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  BUILDING FOREVER

  The Gilbert Girls, Book One

  by Cat Cahill

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at:

  http://www.catcahill.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Cat Cahill

  Cover design by EDH Professionals

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1091575011 (paperback)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Epilogue

  Sneak peek at Running From Forever (The Gilbert Girls, Book Two) | Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  About the Author, Cat Cahill

  Chapter One

  Louisville, Kentucky - 1875

  Emma Daniels was not superstitious.

  She was stubborn—and a little terrified—but never superstitious. If she had been, she might have seen the weather as a sign and abandoned the railway ticket and letter of introduction in her reticule at the nearest fireplace.

  As fat drops of rain splashed down on her hunter-green hat and spotted her matching skirts, she wondered if she might be better served if she were superstitious. After all, there had to be some comfort in believing things would go well or not simply because it rained or one saw a black cat or found a penny.

  Emma clutched her reticule to her chest to protect the folded paper and ticket inside and walked as fast as decorum dictated was proper. Independence waited for her with those two items, and by some great miracle, they would also save her family.

  The rain fell faster. In less than a block, her hat had drooped forward and her skirts had grown heavy. They were her nicest pieces of clothing despite being a couple of years out of date and despite the worn edges hidden under the slightly higher hem Emma had put in three days ago. Thunder rolled overhead as she passed the last of the shops. She shivered. Perhaps she could occupy her mind by composing a poem in her head about the chill of rain.

  Warm to cold, the rain it weeps

  From the heavens—

  A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. The rain made even her poetry terrible.

  The walk from the flower shop had been long enough that she should have taken a carriage—if they’d still had a driver. The drizzle had started a couple of blocks earlier, but she’d been certain she had enough time to reach the grand home she shared with her mother and three siblings before it turned into a downpour. The thought made Emma laugh aloud. At least no one else was on the street to see her acting as if she were touched in the head.

  Normally, Emma took her family’s current situation in stride, facing down changes she never could have imagined just a few years ago. But right now, she wished with her whole heart for a driver. She shivered again as she climbed steps flanked by late spring flowers. They’d been planted years ago when the family had the money for such things. It was as if the flowers didn’t know better than to continue returning year after year.

  “Ems, where have you been?” Her younger sister Lily bustled in from the parlor, face flushed from the roaring fire, to greet Emma at the door. She looked Emma up and down. “You’re absolutely soaked. Come warm up.”

  Emma removed her hat and set it on the small table near the door, peeled off her gloves, and hung her soaked jacket, all things that Mrs. Henderson would have done had Mrs. Henderson still been with them. Their kind, trusted housekeeper had been the last servant to leave, staying for a few months even after Emma’s mother had told her they no longer had funds with which to pay her.

  Emma grabbed her small bag from the table and took Lily’s hand. Lily was her dearest friend, but Emma hadn’t even confided in her. Instead, she’d kept her trip down to the little office over the flower shop to herself. There was no need to burden her sister if the outing had been fruitless.

  “Emma! We expected you home an hour ago. I had started to worry.” Mama sat in the worn, large wing chair nearest the fire, her needlepoint abandoned in her lap the moment she saw her eldest daughter. “Come, sit. Tell us where you have been.”

  Now was the moment of truth. Emma sank gratefully into the chair opposite Mama. Her skirts felt twice their normal weight, thanks to the rain. And she’d started to shiver again.

  Her youngest sister, Grace, appeared with a shawl that had seen much better days and wrapped it around Emma’s shoulders. Emma smiled gratefully at her.

  “I went downtown, as I said.” She glanced at each member of her family. Mama, Lily, Grace, and little Joseph—who wasn’t so little anymore. He grinned at her in return, and her heart melted. How could she leave them all?

  “To the flower shop?” Mama’s forehead crinkled. “If I’d known you’d be gone so long, I would’ve come with you. I’m afraid people will think it’s unseemly for you to traipse about town alone.”

  As they always did, words such as that tugged at a little ribbon of annoyance that looped inside Emma. Was there nowhere in this world she could be alone without anyone thinking her ill-bred? “I . . . didn’t go to the flower shop. Not exactly, anyhow.”

  Mama’s brow furrowed even more. She wasn’t that old, maybe forty-five at the most; Emma wasn’t certain exactly. But for years she had suffered from joint problems that made her appear years older. It was hard for her to walk very far, and impossible to do much beyond home. Even the short walk to church on Sunday was almost too much for her. A trip downtown would’ve put her in bed for days.

  “Where did you go?” Fifteen-year-old Grace watched Emma with round blue eyes.

  Emma drew in as much breath as she could, no small task in her tight corset, and fixed her eyes on the frayed edges of the flowered rug that covered the wooden floor. “To an office over Jewel’s Florist. There is a woman there who interviews girls for placements out West.”

