Hidden in a Whisper (9 page)

Shaking her head, she knew that wasn't true. A tear came to her eye as she walked into the kitchen. Without thought to who might see her, Rachel paused, leaning heavily against the immaculate counter top. Somehow, she had to get a tight rein on her emotions.

“Miss Taylor, are you all right?” Reginald Worthington's soft British accent broke through her overwhelming misery.

“I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Worthington.”

“I say,” he continued, as if buying into her reply. “Would it be possible for us to work on a first-name basis? I realize it implies an intimacy and closeness that you might otherwise not feel, but I would rather enjoy the refreshing simplicity. It seems most folks out here in the West are less inclined to use such titles.”

Rachel looked up and found his compassionate gaze fixed upon her. She wasn't sure at that moment that she could have denied him anything. He appeared so completely concerned for her well-being that it seemed only natural to grant him this request.

“Why, yes. We generally do business in a less formal manner in the Harvey House. Of course, when customers are present …”

“I will address you quite properly in sight of others. I simply hoped that in private we might form a friendship. If I've overstepped my bounds, then forgive me.”

Rachel offered him a brief smile. “No, Reginald—” “Please, call me Reg,” he interrupted. “Reginald still seems too formal.”

“Very well,” she replied. “I don't believe you have done anything out of line. You asked my permission for less formality; you didn't impose it as a demand. I appreciate that very much.”

“I would like for us to be friends,” he said softly.

“It does make for smoother operations,” Rachel answered, feeling her anger and emotional state lessen. “I would be honored to be your friend.”

He shook his head and boldly took hold of her hand. “No, the honor would be all mine. I would happily do anything I could to ease your burden.”

Rachel felt strange standing there in the kitchen while Reg held her hand. Fred Harvey had strict rules about any Harvey staff members dating, and while Reg was asking for nothing more than friendship, she couldn't help but wonder what else he might expect.

“You seemed quite distressed when you arrived here moments ago,” Reg stated. “I wonder if there is something else I might assist you with?”

Rachel shook her head. “It's just that there is so much to do in preparation for the grand opening. Now Mr. O'Donnell brings me the new hotel manager, and I'm supposed to show him around the grounds and help him become familiar with his new surroundings.”
But unfortunately
, she thought,
he's only managing to become more familiar with me
.

“I could show him around,” Reg offered. “I have everything under control here.”

Rachel brightened. “You wouldn't mind?”

“Not at all,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go.

“I would consider it a privilege to relieve you of this added burden.”

“It would help me a great deal,” she answered, her mind focused on how Braeden would take this form of rejection. She smiled. “Yes, I believe I would like it very much. He's waiting now in the lobby. Come and I'll introduce you.”

She led Reg to where Braeden stood cooling his heels. “Mr. Parker, I would like to introduce our chef, Reginald Worthington. Mr. Worthington has graciously agreed to tour you about the grounds.” She smiled smugly and met Braeden's quizzical stare with great pleasure. She could see in his expression that he hadn't planned on this turn of events.

“Mr. Worthington, I'm pleased to meet you. I will be the hotel manager here at Casa Grande.”

“Ah, Mr. Parker, it is an honor,” Reg said, giving a slight bow. “Miss Taylor's schedule is already overburdened, and I offered to assist her in this matter. I hope you do not mind.”

Braeden shook his head. “Of course, the company of a beautiful young woman is hard to pass by, but I shall enjoy getting a chance to better know you, Mr. Worthington.”

“Likewise, Mr. Parker.”

Rachel watched them go off together, and for the life of her she couldn't understand the disappointment that crept into her heart.
I should feel relieved
, she thought. But she didn't. Instead, she felt divided. The future and the past had just collided, and now she was hardpressed to know which direction to take.

  
SIX
  

ESMERALDA HATED OLD AGE. She hated feeling less capable of doing the things she had to do. She detested looking in the mirror to see yet another wrinkle mar her once beautiful skin. And she loathed knowing that death was not far away.

Dying had never frightened her, and it certainly wasn't an issue of eternity and what would happen in the afterlife—it was more the inconvenience of it all. She had great plans for the future and aspired to do it all properly and in full control. Dying would definitely put a halt to those plans.

It was both troublesome and a blessing to be classified as old. Troublesome because your body no longer cooperated with you as it did in youth, and people often considered it necessary to shield you from shocking events and scandalous thoughts. But being old could also be a blessing. People recognized that you had come this far by knowing something more than the count of chickens in the hen house. You were generally respected and often deferred to. But then there was that whole pesky issue of death. As far as Esmeralda could see, the only good thing about dying was the idea of joining her beloved Hezekiah. He had been gone for five years now and it seemed like an eternity.

