Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (22 page)

The digital chirp of his phone bounced around the room. He yanked his cell out of his back pocket. “I should probably grab this real quick.”

Nate turned his back to Whitney and paced halfway across the room. “Hello.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible, she got up to ladle more soup into her bowl.

Nate heaved a sigh. “No. You know better. You shouldn’t have called.” His voice was low. “Yes. It’s great about the applications. I’ll pray your get the scholarship … but don’t call again. Listen. I’m going to have to tell Beth about this.” He stepped to the window and braced a hand on the sill. “Okay. Yeah, tell Rita if you need something from me. Bye.”

When he turned Whitney dropped her gaze to her dinner. “Everything all right?”

He set his phone down on the table. “Good as can be, given the situation.”

“The situation?”

Turning, Nate started straightening items on her counter. “Not a big deal.”

She fished her spoon around in her bowl. “This soup is amazing.”

He smiled again. “Told you.” Before she could tell him not to bother, Nate filled her sink with soapy water and began scrubbing her dirty dishes.

“Just leave them.” Forehead in her hand, she groaned.

He rolled up the sleeves on his thermo shirt. “It’ll just take a couple minutes. I don’t mind. Finish your soup.”

Surprised by her hunger, she ended up finishing everything in the pot.

Water dripping from his fingers, Nate reached for her dish. He turned back to the sink. “So tell me about King Kong.”

Whitney laughed. “He’s my neighbor’s cat. He’s this obese orange beast that bats at my legs when I go in there to feed him. The animal couldn’t be more aptly named.”

As she spoke Nate walked around her studio apartment, he studied her pictures, picked up trinkets, and ran his fingers over the spines of her books. He might have been memorizing everything, or bored with her talking.

Why had he come tonight? Most likely he felt bad about their rift the day before. Nate seemed the type that always mended his bridges. But would he have gone so far as the special soup and three different kinds of medicine for anyone? She snuck a glance his way.

He crouched, examining her minimal movie collection. “So what’s your sick day movie?”

“What do you mean?” Whitney moved from the table to the couch and wrapped herself up in a blanket.

“The one movie that you can watch a million times over. It never gets old and puts you in a better mood each time you watch it.”

“
Princess Bride
.”

He ran his hand down her stack of DVD’s, pulling out the right one. Nate waved the case. “Shall we?”

Whitney couldn’t help the smile that rose on her face. What sort of man would waste his evening watching a girl movie? Nate was a good friend. “Sure.”

After he popped the DVD into the player, he scooped up the remote, and joined her on the couch. He tossed his arm across the back. Previews for movies long forgotten danced across the television screen.

She fought not to close her eyes. “I should go get my pillow.”

“No need.” He yanked one of her decorative couch pillows from behind his back. “Want me to move?”

She shook her head. “No, there’s plenty of room. You know you don’t need to stay, right?” Yawning, she jammed the pillow against the armrest and slouched against it. Her feet rested by Nate.

He laid a hand on top of them. “You’re cold.” He adjusted her blanket to cover her toes.

The Princess Bride
started. Whitney smirked when Buttercup, the heroine, bossed her farm boy, Westley, around. If only Buttercup knew that Westley would end up being her hero.

Whitney adjusted to get more comfortable. Nate moved to accommodate her, his citrusy-fabric softener smell wafting toward her. His even breaths were a better elixir than the soup.

She yawned. “I won’t be at the Foundation tomorrow either.”

“Planning on still being sick?” Nate smiled.

“There’s a thing for Owen’s election at the Palmer House.” And no matter what, she needed to speak to him.

She still felt uneasy after leaving the Shedd the other day, and he hadn’t called her since then. It wasn’t like she wanted to go to the fancy party, but she didn’t have an option. What would she have without Owen? A life like her mother’s.

Whitney shuddered.

No, she’d rather be alone than saddle herself with losers like Mom did.

At some point, she fell asleep. She woke with a small muscle jolt. It took her a minute to figure out why she was on the couch. She sat up and willed her eyes to focus. No Nate. He must have let himself out at some point. Her movie was back in place, her dishes put away, and the pillow from her bed had somehow made its way under her head.