  She dared to glance up, only to find her family staring at her. Then they spoke all at once.

  “Placements? Of what sort?” Mama asked.

  “Out West?” Lily wanted to know.

  “What does that mean?” Grace asked.

&nb
sp; “Are you leaving us?” Joseph said.

  Emma pulled the document and the train ticket from her reticule. “She interviews for placements of all sorts, but I was particularly interested in the Gilbert Company.” She passed the slightly damp papers to her mother. “They build dining rooms and hotels along the rail lines for passengers. And they need women of gentle breeding to work in the dining rooms. Can you imagine? This time next week, I could be earning money to send back to you!” The excitement rolled through her. A new place, far from the ever-present eyes of Louisville society and the whispers that followed her everywhere. She was suffocating here. Out West, she wouldn’t be one of “those poor Daniels girls.” She’d have to rely on herself. And to think of all the new places she’d see and the fascinating people she’d meet! The very thought sent a thrill through her.

  Mama stared at the documents, blinking hard.

  Emma’s excitement nearly collapsed into a heap of guilt. She moved to her mother, kneeling at her side. “I don’t want to leave you, of course. I love you all so much, I don’t know what I’ll do without you. But Mama, you know something has to change.”

  Mama turned to look at her, the hand clutching the letter shaking just a little. “You overheard, didn’t you?”

  Emma pressed her lips together and nodded. Last week, Papa’s lawyer had paid Mama a visit. Emma had fetched them tea and cakes from the kitchen, only to overhear about the family’s increasingly dire situation while she was standing outside the parlor door. Papa’s investments hadn’t been doing well thanks in large part to the ongoing depression. That she already knew. But now there was little money left in his accounts to care for the family he left behind when he passed six years ago. The lawyer had made it clear they needed to sell their home and move to a much smaller apartment, and even then, he warned that the money would only last a few months. One of them needed to obtain an income, and fast. And as the eldest, Emma knew it was her responsibility.

  “I knew it was up to me. You can’t—and shouldn’t—do any sort of work. And I’m not about to see my sisters or Joseph go to a factory. The stories out of those places are horrible. I’d seen this advertisement a month or two ago and thought it sounded exciting. It turns out that it was just what we needed.” Emma held Mama’s gaze, hoping she’d understand.

  Mama clutched her hand. “You could marry. Mr. Eddins asked after you just last month. Certainly that’s preferable to journeying hundreds of miles to some wild place to be a serving girl. What will people say?”

  Emma could have laughed, but she kept her face passive. “Mr. Eddins is far too old for me, Mama. Besides, the widow Harlow’s had her eye on him for months. It won’t be long before she wears him down. I have no real prospects here, you know that. And especially now that we . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say they were poor, but that was the truth of the matter. Her family’s gradual decline in position was well-known in society. They’d already lost invitations to most of the usual events they’d attended in the past, and with that, any decent prospects of marriage for Emma or Lily had disappeared entirely. No man wanted to take on a bride and her entire family. Besides, she had yet to meet a man who captured her heart, and she was already nineteen years of age.

  “Look here.” Emma pointed at the letter of introduction in her mother’s hands. “This company wants girls from good families. They’ll give us a place to live together, with a chaperone, and will ensure our safety. It’s good, respectable work. They’ll let us have Sundays off, so I can still attend services. I’ll write every week, and I’ll be able to send home enough money to keep you comfortable in an apartment and pay for a doctor. They gave me a contract for an entire year. Please—” She took Mama’s other hand. “Let me do this for you.”

  Tears rolled down Mama’s face. “I cannot . . .” She swiped at her eyes. “I can’t let you do this. You deserve better, my Emma.” Mama ran a hand down a drying lock of Emma’s hair that had come undone from the simple hairstyle Lily had created for her this morning. She tucked it behind Emma’s ear.

  Emma covered her mother’s hand with her own. She hated to leave her family. But deep down inside . . . she’d always yearned for something more. Something exciting. Adventure. And more recently, a place where she could breathe without feeling as if everyone were pitying her. And this Gilbert Company seemed to offer exactly what she’d always dreamed of—and what her family needed.

  Mama leaned her forehead against Emma’s. “But I know your heart, daughter. You’re just like me. Or like I was at your age.” She smiled just a little, even though the tears continued to fall. “So you have my blessing.”

  Emma’s heart raced even faster than it did when she’d first stepped foot in the office above the florist’s earlier. She was going. She was really, truly going. Not only would she pursue her adventure, but she’d also save her family.

  “I don’t understand.” Lily’s voice made Emma stand and turn. Lily stood, her arm around Grace, who in turn held Joseph to her. “Why are you leaving?”

