Carol Arens - Rebel with a Heart

It’s me, Lils. It’s Trace.

* * *

Blessed heat poured from the fireplace in the lobby of the Riverwalk Hotel. Lilleth walked past the check-in desk, pointing Jess toward the big hearth.

November in South Dakota was a beast.

“Sit there, Jess.” She pointed to a big padded chair, one of a pair flanking the fireplace. “Get your sister out of that blanket so the warmth can reach her.”

Lilleth removed her coat and gloves. She stood before the fire, letting it warm her, front then back. It took a few moments, but the bitter cold finally quit her bones.

She glanced about, relieved to see the hotel lobby empty of patrons. Through an open door to her right she heard the ting of utensils against plates. An aroma of fresh warm bread swirled throughout the lobby, mixing with the scent of burning wood.

The moment she checked into her room, she would take the children to the dining room for dinner. They had to be hungry. The strenuous travel they had been forced to endure left little time for leisurely meals.

Riverwalk in November was not a place she would choose to be, but choice had been taken from her some time ago.

The hotel clerk bent down behind the tall counter. Lilleth took that moment to attempt to straighten her bustle. It had been crushed and bent beyond repair. No amount of yanking or pulling made a whit of difference to its appearance.

By all rights Mr. Clark Clarkly ought to pay for it. The man was beyond clumsy. Thank goodness it hadn’t been Jess he had bowled over. He and Mary might have been injured. Mr. Clarkly ought to take his stroll with a warning to fellow pedestrians tied about his neck.

But there was something about him...something almost familiar. She couldn’t at this very second imagine what it was, though.

“I’ll be back, Jess. I’m going to check in, then we’ll get something to eat.”

Frigid wind huffed against the windowpanes, but the hotel lobby was lovely and warm. Thank the stars that she had been able to wire ahead and get reservations on short notice.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Green.” Lilleth read his name from the plaque on the counter. “My name is Lilly Gordon. I’d like to register for my room, if you please.”

Mr. Green looked her over with interest, as men tended to do. It was a fact of life that nature and her mother had bequeathed her a figure that attracted men’s attention. She had quit taking offense to their reactions years before. Men were men, after all, for good or ill.

“Mr. Green?” she asked, returning his attention to her face. “My room?”

The man blushed, ran his thumb down a list of names on the hotel register and then frowned.

“That’s Mrs. Gordon,” Lilleth said, feeling uneasy. The clerk ought to be smiling and handing her a key by now. “Mrs. Lilly Gordon.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, then ran his forefinger over the register one more time. Halfway down, his finger stopped. He withdrew a pair of spectacles from his pocket, placed them on his nose, then bent low to peer at the page.

Lilleth tapped her foot.

Mr. Green closed the book and pressed his long, thin fingers on top of it. He cleared his throat.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Gordon. There appears to have been a mistake.”

“Kindly check again.” Tap tap, tap. “My reservation was confirmed.”

“I see that, yes.” The man shifted his weight. “But it appears that your room has been given to someone else.”

Lilleth took a breath, slowly and calmly. She let it out, drawing deep down for a smile. You catch more men with lace than you do with homespun, she reminded herself. This philosophy was also something bequeathed by her mother.

“I’m sure you can provide them another room. Certainly they will understand once you explain the mistake.”

“I’d like nothing more, Mrs. Gordon, but the couple in question are the elderly parents of the owner of this hotel. I can’t rightly send them out in the cold.”

Tap, tap...”I’m not asking you to do that. I’m simply asking that you give them another room.”

“There are no others. I’m sorry.”

“No other rooms?” There had to be another room; she had reserved one! “Do you see my children over there, Mr. Green? Mary’s only a baby. Would you send her out into the cold?”

He truly did appear remorseful. She brightened her smile and forced her toe to be still.

“Not by choice, no, I wouldn’t. But it’s out of my hands.”

“Whose hands would it be in, then, Mr. Green?” This error would be corrected or she was not Lilleth Preston. “We’ll wait right here in the lobby until you find the person who can correct this error.”

“It won’t do any good. No rooms means no rooms. The hotel is booked up long term. There won’t be a room here or anywhere else for a good while.” Mr. Green reopened the register and flipped through a few pages. “Look for yourself. There’s the Grange meeting in town. All the farmers and their families are here for it.”

She would not take the children back out in the cold. They had only now quit shivering.

“Be that as it may, I do have a reservation.” Lilleth looked about. There was nothing for it. “We’ll take the lobby, then. The chairs by the fire will do well enough for now.”

It served Mr. Green right to be choking on his Adam’s apple.

“Come along, Jess,” she called toward the fireplace. “Let’s have a bite to eat before we settle into our chairs for the evening.”

“May I be of service in some way?” said a low voice from behind her.

A deep breath, hands planted on her hips and a slow pivot brought her about to face a well-dressed man standing beside Mr. Green.

“And you would be?” She arched a brow. This had better be someone who could fix the situation.

