A Sensible Arrangement (15 page)

“Cigar?” Morgan asked, holding one out.

“No, thank you.” Jake noticed another footman had arrived.

“Would you care for something to drink, sir?”

Jake could see that other men in the room, including Morgan, were imbibing liquor. Since he'd made a fool of himself in Texas at the house of the Vandermarks, Jake had sworn off all alcohol. “No. I'm fine, thank you.”

“My boy, you need to learn the importance of relaxing.” Morgan smiled. “Business and pleasure are more easily enjoyed when a man is calm and not so anxious.”

He wished Morgan would get to the point of this meeting. Jake had picked up a bouquet of flowers for Marty, which the doorman was now watching over. Jake didn't trust the man to watch them indefinitely, and besides, he was anxious to give them to Marty and see her reaction.

“So, what kind of business are we about today?” Jake asked.

Morgan laughed. “The business of getting your membership arranged in the Denver Club.”

“That's hardly necessary,” Jake answered. “The cost alone is rather prohibitive.”

“Nonsense. It's a part of your duty as bank manager, and therefore the bank will pay your dues. Of course, I don't want that to get around to any of my other employees.” He slid an envelope across the table. “I will sponsor your membership, and the board will also act as references. This will take care of your dues.”

“But, Mr. Morgan, I assure you it's not necessary.”

“But I say it is. I intend to see you in the position of vice-president by summer's end. That will only be accomplished by your working hard to bring in new accounts and see to it that this financial wrinkle doesn't cause us any setbacks.”

“Vice-president?” Jake shook his head in surprise. “But what of Mr. Keystone?”

“He will assume the role of president for a time. Eventually, I intend to see you in that position, when he retires. But one step at a time. Keystone will be much too busy to tend to the daily operations of business. That's why you need to have a membership in this austere club. The wealthy men you need to entice to my banking organization will frequent this place. I'm counting on you, Wythe. I expect to get a strong return for my investment.” Morgan gave him a pointed look.

“And I always get what I expect and then some,” Morgan added, then lifted his glass in a salute to Jake.

April arrived, and with it a growing concern in the financial world. Many people were now convinced that the problems were only going to get worse and because of that, were starting to pull back on investing. Jake had witnessed several customers, mostly those with smaller savings accounts, pull their money from the bank. They were inclined to trust their mattresses or other hiding places more than the bank's questionable future.

Jake had tried to assure each man that the bank was sound, but as he continued to look into the monetary backing of their branch, he felt less and less certain. Josiah Keystone only added to his concern on that early Friday morning.

“Wythe, good of you to see me,” Keystone announced, entering the office. “I realize it wasn't in the best taste to send you a message so early in the morning. I appreciate your meeting me here.”

“You said it was urgent.”

“And so it is,” Keystone said. “I won't take up much time, but I wanted to ask you to personally handle a matter for a friend of mine.”

“I'll do what I can,” Jake replied, still not knowing what Keystone needed.

“It would need to be kept quiet. I don't want Morgan hearing about it. He'll feel offended by our friend taking this path.”

“What path is that?”

“He wants to trade in his gold certificates for gold. He's fretful about the economy, as are many. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he's convinced that this is what he must do. He said he'd rather have the gold itself on hand rather than a marker from the bank. I told him we would try to handle it with as little fanfare as possible. Not to mention we don't want to give the public any reason to make a run on the bank.”

“Mr. Keystone, you know that this can't be kept from Mr. Morgan. All redemptions of gold certificates must have his approval. Besides, it will all depend on how much this man intends to cash in. You know as well as I do that the bank doesn't keep large amounts on hand and that the ratio of deposits to currency is severely declined.”

“Surely this can be dealt with,” Keystone all but growled. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips as if trying to rid himself of a bad taste.

Jake hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I'll do what I can, Mr. Keystone. But again, it's all going to depend on the amount of withdrawal.”

“Where is Morgan? I suppose I'll have to speak to him on this matter.”

