Echoes of the Heart (45 page)

           
Thinking
of the morning, he wondered how much he actually knocked back.
 
He had never come close to this kind of
hangover and he still felt drunk.
 
He
threw on some clothes and didn’t dare shave then exited the room and after
forcing down a meal chased by a pot of coffee in the hotel dining room, he
thought he might live.

           
Anger
and resentment flared as he thought of Raeden.
 
He would be damned before he would chase her all the way to New
York.
 
Especially when she made it quite
clear she did not want to be with him.

           
Best
to put the past behind him and forget about Raeden, he had more significant
things to consider than a reckless affair.

Forty-eight

           
Amid
the commotion at Central Station, Raeden arrived in New York City, resolve
unwavering in the face of great odds against her venture.
 
Black acrid smoke from burning coal stung her
eyes as she stared in the distance at the erection of St. Patrick’s Cathedral,
a renaissance masterpiece reaching for the cloud-covered sky.
 
She had read construction resumed since the
Civil War ended, such a remarkable sight.
 
Fresh snow layered atop the soot stained mounds along the street and
sidewalks softening the black blanket beneath.

           
Checking
into The Inn at Irving Place, she stood at the damask draped window looking
over rooftops and a twinge of fear shrouded her excitement before she turned to
unpack.

 
A thick-cushioned settee and chair adorned the
lush carpeted suite with mirrored end tables holding electric leaded-glass
lamps.
 
The anteroom held a narrow padded
bench seat at the foot of a large bed sided by polished oak end tables.
 
A clock sat atop a chest of drawers on the
right along with a vanity.

To the left a
claw-footed porcelain tub sat in the middle of the bathing room atop a gleaming
Spanish tiled floor with a pull-chain convenience in the corner and a gilt
framed beveled mirror hung over a pedestal sink.

 
Raeden pulled dense Egyptian cotton towels
from the cabinet and ran a bath, eager to remove the road grime and shampoo her
hair before taking a short nap.

In the early
afternoon, she spoke with the concierge to acquire names of realty agents and
solicitors in the vicinity and called for appointments before boarding the
metro to the Financial District, passing the temporary tent-like structures on
Wall Street serving customers transacting stock market trades.

           
She
chose the Mellon Bank to handle her accounts and deposited the bank drafts from
St. Louis grateful for the generous endowment from her grandparents’ estate.

On meeting with
the realty agent, she discussed her requirements over a map of the city.
 
She desired a small warehouse in the Fashion
District and apartments with access to public transportation.
 
He pointed out areas she should avoid, such
as Five Corners with its high crime rate and violence, riddled with gangs and
itinerants she should avoid.

           
Exhausted
and hungry, she returned to the inn, had a light supper then fell into bed,
excitement from the busy day clouded by memories of the man she loved.
 
Her body ached to be near him and feel his
protective arms around her dissolving the fears and chasing away the nightmares
still plaguing her sleep.
 
Eventually her
body succumbed to fatigue and she sank deeper into her tearstained pillow and
fell asleep.

***

The solicitor she
met with the following day listened intently to her story about the forced
nuptials, the consummation topic avoided, and another lie of omission.
 
He explained Cash would need to sign the
papers as well to avoid a court battle and a trip back to South Dakota.
 
The documents would be ready the following
week.
 
Surely, he would agree.
 
What senator would want the scandal of an
estranged wife living alone in New York City?
 
His reputation might be ruined. Not that he had lived the life of a
monk.

           
A
little voice in her head told her she might regret her decision but in
actuality, she must do it.
 
She did not
desire any remnants of her past to destroy her future and she hoped time would
dim the memories leaving her free to pursue her quest.

           
With
no word from her agent, she changed into a brown and tan riding habit and
traveled to the stable near Central Park where she boarded Arte, to enjoy a
nice long ride.
 
The many snow-covered
trees along the paths lying dormant promised a full spring display.

           
She
tried to imagine Central Park in the next season with leafy branches shading
the lanes winding through the park and the aroma of cherry blossoms hanging in
the air.

           
Refreshed
by the ride, she returned to find a message from her agent waiting, asking her
to meet him the following morning to view a property meeting her criteria and
an apartment near the Village he believed she would find to her liking.

***

The sun rose to a
new day and Raeden made a tour of Fifth Avenue, checking all the retailers
vending clothing, made mental notes of pricing and noticed not much offered
compared to her stylish gowns.

She rode the ferry
to view the harbor and the New York skyline reflecting over the water then rode
in the park keeping her mind busy to avoid the ache settling in an empty space,
yearning for fulfillment, between her heart and stomach.
 
This
will pass in time, it has to.
 
Nothing
lasts forever
.

           
She
met her agent to inspect the property and found the warehouse nearly
perfect.
 
Ample lighting covered the
floor space with massive steel-lined windows along the front to allow plenty of
sunlight and it had commercial overhead fans to circulate air.
 
The back wall, not in direct sunlight, would
be perfect for shelving the bolts of fabric and a small room to the left in the
corner could hold an office.
 
Work
tables, a drafting area and garment racks would fit easily onto the mammoth
open-air floor.

           
Since
the landlord was hesitant to sign a lease with a woman, she had to pay six
months in advance.
 
