Brides of Iowa by Connie; Stevens Page B

manners to clean up after themselves.
    Her stomach shuddered with distaste and at the same time complained of its emptiness. The cheese, apple, and muffin were all she had. She’d simply have to break off and discard the nibbled edges. It was that or go hungry. Whatever remained after she’d eaten would be safely protected in her new crock.
    After the long day of standing at the worktable and waiting on the dining customers, her body begged for rest. Despite her weariness, she’d thought about Mama’s Bible all afternoon. Gideon’s invitation to church kindled a spark within her to renew her fellowship with God.
    If she couldn’t use the kitchen lamp, perhaps there was another secluded corner where she’d find some light. The hotel lobby was for paying customers, not the likes of her. Tessa could only imagine Mr. Kilgore’s reaction if he found her sitting and leisurely reading like a grand lady. But it was the only place that offered a source of lamplight in the evening.
    Well, not the only place. The saloons were open, and though there was plenty of light there, the idea of sitting in a saloon made Tessa’s flesh crawl. The reek of whiskey along with memories of her father’s drinking habits sent shivers of loathing down her spine. Her stomach clenched at the thought of entering a saloon for any reason, even just for the purpose of taking advantage of the light.
    She splashed water in her face from the bucket in the corner and ran a broken comb through her hair. If she made herself more presentable, might she dare take Mama’s Bible and sit in the hotel lobby to read?
    The Bible clutched under her arm, she walked down the alley toward the front of the building. When she reached the boardwalk and peered in the front window, the first person she saw was Mr. Kilgore. There was no chance of entering unnoticed.
    Disappointment struck her again. Why did she think she could elevate herself to the level of the hotel patrons when she was nothing more than hired help?
    She edged closer toward the front of the hotel. Perhaps there would be enough light coming from the window. She no sooner opened the book and found the broom straw she’d used to mark her place than the front door opened.
    Mr. Kilgore stepped out and struck a match on the post to light his cigar.
    She shrank as close to the shadow of the building as she could. He puffed away for a moment, and the noxious smoke floated in her direction, burning her eyes and throat. She tried to hold her breath, but as the smoke slithered around her, a cough escaped despite her effort to be invisible.
    “What do you think you’re doing there, girl? You can’t loiter around here,” Mr. Kilgore’s voice boomed. “Employees use the side entrance. My clientele doesn’t need to see the likes of you dawdling by the front door. Run along.”
    The stares of passersby and Mr. Kilgore’s glare gave her feet wings. The cool night air blew against her burning face as she scurried down the street. She didn’t stop until she was well away from the hotel.
    Tinny piano music and coarse laughter accosted her ears. Just ahead on the boardwalk, patrons of the Blue Goose saloon came and went by way of the swinging door. There was certainly plenty of light coming from those front windows. Tiptoeing inside the establishment undetected seemed as unlikely as slipping past Mr. Kilgore in the hotel lobby. The longer she stood in the shadows staring at the saloon’s glow, the more she longed for a place where she could sit and read the passages Mama had underlined.
    She sidled up next to the window and leaned against the building. She’d dropped the broom straw when Mr. Kilgore bellowed at her, but she had little trouble finding her place. The page was so dog-eared and its edges so worn from use that it had to be one of Mama’s favorites. The yellow glow from the window fell across the words her mother loved.
    “The L ORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him…with my song