“I would imagine that he's still at home,” Jake said, glancing at his pocket watch. “Perhaps you could catch him there.”

“No, I don't want to make a scene.”

“Well, he intends to be at the Denver Club around three. I'm to meet him there.”

“I suppose it will have to wait until then.” Tension laced his words, and he stormed from the office, leaving Jake to stare after him.

It seemed anyone with something to lose walked a narrow line these days, and there was an overwhelming sense that the financial world was holding its breath. Unfortunately, the daily newspapers were doing nothing to help the matter. Every time Jake picked up the paper, he read another story about a railroad facing bankruptcy or the rising unemployment. Such widespread problems, stated in the most alarming ways possible, served only to cause mass hysteria. It was a wonder they hadn't had a full run on the bank.

“Sir, this letter arrived for you,” Arnold announced from the still open doorway. “It's notification of our upcoming audit.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Why not?”

Marty awoke after a restless night's sleep. Alice hadn't opened the drapes, yet there were hints of light playing at the corners. Silence cloaked the house in a sort of surreal, almost dreamlike state.

Getting out of the bed, Marty yawned and tried to ignore the fact that she was still exhausted. Glancing at her writing desk in the muted light, she could see the reason for her inability to sleep.

Hannah had written her a letter. Her unhappiness at Marty's last missive was quite clear. Hannah didn't try to hide her disappointment or pretend to understand Marty's desire to remain in Colorado for an extended visit. She wanted to know why Marty was being so vague with her information and when she intended to return.

There was more—comments about the ranch and Hannah's worry that Marty would get herself into trouble.

“If she only knew,” Marty said, walking across the chilly hardwood floor. She picked up Hannah's letter and wondered how she could best reply.

Marty's first thought had been to just tell the truth—it would be the simplest way. But since when had she ever taken the simple way out? Her stomach growled. Perhaps a little milk and maybe one of Cook's good biscuits would stave off her hunger until a later breakfast.

Marty put the letter down and took up her robe. It was still early enough that she thought perhaps she could sneak down to the kitchen without notice. Cook was usually quite occupied first thing, and she and her assistant, Willa, would most likely be in the pantry or perhaps busy elsewhere.

Well
, even if they're right there in plain sight, I
am mistress of the house, and I have a right
to the food that's in it.

Her reasoning did little to still the unease within. It wasn't the early morning raid on the larder, however, that had Marty tied in knots. It was knowing that she had to answer Hannah's letter and tell her about Jake.

Deciding to slip down the servants' stairs, which would lead her directly into the kitchen's back entry, Marty did her best to descend quietly. She was on the next to the last step when she heard a woman speak.

“Why don't we end our study with prayer,” Mrs. Landry announced.

Marty frowned and halted, remaining still as one woman after another asked for God's provision and offered thanks for His blessings already received. It wasn't until Marty heard
Alice in prayer that she felt a strange sense of guilt mixed with irritation.

“And Lord,” Alice prayed, “please help Mrs. Wythe. She has a wounded heart and needs to see that you love her and that you are there to comfort her. Help her with the decisions she needs to make.”

Marty stepped back, shaking her head. She didn't want to listen to another word. She hurried back to her room, hoping that no one had known of her presence. She didn't know why the prayer had bothered her so much. She knew that Hannah prayed for her every day, but there was something about these women—her servants—praying for her that was unsettling.

Returning to bed, Marty tried her best to go back to sleep and forget about the letter from her sister and the women's prayers. But her mind kept returning to Hannah's missive, Alice's words. When Alice came into the room to pull back the drapes an hour later, Marty reluctantly gave up the battle.

“Good morning,” Alice said with a bright smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not exactly.” She slipped her legs over the side of the bed and stretched.

Alice went about the room attending to her daily chores until she came to the desk. “I see you had a letter from your sister. Have you told her yet about your marriage to Mr. Wythe?”

“That's none of your business,” Marty snapped and immediately regretted it. “I'm sorry, Alice. Like I said, I didn't sleep very well. I'm afraid I'm acting like those snooty society women. I hope you'll forgive me.”

