A Sensible Arrangement (12 page)

Gratitude didn't begin to explain Alice's feelings toward the older housekeeper. Mrs. Landry didn't hold it against Alice that she lacked training. Instead, she worked to teach the girl what was needed. Alice appreciated her kindness more than she could say. The employment company had been cruel in their assessment of her, chiding her for coming to them without any experience or references. Alice had tried to explain that up until a few months ago, she and her father had lived quite comfortably on their own. They'd even had a cook. The agency didn't believe her or else didn't care. Instead they had turned her away, suggesting that she get some type of experience working before returning.

If I'd had
proper employment in which to gain experience, I wouldn't
have needed to seek an agency's help in securing
a position.

She carefully hung up the black dress that was her regular uniform. She had a variety of white aprons to protect the body of the dress, and that way she didn't need to wash the garment more than once a week. The Wythes had very generously provided two uniforms for her use, as well as three other dresses. One was a beautiful striped yellow gown for Sundays and the other two were for her time off from work.
But Alice doubted she would be using them anytime soon. She had no desire to leave the house. Especially now.

She cast a furtive glance at the window and shivered in the flannel nightgown she'd just put on. She'd seen a man out there earlier in the day. She knew he'd been there, and she knew that it wasn't Brighton or Samson.

Worried that her past was once again catching up with her, Alice dropped to her knees beside the bed and began to pray.

“Father in heaven, please deliver me from wicked men who seek to harm me. Deliver me from sin and from the temptation to do wrong. Please bolster my heart that I might not fear.” She paused and gazed heavenward. “And please let my father know how much I miss him.” She started to end her prayer and sighed. “My mother and brother, too. Amen.”

She slid beneath the covers, grateful for the warming pan Mrs. Landry had suggested she use. The added warmth helped ease her weary body, and in doing so, Alice was able to put aside her fears and worries.

Sleep overcame her, but Alice's dreams soon turned to nightmares, as they often did. She remembered in detail the events of the night that took her father's life. . . .

She could feel the dampness around her. It had been rainy that night, and cold. Father had been so determined to make his delivery.

“It's critical that I get these papers to the right people. I don't want them to remain in the house overnight,” he had told her. “Why don't you stay here at home? It isn't safe to venture out so late.”

Father was nervous, but he always seemed so when working for the bank. She often wished he didn't have such an
important job, for she knew it placed him in harm's way. She had begged him to leave it, but the money had been too good.

“One of these days we'll move away from Denver,” he said as they walked. “We'll go somewhere warm. Somewhere special. A place where you can find yourself a good husband, and perhaps I'll even find a new . . .” He didn't finish his sentence, and Alice wondered if he might have been thinking of remarriage.

Father was never one to speak about such things. He wouldn't even discuss Alice's mother and the good memories . . . but why should he? He and Alice felt the same sense of betrayal.

The hair on her neck bristled at the sight of three men stepping out of the shadows to block their way. The largest one demanded Father's satchel.

“It contains nothing but papers,” her father declared. “Now be gone with you.”

“Give me the satchel, old man.” The stranger moved closer, and Alice's father stepped to one side—away from Alice.

“You can look for yourself.” He opened the case. “It's just paper.”

“I don't care what it is. Hand it over.”

“No.” Her father was adamant.

Alice started to move away, thinking she might run for help. Her father's assaulter motioned to his companions, however, and they took hold of her. One man pulled her against him and held her in an iron-like grip, while the other pulled a large knife.

The man who faced her father smiled. It was a heartless and terrifying smile. “I think you'd better do what I say. Otherwise the boys might be inclined to persuade you.”

“Don't hurt her!”

The man with the knife grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. The knife cut into her flesh without warning.

“Too late, old man. How much I cut her, however, will depend on you.”

Alice was too stunned at first to even feel the pain. That moment, however, was short-lived and she cried out. Her father charged at the man in front of him, but the larger brute was able to easily push him aside.

“Here, take it. Take the satchel, but leave my girl alone,” Father pleaded.

Her attacker breathed heavily against her face. He smelled of tobacco. “I skinned me a rabbit with this knife earlier today, and now I'm skinnin' me a little gal.”

