Rebel With A Heart. Carol Arens
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