A Sensible Arrangement (14 page)

“I was out shopping first thing this morning and brought you a gift.”

Alice decided now would be a good time to see to the ironing that needed her attention. She walked to the far end of the room to gather the necessary articles of clothing.

“I think you'll like what I have here,” Jake told Marty.

Alice heard Mrs. Wythe respond, but couldn't make out the words. How wonderful to have a husband who surprised you with gifts.
Mr
. Wythe certainly loves her a great deal. His entire face
lights up when he sees her. How I long for
someone to love me like that.

Touching her hand to her cheek, Alice couldn't help but be reminded that she was forever marred. The scar would fade a bit, the doctor said, but she would always bear the reminder. He had told her she was fortunate that the damage had been mostly superficial. Apparently the attacker knew exactly how deep to cut without causing greater damage to the nerves and muscle beneath.

“It's perfect!” Marty squealed in delight.

Alice turned to find her hoisting a shotgun out of the wooden box. She found it strange that her mistress should get so excited about a weapon. Trying not to eavesdrop, Alice focused her attention on the clothes, only to hear something that made her blood run cold.

“If that window peeper decides to return,” Marty told her husband, “I'll brandish this in his face and see if he's still inclined to steal from us.”

“I figure he'll forget about us mighty quick,” he said, his southern drawl becoming more pronounced. “Once he sees that my little Texas wife can shoot, well, he'll mosey along and leave my womenfolk alone.” They laughed together over this.

Alice froze at Mr. Wythe's comment. So the man had returned. Icy fingers went up her spine. They were looking for her, no doubt. But why? They'd taken the satchel from her father. What else were they looking for?

Her mind scrambled for an answer as fear welled within
her. These men seemed unwilling to leave her alone. They had come to the hospital asking after her. They had eventually located her with church friends. In fact, their threats were the biggest reason her hosts had left Denver. They had wanted Alice to come with them, but she knew the men would only follow. But why? What did they want?

“I couldn't help but pick this up for you, as well,” Mr. Wythe announced. He drew out a small jewelry box and opened the lid. Alice couldn't see what it was, but from Marty's reaction, it apparently met with her approval.

“You shouldn't have. The shotgun was more than enough. It's not like it's my birthday,” Marty declared.

“Speaking of which, I don't even know when that is.”

Alice frowned. How could he not know when she was born? They were married, after all. Hadn't they shared all of these kinds of things with each other prior to the wedding? She couldn't imagine that two people would wed without knowing such details.

“It's in January,” Marty admitted.

“Then I missed it. Good thing I bought the brooch.” Alice thought he looked more than a little pleased with himself. Mr. Wythe continued. “I know you love just sitting around the house, but I thought we might take a carriage ride after lunch. You haven't seen much of the city, and since the streets are fairly dry, I thought it would be a good time to show you around.”

“Oh, I'd love that,” Marty replied. “And it will give me a good excuse to change my clothes again.” She laughed and looked to Alice. “After we eat, I shall need an appropriate outfit for sight-seeing.”

“It's been a wonderful afternoon,” Mrs. Cooper said, nodding to each of the women in her opulent sitting room.

“I should say so,” Mrs. Morgan replied. “And I've decided that this new mauve color is lovely. Not really a pink and certainly not a true purple.” She reached over to gently finger the damask draperies. “Very lovely.”

“I knew when I first saw it featured in Byrant's store that I must have it for my sitting room. I'm quite pleased.”

Marty tried to appear interested. The women had been good to include her, and she wanted to show them as much kindness and attention as she could. Unfortunately, there was little in their lives that appealed to her.

“So have you begun to redecorate your home?” Mrs. Morgan asked her.

Thinking of the house and how she could find little fault with the design, Marty shook her head. “I'm not entirely sure I will.”

The other two women exchanged a look. Marty could see the hint of disapproval in their expressions. “I suppose,” she continued, “that I'm still trying to adjust to living here and
being married again. Besides, you arranged for it to be done so beautifully, Mrs. Morgan.”

The women seemed to accept this as a valid excuse. Mrs. Morgan smiled and asked, “How long were you married before, Mrs. Wythe?”

“Ten years. Thomas was a rancher, and he was killed when a longhorn gored him.” She added the latter, anticipating the women's curiosity regarding her husband's means of death.

“I'm sure that living as a rancher's wife in Texas was quite different from what you know today. Still, you were mistress of your ranch. Was it large?”

