Jeremy chafed at the message that came across the wire Saturday afternoon. The urge to kick the nearest object into the next county tempted him, but instead he leaned forward and planted his hands on the desk.
“When did this happen?”
Jonesy, the telegrapher at Grand Island, glanced up at Jeremy’s tone. “Look, it ain’t my fault a band o’ knucklehead outlaws decided to dynamite the track and hold up the train. I’m waitin’ on two replies out of the Chicago office before we know when the tracks’ll be repaired. Right now, I got a stack o’ telegrams to send between here and Omaha and Chicago, ’cause Mr. Forbes is fit to be tied about this. So you’re gonna hafta wait.”
Caution poked Jeremy with the reminder that he was just a new employee learning the ropes, and he sent Jonesy an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just that I have… an appointment.”
The gap between Jonesy’s front teeth peeked out underneath his scraggly mustache. “Had a date, did ya?” He guffawed. “Well, the last time somethin’ like this happened, it took two days to replace the section of track that got damaged. Don’t look like you’re gonna keep your date today. Where was you headed?”
“Sweetwater.”
Jonesy snorted. “Sweetwater? Ain’t nothin’ much happenin’ in a little town like that.”
Jeremy opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. With Jonesy tapping out messages to and from the different railroad offices, it might be hours before he could send a wire to notify Rosemary of the reason for his absence. He pulled loose one end of his tie and headed back to his room at the boardinghouse. There might not be much happening in Sweetwater, but he’d asked Rosemary if he could escort her to church.
His jaw muscle tightened, and he sucked in a deep breath intended to calm his nerves. No doubt his father was angry and frustrated by the robbery and damage done to his railroad. A sliver of guilt stabbed. After Jonesy assured him nobody had been hurt during the holdup, Jeremy hadn’t given much thought to the business ramifications. As the company’s future vice president, he should contact his father to inquire if there was anything he could do. But the thoughts taking center stage in his mind now were of Rosemary and whether she’d think he’d broken his word.
He unlocked the door to his room and plopped down into the lumpy chair next to the window. The view from the second-floor window pulled a halfhearted smile onto his face. Between the dust and smears, the vista across the street and down the railroad tracks was partially obscured. Rosemary would never tolerate such dirty windows in her depot.
While still stationed in Sweetwater, he couldn’t deny his attraction to Rosemary. Since his departure, the separation left a gaping hole in his heart. He longed to be near her, to share the scriptures together, to learn everything there was to know about her. He’d memorized every curve and plane of her face, the depth of her eyes, and the sound of her voice. He dreamed of touching the tendrils of her hair to see if they felt as silky as they looked. But it was the hidden places of her heart he most wanted to explore—to discover what made her happy and the reason for her tears.
Growing realization startled him. Was this what he thought it was? He stared out the dirt-streaked window. “Lord, am I in love with her?”
And what if he was? Not only had she told him her father insisted she continue her trip to Philadelphia by summer’s end, his own father had mapped out an intricate plan Jeremy was expected to follow. What could come of a romance with a thousand miles between them? The thought made his stomach ache.
Staring out the window trying to catch a glimpse of someone who didn’t show up was a depressing way to spend a Sunday afternoon. After a restless night, Monday morning wasn’t a welcome sight. Rosemary donned her lavender calico dress—the one Jeremy liked—and hurried off to the depot. Ada had fussed at her for not eating any of her special doughnuts, but Rosemary had claimed a queasy stomach. It wasn’t a lie. Wondering why Jeremy hadn’t come unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She stepped in the front door of the depot, her gaze scanning the area for those chores she needed to address first. Otto was grumbling and slamming things about in the cubicle office.
“Good mornin’, Otto.”
The agent growled back. “Ain’t nothin’ good about it.”
Rosemary peeked across the counter at him. “Should I have brought you some of Ada Collins’s fresh doughnuts?”
Otto looked up, his thick black eyebrows knitted together like a fat caterpillar. “Wouldn’t hurt.” He returned his attention to the mess on his desk. “Whadja do with the Lincoln schedule?”
Rosemary pointed. “It’s there beside the blotter, where it always is.”
He muttered something unintelligible and then added, “How am I s’posed to find anything if you keep puttin’ it where it belongs?”
Otto’s grouchiness wasn’t new. He greeted her most mornings with a grumpy demeanor. But an urgency Otto normally didn’t employ accompanied this morning’s tirade. Deciding to give him a wide berth, Rosemary turned toward the storage closet.
“Ever’ time a band o’ road agents holds up a train, the schedules get more scrambled than Aunt Sally’s eggs.”
Rosemary’s feet halted. “Hold up a train?” She returned to the cubicle door. “What are you talkin’ about?”
He thrust his fist holding the schedule toward the east. “Some yayhoos dynamited the track Saturday afternoon an’ held up the westbound. Ain’t no trains comin’ from Grand Island till at least t’marra. The express from Omaha even has to be rerouted.”
Fear rose up and strangled her. Was that the train Jeremy …? Her heart hammered against her rib cage. “Was anyone hurt?”
Otto tossed the schedule on the desk. “No. S’pose we can be thankful for that. It just makes ever’thing a lot more complicated. Now they’ll throw some confounded new regulation at us, and the folks wantin’ to ship goods or buy a ticket are gonna blame me.”
