The tapping of a hammer pulled Jeremy’s attention from the ledger in which he was recording a stack of freight bills of lading. He laid aside his pencil and leaned around the corner of the office.
Miss Denton knelt on the floor beside an overturned chair, her head bent in concentration. Her small tack hammer rat-a-tatted on the stretcher bracing the two back legs.
He edged closer and peered over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
She glanced up. “I’m fixin’ these chairs so nobody gets hurt. Both of them are ready to fall apart.” She directed a dab of glue into the mortise slot and tapped in the tenon, finishing it off by driving a nail through the joint. “My father would have a conniption if he saw me usin’ a nail on a mortise and tenon, but since it already came apart once, the nail’ll make it more secure.”
Jeremy pinched his chin. Neither his privileged background nor his Yale education ever afforded him the opportunity to become acquainted with tools or their use. Still, shouldn’t a gentleman take the hammer and perform the repair for her? He was half-afraid to offer for fear she’d take him up on it. “Need some help?”
She arched her brows. “I know how to handle a hammer.”
He didn’t know whether to be rebuffed or relieved. “I can see that. I just thought I ought to ask.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “By the time I was ten years old, I could hammer barbed wire onto fence posts as well as my brothers.” She turned the chair right-side up. “Care to try it out?”
Jeremy drew in a breath. If he refused, he’d offend her. If he sat on the chair and her repairs weren’t sound, he could end up on the floor looking foolish. He lifted his shoulders and held out his hand toward the chair. “Ladies first.”
She folded her arms and huffed. “You don’t trust me.”
He made a gallant bow. “Just being a gentleman.”
A girlish giggle escaped her lips, and mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Well, it might be a good idea to let the glue dry first.”
Jeremy threw his head back and laughed. “Miss Denton, remind me to never allow you to serve as a switchman.” He shook his head. “I’ll wager you can hold your own, whether on a cattle ranch with your brothers or back east fending off the dandies.”
A rosy blush stole into her cheeks, causing her eyes to take on a deeper hue of violet. “You’d be right about that.”
His heart stuttered. Unable to pull his gaze away from her, he allowed himself to be captured by her charm. He’d known many young women in his social circles, but he’d never met one quite like Rosemary Denton. He ran his hand through his hair. “Would you mind terribly—that is, would you find it offensive if I asked you to call me Jeremy?”
Her smile deepened two beguiling indentations on either side of her lips, and she lowered her lashes. “I wouldn’t be offended at all, as long as you call me Rosemary.”
Rosemary glanced up from the windowsill she was dusting to see Jeremy emerge from the telegraph office next door. Apprehension poked her. Her father had certainly received her letter by now.
Pa would be annoyed that she’d been so careless as to miss her train. He might even believe she’d done it on purpose out of spite. But the stirring in her heart was about more than Wade’s flirtation or Pa’s insistence that she go east to become a lady. Over the past two weeks, her reluctance had taken on a different sentiment. She’d discovered she liked Sweetwater and working at the train depot. Despite having to sweep floors and clean windows to support herself, she found the job offered her something she’d never had before: independence. The feeling of accomplishment when she finished a day’s work bolstered her confidence.
She checked the mail daily to see if she’d received a reply to her letter. Maybe Pa would wait until the telegraph lines were working again, or he might even jump on the next train and come for her himself. Every time an eastbound train pulled into the station, she held her breath, expecting to see her father or one of her brothers disembark. A knot tightened in her stomach. She only hoped Pa would take her entreaty to heart and see that she was no longer a little girl but a resourceful and industrious grown woman, capable of making her own choices. It took more than tea parties and fancy dresses to make a lady. She hoped he would look past her imprudent mistake and think her resourceful and levelheaded in the face of her dilemma.
She moved to run her dustcloth over the chairs. Every time she imagined Pa’s insistence on her going to Philadelphia, she gritted her teeth. If he refused her request and still made her go, she just wouldn’t stay, that’s all. He couldn’t force her to stay.
Jeremy entered the depot. “Arne says word is the lines should be up later today. He suggested you check with him in the morning.”
Rosemary pushed out a sigh. “Thanks. I will.”
Jeremy straddled one of the newly repaired—and now sturdy—chairs. “You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic.”
Unsure if sharing her tangled feelings with Jeremy was a good idea, she shrugged. Pastor Collins’s Sunday sermon lingered in her mind, and she’d started a half-dozen times to tell Mrs. Collins what weighed on her heart but doubted the woman would approve of her intention to defy her father. In all likelihood, Jeremy would agree with the pastor’s wife.
He ran his fingers over the worn edge of the chair back. “I remember you said you were going to visit relatives. Where do they live?”
“In a village just outside of Philadelphia called Ardmore.”
“Ardmore.” Jeremy blinked, and his eyebrows arched before dipping into a frown. “It’s on the main line. I know the area.”