  “I’ll explain it to you later,” Mama said. She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes and straightened her back. Even that slight movement made her wince, though she tried in vain to hide it under a smile. “Now when do you go?” She consulted the train ticket in her lap.

  “Tuesday at ten,” Emma supplied. She stood, gripped Lily’s hand, and squeezed it. Lily forced a smile, but Emma could tell she was still upset. “I’ll tell you more later,” she whispered.

  Lily nodded, and Emma knew she had a lot of explaining to do before Lily forgave her for not confiding in her.

  “So soon,” Mama whispered. She cleared her throat. “Then we’ll simply have to make the most of the time you have left here.”

  “We’ll have to go for a stroll through the park,” Lily said. “Oh, I wish you’d be here to see Romeo and Juliet at the Macauley.”

  Emma nodded, even though she knew Lily wouldn’t be able to afford to see the play later this summer.

  “The church social is on Saturday,” Grace said. “We must go to that.”

  “Can we watch the barges on the river?” Joseph piped up.

  Emma ran a hand over his head, and he ducked away. Joseph had been enamored of the ships and barges since he was small. She was certain that one day he’d find a career with them. “We will. We’ll do as much as we possibly can.”

  “Before you run off and marry some wild cowboy out West,” Lily teased, her smile back in place, although a bit uncertain at the edges.

  Emma laughed. “That won’t happen. Courting isn’t allowed until I fulfill my contract.” She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself—the ones that said she’d likely never marry now that she had a family to support.

  “Now sit, all of you,” Mama said. “Emma can tell us everything, starting with where she’s going.”

  Chapter Two

  Cañon City, Colorado Territory

  “Where did it go?” Monroe Hartley muttered under his breath as he searched his saddlebag for the black silk tie. It was his nicest one—the one that made the best impression.

  It was also his only one.

  Pender, his dappled gray gelding, sniffed and shook his head.

  “Be still.” He looked up at the horse to make the words sink in.

  Pender snuffled again, a long piece of black silk dangling from his teeth. Monroe snorted and then laughed. Laughing wasn’t something he did all that often anymore, and it felt odd. Pender was more trouble than he was worth, but the truth was, Monroe had a soft spot bigger than Pike’s Peak for the horse. “Give me that.” He gently pulled the silk from Pender’s mouth and tied it around his neck. It was hard to tell how it looked without glass to see himself in. It would just have to do. He grabbed his hat from the saddle, adjusted it over dark hair that badly needed a cut, and patted the horse before making his way up the nearby steps to the hotel.

  Cañon City didn’t boast much in the way of fine things, and the hotel was the nicest establishment in
town. Monroe stood in the lobby and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. It was quiet inside, especially given that the dining area to the left was closed. Straight ahead, a young man waited at the front desk. He appraised Monroe eagerly, most likely ready to filch a new guest out of good coin.

  Monroe approached him. “I’m looking for a Mr. James Gilbert, Junior.”

  The desk clerk’s smile flickered for a moment. He opened the large book in front of him and ran his finger down the page.

  “Ah, yes. Gilbert. Room 7. Upstairs and to the left.” He pointed toward the staircase.

  Monroe nodded his thanks and made his way up the bare staircase. It was shadowy, and he had to duck his six-foot-one frame when he had just about reached the top. He turned and assessed the staircase. It needed a rebuild on the sloping steps that led to the third floor. Badly. Monroe hadn’t been in that many fine hotels, but he had a builder’s eye. He always had.

  And that was exactly why he was here.

  Leaving the staircase behind, he made his way to room number seven, straightened the old but clean frock coat he wore, and knocked confidently on the door. After a brief moment, it opened, revealing a man just slightly older than Monroe’s twenty-four years, clad in shirt and trousers with suspenders dangling from his hips.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Monroe Hartley. We spoke briefly last night.” Monroe held out his hand.

  The other man shook it as comprehension dawned across his face. He rubbed his head and then opened the door wider, inviting Monroe inside. “I apologize for my appearance. It was a late night.”

  Monroe nodded. It had been, but excitement had woken him up after only a few hours’ sleep, when normally he welcomed the long undisturbed sleep a night of drinking gave him. Those were the nights he didn’t dream of her, although he still woke up feeling the loss and its accompanying guilt anew. Mr. Gilbert gestured to a set of stiff-backed chairs placed next to a plain wooden table by the window. Monroe took one and removed his hat.

  Mr. Gilbert pulled up his suspenders and found a waistcoat lying across a washbasin. He buttoned it before fishing two cigars from the pocket of another coat draped over the back of his chair. He held one out to Monroe, who held up his hand. “It was a late night,” he echoed by way of explanation. Truth be told, his stomach hadn’t been right since he woke up, and now was not the time to tempt fate.