doffed his hat, and went inside the hotel, whistling.

“He’s certainly been in a good mood this week,” Harriet said, watching him go with a smile on her face. “I don’t suppose your wedding on Saturday has anything to do with it.”

Elizabeth laughed as she resumed sweeping the porch. “Maybe. I know it’s made me a lot happier. Now, read that letter before it burns a hole in your hand.”

Harriet lifted the flap and slid out the sheet of paper with trembling fingers. The words were written in a very straight line, the penmanship neat and tidy, and she sank down onto the porch steps, absorbing the message. She didn’t realize she was crying until Elizabeth handed her a handkerchief.

“What’s the matter, Harriet?” Elizabeth asked, leaning on the stair rail.

Harriet wanted to share, but she wondered what she could possibly say, how to take everything that had happened and everything she was feeling and condense all of it into a few short words. But if anyone understood heartbreak, it was Elizabeth. Harriet could trust her friend to understand her emotions and to keep her confidences.

She wiped her face with the handkerchief, embarrassed and knowing she must look a sight. The dust in Kansas flew thick in the air, especially here, on the edge of town, next to the railroad. She had no doubt that her tears had created mud tracks down her cheeks to rival the train tracks a hundred yards away.

“It’s a long story,” she said at last. “And I’m not sure there’s time to tell it before the train comes in.”

“Well, then, give me a hint, and we’ll talk more about it after dinner,” Elizabeth said. “Please, Harriet—I’ve never seen you so upset. Let me help you, if I can.”

Harriet chuckled. “I’m not sure there is much help for me, but I suppose I can let you try.” She took a deep breath, realizing that the best way to say it would be to do it all at once. “Very well, here’s your hint. I fell in love with a man who used to be a slave on my father’s plantation.”

Elizabeth blinked several times. “A slave?”

Harriet nodded. “That’s right. His name was Sam Johnson, and his mother, Jane, was a house slave. I’m the youngest in my family by quite a bit—my two brothers were born to my father and his first wife. She died, and then some years later, Father married my mother, and I came along. I had no full siblings, no one my age to play with, and I was an ornery child.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m still ornery. Anyway, Jane suggested that what I needed was a friend, and she brought her son up to the house one day.

“We were both probably three at the time, and we had no idea there was anything going on in the world that said we shouldn’t get along. We took one look at each other and made fast friends. I called him ‘my Sammy.’ He showed me how to make mud pies, I taught him his letters, and over the next few years, we went fishing and did all kinds of things a polite Southern girl should not be doing, especially with a slave. The worst was the laundry incident.”

“The laundry incident?” Elizabeth asked, a furrow in her brow.

Harriet grinned. She hadn’t thought of it in years, but now she could see it as though it had all happened just yesterday. “Oh, it was so funny. The laundry had just been put out on the line, all those white sheets flapping in the wind. We couldn’t have been more than about five years old, and we wanted to play ghosts. We stole two sheets off the line and put them on, running all over the lawn, making ridiculous noises. I don’t remember what put the idea of ghosts in our heads, just that we thought it would be fun.

“Well, at the same time, the geese had gotten out of the pen by the kitchen porch, and they were running around loose too. They thought we were chasing them, but we couldn’t see because of the sheets over our heads, and we didn’t even know they were loose. We just heard these horrible honking sounds, and we thought some real ghosts were after us.” She used the handkerchief to wipe her eyes again. This time, the tears were from laughter, and they eased some of the pain in her chest. “I don’t know why we thought ghosts would sound like geese, but we were so young, we were frightened out of our minds.”

“I’m sure you were,” Elizabeth said, traces of amusement in her voice.

“My mother looked outside through her bedroom window, saw two little ghosts chasing her geese around the yard, and nearly had a fit. She came charging down the stairs, grabbed us each by an arm, sat us down on hard chairs in the kitchen, and left us there for an hour until she was calm enough to speak to us again. The cook was even forbidden to give us cookies, and that was a terrible punishment. I nearly lost the right to play with Sammy after that day, but I convinced her it was my fault and that he hadn’t made me do it. Truth is, I don’t even remember whose fault it actually was.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I can picture the whole thing.”