Alice's expression changed from surprise to warmth. “Of course. Everyone has a bad day now and then. I'm sure this matter has weighed on you heavily.”

“It has,” Marty admitted. “I'm certain that's why I couldn't sleep. I don't know how to break the news to her without it hurting or alarming Hannah. She worries about me more than she should, and if I tell her what I've done, I know she'll probably load up and come here demanding to meet Jake and know everything about him.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Marty grimaced at the thought. If Hannah came here, then the knowledge of Marty's ranch would be revealed. “I don't know,” she lied. “I just don't know.”

Alice moved into the dressing room. “I know you plan to go to tea this afternoon at Mrs. Keystone's. Would your lavender striped gown suit you?”

“As well as anything,” Marty replied. “I have no desire to go to tea. No desire to make small talk with women of society. Perhaps I'll send my regrets and tell her I'm feeling unwell.”

“Lie to Mrs. Keystone? Over tea?” Alice asked, popping back into the doorway. “Why ever would you sin in order to get out of tea? Just send her a note that says you won't be there and leave it at that.”

Marty smiled. Alice really had gotten over her fear of talking back and offering her opinion. “I suppose I could, but you know how these society women are. They take offense at the smallest thing.”

“So let them,” Alice countered. “If not over this thing, then it will be another. No sense in being miserable over it. It seems to me that being firm in your convictions is something these women understand.”

“It's just that every time I meet with them, they have yet another restraint or rule for me. Do you know that Mrs. Morgan was actually appalled by my idea to read to the orphans?
She said it wouldn't be fitting. She used excuses like how it would be unfair to the destitute motherless and fatherless children to see such obvious examples of money and know that they would never have such things. I told her I could dress very simply and have the carriage leave me off a block away, and that upset the poor woman further. I thought she might actually faint.”

Alice smiled. “You have a good heart. I don't know those women, but it doesn't sound as if they value the same things. Now, I'm not judging them, mind you—I couldn't begin to say what's in their hearts. But their actions will speak for them.”

Marty followed Alice into the dressing room and considered her maid's words. She'd never considered herself good or selfless. Alice's comment only served to vex Marty all the more. A good and selfless woman wouldn't treat her sister as Marty had. She wouldn't feel the need to lie and hide the details of her life—and she certainly wouldn't have gone into an arranged marriage and kept it a secret from the people she loved.

Jake smiled as he came into the house an hour earlier than usual. Despite the rainy weather, Jake felt more than a little excited. He had a surprise for Marty, and he could hardly wait to tell her about it. Brighton greeted him at the door as usual and asked after his day.

“It started much too early, as you will recall,” Jake told his man. “I must say I'm glad that it's Friday.” He handed Brighton his umbrella and outer coat.

“Yes, sir.”

Just then Mrs. Landry appeared. “Goodness! Don't let that umbrella drip all over my freshly polished floor. There's a porch for such things.”

“I apologize, Mrs. Landry,” Jake declared before Brighton could speak. “It's all my fault. I was in such a hurry to get inside and see my wife, that it totally slipped my mind.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “It's not your fault at all, Mr. Wythe. If Mr. Brighton knew his job properly, he would have been waiting for you on the porch.”

“But I came home early. Hardly his fault.”

Brighton looked at Mrs. Landry with a rather smug expression. She jerked her chin high. Jake wanted to laugh out loud at the twosome, but knew better.

“A good servant anticipates his master's every move. If Mr. Brighton were American trained, he would know that. I seriously doubt the English ever do anything without a fixed schedule in place. Americans are far more spontaneous.”

“I will admit the truth of being spontaneous, Mrs. Landry. However, I couldn't say if that is the case or not for the English. I've never been abroad.”

“Mrs. Landry is rather ignorant of how a gentleman's manservant performs his duties.” Brighton looked at the woman in a matter-of-fact manner. “The truth is, Mrs. Landry is woefully uninformed when it comes to understanding gentlemen.”