Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (7 page)

“What did you want? Make this quick.” She stomped her slipper, causing only a muffled thud on the wooden boards.

“Tell me, why are you so intent upon making Hurst your husband?”

“I told you the other day … I’m of marriageable age and—”

James grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t lie to me. We’ve been friends too long. I know that’s not the truth.” He searched her face. “Why, Ellen? Why is it so important right now?”

She bit her lip and looked down for a moment, then looked back at his face. Her eyes filled with tears. Ellen shook her head. Black curls, loose from her pinned-up hair, whispered against her creamy neck.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “As one of your best friends, please?”

“I know you belong to Lewis, but I’m starting to believe you’re my best friend, too. You always see me for what I am instead of the person I play-act to be. Yet even though you know the real me, you’re still here.”

“Then let me know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, because I’m confused, half-pint. First this talk of marriage on a deadline and today I heard you’ve been spreading gossip all over the north end of the City. That’s not like you. What will you do if Mr. Goodwell comes after you for ruining his wife’s reputation?”

She clutched her neck. “I hadn’t thought of that. I followed Aunt Louisa’s advice. She said sharing the right sort of information can move a girl up in society.”

“But to destroy someone with your words? That’s a very un-Ellen-like thing to do. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve not once been ashamed of you. I can never say that again after today.”

She swallowed a few times, then stared at the ground. A tear traced down her cheek. “I need to find a home.”

With his thumb, he brushed the wetness away then rubbed it back and forth, reveling in her softness of her face. He traced his fingers to her chin and lifted it so he could look her in the eyes. “You talk like you’re a lost cat.”

She shoved his hand away. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. No one does.” Ellen turned and clutched the railing. James watched her back go ramrod straight.

“Then explain, Ellen. I want to know your thoughts.” He stepped beside her, his shoulder rubbing against hers.

“My stepfather doesn’t want me to be in the house. I wasn’t supposed to, but I heard him say so. I have nowhere to go. Lewis has left.” She rubbed her arms. “Lewis never wanted me around. He always favored Grace. After she died … he wanted nothing to do with me.” She thrust out a hand. Bracelets slid to the edge of her gloved wrist, catching moonlight. “And I can’t stay with my aunt and uncle forever. I must find a home of my own. I want to be wanted at the place I live, and this is the only way.”

“And you don’t think I understand?” James tried to keep the growl from his voice. “My parents haven’t wanted me around since I turned twelve. They’ve been away on holiday for half my life, and before then I stayed in the company of a nanny. The only true home I’ve ever known has been yours, Ingram House, and now with your mother’s new marriage and Lewis leaving, that’s all changed for me, too.” As he spoke her fur shawl dipped. He reached to pull it back onto her shoulders.

James swallowed hard. In a quiet voice he added, “I’m just as lost as you are.”

She looked at him. Her hip leaned on the side of the ship. “But you’re a man. You can travel anywhere you like alone and walk into parties without an escort. No one will think anything of you purchasing a home and living there, or going about town alone. You’re free to remain as you are.” She took a deep breath. “I am not.”

James took her shoulders again and gave her a small shake. “Listen to you. Do you think those things make a true home? Because they don’t, not even close.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, o-great-wise-one, since you’re such the expert. What makes a home a home?”

He ran his hands down her arms and took hold of her hands. “A home isn’t a building or a place to store your treasured goods. It’s wherever someone cares about you and will miss you if you’re away.”

She released his hands and looked back at the black, churning water. “I’ll settle for a roof over my head.”

“No. You’re worth more than that. Don’t you see?” James reached for her again, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Can you leave me alone, just for a moment?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” He pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to her, closing her fingers around the fabric. His heart pounded like a hyper hummingbird, but she needed to hear what he was thinking. “I believe you deserve to be treasured.”

“Please, James. I just want to be alone. I’ll wander back to the front deck in a minute. I promise.”

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. Full of moisture, they sparkled in the moonlight. James chided himself for speaking such harsh words to her. He had accused and disturbed her.

The least he could do was leave her in peace when she asked.