“If you’re ever bored, I highly recommend giving it a try. It’s great fun, and we’d just need some geese. Although, now that I’ve washed some sheets myself, I feel guilty. I’ll never look at linen the same way again.”

The train whistle sounded in the distance, and Elizabeth jumped up from her slouched position against the railing. “We’d better hurry if we’re going to be ready on time. Harriet, we need to talk later—I must hear the rest of this story.”

“I’ll tell it. I promise.” Harriet felt a little better already, having someone to share the burden with her. Now she wanted to tell it all. Maybe Elizabeth would know what she should do, for she certainly didn’t.

“I’ll hold you to that. Now, get on upstairs and change your dress.”

Harriet looked down at herself. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “That’s how I knew something was wrong. You sat down right in the middle of my dust pile.”

Harriet leaped up and twisted to look at the skirts of her dark dress. Sure enough, they were covered in the dust that had been swept up from the porch. “Oh, no!” She glanced out at the horizon, where she could see the smoke from the train drifting up into the air. “I’ll be right back.” She dashed inside and up the stairs to the attic room she shared with the other girls who worked at the hotel. She had just a few minutes before she would be expected downstairs, crisp, tidy, and ready to serve. She only had one more clean dress—it looked like she’d be washing her own clothes as well as linens that afternoon.

She filled the basin in the corner with water from the pitcher and washed her hands and face, then smoothed down her bright auburn hair. A glance in the mirror hanging over the basin showed that she’d succeeded in wiping away the streaks, and she was quite presentable now. She took a deep breath and smiled, hoping she looked as polite and hospitable as she ought to, then turned and tucked her letter under her pillow. She would read it over again later after the meal had been served.

A familiar rumbling under her feet told her the train was pulling into the station. She wondered if this was one reason why Mr. Garrison had abandoned this building years before—she certainly wouldn’t like to live in a home that was supposed to be for luxury, but instead was jiggled to pieces on a regular schedule. She picked up her skirts and trotted down the stairs, pausing at the linen closet to fetch a fresh white apron. By the time the front door to the hotel opened and guests started coming in, she was calm, composed, and lined up with the other girls, ready to do her job, and ready to pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking.

Chapter Two

Adam Brody stood on the platform, waiting for the train’s passengers to disembark. The hotel had only been open for a few days now, and he didn’t know if the travelers had been told that a hot meal was available right next door. He would continue to meet the trains and extend a personal invitation for as long as it took for his establishment to gain a reputation amongst the railroad conductors. Once he had their trust, he could count on them to help spread the word as the trains pulled into the Topeka station. Tom White was nearby, ready to help carry luggage and give directions.

Adam moved forward to greet the first group of passengers to get off the train, and nearly ran right into a young woman wearing a brown velvet traveling dress and a fancy hat. He stepped back, alarmed. “I beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t mean . . .” Then he looked into her face, her very familiar face. “Olivia?”She looked up at him with eyes even darker than her dress. “Hello, Adam. I suppose it would be horribly cliché for me to make a joke about running into you like this, wouldn’t it?”

“I am sorry about that.” He was completely flustered. Why had Olivia Markham traveled all the way to Topeka from her home in New York City? She was a creature of parties and society and shopping in the finest locations. There was nothing for her in Kansas. “What brings you here, Olivia?”“This is hardly a proper greeting for an old friend.” She tilted her cheek, and he felt compelled to kiss it. Once that matter was settled, she tucked her arm through his. “I couldn’t let one of my dearest friends undertake such a daring quest all alone, could I? While I was choosing your extra linens, I thought, these things will be shipped to Adam by train—why not just ship myself right along with them? So here I am, ready to help.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I’m hardly all alone. Aunt Caroline came out to function as my head housekeeper and cook, and she’s doing a remarkable job. I also have four very nice young women in my employ, and that man you see at the edge of the platform works for me as well.” He was about to tell Olivia about Elizabeth and their engagement, but just then, Mr. Hoover, the station manager, waved at him.

“Conductor says you have a shipment here, Mr. Brody,” he said. “Will you step along with me to the first set of cargo doors and verify your order?”