Chapter Six
Every climb down the drainpipe of the men’s dormitory got easier, but it also increased his chances of getting caught. When his feet hit the pavement below his window, Graham dusted off his hands and turned to the dark warehouse. After Leo’s attack, the kitchen boys and chefs refused to go to the warehouse alone. Several had placed requests to be moved to other restaurants down the line, which was exactly what Graham was trying to prevent. Their caution meant that no employees were out at night, and that sounded too convenient for anyone who wanted to conduct illicit business. It sounded like the perfect place for Graham to be.
But it wasn’t perfect. Tempering his excitement to solve the problems at Emporia was the fear that somehow Willow Kentworth was involved. She’d told him that her family was desperate. She’d told him that she’d do anything to help them. What did that mean? He couldn’t believe that she’d do anything against her conscience, but could it be that she was trusting the wrong people?
Graham had begun to imagine what could happen when his mission was over. He’d imagined treating Willow to a nice dinner with actual food this time. He’d imagined the great release of finally telling her something about himself, of finally being honest. He wanted her to know him. He wanted to stop choking down every memory, every experience, and stop giving her nothing in return for the parts of herself that she shared. He didn’t want to lose Willow’s regard, but he had to put an end to the smuggling, no matter who was involved.
The warehouses lined the tracks, different areas set aside for shipments for local merchants coming in and for produce from the farmers going out. But as far as Graham knew, no farmers were being attacked. No merchants had closed shop. The trouble seemed to swirl around the railroad men, particularly those who had connections with the restaurant. So that was where he was headed again—the Harvey House’s warehouse.
A sign hanging by chains creaked in the wind. A tomcat crashed down from the awning and landed right at Graham’s feet before bounding away. Graham flexed his fingers to get the feeling back into them. He should’ve seen that coming. How was he going to protect himself if a cat could dust his toes without warning? Sticking to the shadows when he could, he walked the perimeter of the building but noticed that it was locked up tight this time. Well, he’d sit and watch a spell. The short night would make for a long day, but his livelihood didn’t depend on being the best busboy.
It had been an hour when two cowboys wandered across the tracks from the saloon. He needed to suggest to the regulators that they inspect and confiscate the saloon’s property instead of his railcars, but they were more interested in squelching the source. At first Graham thought the cowboys’ repeated attempts to climb out of the tracks and onto the platform were hindered by their inebriated state, but once their wanderings made it around the building once, they seemed to sober up. No longer stumbling, they consulted a pocket watch by the moonlight, then took out in two different directions with clear intent.
Graham leaned forward. They hadn’t seen him. Would they have continued to act drunk if they had? A low rumbling alerted him that the giant warehouse door was being rolled back. He crept forward, his cheap shoes pinching his feet. They were only cowboys, and he’d have the element of surprise. Then again, he wanted to know what was going on. It’d be better not to run them off until he could see what they were up to. The saloon wasn’t the only place benefitting from the smuggled goods.
He flattened his back against the depot wall. He glanced at the Harvey House, halfway hoping he’d spot Willow leaning out of her window. No, he didn’t want her involved, even though he feared she was already. The same tomcat skedaddled across the road as a light cart pulled by two more men came silently down the street. Each man had the tongue of the cart under his arm and trotted toward the warehouse. They easily spun the cart around and backed it up to the door, taking less time and making less noise than a horse would have. They hefted a heavy box into the cart, then another. They worked in silence, the rasping of the box against the cart’s bed and the groan of the axle the only noises. Four men. Confrontation was unadvisable. Especially if Graham didn’t want to mess up the handsome face that Willow so admired. But he still wanted to see who they were and where they were going.
He waited until the cart was loaded. Two men disappeared back into the shadows, probably headed toward the saloon to make authentic what they’d been faking before now. The other two pulled the cart away from the warehouse. The going was slower than when the cart was empty, which would give Graham time to follow. He waited until they’d started down the road before he walked after them.
From the corner of his eye he saw a bright light, then nothing.
Etta Mae rolled to the edge of the bed, then sat up and rested her head in her hands. “Why do I have so much energy at night, but when morning comes, I can’t manage to get out of bed?”
Willow lay on her back and gripped her blanket as a heaviness settled on her. It had been two days since she and Graham had argued. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t watching her every time she looked up. And it didn’t stop him from placing dishes on her table first, much to the amusement of the other girls. But the imposed distance between them filled her with dread. In the beginning, she’d thought he was a nuisance—that she’d be better off if he went away and let her focus on her job. Now she worried that he’d do exactly that and she’d never see him again. Why was she so confused?
