Page 5 of Ellen Found
Ellie laughed at that. “It’s no joke,” he said seriously.
Very well, then. Conversation. Conversation. “What is this inn like?” she asked.
“It’s huge. The foundation is massive, concrete layered over with rhyolite, a volcanic rock found here. The first two floors are lodgepole pine with the bark still on. Mr. Reamer wants it rustic, bringing the outside inside.” He rubbed his hands together. “The walls are up and sturdy, and we’re almost done shingling the roof. Oh, the roof. Amazing.”
“It’ll be done by next summer?” she asked, feeling dubious, and she hadn’t even seen it.
“It has to be.” He nodded toward Mr. Child, who walked with Mr. Reamer, the architect. “He’ll lose his shirt to the Northern Pacific if it isn’t. At least we can work indoorsfor the winter. You’ll never believe the cold.”
“I know cold,” she said quietly, thinking of her unheated room under the Mercury Street Café.
He gave her an appraising glance. “I believe you. You’ll earn every penny of your salary.”
“I intend to.” She sensed kindness in this capable man who loved his daughter. “Same as you.”
October 12, 1903. I’m glad Gwen is with me. We’ll do fine in this double log cabin, one of several built earlier as a possible hotel. Gwen is happy with Mrs. McTavish, who lives in the other half with her husband and son. She will watch Gwen while I work. It’s a good arrangement. Gwen told me she wants to share a place with Miss Found.
THEY ARRIVED AT what Mr. Child called the Upper Geyser Basin ahead of nightfall. Ellie squinted into the gloom, seeing modest, crude buildings, all of them dwarfed by the behemoth, unfinished monster that must be the inn.
She had opened the carpetbag to givePlato some air. Before she closed it, he sniffed, then growled. “It’s sulfur,” she whispered to him. “Get used to it.”
“Do you always talk to your cat?” Gwen asked.
How to explain Plato to this child who had probably never felt the burden of loneliness or the reality that there was no human to help her? “He understands me.”
Gwen nodded, accepting her answer as a child would. She joined her father, following him in the dark toward a log cabin. Ellie realized that she had never inquired where she would be staying. All she’d wanted was out of Butte.
Mr. Child pointed toward a larger building. The new hires moved that way. When Mr. Child looked her way, she asked, “Where do I go?”
“This way. Mind your steps.”
She trailed after her employer. The path was slick with snow turning into ice. She saw small shacks and larger ones and something that looked like a machine shop. She sniffed the air and smelled freshly planed boards as they passed a larger structure.
“Take my arm.”
They made their way up shallow steps into a cavern. She looked up, squinting to see how tall the room was. She saw no end to it, not in the gloom of early evening. Imagine the place at midnight.
“This, Miss Found, is the lobby. It rises seventy feet or so. There are three floors, with rooms branching off from the main hall.” She heard his sigh. “There’s much to do.”
“At least it’s not snowing inside,” she said finally, which made Mr. Child laugh and tease, “That’s the best you can come up with?”
If he could joke, so could she, something she hadn’t attempted before, not with someone who had power to hire and fire. “It was short notice.” He chuckled, which she found gratifying.
“This was the big push during summer and autumn, to enclose this monster so we can finish the interior when snow falls.” He gestured toward a massive stone structure. “This fireplace has four sides and four hearths.” He gestured broadly. “It will be a great place to congregate.”
“I imagine so,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too dubious.
He lowered his voice. “I should warn you about Mrs. Quincy.”
Oh dear, Ellie thought.Please don’t let the cook be a silent smoker.
“My charming wife is a fine woman, but she has her moments. Don’t we all? Adelaide decided she wanted a French chef, so Mrs. Quincy finds herselfhereinstead of in our kitchen back home. She isn’t particularly pleased.”
Ellie reasoned that this could be worse. She stayed close on his heels, afraid that the darkness would swallow her. Ahead she saw lights under a closed door and smelled food cooking. The familiarity calmed her.
“Here it is,” he said. “Mrs. Quincy will be fair, but she’d rather be back in our home kitchen.”
Mr. Child opened the door to the finest kitchen ever, with the same rustic look of the dark lobby. There were two Majestic brand ranges, both bigger than the poor excuse in the Mercury Street Café; shelves with white china cups and plates; tables and benches;wooden bins probably holding flour and sugar; a coffee-bean grinder; two sinks; bags of carrots and potatoes and tins of tomatoes, beans, and corn. Ellie sighed with relief. She knew kitchens.