The agent gave her
the name of an honest contractor she could hire to complete her required needs.
 
She slowly strolled around the warehouse, her
head buzzing with ideas.

           
Offered
a ride by her agent, Raeden swiftly declined.
 
In spite of the gun she carried in her bag, all the terrors resurfaced
making it hard to breath.
 
Therefore, she
followed him in her own taxi to the Chelsea Hotel near the Village where he had
located the perfect apartment on the second floor, spacious, freshly painted
and papered with a simple design that would blend with any décor.

           
Floor
vents located in the corner supplied heat to the adequate living room.

Off to the left was a kitchen big
enough for a small dining table in the nook opening to a terrace overlooking
the gardens in the rear.
 
Morning sun
would shine through windows in the bedroom off to the right.

           
Raeden
surveyed the mid-sized apartment visualizing dimensions and arrangements of
furniture to place around the room.

           
Another
lease signed and paid, she drove to Lord’s Department Store and strolled
leisurely among the aisles purchasing articles of furniture to make the
apartment her own—an Italian Mosaic bistro table with two cast iron café chairs
perfect for the nook off the kitchen and a blue and yellow brocade sofa with
overstuffed cushions and matching wingback chair to set upon an Oriental carpet
over the oak floors in the living room.

           
For
the last room, she chose a four-poster bed, big enough to spread out magazines
and designs to work on if she chose or to pass the time if she could not sleep
during the night.
 
Then she purchased
essentials to set up housekeeping, all due for delivery the following day.
 
It’s
 
a good start.
 

The next day she
planned to seek out the contractor and begin work on the warehouse while she
transformed the apartment into her home.

           
She
dined at a café near her hotel then retired early, tired from the rigors of the
day, knowing she would rise early in the morning to begin again.

***

           
The
train ride to Washington proved uneventful after the stop over in Kansas City
to purchase breeding stock to ship back to Chamberlain where Slim awaited
delivery.

           
Gazing
out the window of his Pullman, Cash marveled at the expansive acreage of
cornfields throughout Kansas stretching for miles waiting for tilling and
seeding when the spring thaw arrived.
  

Upon his arrival
in D.C., Cash checked into the Hotel Monaco as a temporary residence until he
could locate permanent housing near the Capitol then proceeded to seek out
Senator Wilcox, anxious to begin.

           
Moving
through the tree-lined streets, he stopped the driver when they neared the
Washington Monument.
 
The photographs he
had seen of the massive structure in the newspapers did not do justice to this
monolith backlit by the sun rising into the sky, a fitting tribute to the hero
and first President of the United States.
 

After strolling down
the lawn pathway for a closer view, he stood gazing at the structure while
thinking of the country’s history and how much had happened since the American
Revolution.
 
He felt proud to be a
citizen of such a great nation.

After a few
moments reflection, they continued to the Capitol—the white colonial style
mansion with grand pillars standing around the rotunda flanked with gardens,
bounded by a four-foot wall made of flat stones.
 

An American flag
flittered in the slight breeze on a flagpole to the left of the building at
full mast.

           
An
aide led him through the hallways to Senator Wilcox’s office where he rose from
a dark maroon leather chair behind a carved mahogany desk laden with files,
looking natural in his surroundings shelved with dozens of law books and
tomes.
 
His arm extended to shake hands
with Cash.

           
“Hello,
Senator Rydell.
 
I see you’re ready to
get started.”

           
Cash
stood erect, eager to begin, “The sooner the better.”

           
“I’ll
show you your office then take a tour through the building.
 
The sessions begin after luncheon so I’ll
take you to a local eatery then introduce you around.”

           
“I’m
looking forward to working with you, Senator.
 
I will be at the Monaco until I find a permanent residence.”
 
They walked toward the door then into the
long corridors lined with closed-door offices on each side of the marble
floors.

           
Cash
slowed his stride to allow the Senator to keep pace, his eyes scanning each
passageway and window as they embarked on the tour.
 
“I have a few connections.
 
We will find you suitable lodgings close by.”

Forty-nine

           
With
the final additions of brocade draperies and large square pillows complementing
the décor, Raeden stood back surveying the finished effect before going in
search of a wholesaler interested in carrying her line.

Raeden spent hours
carrying her portfolio attempting an audience with various men in the clothing
industry, being turned away at every door.

Refusing defeat,
she happened on one wholesaler, a Mr. Andrew Jenkins who admitted her into his
office, indifferent to her gender and studied her compositions with a trained
eye.

With a reputation
for hard work and honesty, the man Raeden guessed in his mid-fifties, owned
Fleur-de-lis, one of most comprehensive marketing establishments specializing
in imported European gowns.
 
If she could
convince him to speculate, it would be a perfect arrangement.
 
Since he had all the connections it would
take her months to expose, even if they would condescend to dealing with a
female.

           
He
expressed an interest and requested samples of a few gowns for his catalog
models to wear for photographs.

Dog-tired she
caught a cab to the far end of the Fashion District to order textiles from the
millers to begin the assembly of samples of the designs suggested by Mr.
Jenkins.

She marveled at
the choices of fabrics available, imported as well as domestic, barely able to
contain her excitement as she ran her hands over the luxurious materials in
such abundance.