“The ranch?” Marty questioned, but continued before either could answer. “Yes. It was a decent size. My brother-in-law and sister gave large pieces of land to both my brother and me. By the time I returned from finishing school, my brother had already established himself on his portion and had purchased a homestead that abutted the property, as well. So my acreage isn't quite as large, but large enough.”

“You attended finishing school?” Mrs. Cooper said, brightening. “Where, if I might ask?”

“In Georgia. Atlanta, to be exact. I have relatives there, and Hannah, my sister, thought it would do me good to get away from my primarily male world and engage with other young ladies and learn social etiquette.”

“How wise of her,” Mrs. Cooper said, looking to Mrs. Morgan for approval.

“Yes,” Imogene Morgan agreed. “I knew there was a great deal of gentility to you, and now it's obvious as to why. Breeding always shows. In fact, when Mr. Morgan mentioned sponsoring you and Mr. Wythe in society, I was
skeptical. I'm pleased that you have proven yourself to be a refined young lady.”

Marty wanted to make a snide comment but held her tongue. What had the woman expected—savage behavior and unsavory conversation? Did she believe Texans to be social clods incapable of mingling among society's elite?

The footman arrived to clear away their dishes, and Marty took the opportunity to excuse herself. “I want to thank you for such a lovely time, but I really must be going. I have become interested of late in one of the local orphanages, and I want to stop there on my way home to see what I might be able to do to help.”

Mrs. Morgan smiled in her tolerant way. “I'm certain a small donation would benefit them. I have several charitable organizations that provide assistance to such places. Perhaps you would care to join me for one of our meetings?”

Marty nodded. “I'd enjoy that very much. I'd like to be doing something more than holding teas and reading every book in my husband's library.” She smiled and couldn't resist adding, “One day you and Mrs. Cooper must tell me how you endure this idle life.”

She quickly got to her feet and the butler escorted her and helped her with her coat. Once Marty was in the carriage and headed down the street, she couldn't help but giggle. Those women were skilled in holding long conversations about nothing of importance—while believing themselves full of valuable information—and she couldn't help but feel bored in their presence.

Samson brought the carriage to a halt outside a three-story redbrick building in a poorer part of the city. Marty glanced around the neighborhood, noting the startling contrast to that
of Capitol Hill. Spring weather was doing its best to brighten things up; the grass had begun to green rather nicely and the trees were leafing out. But where Capitol Hill prided itself on well-manicured lawns, it seemed this area of Denver did well to keep glass in the windows of its buildings.

She made her way to the door and noted a sign that read
Auraria Orphanage
. Before she could knock, a young man of about twelve opened the door. “Good afternoon,” he said, sounding very formal.

Marty handed him her calling card. “I wonder if I might see the person in charge.”

The boy took her card and nodded. “Mr. Brentwood is in his office.” He knocked and opened the door to reveal a stern-faced man sitting behind a desk.

“Mr. Brentwood, this lady wants to see you,” the boy said, some of his formality reverting to a more youthful tone.

The man stood and took hold of the calling card the boy extended. “Very good, Adam. Now return to your post.” The boy nodded and scurried past Marty, pausing only long enough to give her a slight bow.

“I'm afraid Adam tends to forget his manners, Mrs. . . .” He glanced down at the card for a moment. “Wythe. Mrs. Wythe. Won't you be seated?”

Marty smiled and did as he bid. Already she felt the edges of her boredom give way. She was about to embark on a worthy project. At least she prayed it would be such.

“And he said that I might come and read to the children,” Marty told Alice as she helped dress her mistress for dinner. “They are also in need of funds. The children seem to wear
out their clothing so fast that I thought I might actually take up sewing for them.”

“What will Mr. Wythe say?” Alice questioned. “That's hardly the kind of thing a lady in your position would normally do.”

“I don't care,” Marty replied. “I'm bored out of my mind most days. I'm not supposed to garden or make my own clothes. I'm not responsible for laundry or cooking because you and the other staff handle all of that. I can't care for the animals because that's not fitting. Honestly, I don't know how these ladies of leisure endure their existence.”

Alice couldn't help but giggle. “Most women would love to be in your shoes, Mrs. . . . Marty.”

Marty slipped her arms into the sleeves of her silk evening gown and smiled. “Well, I'm glad to be in my own shoes tonight. Mr. Wythe is taking me out for what he promises will be a lovely dinner and time of music. It's been quite a while since I've heard a concert. My sister and brother-in-law took Thomas and me to a wonderful performance in Dallas many years ago. Before that . . . well, when I was little, my sister, Hannah, always tried to expose Andy and me to music and art whenever possible. It just wasn't always available or timely. Ranch life is hard work and requires constant attention.”