Whitney stretched, and with a yawn she opened her laptop. It hummed to life. After checking her dismal Facebook page that no one ever commented on, she clicked over to her email. One new message, Nate’s subject line
More Ingram Information
propelled her to open the message. She scanned through his short note. He wrote that he emailed the attachments because he knew she couldn’t make it to the Foundation today. He’d taken it upon himself to contact the Library of Congress a few weeks ago and they’d sent him six PDF news articles as well as a scanned page that looked like it had been ripped from a journal.

She downloaded the journal page first, it was written by a woman named Iana. At first glance it had nothing to do with Ellen, James, or Lewis. But then halfway down the page, Whitney read Ellen’s name.
Met the oddest girl yesterday….

Chicago, May 1, 1886

Ellen rose from her dressing table.

Aunt Louisa gasped. “Oh! My dear child, you are radiant today. With you on his arm, Mr. Hurst will become the envy of every man in town.” Her aunt stood behind Ellen, her hands on Ellen’s bare shoulders.

The loden iridescent taffeta created a pleasing contrast against Ellen’s pale skin. A square neckline and capped sleeves would force her to wear a coat in this early spring weather.

Her aunt slipped her fingers over the black, beaded trim dangling from the sleeves. “I believe I have just the necklace for you to wear tonight.”

“No, you and Uncle have already done so much. This dress must have cost a great deal for you to have made.”

“Nonsense. What’s the use of having money and not being able to spend it?” Aunt Louisa left the room in search of her jewels.

At least her aunt seemed to be feeling better. Perhaps the enticement of a wedding to the Hurst family cheered her. Gain a Hurst for the loss of Louisa’s sister—more than likely a fair trade in her mind.

While Ellen waited, she readjusted the black lace overskirt and made certain her bustle was straight. She stifled a laugh when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. James had been right about the effect of a bustle. With a well-aimed twist, she could send a vase crashing to the ground if she wanted.

She fanned her face.

Ellen had to stop letting her mind wander to James, but he had so infiltrated every aspect of her life, such a feat proved impossible. If she thought about the outdoors, soon a memory of James launching a snowball at her face splashed across her mind. If she tried to think about trains to banish her James-thoughts, she’d soon picture James in his gig waiting at the Wheaton Depot to pick her up from her breaks from Madame De Molineus’s school. And when that didn’t work, she thought about the chicken dinner she might enjoy with Carter today, which only made her think of the time the Ingram’s rooster attacked James when he was trying to help Ellen collect eggs.

Oh. That intolerable man! How had he so effectively weaseled into every thought?

Well, because she loved him, and probably always had. If only she’d discovered that sooner, maybe things would have worked out differently.

She stomped her foot.

Aunt Louisa hurried into the room. “Do you have a bug on you? I would hate if you ruined that dress with too much movement.” She laid a black necklace around Ellen’s throat. It hung close to her neck, spilling into a triangle of shimmering gemstones.

Ellen shuddered as the cold stones rubbed against her skin.

“A bug of sorts,” Ellen muttered. Then she rested her gloved hand on the necklace. “Aunt Louisa, I don’t think I should wear something this nice.”

“Of course you should. You must prove to all the bluebloods today that you deserve the young Hurst’s hand. It would be terrible to marry him, then for all the socialites in the city to hold you in contempt.”

The Danby’s maid peeked into Ellen’s bedchamber. “Excuse me, Miss, Mr. Hurst has arrived.”

Aunt Louisa shooed the tiny maid away. “Good, good. Now you wait up here for six more minutes and I’ll entertain Hurst.”

Ellen shrugged. “But I am ready. Why keep him waiting?”

Her aunt patted her cheek. “Let a man wait for you. They like to think you are trying to become more beautiful for them. And when you come down, make no excuse for taking longer than required.”

Even though she didn’t agree, Ellen followed her aunt’s instructions. Tapping her toe, she counted to sixty, six times, and then descended the stairs.

Carter got to his feet when she entered the room. “Why, Miss Ingram, I didn’t know it was possible for you to be more beautiful than you already were. You’ve proven me wrong today.”