She turned her face away from Etta Mae and toward the open window. Was this how her father felt when marrying her mother? Tuberculosis meant that her mother would never be strong or helpful, but he loved her and had married her anyway. Practical concerns weren’t important when measured against their love and his desire to take care of her. And because they put their love before finances, Willow and Olive had had a happy but poor childhood. Because of their love, Willow desperately needed her job and was unwilling to lose it because of the antics of a busboy.
She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Today was another day with Graham working at her side but out of reach. What was Calista up to? If Willow knew, she would tell Graham—anything to solve this rift between them. As it was, her cousin’s erratic behavior had no explanation. Calista was the only person who could clear this up.
Standing, Willow placed both hands on the windowsill. It was time to look for discarded bottles and tidy up the platform. Unlike at Granny Laura’s ranch, mornings on the railroad tracks were not spectacular. She missed the ranch. The fields, the cattle, the cousins—that was what she was really homesick for, and seeing Calista made it worse.
The sky lightened in the east. That was the way home, and she’d get to go tomorrow. Because of her late-night work, she’d earned a few days’ leave. With train fare free for all Harvey employees, her decision was easy. Some girls preferred to visit their sister restaurants and hotels and see the country, but not Willow. Not this time. With all her confusion, she needed the touchstone of home. She needed to lean on the wisdom of her elders and be reassured that the world hadn’t changed just because her heart had.
The tracks stretched out like long arms reaching for her family. Tomorrow, she told them. Tomorrow she’d take a ride and clear her head.
With the rising sun, she could see a bump of something down on the tracks. Willow leaned over the windowsill. What was it? Had a cow fallen down there? She looked at the horizon. The morning train came through at 6:15, and it didn’t stop in Emporia. If something that big was on the tracks, there’d be a disaster. She reached for her uniform but shook her head. No time. She grabbed Etta Mae’s cotton robe, tossed it over her nightgown, and ran down the stairs.
She didn’t have time to find Mr. Cecil or Mrs. Sykes for an explanation. She just wanted to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. She rushed out of the quiet restaurant and to the edge of the platform. Her stomach turned over. It was a man. A man was on the tracks, and the unmistakable rumble of an approaching train echoed in her ear.
But then she realized it wasn’t just any man. It was Graham.
“Help!” she yelled, but her voice couldn’t be heard that far from the restaurant. She eyed the signal bell at the depot office. They might be able to signal to the train, but it would be a gamble. If she couldn’t find the right person soon enough, Graham was doomed. She was his only hope.
Willow dropped off the platform and landed between him and the wall. His face was bloody, and he sprawled cheek-down on one of the rails. She pulled on his arm, but he didn’t budge.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she begged. She knelt and took his chin in her hand, forcing his head up. His eyes opened. “You have to move,” she said. “The train is coming.”
He was fighting for focus, but then he gave up, and his eyes rolled closed.
“No.” She beat on his back. “You gotta move.” She looked up to see the terrifying black engine scoop the track under its chin as it raced at them. Graham wasn’t moving. She had to do something. Now!
She dropped his head and grabbed his ankles. With one ankle under each arm, she lurched backward. He moved six inches, and his head dropped from the rail onto the gravel beneath the railroad ties. Still not far enough. Another lurch backward, and another, every time moving a little less.
“Please move,” she begged. The train was upon them. The whistle from the frightened engineer sounded. One more pull was all she had time for. Graham began to resist, moving his feet to kick her away, but she held on and lunged backward as the train roared over them. Fighting the impulse to cover her ears, instead she gathered him against her, his bloody head on Etta Mae’s faded robe, and rolled away from the earsplitting noise.
The ground shook so hard that her heart rattled inside her chest. The heat from the train, the noise, the shaking were overwhelming.
Graham’s hands were against her waist, but he wasn’t struggling, just moving as if trying to determine where he was. She was shushing him even though neither of them could hear anything. The train wouldn’t stop here. Just a few more seconds. Suddenly, with a whoosh, it had passed. The clacking, the ringing bell, and the horn faded. Had the train been sounding its horn the whole time? Her hearing was fractured. Feet appeared as men jumped down. Their mouths were moving, but she couldn’t hear. Men from the depot. Mr. Cecil, the manager. The storekeeper. Hands pulling at her, pulling at Graham. His face raised toward hers, questions unanswered. He reached up to touch her face. His hand on her cheek, his thumb pressed against her lips.