Alice, dizzy with pain, felt blood flow down her face. The warmth seemed strange against the cold night air. The man released her and stepped back as if to assess his handiwork. Alice's father took the opportunity to once again rush his assaulter. This time the man sent him flying backward.

Alice screamed as her father's head made contact with the edge of the brick building. She heard a terrible thud and watched her father crumple into the mud. It was the last thing Alice remembered before fainting.

“Wake up,” Mrs. Landry said, shaking Alice by the shoulders. “Wake up, it's just a nightmare.”

Alice opened her eyes, blinking against the light. “What . . . what's happened?”

“You were screaming,” Mrs. Landry explained. “I came as soon as I could. Goodness, but you gave me a fright. Are you all right?”

Panting for air, Alice struggled to sit up. “I . . . I'm fine. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you.”

“It's quite all right, dear. You seemed terribly fearful of something. Would you like to talk about it?”

Alice looked at the disheveled woman. Mrs. Landry's robe was open and her nightcap askew. Obviously the woman had made a mad dash for Alice's room without concern for her own well-being.

“I'm fine, Mrs. Landry. Truly. I was just remembering . . . that night.”

“When your father died?”

She nodded. Mrs. Landry sat down beside her on the bed. “I suppose that night will always haunt you, but you can rest assured that God will never leave you or forsake you.”

The words offered comfort. “I'm glad that you believe that. Mrs. Wythe doesn't, you know.”

Mrs. Landry smiled. “Mrs. Wythe is dealing with her own demons. In time, I believe she'll come around, but we must make a special effort to pray for her. For Mr. Wythe, as well.”

Alice agreed. “They both seem to bear heavy burdens.”

“They do,” Mrs. Landry said. “I don't know exactly what it is that causes them each such pain, but Jesus does . . . and He's the only one who can heal them of their hurt.”

“I agree.”

“So you'll join me in praying for them?”

“Of course,” Alice replied. “I've already been praying for Mrs. Wythe.”

Mrs. Landry nodded and got to her feet. “Good. Then we shall both continue in that way and add Mr. Wythe, as well.”

Supper that Friday night proved to be a bigger event than Marty had first anticipated. Word came earlier in the day that several of the board members would accompany Mr. Morgan and Mr. Keystone for the meal so that they might discuss business afterward. Mrs. Landry passed the information on to Mrs. Standish, who seemingly performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes and served a meal fit for a king.

Marty wondered at the audacity of people to just force themselves on an employee and his family in this unannounced manner. For all the rules of social etiquette, it seemed there ought to be one that precluded such impositions.

For a time, all the niceties were observed. Marty listened in relative silence as the men spoke of various happenings in the city.

“They are planning to dig up City Cemetery and relocate it,” Mr. Morgan declared. “Plans are already in the works, and families have been asked by the city to cooperate and arrange to move their loved ones.”

“Seems kind of odd that they would disturb a cemetery that way. What's the purpose?” Jake asked.

“Progress.” This came from Josiah Keystone. “Progress, my boy. That area is prime real estate—much too close to the city and growing neighborhoods. They will move out the graves and expand the park. Some of the land will probably be developed, as well.”

“There's really no doubt on that count,” another of the men added.

Marty thought it appalling. How would she feel if they came to her with plans to dig up her Thomas's coffin? She would hate it. It would be like reliving his death all over again. She shook her head and decided to change the subject.

“Are you men aware that George Chesterfield, your deceased employee, has a seventeen-year-old daughter?” Marty interjected.

Everyone looked at her for a moment before Mr. Morgan replied. “I suppose I do remember something of that nature. It's been a while now since George passed on. You remember him, don't you, Josiah?”

“Of course I do. He was your bank manager before Mr. Wythe. He was murdered, wasn't he?”

Morgan cut into his roast. “Yes. He was murdered and bank papers were stolen. Caused me no end of grief, I assure you.”

Marty despised his calloused response. “They severely wounded the man's daughter. She bears a scar along the right side of her face and will for the rest of her life.”

“And how did you come by this knowledge, Mrs. Wythe?” Morgan's tone almost suggested he didn't believe her.

“Because she is my personal maid. Alice is a wonderful girl, but she was completely devastated at the loss of her father—both emotionally and financially. I wondered why the
bank hadn't offered her some sort of support or assistance since her father died in the line of duty.”