“The owner of this establishment. Is there a problem?” he asked.

“There most certainly is, Mr....” She shooed her hand between them, since he hadn’t felt it necessary to reveal his name. “My reservation has been given away. According to Mr. Green, my children and I have no place to go but out in the cold to freeze to death.”

“There is the meeting of the Grange. The whole town is booked.”

“And I am one of the people who booked.”

“I understand your frustration, ma’am. Let me think on it a moment.” The hotel owner frowned and twirled his mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “There is Mrs. O’Hara’s. She might have a room.”

For some reason this made Mr. Green’s eyes go wide as dollars.

“Very well, I suppose that will have to do.” If it didn’t she’d be back to camp out in this lobby. “And where will I find Mrs. O’Hara?”

“A few streets north of here will be a saloon. Make a right and go three blocks. That will take you near the edge of town. You can’t miss the place. It’s the only building around.”

She’d rather not walk the children past a saloon, but there appeared to be no help for it.

She bundled Mary up tight. Jess took the bags.

“Give my regards to Mrs. O’Hara,” Mr. Hotel Owner called as she hustled the children out into the first snowfall of the season.

“Auntie Lilleth,” Jess said, his shoulders hunched under the burden of the bags. “I hope Mrs. O’Hara’s place isn’t far. It’s so cold I can’t rightly feel my toes.”

“Careful, Jess, ears are everywhere.”

* * *

Trace opened the front door to Clark Clarkly’s Private Lending Library, stumbled inside and then closed the door with the heel of his shoe.

He shivered from the chill lingering in his coat and dumped the load of books on his desk, letting them fall out of order. He tossed his broken glasses on the pile.

Ordinarily, he would light a fire in the big hearth that took up most of the wall behind his desk, but not this afternoon. Snow drifted past the window, growing heavier by the minute, and he needed to get to Hanispree Mental Hospital.

Unless he missed his guess, the staff wouldn’t venture away from their cozy quarters to make sure the inmates were warm. It was back out into the cold for good old Clarkly.

Over the years, as an investigative journalist for the family paper, Trace had uncovered plenty of nasty secrets. Hanispree Mental Hospital had some of the worst. It was a stink hole of corruption. The more he poked around, the more determined he was to expose the malignant soul of the place.

To the casual observer, Hanispree looked like a resort where the wealthy might come to relax. Its gardens were manicured and the marble staircase inside gleamed. Expensive wood floors reflected layers of polish.

The truth that he had discovered ate at his gut. Polished floors and gleaming marble were a facade. Hanispree Mental Hospital was little more than a prison for the cast-off members of wealthy families. He was certain that some of them had no mental illness whatsoever.

A movement beyond the window caught his attention. He figured he’d be the only one foolhardy enough to go outdoors with a storm blowing in. He walked to the window and pulled aside the filmy curtain.

What the devil? Lilleth and her little brood were making their way down the boardwalk, their bodies leaning into the wind. He’d assumed they would be settled into the hotel by now.

He started to reach for the doorknob, to run after her and find out if there was something amiss.

But she had a husband, no doubt a fine man who was at this moment coming to her aid. Trace would do well to remember that he was not himself at the moment, but Clark Clarkly.

If she discovered who he was it might spell disaster for the exposé he was writing. If his true identity was revealed, what would happen to all the folks at Hanispree? He needed to keep his distance.

Trace peered after Lilleth, his eye to the windowpane trying to see up the street, where Mr. Gordon no doubt waited with open arms.

The investigative journalist in him began to gnaw at something. It was trivial, really. But Lilleth detested being called Lilly. He’d witnessed her wrestling half-grown boys to the ground for teasing her with that name.

A knock low down on the front door brought his attention and his eye away from the window.

He opened the door to let in a flurry of flakes and young Sarah Wilson.

“Little Sarah.” He closed the door behind her, then brushed an inch of snowflakes from the brim of her hat. “What are you doing out in this weather?”

“Good day, Mr. Clarkly. I’ve come to borrow a book.”

Bless her heart, coming out in the elements. He was familiar with Sarah. She was a nine-year-old bundle of curiosity, as well as a dedicated reader. Her mother was in frail health, and Sarah escaped into stories as often as she could.

Clark Clarkly and his lending library did have their uses in the community. He wasn’t a complete waste.

“As luck would have it, I picked up a shipment of new books just an hour ago.” Trace lurched toward the desk and snatched one up, along with his shattered spectacles. “I’ve just the thing for a girl your age, Miss Sarah.”

He opened the ledger on his desk and Sarah signed her name in it, her promise to return the book.

“I’ll bring it back real soon,” she said.

“Not until the weather clears.” He would give her the book to keep, along with a few others, when his assignment was finished and he went back home to Chicago. “Come along, I’ll see you home.”

Trace put on a heavy coat, picked up his collection of new books and gathered Sarah’s mittened hand in his.

Outside, he closed the door behind him and glanced in the direction that Lilleth had gone, but she and her family had vanished.