With You Always (Orphan Train Book #1) Page 11

  The train lurched forward, the movement sending her forward enough to see across the aisle, where Fanny O’Leary sat staring at her. For the first time that day, Fanny finally acknowledged Elise was there. Of course, the young Irishwoman was smirking.

  Elise’s smile fell away, along with all the pleasure from the past hour. No doubt Fanny had seen her with Thornton. From her seat by the window, Fanny had a perfect view of the train depot and a perfect view of her holding hands with Thornton.

  Elise’s muscles tightened. What would Fanny do with her newfound information? Elise wouldn’t put it past the woman to figure out a way to stir up trouble. And trouble was the last thing Elise needed. She couldn’t afford to lose her job, this last chance to make something of her pitiful life and finally provide for her sisters.

  As much as she’d enjoyed spending time with Thornton today, she couldn’t put her job at risk by spending time with him again. What was the point of it anyway? Even if he was kind, sweet, and enjoyable to be with, they had no future beyond a day or two of traveling on the same train.

  No. Despite his very handsome face and winsome smile, she simply couldn’t take the risk. Although she had promised Thornton she’d see him tomorrow, she realized now it was one promise she would have to break.

  Chapter 10

  Thornton stood near Elise’s passenger car and waited for her to come out. The crispness in the early-morning air drove the remnants of sleep from his body and sent a surge of wakefulness through his blood.

  He tried to maintain a casual pose. He didn’t want to appear overeager, but the thrum of his pulse and the fact that he was attuned to every person descending from her car probably gave him away.

  He’d slept even more poorly than usual on the train, not because of the starting and stopping and jostling, but because he couldn’t cease thinking about Elise. Her pretty face was a part of his dreams. Her spunky, half-cocked smile. The wideness of her blue eyes. The delicateness of her mouth and nose.

  She was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and he’d met quite a few over the years. She treated him like just an average man, like a friend, rather than someone to impress or win over, as so many other women did. Of course, part of that was because he hadn’t exactly been forthright about who he was and how much power and wealth belonged to his family. But maybe that was just as well. That way he didn’t have to worry about her harboring an ulterior motive for spending time with him.

  Was that why he was having a hard time falling in love with Rosalind Beaufort? Because their relationship felt like a business deal, the merging of two wealthy families? His father couldn’t fault him for his efforts at attempting to love her. Every time he traveled east, he did everything possible to conjure affection for her. She was a beautiful, poised, and sweet girl in every way, and he honestly did enjoy spending time with her.

  But he’d never once felt this broad range of emotions for Rosalind that he did now while waiting for Elise—excitement, thrill, anticipation. The desire to be with her, to talk, to jest. With Rosalind, everything was more formal and polite. But with Elise, he supposed he liked this ability to set aside convention and simply be himself.

  He straightened and frowned at the doorway of her car. The flow of women exiting had tapered. Where was she? He surveyed the crowd milling about on the platform. Had he somehow missed her? His muscles tightened at the thought. And he was slightly embarrassed at how much he wanted to be with her. He barely knew her. But what he did know he liked. A lot.

  He stared at the compartment. Did he dare go up and peek inside? After only another moment’s hesitation, he bounded up the steps, but stopped abruptly when she opened the door.

  “Good morning,” he said with a smile. “It’s a good thing you made an appearance. Otherwise you would have forced me to come inside and drag you out.”

  She didn’t smile. In fact, she was much too sober, almost as if she were disappointed to see him. Even though she was as lovely as usual, her face was pale and revealed dark circles under her eyes.

  “Ready for coffee?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  “Thornton,” she whispered with a nervous glance over her shoulder into the car. “I can’t spend time with you.”

  His smile dropped, and he let his hand fall away. What was she talking about? Had he read her wrong last night? She’d had a good time with him, hadn’t she? “I don’t understand,” he managed to say.

  Her gaze darted around the platform. “This new job means everything to me, and I can’t jeopardize it.” With that, she pushed past him and started down the steps.

  He was too stunned to stop her. How would spending time with him jeopardize her job? Obviously she didn’t realize he had the power to ensure her employment.

  “Elise, wait.” He started after her. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “That shows how little you know my situation.” She kept walking toward the depot, and he matched his stride with hers.

  “No one will take away your job because we have a cup of coffee together.”

  “I can’t risk it.”

  “I promise. You’re perfectly fine.”

  “No, Thornton, you don’t understand.” She strode ahead of him. “Now, please, I think it would be best if we didn’t speak to each other again.”

  His heart began to race at the thought of never having another conversation with her. “It wouldn’t be best.” He grabbed her hand, which forced her to stop.

  She glanced around, her eyes filling with panic, and attempted to tug her hand loose. “Please, Thornton.”

  At the distress in her voice, he released her.

  She hurried away, tossing him a glance and a mouthed apology. Then she opened the depot door and slipped inside.

