Last Chance Bride. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
removed all of Jacob’s letters from her reticule and bundled them in her satchel. Happily-ever-afters don’t happen to you, Elizabeth Charlotte Hodges.
After carefully locking her door, she approached the kind man behind the front counter. He politely referred her to a woman’s boardinghouse off Clinton Avenue.
Armed with determination, Libby stepped out into the already hot morning sun. One thing was certain, she would not be beholden to any man, not even Jacob, for her survival. She could find her own lodging, and pay for it, too.
“Good morning, miss.” A man balanced a barrel of flour on his shoulder. “Nice day.”
She dropped her gaze. “Good morning, sir.”
Strangers unsettled her, and she kept walking. Jacob had never felt like a stranger, not from the first moment she opened his letter.
The town bustled with activity. Libby kept her gaze low, hearing the wagons rattling by, the clop of horses, the jingle of harnesses. Men’s voices rose discussing the weather and the business of the day. She dodged them the best she could.
The Faded Bloom was a bright blue, three-story structure gracing the wide alley behind a row of saloons and gaming houses. A painted sign swung from the eaves of the front porch. Rooms Let, it said. Women only.
Well, it looked homey. That was a start. Libby climbed the few steps to the porch and knocked on the door.
A window slammed opened, startling her.
“Can I help you?” A plump, wise-eyed woman pulled the pane higher and popped her head out. A wild tangle of rich black curls framed a friendly face.
“I’m looking for a room. Something not too expensive.”
The woman frowned sternly, eyeing her up. “I ain’t seen you before. Are you new in town?”
“Yes. I just arrived on the stage yesterday.” Libby stared down at her fingers. “I’m staying over at the Cedar Rock Hotel for now, but I need something more affordable.”
“Are you here for a few days or longer?”
It wouldn’t be easy living in the same town as Jacob, seeing him and being reminded of what she’d lost. “Longer. I plan to find work in town. What might a room cost?”
“Ten dollars a week. Breakfast is fifty cents and dinner is a dollar.”
Libby wilted at the price, but the boarding house appeared clean and respectable, the owner friendly. She glanced about, noting a nng of sturdy yellow flowers marching around the house. She couldn’t do much better, and she knew it. She’d seen most of the town on her walk here. “I’d like to see what rooms you have available, please.”
“Sure thing, deary. Wait by the door and I’ll let you in.”
Libby hadn’t considered how hard it would be to stay. Now she realized how awkward she might feel bumping into Jacob in the mercantile or seeing Emma buying hair ribbons. If she had the money, she would leave.
The door opened into a dim, narrow foyer. The woman appeared, her hair tied back neatly and her plain green calico dress serviceable and pretty. “Call me Maude. Everyone around these parts does. Come on inside out of that sun.”
Libby introduced herself as she stepped inside and glanced around. She noticed a door at her elbow and realized it led to Maude’s apartment. Across the hall she could see a pleasant parlor for receiving guests and ahead of her the narrow staircase leading into the dim second story.
“The girls who usually live here work over at the dance hall,” the woman explained, her keys jingling in her hand as she climbed the stairs with a heavy, confident gait. “They get in late, most of ‘em, and sleep late. I try to be quiet so as not to wake ’em. We got other gals too, one works in the diner across from the livery.”
Jacob. The thought of him hurt. Jacob owned the livery.
“What kind of work do you do?” Maude asked over her shoulder.
Libby followed the woman up to the hotter third floor. “I—I came here to meet s-someone, but I’m on my own now. I’m normally employed as a seamstress.”
“A seamstress?” Humming thoughtfully, Maude marched down the narrow door-lined hallway. “Old Harv over at the dry goods has been talkin’ about gettin’ a woman to alter some of the ready-made clothes. You just might want to talk with him. Tell him I sent you.”
“Thank you.” Libby brightened. Perhaps she might find a suitable position right away.
Maude stopped at the end of the hall. “Whew, this heat would melt the core of hell, that’s for sure. I’m afraid it don’t get much cooler, just hotter right through the summer until autumn comes.”
Libby’s problems were more serious than the heat. “As long as the room’s clean.”
“Oh, it’s clean. Don’t tolerate filth in my place.” Maude swung open the door and stepped into the corner room.
Libby peered inside, almost afraid to enter. She’d learned to expect the worst, but her outlook brightened as she studied the little room.
A bare straw-tick mattress sat on a small wooden frame. A simple, scarred bureau was tucked into the corner beside a battered, but newly painted wardrobe. Maude crossed the polished wood floor and tugged open first one window and then the other. Crisp white curtains fluttered back in the hot breeze.
“It’ll be uncomfortable hot for the rest of the summer.” Maude turned to glance at the unmade bed. “I’ve got linen downstairs I’ll let you use.”
“This will be perfect.” So much more than she deserved. Libby managed a wobbly smile.
“Good.” Maude offered her hand, and they shook. “Since you’re such a nice young gal, I’ll knock off two bucks due to the heat.”
Eight dollars a week. It was too good to be true.
Maude had invited Libby into the dining room and offered her a free cup of coffee. While she turned down the offer of breakfast, placing a hand over her queasy stomach, the cup of strong, bitter coffee knocked some of the lightness out of her head.
Things were going to be fine. As she ventured out into the hot morning, Libby felt hopeful with her new keys tucked safely in her pocket and two week’s lodging paid ahead. Only $21.21 remaining. While it wasn’t a fortune, it was much more than she’d had at some points in her life.
Maude’s friend, old Harv, turned out to be the proprietor of Ellington’s Dry Goods. Libby hesitated in the doorway. The fine establishment was empty of shoppers, but stuffed with a variety of goods. Ready-made garments sat in neatly folded stacks on tables. Trousers and canvas, shirts and skirts, and a few bolts of colorful fabric. She spotted a row of fancy ribbons.
Emma. Libby tripped, and caught herself. Sadness tore at her heart.
A tall, thin man wearing spectacles appeared from a doorway in the back. “Can I help you find something, miss?”
Libby gathered her courage. It wasn’t easy. “Are you Mr. Ellington?”
“That I am.”
“I heard from Maude Baker you might be interested in hiring a seamstress. I sew tight and even seams, and I do excellent buttonholes.”
Mr. Ellington folded his arms across his chest. He was well dressed in a gray silk vest and a tailored white shirt. He looked like a man able to afford help in his store.
“I can’t say if I plan to take on someone full-time.” Ellington shook his head. “As you can plainly see, I sell ready-made. Too many bachelors up here, or married men who left their womenfolk behind. It takes only a few minutes to find them what they need.”
No work. Libby hid her disappointment. “Well, perhaps you would