Aunt Louisa giggled. She at least had the good sense to look embarrassed afterwards.

Carter offered his forearm, and Ellen placed her hand on top of it. “Mrs. Danby, as I said earlier, there may be a possibility that I will have Miss Ingram out later than expected. With all the traffic and such, I cannot estimate how long our ride home will take.”

“It’s no matter,” Aunt Louisa fawned. “I know she is safe with you. Mr. Danby and I won’t have a worry about her all evening.”

He led Ellen to a red carriage. The doors bore the Hurst family crest, painted in gold. A matching pair of black horses and two uniformed coachmen waited for them.

Ellen schooled herself not to let her mouth hang open.

The inside of the carriage boasted furs and richly embroidered pillows. If the Hursts had this much money, then she would indeed be able to help the poor. She hooked her arm through his when he sat down. He smiled down at her.

Her plan would work perfectly.

Carter removed his hat. “So, what have you been doing to occupy your time during your visit to Chicago? Have you taken in any of the sites?”

The sites? Well, she’d been to The Rat Palace, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, the bubbly branch of the Chicago River, and Behind the Yards. None of those seemed like good places to admit to Carter. Knowing the girl he stepped out with had only last night been covered to her knees in mire would do nothing to encourage affection.

Ellen wound the strap on her reticule. “I’ve been with my aunt. We left to go hat shopping the other day.”

Which wasn’t a lie. She had gone. She just never made it into the shop.

“That’s a shame. I’m convinced this is the best city in the world. I’ll have the driver take us by the Home Insurance Building. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen it.”

“Is that the new steel building? They say it’s the tallest ever built.”

His lips pulled to reveal a toothy smile. “I’m pleased you are up to date on these things.”

“You don’t mind a girl who reads the paper—who stays informed?”

“Not at all. Times are changing and we must change with them. A woman should be able to speak about local news and hold knowledgeable conversation. Believe me—no man wants to hear about dancing, novels, and stitching all day. It’s a blessed relief that you read the paper.”

What a boon! If Carter was forward-thinking, he’d be on board when she wanted to use her station as his wife to fundraise for the poor. “Have you read about the labor uprisings?”

“Yes.” He tugged at this sleeves. “They are radicals who only have themselves to blame for their troubles.”

Not quite the answer she hoped for, but she could work on him.

Carter launched into a long monologue about his family’s real estate business. She really should listen if she planned to someday bear the name, but hearing how much plots in the
good parts
of town were selling for didn’t interest her.

“Can you believe he paid $2,250,000 to build it?”

Ellen snapped to attention. “Build what?”

“Palmer House. I’m taking you to eat there before the opera.” His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you been listening?”

The carriage slowed, and Ellen leaned to look out of the window. She craned her neck to see the top of the building in front of them. Her breath caught in her throat.

A footman opened the door and ushered them onto the walkway.

Carter’s chest puffed with Chicago pride. “Here we have it, the world’s tallest steel-framed building.”

“My word, it reaches all the way to the sky. I thought they said it was made out of metal?” She marveled at the stone walls.

His animation took on childlike enthusiasm. He spoke with his hands. “The skeleton of the structure has steel beams, but the exterior is covered in stone.”

She walked closer and touched the wall. “It’s a wonder that the beams can hold all that weight.” Looking up, Ellen counted the rows of windows. “Ten stories. Could it really be that tall?”

“I advised my father to invest when they were building, but he refused. He’s stuck on the old ways of doing things. He can’t comprehend that we’re moving into a new age and that he needs to take risks with his investments.” He took her elbow and guided her back into the carriage. “When I have control of the money, I’ll do things differently.”

She sat, fixing her skirt so it fanned out correctly. “What would you do with it?”

“I’d invest in new technology, every chance I got.” He turned to face her, seizing her hands in the process. “See, that’s why we have to have a quick engagement. My father promised to grant me access to half my inheritance once I’m wed. I know we only met recently but once the check on your background goes through, I think we should pick a wedding date.”

“The check on my background?” She withdrew her hands and clasped them together in her lap. “What exactly does that mean?”