Morgan shrugged. “We can hardly be in the business of compensating every family member who loses someone in my employ. I'm sure relatives must have come alongside her in her hour of need.”

“No, there were no other relatives. Her father was the only one she had,” Marty replied. “I believe friends who attended church services with Alice provided her some short-term help, but they moved from the area, and the girl was again left with nothing.”

“That is a sad story, Mrs. Wythe,” one of the board members agreed. “So much violence and loss goes on all around us. In fact, I heard there was to be a new orphanage erected next year because of such sorrows. The girl was most fortunate to obtain employment with you.”

Everyone murmured an awkward agreement and continued eating. Marty could see nothing more would be said or done about the matter and fell silent. These men had no idea how difficult Alice's life might have been if she hadn't obtained decent work. Or maybe they did know and simply didn't care.

Marty continued to listen to the discussions about new industry that would soon arrive to make Denver ever more successful. Apparently there were ongoing plans for everything from additional rail lines to a new mint.

“The mint is in desperate disrepair,” Keystone told them. “Of course, they don't create coins there, but even for a glorified assay office taking in silver and gold from the local mines, it deserves better and safer quarters.”

“I thought coins were minted there,” Jake threw out. He hadn't said much that evening, and Marty couldn't help but
wonder if this was a calculated move on his part. Jake was a smart man and probably knew well enough to listen much and speak little.

“Coins were only minted there for one year, although some $600,000 worth of gold coins were the result,” Morgan explained. “I believe it was during the war, however, and they decided to forgo the expenses involved in continuing that project. We are hopeful that once we get Congress to agree to funds for a new building, they will also see the benefit of expanding operations to include minting coins.”

Mr. Keystone hurried to add, “One would contend that with nearly six million in gold and silver passing through those doors, Congress would see the immediate need for better provisions.”

The topic continued through dessert. Marty sampled the chocolate torte. It was delicious, but much too sweet. She pushed it aside and instead sipped her creamed coffee and waited for an appropriate time for her to leave.

“I suppose we have bored you with our discussions of civic plans and politics,” Mr. Morgan said upon finishing his torte. “I do apologize if we made ourselves poor company.”

“Not at all,” Marty replied. This was the opening she'd been waiting for. “However, I am rather tired this evening, and if you do not mind, I would like to excuse myself.” She got to her feet, and all of the men stood, as well. “Please, gentlemen, take your seats and enjoy your evening. I'm sure we will all meet again very soon.”

“Good night, Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Morgan said, with the others following suit.

Jake came to her side with a smile. “Good night, my dear.” He pressed a kiss upon her cheek.

Marty made her way upstairs as the men returned to their discussions of banking and the economy. She couldn't help but wonder if she should be more concerned about the state of the country. Earlier during the meal, Mr. Morgan had commented on several banks that might be forced to close. Nothing more was discussed on the subject, however. Surely if these titans were expecting Congress to hand over funding for a new mint, they couldn't be too concerned about local banks folding.

She decided it wasn't worth worrying about, but perhaps she would start reading the newspaper for more information. Maybe it would give her something more to talk about with Jake when they shared evenings together.

Later, after Marty had read for a time in front of her cozy fireplace, Alice helped her into her nightclothes. The beautiful white silk gown slid against Marty's body—a cold kiss against her warm skin. Alice then brought out a majestic white silk wrap. The set had been created with the new bride in mind. The shoulders were overlaid with a wide lace ruffle that cascaded down the right front side of the robe. There were buttons that lined the left side, but Marty waved Alice away from doing these up and chose instead to simply belt the garment closed. She sat at the vanity and toyed with the lace cuffs while Alice unbraided her long blond hair and began brushing it.

“Did I receive any mail today?” Marty asked.

“Not that I'm aware of, ma'am.”

“Please, Alice, don't call me ma'am. At least not in private. Here we can just be informal. You call me Marty and I'll call you Alice and we shall be the best of friends.”

Alice smiled at her in the mirror. “Mrs. Landry would have kittens.”

Marty laughed. “Well, I happen to like cats.”

“The book she gave me to read about being a proper lady's maid would also warn against it. Apparently it's a grievous error to allow employees and employers to have anything but a professional relationship.”

