dizzy."
She breathed a silent—painful—sigh of relief. She didn't want his charity, but she wouldn't mind—just this once—accepting his help. She wouldn't have asked for it, but by God, she needed it.
"Sure." She held out her arm for him. His answering smile was awfully bright for a man in pain, but that was one thing Emma had learned about Larence. He suffered his pains in silence. Not like her. His forearm slid underneath hers, palm up. Warm, surprisingly strong fingers slipped between hers and curled tight. She leaned against the steadying perch of his forearm, and allowed herself a rare smile of relief.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, feeling better already. "Ready." Plucking up her heavy woolen skirt in her other hand, she allowed him to lead her through the station. They crossed the dark, relatively cool room and reached the THE ENCHANTMENT
93
double doors on the other side. Larence limped ahead and yanked the door open.
Harsh, bright sunlight streamed through the opening. By the time she could finally focus, she and Larence were standing on a landing, several steps above the street.
Emma glanced at the buildings with contempt, noticing the false storefronts that created the impression of two-story structures. They'd actually painted windows on the fronts to make poor passersby think they were in a city instead of a shabby little cow town.
Larence squeezed her hand again. "Isn't it beautiful?".
Her mouth dropped open. Were they looking at the same town?
A horse-drawn wagon rumbled past them. The big wheels crunched forward, sending a plume of gray-brown dust hurdling into the air. More grit insinuated itself into Emma's mouth and eyes. Infinitesimal granules stung her eyes. Tears ran in zigzagging brownish streaks down her face.
Soon, she told herself. Soon she'd have her money back and be on her way east.
She had no doubt about the outcome of her meeting with Stanton: She'd get her money back. There was no way Stanton or Larence could justify spending ten thousand dollars on this backwater expedition. A few well-chosen observations about where the budget could be pared down, a steely-eyed order coupled with a fullblown feminine smile, and voila, she'd have her money back. And then she'd be gone.
Good-bye, dirty downtown Albuquerque; hello, Wall Street.
She didn't want all of her money back. All she needed was a couple of thousand dollars. A few measly thou-94
Kristin Hannah
sand. Larence would still have plenty of money to find his precious city—and she'd have enough cash to start over.
Start over. The words were a balm that soothed her, gave her a goal to fight for. She already had some good, solid ideas. Those zipper fasteners W. L. Hudson had recently patented looked interesting enough to finance. And Villard and Morgan's new endeavor, General Electric Company, showed some real promise. . . .
She couldn't help smiling. It felt good to think about money and how to make it again.
Her plan was perfect. Flawless. There was a train leaving for New York tomorrow morning—the only one until next week—and she intended to be on it. With her money.
"Shall we walk?" Larence's question interrupted her musings.
She took a shallow, close-mouthed breath. "How far?"
Bad question. With an eager grin, Larence plopped his duck valise on the ground, squatted beside it, and started burrowing through the cluttered bag.
"Here it is," he said, extracting a carefully folded piece of paper. Before Emma could utter a word, he'd opened the Rand McNally map of New Mexico to its full three-foot-by-three-foot size, and was poring over the spider-leg scrawls.
She peered over his shoulder. "How far?"
Pushing slowly to his feet, he began to refold the map.
"Larence?"
"The church isn't listed by name."
A terrifying question flitted through her mind. "It is in Albuquerque, though. ..."
THE ENCHANTMENT
95
He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure of that. In the early seventeen hundreds, there was a priest named—"
"I believe
She breathed a silent—painful—sigh of relief. She didn't want his charity, but she wouldn't mind—just this once—accepting his help. She wouldn't have asked for it, but by God, she needed it.
"Sure." She held out her arm for him. His answering smile was awfully bright for a man in pain, but that was one thing Emma had learned about Larence. He suffered his pains in silence. Not like her. His forearm slid underneath hers, palm up. Warm, surprisingly strong fingers slipped between hers and curled tight. She leaned against the steadying perch of his forearm, and allowed herself a rare smile of relief.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, feeling better already. "Ready." Plucking up her heavy woolen skirt in her other hand, she allowed him to lead her through the station. They crossed the dark, relatively cool room and reached the THE ENCHANTMENT
93
double doors on the other side. Larence limped ahead and yanked the door open.
Harsh, bright sunlight streamed through the opening. By the time she could finally focus, she and Larence were standing on a landing, several steps above the street.
Emma glanced at the buildings with contempt, noticing the false storefronts that created the impression of two-story structures. They'd actually painted windows on the fronts to make poor passersby think they were in a city instead of a shabby little cow town.
Larence squeezed her hand again. "Isn't it beautiful?".
Her mouth dropped open. Were they looking at the same town?
A horse-drawn wagon rumbled past them. The big wheels crunched forward, sending a plume of gray-brown dust hurdling into the air. More grit insinuated itself into Emma's mouth and eyes. Infinitesimal granules stung her eyes. Tears ran in zigzagging brownish streaks down her face.
Soon, she told herself. Soon she'd have her money back and be on her way east.
She had no doubt about the outcome of her meeting with Stanton: She'd get her money back. There was no way Stanton or Larence could justify spending ten thousand dollars on this backwater expedition. A few well-chosen observations about where the budget could be pared down, a steely-eyed order coupled with a fullblown feminine smile, and voila, she'd have her money back. And then she'd be gone.
Good-bye, dirty downtown Albuquerque; hello, Wall Street.
She didn't want all of her money back. All she needed was a couple of thousand dollars. A few measly thou-94
Kristin Hannah
sand. Larence would still have plenty of money to find his precious city—and she'd have enough cash to start over.
Start over. The words were a balm that soothed her, gave her a goal to fight for. She already had some good, solid ideas. Those zipper fasteners W. L. Hudson had recently patented looked interesting enough to finance. And Villard and Morgan's new endeavor, General Electric Company, showed some real promise. . . .
She couldn't help smiling. It felt good to think about money and how to make it again.
Her plan was perfect. Flawless. There was a train leaving for New York tomorrow morning—the only one until next week—and she intended to be on it. With her money.
"Shall we walk?" Larence's question interrupted her musings.
She took a shallow, close-mouthed breath. "How far?"
Bad question. With an eager grin, Larence plopped his duck valise on the ground, squatted beside it, and started burrowing through the cluttered bag.
"Here it is," he said, extracting a carefully folded piece of paper. Before Emma could utter a word, he'd opened the Rand McNally map of New Mexico to its full three-foot-by-three-foot size, and was poring over the spider-leg scrawls.
She peered over his shoulder. "How far?"
Pushing slowly to his feet, he began to refold the map.
"Larence?"
"The church isn't listed by name."
A terrifying question flitted through her mind. "It is in Albuquerque, though. ..."
THE ENCHANTMENT
95
He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure of that. In the early seventeen hundreds, there was a priest named—"
"I believe
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