Rosemary found the breath she’d been holding and released it in a whoosh. “Thank God.”
“Huh? These here schedules are more tangled than a wad o’ barbed wire an’ my job jus’ got harder, an’ you’re gonna hold a revival meetin’ over that? An’ here I thought you was a nice little lady.”
Rosemary laughed and threw her arms around Otto. She squeezed his neck and gave him a peck on his whiskery cheek.
“Here now, cut that out.” Otto flapped his hand and wiped the spot where she’d kissed.
“Thanks, Otto.” She dashed to the closet and grabbed her bucket, fairly skipping out the back door to the pump. Jeremy hadn’t put her off or forgotten about his promise to escort her to church. The trains weren’t running because of the damage to the rails. Relief flooded her that no one had been hurt, but comfort snuggled around her heart to think Jeremy’s absence wasn’t due to uncaring.
The morning flew by, and Rosemary hummed while she worked, despite Otto’s grousing about “workin’ with a confounded canary-bird.” The scripture Jeremy had read to her, the one about waiting upon God, kept returning to her mind. The words reminded her she wasn’t in control of her life’s events. God’s very fingerprint was visible on her life, and the thought both frightened and thrilled her. The concept that God cared enough about her to direct her path filled her with awe, but what if God desired something for her that she didn’t desire for herself? The weight of the “what if” pressed down on her. Such ruminations were too deep for casual consideration. These questions required the wisdom of someone like Ada.
The large railroad clock read 12:15 p.m. when Otto grabbed a box of therapeutic papers and headed for the door.
Rosemary glanced out the window to the empty tracks. “Otto, didn’t you say the express out of Omaha is due at twelve-thirty?”
“Ain’t none of the trains keepin’ to a schedule today. I’ll be back in a while.”
Rosemary kept pushing her mop back and forth. Perhaps tonight she’d write a letter to Jeremy assuring him she understood why he hadn’t come. Tentative wording ran through her mind as she bent over the bucket and wrung out the mop. Would it be ladylike to express how disappointed she’d been or how much she missed him?
The echo of a distant train whistle met her ear. She glanced at the clock. Otto had been gone almost twenty minutes, and he’d implied the train wouldn’t be on time. She dropped her mop, and it hit the floor with a loud thunk as she hurried to the open door.
The rumble on the tracks grew like the approach of thunderstorm. The train slowed, preparing to stop, but Otto was nowhere in sight. She glanced to and fro but saw no passengers waiting to board. What if someone wanted to unload freight or needed to purchase a connecting ticket? Her palms grew sweaty.
The train’s huge wheels spewed steam as they screeched to a halt. A lone conductor jumped down and strode to the next-to-the-last car—a rather ornate vehicle. He pulled out a mounting step and opened the door. A distinguished-looking gentleman in a finely tailored gray suit stepped out and descended the step to the platform.
Rosemary backed up, seeking the confines of the depot as her hiding place. The man brushed his sleeve with his fingertips and pulled a handkerchief from his inside coat pocket to dab his forehead before walking to the depot. As he approached the door, Rosemary begged God to let Otto come back now.
The gentleman stepped inside and removed his hat, moving his gaze slowly from one end of the depot to the other. He seemed vaguely familiar, though Rosemary felt certain she’d never met him before. His brow furrowed, and he stepped to the ticket window. Rosemary swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
He turned in her direction and studied her for a moment. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m looking for Otto Gustafson. He is supposed to be on duty.”
“Yes, sir, he is… That is, he was… I mean…” Her throat tightened.
“What exactly do you mean, young lady?” He tucked the fingers of his free hand into his vest.
“He—that is, Otto… uh, Mr. Gustafson… went out to—”
“He went out?” The gentleman’s frown deepened. “Do you know where?”
Rosemary forced her head to nod. “To the… n–necessary.” Heat galloped up her neck and flooded her face.
“Ah.” As if aware of the embarrassment his inquiry had caused, he turned his head away from her and walked a few more steps into the depot. He tossed his hat on one of the chairs and scrutinized the new bench over which Rosemary had labored before returning his gaze to her. “And what exactly is your position here, miss, if I may ask?”
Confident the man could find no fault in the way she performed her duties, she swallowed back her intimidation. “I’m the cleaning woman.”
“Cleaning woman?” His gruff tone made Rosemary cringe. “I was not aware we had hired women to clean the depots. That’s supposed to be Gustafson’s job.”
He walked around the waiting area with measured steps, running his finger over the windowsills, sweeping his focus across the floors, and eventually staring at the windows. Her stomach knotted when the man turned to fix his eyes on her. “Now this is what every depot up and down the line should look like. What is your name, young lady, and who hired you?”
“R–Rosemary Denton, sir. The agent that was here a few weeks ago hired me. Jeremy Reide.”
A light flickered across the man’s eyes. “I see.”
The back door flung open, and Otto came barreling in. “I heard the train whis—” He came to a stumbling halt. “Mr. Forbes. I weren’t expectin’ you, sir.”
The gentleman in the fine gray suit, Mr. Forbes, narrowed his eyes. “Obviously.”