Ellen took four deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. James walked away with his hands tucked in his pockets. He kept looking back at her like she might break and need him so she bit her lip against the tremor of tears. When he disappeared she palmed her face.

“Stupid, stupid.” She dabbed with his handkerchief, pressed it to her nose, and closed her eyes. The smell of Clubman aftershave lotion with its sweet hints of citrus, jasmine, and heady musk mixed with a strong cedar scent from the chest he stored his traveling clothes in.
James
. Dependable. Always there for her, James.

I believe you deserve to be treasured
.

Tears clouded her vision again.

When she married, she’d have to leave him. Their friendship wouldn’t continue. She wouldn’t tease him and trounce him at chess every morning. He wouldn’t be able yank her away alone, escort her, or set her straight ever again.

But no other choice remained. She and James could never live together. The impropriety made heat rise up her neck, battling the chill in the air. She once hoped Lewis might set up house and invite her to live with him. But Lewis didn’t want her. He’d left her.

And James would, too. He’d fall for a girl one day and she’d love all his weird quirks, brooding moods, and the long mulling he took making any sort of decision. She wouldn’t vex him or cause him worry as Ellen often did. She wouldn’t ever shame him.

I’m just as lost as you are.

Quick footfalls behind her made her skin prickle. She spun around. “I told you I’d come back in a min—”

But the hooded figure charging toward her wasn’t James. The person’s hands clamped around her upper arms. A smell of fish and cigar smoke rolled off their cloak, turning Ellen’s stomach and stifling the scream upon her lips. In the moon shadows and with the hood yanked to the person’s nose, she couldn’t discern who it was.

A hand fastened hard over her mouth. “Who thought you’d be so easy to get rid of? You won’t ever thwart our plans again.”

With a firm shove and brute-like strength, the figure tipped her over the edge of the boat. Like Alice in Wonderland going down the rabbit-hole, Ellen fell, arms flailing. An ear-curdling shriek left her lips moments before she plunged into the icy water, but any sound she made ran away on the tails of the wind. Deep waves from the boat’s wake pounded over her as she fought to keep her head above the water. Her breath came fast. The chill prickled every inch of her skin like a thousand tiny knives.

She kicked, but her dress knotted around her legs.

So cold. So cold.

The lake yanked her under.

Chicago, Present Day

Whitney glanced at Nate over the menu. Even as he looked down reading, the easy smile she’d grown used to tugged at his lips. In the midst of the last week his relaxed personality had worked as a balm on her strained nerves. After spending five nights in a row elbow deep, digging through boxes at the Chicago Historical Foundation, a comfortable silence drifted between them. The ten o’clock dash to the all-night diner had become an evening ritual. She’d almost forgotten about Owen and her trouble at work over the news article.

Almost.

The ginger-haired waitress shuffled over and filled their coffee mugs. Nate fished two creamers and a pack of raw sugar out of the ceramic container on the table and handed them to Whitney. She winked his way, knowing he’d down his cup without adding anything.

“I’m always amazed how late you young people can eat. What’ll your flavor be tonight?” The waitress tugged a memo pad out of her stained apron.

Whitney handed her the menu. “I’m going with the waffles. No whipped cream, the butter and syrup on the side.”

Nate chuckled, his dimples coming out to play. “Waffles, huh?”

“Breakfast is my favorite meal.” She smiled at the waitress. “And I missed mine this morning so I need to make up for it.”

“I’ll have the turkey club. But can I have fries instead of the coleslaw?” He unrolled his napkin and silverware as he spoke.

“Sure thing.” She tucked the memo away and lifted the coffee pot off the table. “Just wave when you need refills.”

When the waitress opened the door to the kitchen, the sound of frying grease ricocheted through the small eating area leaving the air thick with the smell of burgers and bacon. Two booths down a pair of grizzled old men ate pie over a crossword puzzle and a group of eight college students crammed around a small table near the front windows. Whitney caught shreds of their conversation as they bemoaned the grading system of a professor from their university. A bus boy slopped a faded rag over the table across from theirs, leaving a trail of light brown water.