And then he was gone.
“He was hit in the head.” The doctor pressed again on the back of Graham’s skull like he’d never seen a goose egg before.
“Do you have any idea what he was doing on the tracks after curfew?” Mr. Cecil asked.
“I’m a surgeon, not a mind reader,” the doctor said. Then, with a pat to Graham’s shoulder, he added, “Refrain from strenuous work for the next few days. You can expect a headache and blurred vision, but it’d be a lot worse if that young lady hadn’t gotten you away from the track.”
Graham nodded and then wished he hadn’t when he felt the pain. Knowing that he wasn’t thinking clearly, he’d opted to keep his mouth shut rather than risk having his identity revealed. He hadn’t fallen on the tracks. He’d been attacked while watching the warehouse, and someone had left him there to die. Someone who might make another attempt on his life when they learned that the last one had failed. So much was foggy, but one thing was clear—Willow Kentworth had saved his life.
“Does he have any family to contact?” the doctor asked.
Cecil nodded. “We sent a telegram to the address in his employee file. What do we do with him until they arrive?”
“Leave him be. He might need help keeping that cut clean, but he’ll be back on his feet soon enough.”
“He broke curfew,” Mr. Cecil was saying. “We’ll have to hire someone to take his place.”
“They took something from the warehouse.” Graham’s voice bounced inside his head. “I was outside, and I saw them loading two boxes into a cart.”
“Really? Is that your excuse for being out there?” Graham could sense Cecil in front of him, but he didn’t feel like opening his eyes. “I’ll have the foreman check the warehouse, but if there’s nothing missing, you are dismissed.”
Graham had nothing left to say. Before Cecil left, the doctor pulled the curtains to darken the room, giving Graham a chance to rest and dream of Willow.
He had no idea how long he’d slept, but when he opened his eyes, his brother was sitting in a chair, kicked back with his legs up on a dresser.
“Do you mean to tell me that this little room is where you’ve been staying? It’s so . . . primitive.”
“Good morning, Marlowe.”
“It’s afternoon, and you wouldn’t believe the lies I had to tell to explain why I’m so concerned over a busboy with a headache.”
“I doubt your conscience will bother you overmuch.”
“True.” Marlowe dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You’ve lasted longer than I thought you would. They still don’t know who you are.”
Graham eased up into a sitting position, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. “It won’t take them long to figure it out if you keep showing up.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a job here anymore. I convinced that Brit to give you another chance, since you nearly died on company property. I also made up a story about your father serving as my tutor when I was little and our family having a fondness for you.”
“I hope there’s some fondness.”
“Don’t push your luck. But we’ve arranged for you to take a trip home to visit this little family of yours.”
“Father? Does he want to see me?”
“I’m sure he does, but that’s immaterial. It’s that Pinkerton agent we hired. Evidently you’ve nearly blown the cover for the whole operation.”
“I did? When? Who’s the detective? Is it Leo?”
Marlowe shrugged. “All I know is I’m supposed to give you this message.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Graham.
Graham unfolded it, but the words blurred. He handed it back. “Read it, please.”
“Oh, I get to be involved in this mystery? Very well.” Marlowe cleared his throat. “It says, ‘Miss Kentworth is going on a trip tomorrow. Accompany her, but don’t let anyone in Emporia know.’”
Willow? He was going with Willow tomorrow? He might recover after all.
“I don’t know this Miss Kentworth, but her name seems to have revived you,” Marlowe said. “Is there something you should tell me?”
“She’s wonderful.”
“Does she think the same about you?”
“She thinks I’m a busboy.”
“Much below her, then?”
“In every way, except the one you mean. She’s a Harvey Girl.”
“I see.” Marlowe leaned back in his chair. “The one who saved your life?”
“I’m shocked that she’s paying any attention to you if she’s as wonderful as you say.”
“My head hurts,” Graham said. “Are we done?”
“As I said, it’s been arranged for you to travel tomorrow, and it sounds like it was at the request of the agent. Whoever he is, he’s as tight-lipped as you are. I hope you two can find each other.”
Graham covered his face with a pillow. He’d take it easy for the rest of the day, because tomorrow he had a job to do. And even more exciting than meeting the agent was a chance to thank Willow for saving his life.