“Yes, I'm sure that's how society sees it. But in the privacy of my dressing room, I don't see any reason for pretense. When I was growing up, we had a wonderful woman at our house who cooked and helped my sister. They were the best of friends, and she was quite dear to me. Goodness, she even prayed with us and told us stories about her life in Mexico. It never caused any problems, and I'd like to think it could be the same way for us. I want to be able to speak my mind, and I want you to do likewise.”

“Truly?” Alice asked, continuing to work the brush.

“Truly. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered . . . I wondered if you would tell me why you're so angry at God.”

The question caught Marty completely off-guard. “I blame Him for not keeping my husband from death.” Her answer was out of her mouth before she'd given it any real thought.

“What happened to your husband?”

“He was a rancher, and he had a longhorn bull that had been injured. Thomas nursed the animal back to health and was attempting to check the wound when the bull got spooked and went wild. Thomas was gored by the horns and died a short time later. On Christmas Eve.”

“That must have been awful.” Alice continued the rhythmic strokes.

“It was.”

“And do you have any children?”

“No.” Marty hoped that would be the end of it, but Alice wasn't through.

“And you blame God for letting your husband die.” It wasn't really a question, but more an observation.

“For letting him die. For letting him get hurt. For letting us both down.”

When Alice said nothing, Marty felt compelled to explain further. “You see, I was raised to put my trust in God. I went to church and learned the Scriptures. I knew what was expected of me by God, but I thought I could count on certain things from Him, as well. When that didn't prove true and Thomas died, I lost heart.”

“How was it that you couldn't count on God?” Alice asked softly.

Marty shrugged. “I prayed for my husband's safety, and it didn't work. I prayed to have a child, and that didn't come about, either. I prayed for rain for the ranch, and we suffered on with drought. I prayed for so many things over the years, and so many things were denied me. It didn't seem that my faith was worth the effort.”

“I'm sorry.”

Despite the attack she'd suffered, Alice was still so innocent—naïve, really. Marty could see that she was genuine in her feelings, but it didn't help. In fact, Marty could see no purpose in continuing the discussion.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course,” Marty agreed, happy to move the conversation in a different direction.

“Did your husband Thomas hate God, too?”

“Hate God? I don't hate God. I would never do that.” Marty turned around abruptly. “Thomas loved God.” She
smiled at the memory of him puzzling over passages in the Bible. “He used to sit in the evening and read the Bible to me. There would be times when he felt confused by something, and he'd continue to study and ponder it for days. He'd pray for understanding, and after a while he'd tell me he'd gotten some great epiphany.” Marty met Alice's gaze. “Why do you think I hate God?”

“Well, I suppose because you're so angry with Him. Anger never seems to hold any love—at least not to my way of thinking. And . . . well, I just thought maybe in the absence of love, that anger had created hate.”

“No,” Marty said, shaking her head. “It's not created anything. It's left a void.”

Jake was glad that Morgan concluded their business quickly. They had reached quick decisions on several pressing issues and agreed to proceed on Monday and spend no further time that evening on the matter. Jake bid the men good evening.

“Please give our best to Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Morgan said before climbing into his carriage.

“I will,” Jake promised.

As he made his way up the grand staircase, the clock struck nine. The chime echoed through the large house and left Jake feeling rather lonely. He felt a sudden desire for Marty's company, and he wondered if she might still be awake.

He entered his bedroom and walked straight to the door that adjoined her dressing room, knocking loudly. The door opened almost immediately, and Alice jumped back in surprise.

“Mr. Wythe!”

Marty quickly stood up from where she was seated at the
vanity. Her long blond hair hung loose to her waist—something Jake had never seen before that moment.

“I'm glad to see you're still up. I wondered if we might have a conversation.” He looked at Alice with a smile and added, “In private.”

“Of course,” Marty replied. She moved across the room in a swirl of white, leaving Jake to feel rather breathless at her beauty. The gown was the kind any man might desire his wife to wear.

“Alice, I can see myself to bed. Why don't you go ahead and turn in?”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Alice said, giving a little curtsy. She hurried out of the room through the opposite door.

“What did you want to discuss? Should we go and sit in my room?”