“Miss Hollis risked her neck. There could’ve been an injured deputy in there for all she knew. Or prisoners.”
“Er. Wasn’t there a prisoner?” the hotel manager asked. He knew all about DeWeise.
“Got away during the excitement,” Clay answered.
Mr. Webb grimaced. “Mr. Harvey won’t be happy about that.”
Clay turned his hat by the brim as he spoke. “None of us are real happy about that.”
“Heard the jailhouse is burned clear to the ground.”
“We’re settin’ up temporary quarters in a building across the street from where we were. Liveryman used the old bars to put together a couple o’ cages. They’ll do for cells while a new building is built.”
With a nod, the marshal excused himself and Mrs. Winters marched away, clearly displeased.
Sophie was left facing the manager. “I don’t know whether what you did was brave or foolish, Sophie,” he said.
“I couldn’t not do it.”
He nodded, his face a study of concern. “I must insist you keep a far less public profile from now on. None of us can afford for you to bring this much negative attention to yourself. Harvey Girls have a strict standard to uphold. Your record must be impeccable.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Are you up to performing your duties today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” He gave her a stern look. “See that you stay in Mrs. Winters’s good graces.”
That had always been her intent, she thought, leaving his office.
The bundle Ellie had sent was still in the hallway where Sophie had left it. She carried it up the back stairs and emptied the pockets of her smelly skirt. Adding her clothing to the nearest laundry bag in the hall, she took time to include a note.
Back in her room, she dressed in a clean pressed uniform, dabbed lilac water on her wrists and throat and arranged her hair. She paused with the folded papers in her palm. She needed to destroy these posters. Hiding them wasn’t good enough.
It was easy to slip down to the overheated bustling kitchen, slide aside a stove lid, and drop the papers into the fire. Pleased with herself, she stepped back. The whole task had taken a turn down a dirt road last night, but she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. Now no one was going to run across those drawings and connect her to her past.
She could truly breathe easy again.
After a long blistering meeting with the city and county officers and an exchange of telegrams with the county seat, Clay met with George Lent, a mason, and a carpenter named Frank Prouty to create a list of supplies. He then sent a wire to Topeka ordering brick.
Al Greene pushed a stack of telegrams across the counter toward him. “All these came this afternoon. I knew you’d be back so I didn’t send a runner.”
Clay thanked him and took the messages.
Standing in the shade of the roof over the boardwalk, he thumbed though the papers. He read a couple of follow-up notes regarding the construction of the new jailhouse followed by replies to his queries to neighboring counties and states.
None of the lawmen had information about anyone meeting Morgan’s description. So far the news didn’t flesh out his instincts. He stuffed the messages into his pocket and reached to unloop his horse’s reins from the hitching rail. He still had a full day of getting a temporary office put together ahead, and he had yet to visit the gunsmith and the hardware store.
Mounting, he headed toward north Main. The same group of plains Indians he’d seen earlier were loading supplies into the back of a wagon with the help of one of the mercantile owner’s hired men.
Clay nodded to the men and tipped his hat to the women. The females greeted him with smiles. “No paper,” one of the women said to him.
“No paper,” he agreed, with a grin.
Odd how Sophie had spotted that con going on right there on the platform with so many people crowded together. But then Newton was the place for it, the railroad hub, and everyone who came through by rail passed that station. The people who worked at the Arcade probably saw more than anyone else.
He found himself wondering if he’d have a chance to visit the dining hall with all he had going on. Eating there had become much more appealing of late.
Chapter Five
That night in their room, Amanda had a hundred questions.
“I just did it,” Sophie replied for the third time. “I didn’t think about it.”
“What were you doing in the park so late?”
Sophie wished she was there right now, lying on a warm stone bench, peering into the limitless heavens. “I go there to think sometimes.”
“You’re so brave. I’d be too afraid to be out alone at night.”
“And you’d be smart to be afraid,” she assured her quickly. “There are dangers out there that you’re unprepared for.”
“What about you? Are you prepared for them? Could you protect yourself?”
Sophie glanced at the girl sitting on the other bed. “I know how to take care of myself, Amanda. Have you heard from your father?”
“Not directly. I had a letter from my mother’s sister though—my aunt June. She said father’s doing well. My cousin Winnie is going to have her baby any day. I wish I could be there when he’s born.”
“You can go visit as soon as you hear.”
“Winnie is so fortunate to have found a wonderful man to love her. She’s so happy. I want someone to love me like that.”
Sophie turned back her covers and lowered the wick on the lamp. “I know, but just think about how good you have it here and be patient.”
“I’ve been patient. I thought coming here would open up new opportunities, but so far the only young men who’ve invited me out have asked half the other girls as well. It’s as humiliating as being back at home.”
“What do you mean?”
“My stepmother always treated me like I wasn’t as good as her children.”
Sophie understood wanting to be accepted. She’d been resented by the Sioux children because she was white and the chief had treated her as their equal. “She was probably jealous because your father loved your mother.”
“Probably. But here I am with competition again.”
“There is quite a buffet of young ladies at the Arcade,” Sophie mused aloud. “I suppose it’s difficult for the gentlemen to have so many choices. Rather like a boy with a penny standing before the candy counter at the mercantile.”
Amanda laughed, but then her expression dimmed. “Suppose I’m not the most appealing gumdrop in the jar?”
Sophie heard the wistfulness in her voice and ached for that naiveté she’d never known. She climbed into bed. “I rather think you’re a delectable twist of licorice. Not everyone likes licorice, but those who do find its appeal irresistible.”
“Do you really think so, Sophie?”
“I do.”
“I’m a licorice whip.” Amanda grinned and appeared to think a moment. “What are you?”
Sophie snuggled into her covers and closed her eyes. “I am a lemon drop.”