Rosemary focused her attention on polishing the brass hardware at the entrance. A sliver of panic needled her. What if Jeremy knew her aunt and uncle? Should she tell him she’d never been east of Cheyenne until two and a half weeks ago? “I’ve never been there. My cousins wrote about the parties and balls they attend. Suppose I’ll be joinin’ them.”
“No doubt.” Jeremy rose from the chair. “Well, I should get back to those shipping invoices. Otto is due back today, and I want to make sure everything is caught up.”
Otto? She frowned. Who was Otto?
“Oh, I remember. You said Otto is the regular depot agent.” Her stomach tightened. Did this mean Otto was the boss? What if he didn’t think the depot needed a cleaning woman and fired her?
“Does Otto know you hired me?”
A smile eased the furrow in Jeremy’s brow. “No, but I’ll introduce you when he gets here. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? He’d read her mind.
Jeremy settled in behind the tidy desk and opened the ledger. Each entry reflected the care he’d taken to record every transaction with accuracy. But Rosemary’s words echoed in his mind and distracted him from the columns of figures.
She had family living in Ardmore—one of the rural areas where Philadelphia’s wealthiest families built summer houses to escape the heat of the low-lying parts of center city. His own parents had spent a couple of summers there when he was in college.
He propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. What had he done? A young woman from the upper crust of society, probably on her way east to become a debutante, and he offered her a job mopping floors and washing windows. She hadn’t given the impression she was insulted, but perhaps she was just being kind. Or she may have realized she had no choice. She was, after all, in a rather desperate situation, having been stranded without any money and no way to reach her father. He could only imagine what went through her mind.
It seemed odd, though, that she wasn’t more anxious to be on her way. If she had wealthy relatives waiting for her arrival, she could have wired them of her predicament and asked them to send her funds for a new ticket, even if she couldn’t reach her father in Wyoming. Yes, she could handle a hammer and perhaps even string barbed wire fencing. But why in heaven’s name was she here cleaning the depot and living in a modest little cottage when she could be living in a mansion in Ardmore being waited on and pampered? No doubt about it, Rosemary Denton was a mystery.
He recorded the last invoice and filed it. Otto wouldn’t recognize the place when he returned. The office was spotless and the desk clear of all clutter, every piece of paper filed properly and the ledgers all up to date. He checked the clock. Westbound wasn’t due for another hour.
He pulled his Bible from his satchel. The envelope from his father’s latest letter marked the place where he wanted to pick up reading. He noted with an element of chagrin that his father had omitted his name from the return address—no doubt to maintain Jeremy’s anonymity. Guilt pinched him again. He understood his father’s reasons for not wanting anyone to know Jeremy was his son during this time. The best way to learn the railroad industry, starting with the lowliest jobs, was to step into the experience as an equal. People like Otto needed to view him as nothing more than an apprentice, and that wouldn’t happen if they knew his true identity. But he didn’t like being less than honest. Especially with Rosemary.
He tucked the envelope into the back flap and began soaking in God’s Word.
“What are you reading?”
Jeremy jerked his head up. Rosemary stood in front of the counter, peering at his open Bible.
“Psalm 62.” He pointed to the page and began to read aloud. “My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation; he is my defence; I shall not be moved.” He looked up at her, and his breath caught.
Moisture brimmed in her eyes. “I wish I knew what to expect from God.”
Jeremy reached across the counter and touched her fingers. “Do you pray?”
She shook her head. “I listen when Reverend Collins prays. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdroppin’ on a personal conversation. I never knew you could talk to God like that. I found my mother’s Bible a few years ago and read parts of it, but it confused me. I wish I knew what my mother believed. Maybe if she’d lived, she might’ve taught me to pray.”
Compassion flooded Jeremy’s soul, and his heart quickened. “I’m sure no expert, but I read God’s Word, and He speaks to me through it. Praying is like talking to my best friend, only better, because I’m talking to the One who created me and loves me.”
An expression of wonderment fell across Rosemary’s face. “I never heard anyone ever talk about God like that, except maybe Pastor Collins. I wish I knew if my mother talked to Him like you’re sayin’.”
The wistfulness in her voice tugged at him. “Do you still have her Bible? Maybe she made some notations in it.”
Rosemary lifted her shoulders. “I suppose it’s back home—at the ranch, I mean.”
Jeremy turned the Bible around so Rosemary could read it, and he pointed to the verse. “This is what you can expect from God: His strength, His salvation, His defense, and more. He will give you peace, comfort, mercy, and best of all, His love. When you trust God, He will never leave you alone.”
She stared at the page for a full minute. “Truly?”
“Truly. God will never promise something and then betray you.”
She blinked and swallowed. He wished he could read her thoughts. Turmoil was evident in her eyes. Had someone broken a promise to her? Or worse, betrayed her? Jeremy kept his tone gentle. “The Bible is full of God’s promises. I’d like the chance to show them to you.”
A tremulous smile wobbled over her face. “I’d like that.”
“Well, ain’t that nice.” Otto’s voice growled from the doorway. “Thought I’d come back to find you workin’, not holdin’ a Sunday school class.”