Hezekiah had known her better than anyone. He had shared his hopes and dreams with her, and in turn they had become her own hopes and dreams. Now that he was gone, she was a lonely old woman, although she would never have allowed anyone to know that fact. Instead, she created a fac
ade of strength and dignity that set her apart from others.

The Needlemeier mansion, a two-story native stone Queen Anne house, stood as an oddity against the adobe and clapboard buildings of Morita. Until Casa Grande had been erected in its wealthy beaux arts eclectic styling, Esmeralda's home had commanded the attention of everyone in the community. Now, standing in the shadow of Casa Grande, Esmeralda wondered if she'd made a mistake allowing the resort to be built so close to her own home. There was no doubt that Casa Grande was beautiful—she wouldn't have had it any other way— but having it steal away the attention her home had otherwise enjoyed was a bit like being passed over at the dance for a more beautiful belle.

Staring down at the collection of letters on her desk, Esmeralda sorted through the replies to her advertisements. She had taken up the cause of her dear husband's dream and had worked to create a town that would flourish and grow with the ages. Hezekiah had wanted to be remembered for something, and Morita embodied that memorial. Now, with Esmeralda hard-pressed to let go of his desires, Morita was slowly but surely taking shape.

It hadn't been easy to convince investors to consider the small whistle-stop as a possible location for development. After all, Albuquerque wasn't that far away. It wasn't until she had convinced the Santa Fe and Fred Harvey to come to Morita with the idea of creating a resort hotel that Esmeralda had found any real portion of success. She had spent a fortune cultivating acres of gardens and creating bridges over the hot springs and falls. She'd given up equally large amounts of money to support the development of a proper town and to entice businesses to fill the buildings once completed. Her fortune was completely tied up in Morita, and now more than ever she intended to see it succeed.

Some said she was a bit touched in the head. She had no family except for her uppity niece, Ivy Brooks. But she was working to create a legacy that perhaps no one but those left behind could appreciate. She felt her emotions stir. The years had left a void inside her that couldn't be denied. Sometimes the loneliness of carrying on Hezekiah's 57 dream herself was more than she could bear.

Stiffening her resolve, Esmeralda refused to allow her feelings merit. She would simply give her attention to the job at hand. There was no sense in allowing her heartbreak to interfere with that which demanded completion.

Picking up an envelope, Esmeralda considered the reply of a Baltimore storekeeper. He stated that he would be happy to take her up on the offer of free rent for the first six months and to consider signing papers pledging himself to a full five years of service in Morita. He went on to list the type of store he'd owned in Baltimore, and Esmeralda placed his letter in the stack of acceptable businesses.

The next letter had been penned by a banker who offered to bring his knowledge to the West. He wrote in a most condescending manner, saying that while he understood the desire to strengthen the town economically and to bring in business, he believed Esmeralda's methods to be a bit addlepated. His letter went immediately into the trash. Esmeralda would brook no criticism of her plan.

An interruption to her day came as it always did at two-thirty every Tuesday afternoon. Lettie Johnson, the plump and rather plainfaced pastor's wife, was led into the parlor where Esmeralda formally received her company. Lettie called this her Christian visitation and, as the pastor's wife, considered it a solemn duty. Esmeralda called it her Tuesday gossip session and would have refused the woman altogether had she not always brought with her valuable information related to the attitudes and current thoughts of the townsfolk.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Needlemeier,” Lettie said, removing her simple brown bonnet. “My, but it's a beautiful day out there. Have you managed to take a walk today?”

“No,” Esmeralda said, tapping her cane upon the hardwood floor as she moved to take her position in a red velvet chair. “I've been much too busy with the affairs of the town.”

“Mr. Johnson tells me we're going to elect a mayor,” Lettie said, her full face breaking into a grin. “Word has it that there are several who would qualify for such a position of importance. I wonder whom you might consider acceptable for such a position.”

Esmeralda hated the woman's prying, knowing that her utmost concern was to find out whether her husband would receive the backing and support of the town's matriarch.

“I don't suppose I've had much time to think about it,” Esmeralda stated rather severely. “Politics has its place, but there are matters of far greater concern.”

Lettie nodded, her expression showing her disappointment. “I suppose so.”

Esmeralda refused to be goaded. “The affairs of the new resort have kept me quite consumed. Have you managed to take a tour of the grounds?”

“No,” Lettie replied. “We do plan to attend the festivities, however. I'm quite looking forward to it, and I even received my husband's permission to make myself a new dress. Won't that be wonderful!”

“I suppose all of the women of the church sewing circle shall consume their days with fashioning new creations to show off at the grand opening of Casa Grande,” Esmeralda replied dryly. She could imagine the insufferable ninnies running about in their homespun gowns, each boasting the smartness of the other's design. They would all be put to shame by the dignitaries'wives who would come with their collection of Worth gowns and expensive jewelry.