Page 11 of Ellen Found
Mr. Reamer continued, after a dramatic pause. “No one will come to this inn, experience our hospitality, and leave without an appreciation of what we have to offer the world. Yes, the world.” He paused again for dramatic effect, then pulled out the final rendering, a completed hotel. “Old FaithfulInn will set the standard for all national park lodging. Thank you.”
He sat down. Mr. Blackstock broke the silence, pulling out a check and waving it. “Will this help?” he asked. “The Northern Pacific Railroad believes in you!”
Everyone rose and applauded. Mr. Penrose put Gwen to his shoulder and stood. The child looked around with sleepy eyes, then nestled against her father again. Ellie felt the loveliness of a moment only she witnessed. All other eyes were on Mr. Child and the railroad executive, as he handed over the check that would complete the project.
“June first!” Mr. Blackstock proclaimed.
That was everyone’s signal to leave the powerful men alone to talk. Mr. Penrose walked among the workers who followed him into the kitchen, rolled up their sleeves, and started on the dishes.
Mr. Penrose looked around. “Is there somewhere I can put Gwen?”
Ellie opened the door to her room. “She’ll be fine here.”
“Posh digs, Miss Found,” he teased, looking around in appreciation. “I like it.”
“I’ve never lived anywhere so wonderful in my life.”
Maybe she was too fervent. Mr. Penrose gave her such a look, the sort of look she knew she would remember forever. He set his child down and Ellie covered her with a light blanket. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s a nice room.”
“You can’t imagine,” Ellie told him.
“Maybe I can. Kindly call me Charles.” He smiled. “So I can call you Ellen.”
“Everyone calls me Ellie.”
He shrugged. “I like Ellen.”
The dishes were soon done. With a red-haired roofer’s help, Ellen turned over two mostly clean tablecloths and set the breakfast table. “I wish it could be something besides oatmeal,” she told Red Hair.
“Convince ol’ Harry Child to get us some laying hens,” he said. “I’m a tenant farmer from County Cork.” Ellen smiled at his wonderful accent.
“Add a pig or two,” chimed in One-Eyed Wilson. He nudged the other man. “We have enough shanty Irish working here not to minda pig in the bunkhouse!” Red Hair glared at him.
“I can convince ol’ Harry.”
Ellen turned to see Mrs. Child, who raised her eyebrows as the strong men cowered. The two men quietly melted into the gang finishing the cleanup.
“Let me see your room,” Mrs. Child said. She made a face. “The men’s bunkhouse is a disaster! They scattered like rats when I came in.”
Mr. Child joined her. “They weren’t expecting you, Adelaide. And you forgot to knock.”
Ellen kept a straight face only through years of being a servant who, she had been informed by the copper king’s wife, was never to be seenorheard. “This way, Mrs. Child,” she said, and put a finger to her lips. “There is a sleeping child.”
She opened the door to see Mr. Penr—Charles—picking up his still-sleeping daughter. “Thanks for the loan of your room,” he whispered.
Mr. Child and Charles conversed quietly in the doorway while Mrs. Child surveyed theroom. She jiggled the mattress. “Firm, but not too firm.” Mrs. Child pointed to the hooks in the wall, where Ellen’s other dress, the sadder one, hung. “You should hang up all your dresses.”
“This is all I have,” Ellen said, head up but cringing inside.
Mrs. Child turned to her husband. “Harry, I have a wonderful idea.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“I’ve decided to speed up my plans for hotel uniforms.”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Ellie will be my model. I’ll be here tomorrow with my tape measure,” she announced, then followed her husband and a grinning Charles Penrose out the room.