Not the kind of place Owen would come to. Well, Owen would show his face and force down a burger if it would garner him votes. He’d even pose with the old men if the photo would land in the paper. But Nate fit.

“All right.” Nate cupped his mug and leaned his elbows on the table. “We’ve been working for hours on this Ingram story, but you haven’t told me yet what’s so
life and death
about it.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and thought back over all the letters, newspaper clippings, and society lists they’d uncovered. “I’m just worried about Ellen. I’ve grown a little attached to her after everything we’ve found. What if she drowns in the lake? James didn’t get to tell her he loves her yet. And with the temperature of Lake Michigan in April, she wouldn’t have lasted long.”

“Don’t get me wrong. In all my time at the Foundation, I’ve never heard of the Cygnus Brotherhood. The whole story’s been fascinating so far, but I find myself wondering why you’re so stuck on the past.” Nate raised his pierced eyebrow.

“I guess.” She sipped her coffee. “In the beginning I wanted to make the horrible story about Lewis go away. I had grand dreams of discovering his reasons and wanted to be able to explain him better. But now I want to know these people I came from and what it means about me. You know?”

His lips pulled again, but this time sadness framed the edges. “You do know—don’t you, that even if every single one of your ancestors turns out to be traitors or worse, that doesn’t define who you are?”

Nate didn’t know what he was talking about. Who knew what lessons her ancestors could teach her? Whitney’s mother’s life served as a cautionary tale: seek out a good man or end up like her. Which was why she needed to stay with Owen. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—end up like her mom.

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “It’ll depend on what we find.”

Their food arrived. Whitney slapped a generous amount of butter on the waffle, making sure a little melted into each square indent. She followed that with a river of syrup, then took the first bite, closing her eyes to savor the perfection that could pass for a dessert.

When she opened her eyes, Nate shook his head, teasing her. “Don’t you know the saying goes that if you don’t pray over your food before you eat it’ll make you sick?”

“I think God’ll forgive that one small bite. Besides, I’m sure they’re eating waffles in heaven right now.” She laid down her fork and dabbed her mouth with a thin napkin.

Nate reached a hand across the table, she placed hers in his, and he bowed his head. Suddenly, the pulse in her wrist took on a life of its own, hopefully Nate couldn’t feel the rapid beating.

“God, we know you’re a miracle worker, so we ask your blessing over this horribly unhealthy food we’re about to eat. Please forgive Whitney for her lack of patience … no really, in all seriousness, bless our time together and our conversation—”

Bright Eyes
blared, and Whitney’s phone rattled on the tabletop. “Sorry,” she whispered as she snatched the cell up and muffled the sound.

“And while we’re at it. Forgive Whitney for having her phone turned up so loud, but at least has a cool ringtone. In your son’s name we ask all these things. Amen.”

“I’m sorry.” She glanced at the screen. One missed call.
Owen
. She tucked the phone into her giant purple purse.

“I’m kidding.” Nate bit into his turkey sandwich, croissant flakes showered onto his plate. “But,
Bright Eyes
, huh?”

Whitney swallowed the rest of her waffle. “I’m surprised you’ve heard the song. It’s from this cartoon movie I use to watch—”

“
Watership Down
?”

She set her mug down with a clang. “How did you know? Most people haven’t even heard of it.”

That easy smile came back to light his face. “It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine, too. I owned one of the original hardback copies.” She leaned back into the red plastic cushion.

Nate held up a hand while he finished swallowing a fry. “The one with the two rabbits outlined on the front. The title looks like it’s on a sign in their field and the grass is real long, right?”

“That’s the one.” Done with her waffle, she laid down her fork. “I’ve never met someone else who’s read it.”

“Seriously? A bunch of misfits striking out into the dangerous world and leaving all they’ve ever known. Learning who they are through their circumstances and realizing their value to the group. Self-sacrifice, striving for a dream, working for the better of someone else, the book’s all about a successful human journey really.” He tossed and arm over the back of his booth, with his other he gestured as he spoke.