“I can only imagine,” Alice said, doing up the back of the gown.

“I suppose that's why it's hard for me to sit and do nothing,” Marty continued. “I'm used to pulling my weight. Seeing you and Mrs. Landry and the others work so hard . . . well, it makes me uncomfortable. Hannah said my mother was a fine lady, but she was always seeking to do good for others.”

“My mother seemed to care about the good of others at one time,” Alice admitted, not really wanting to allow the memories to resurface.

“You seem very bitter toward your mother. Are you angry because she died?”

Alice looked at the back of Marty's head as though carefully scrutinizing her coiffure. She thought about the question and then finally spoke. “My mother left me and my father when I was thirteen. She took my five-year-old brother and deserted us.”

Marty turned to face her. “She deserted you? I thought she died.”

“She did, but not until some months after she'd taken my brother and ran away with him. My father was devastated, as was I. I couldn't believe she'd just up and leave like that . . . no good-bye . . . nothing. She didn't even ask me if I wanted to go with her. Which I wouldn't have,” Alice said in a tone that almost convinced her own heart.

“Did your father mistreat her?”

“No . . . at least I don't think he did. They did have some ugly arguments, but I never saw him hit her. My father could be rather indifferent at times, and he worked really hard to keep us in a lovely home. I think perhaps my mother felt his neglect, but that's certainly no reason to tear apart your family.”

“I'm truly sorry, Alice. I didn't have any idea.”

“Maybe I should have told you sooner.” Alice shrugged. “I used to spend long hours trying to figure out why she left me. Right after it happened I would cry myself to sleep every night. I would ask my father every morning if they'd returned. Finally after several long months of this—maybe even a year—
my father told me he'd received word that they had died in an epidemic back east.”

“That must have been hard.” Marty's words were soothing and kind. “I know what it's like to grow up without a mother.”

Alice went to the dressing table for the gown's sash. She returned and fitted it to Marty's waist and artfully tied it in a large bow. “I got very angry. Father would speak ill of Mother and I suppose that birthed anger in me—anger at her and even anger at him. I'm still trying to overcome it.”

“I can imagine your hurt.”

“I remember one of the first times Father and I attended church after learning that Mother had died. The pastor spoke about forgiving people the wrong they'd done you. He said that often the hardest thing to let go of was our disappointment in others, including God. That spoke straight to my heart. I'd like to say that I immediately forgave my mother and no longer felt anger toward her, but that wasn't the case. Forgiving Father was less difficult—after all, no matter his role in her desertion, at least he stayed.”

“So you still battle your wounded heart?”

“Yes.” Alice stepped back and admired her mistress. “You look so beautiful. That color of blue makes your eyes seem even brighter.”

Marty didn't appear to hear her, however. The older woman had drawn her brows together, as if thinking hard on something Alice had said.

“Are you all right?” Alice asked.

Her mistress nodded. “I think part of my own trouble has to do with my anger at God. Maybe even anger at Thomas for getting himself killed. It's hard to accept that God could
have stopped a bad thing from happening but didn't. I'm just not sure what to do with that knowledge.”

“It isn't easy, I'll admit. I'm still struggling to forgive my mother, but every morning I wake up and tell myself that today will be the day—even if for just a few hours. Maybe you could try that, too, to help you forgive Thomas for dying and accept that God is good, even when He doesn't ward off the bad.”

“Maybe,” Marty said, not sounding at all convinced.

Jake stepped into one of the handsomely appointed lounges of the exclusive Denver Club. Mr. Morgan beckoned to him immediately and one of the footmen escorted Jake to where he sat. Men all around the room were puffing away on fat cigars, chatting about the day's events. Jake wasn't sure why Morgan had sent word for him to join him there. It was going to make Jake extremely late getting home, and he'd forgotten to send word to Marty.

“I received your note, Mr. Morgan.”

“Good to have you join me, Mr. Wythe. Have you been here before?”

Jake shook his head. “No. I'm afraid this club has always been too elite for me.”

“Nonsense. This is exactly where you need to be. If you want to get ahead in the banking industry, this is where business is done.”

Jake didn't wish to tell him he had no desire to get ahead in the banking industry, so he simply gave a curt nod and took an offered chair.