  He stared at the place where she’d been and tried to comprehend her rejection. What had he done wrong? If she was worried about losing her employment, then he’d talk with the representative of the Children’s Aid Society. Who was it? Miss Shaw? Yes, he’d ask her to check her lists. If Elise wasn’t one of the women hired for employment in Quincy, he’d make sure Miss Shaw added her.

  In the meantime, if Elise was afraid of being seen with him in public, then he’d have to figure out a way to make their meetings more clandestine. Because one thing was certain—he wasn’t giving up seeing her.

  “Miss Neumann?”

  With a hand on the door of the depot they’d stopped at for their noon break, Elise halted and faced the stranger, a young train worker wearing a crisp uniform. He pushed a folded piece of paper into her hand before spinning and walking away.

  Elise stepped out of the way of the door and then opened the paper. It contained the words, I need to see you again. There was no signature, but Elise knew the note was from Thornton.

  She glanced up to see the same train worker standing near the corner of the depot, watching her. When he cocked his head, she realized he was indicating that she should follow him.

  She should ignore him, ignore Thornton, and go her own way. But she folded the note and tucked it into her handbag before casually moving away from the train station door and ambling in the direction of the young man.

  It didn’t matter that she’d spent all of last night and the morning convincing herself she couldn’t see Thornton again. It didn’t matter that she’d told herself a hundred or more times since this morning that she’d done the right thing in telling Thornton they couldn’t speak to each other again. In one instant, in one little note, in one simple statement he’d undone all her hard work. She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She wanted to see him again.

  She followed the train worker at a safe distance as he led her past the depot. She tried to pretend she was merely taking a stroll to exercise her legs after sitting for so long. But when the train worker disappeared behind a shed attached to the depot, she picked up her pace so she wouldn’t lose her link to Thornton.

  As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of the train worker in the shadows. She
approached him cautiously. He didn’t say anything to her, but proceeded to hand her another note before slinking away.

  She smiled. Thornton was apparently doing his best to keep their meeting a secret. She unfolded the new note. He’d drawn several realistic apple trees with a compass arrow pointing west. Was he asking her to meet him at an apple tree?

  Moving back onto the street, she peered west, searching for any kind of fruit. It was a small town, like many they stopped in, with a business area clustered close to the railroad tracks, along with mills, warehouses, and other tall cylindrical storage units.

  She walked briskly past the storage bins and buildings, and on the other side she was delighted to see a grove of apple trees. The trees weren’t as large as she’d expected, only a little taller than her own five feet five inches. The branches bowed under the weight of ripe apples.

  With a sense of wonder, she approached one of the trees and let her fingers skim the smooth fruit. Growing up in Hamburg and then living in New York City, she rarely had the opportunity to see a real fruit tree.

  “Did anyone follow you?” came Thornton’s hushed voice from the other side of the tree.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Two farmers were unloading grain sacks from a wagon on a dock nearby, but other than them, no one else was in sight. “I think we’re safe from prying eyes.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  She couldn’t contain a burst of laughter. “You’ve been so secretive, I don’t think even a detective would be able to track us down now.”

  He stepped around the tree and grinned. Attired in a finely tailored suit, she was reminded, as she had been the previous night when he took her to Bennet House for dinner, of the difference in their social status. He was clearly a man of some means, and if she was planning to spend more time with him, perhaps she ought to do a better job finding out more about him.

  “The tenders are being refilled with coal and water, so we have time for a stroll, if you’d be so kind as to join me.” Thornton held out a hand.

  She looked around again to reassure herself she was safe. Her head told her to say no to a stroll, that she would be better off maintaining her distance from him—really from any man. She needed to keep her priorities straight, and that meant focusing upon her family, not getting herself entangled in a relationship.

  “I promise this will be our secret.” He stretched his hand out a bit more. At the warm beckoning in his eyes, she could no more resist the invitation than she could resist breathing deeply of the sweet scent of the orchard. She placed her hand into his and relished the pressure of his fingers encircling hers.

  As they meandered among the trees, she didn’t make an effort to remove her hand from his. Maybe she didn’t need to understand the nature of their relationship or where it was headed. For once, maybe she could simply enjoy the moment and not worry about the future.

  He seemed to be leading her in no particular direction, and she didn’t mind, especially because he was telling her about the orchard and the kinds of apples growing here.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, stopping and pulling her back.

  “Why?”

  “I have a surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. But of course that’s just a wild guess.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes. “Fine.”

  He tugged her gently forward. “Keep them closed.”

  She allowed him to lead her until sunlight splashed across her face, telling her they were no longer in the shaded confines of the orchard.

  “Okay.” He halted. “You can look now.”

  Her eyes flew open. A calm pond spread out before them. The water was so clear and glassy that it reflected the maples and ash on the opposite side, their leaves beginning to turn bright yellow and orange.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Yes, it is. But that’s not what I wanted you to look at.” He made a point of staring at the ground directly before them.

  She looked down. Spread out on a red-checkered tablecloth was a picnic lunch—two plates adorned with napkins and silverware, a platter of cheese, sliced ham, and a loaf of bread, as well as two glasses and a pitcher of what appeared to be apple cider.

  Her heart swelled with gladness. When she turned to him and saw the hopefulness in his eyes, she could tell he’d wanted to make her happy.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “I love it.”

  “But wait,” he said, releasing her hand and reaching for the picnic basket. “There’s more.”

  “This is already perfect enough.”

  “Not quite.” He lifted the covering on the basket to reveal a pie.

  She couldn’t contain her delight, which elicited another grin from him. He lifted the delectable pastry and held it out to her. The crust was baked golden brown, and sugary juices had bubbled out of the slits on top. “I can’t remember the last time I ate pie,” she whispered as she breathed in the cinnamon apple scent.

  She could feel him studying her reaction. She wasn’t the blushing type, but when she glanced up to see the tenderness in his expression, her cheeks flushed. She dipped her finger into the juice, hoping to hide the strange emotions he made her feel. She licked the dollop from her finger and then groaned at the pleasure of the taste.

  “How about if we forget about eating sandwiches and just start with the pie?” He placed it on the tablecloth next to the platter of bread and cheese before lowering himself to the ground.

  “Start our meal with pie?” She kneeled across from him. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

  He cut the pie—or at least attempted to—and served them each enormous, messy helpings. She moaned and sighed through every bite, and he teased her by imitating her noises. Finally, laughing, she swiped her fingers across the plate and licked them until not a drop remained. He coaxed her into taking another small piece, and he helped himself to the rest, until at last they fell back onto the cloth, laughing and completely full without having eaten a bite of their meal.

  “If Mutti were alive, she’d scold me for eating my dessert first.” Elise smiled and realized for the first time in months she could talk about her mother without feeling a deep ache.

  “Every once in a while, we need to break away from convention, don’t you think?” He’d crossed his arms behind his head and was staring up at the smattering of clouds, his features serene.

  “Perhaps.” Breaking away from convention, doing things differently, letting go of old ways of thinking and acting—that might be easy to do today, now, with dessert. But it was nearly impossible with the rest of her life. She was stuck into unbreakable patterns in so many ways. Most people of her class were and had so little hope of change.

  “So you’re a businessman?” she asked, deciding it was safer to change the subject.

  “Something like that.” His tone was hesitant, almost cautious.

  “What kind of business?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment, and she pictured him as he’d been in New York City when she first met him. If he’d been affected by the financial crisis, as she assumed, he probably didn’t wish to talk about it and she wouldn’t press him. Even so, she wanted to know more about him, his past, his family. Although he’d regaled her that night of the riots with tales of him and his twin, she knew little else about him.

  “I guess you could say I’m a land developer.”

  She had no idea what that was or what it entailed. But she didn’t want him to think her entirely ignorant, even though she was. “I see. And your parents, your twin brother? Where are they?”

  “My mother has been gone for many years, and my father is suffering from pleurisy. The doctors don’t expect him to live longer than a year, probably less.”

  “I’m sorry, Thornton.” And she meant it. She rolled onto her side and propped her head against her hand.

  “He’s a good man but hard t
o please.”

  Thornton continued to stare at the sky, his brown eyes full of an emotion she couldn’t name. Was it remorse? Sadness? Frustration? Or all of those? She studied the outline of his smooth jaw and chin. He had a suaveness she wasn’t accustomed to, along with a purposefulness she’d never found in any of the young men in her German community. Most of the men she knew were simple tradesmen, hardworking, uneducated. She had always guessed someday she’d marry one of those men—a man like her father.

  She still would, if she ever had time for marriage. Just because she’d had a couple of meals with Thornton Quincy didn’t mean she was planning to marry him. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. No, they were merely friends, companions passing the time together on this long journey west. She shouldn’t read more into his kind gestures.

  After all, Thornton was not part of her world. That was clear enough. Though they could have some fun together now, this was all they would have, and she’d do best to remember that.

  As if sensing her changing mood, Thornton shifted his head and looked at her. Then, to her surprise, he reached across and touched a finger next to her bottom lip. The graze was soft, pleasurable.

  “You had a little piece of crust,” he said, retracting his hand and pointing to his own lip in the same spot.

  “Oh, thank you.” Of course, he was just being polite. She quickly swiped at the spot, sat up, and began gathering the leftovers. “I suppose we should start back to the depot.”

  His fingers wrapped around hers, preventing her from stowing the bread back into the basket. “Wait, Elise.”

  She stopped.

  “You have more pie right here.” He pointed to a spot on her shoulder.

  When she glanced down to brush it off, there was nothing there except his finger lifting and tapping her nose playfully.

  “Got you.” His lips cocked up on one side with the beginning of a smile, telling her he was only jesting.