Chances (29 page)

“I am so proud of both of you.” He kissed their cheeks, then sought each of their gazes in turn. “Kate, you were amazing. You are my inspiration. And Molly, your coaching must have been the best. I didn’t notice a single mistake.”

The girls beamed and he hugged them again.

“Now, where’s Miss Sarah? I have a few things to talk over with her, too.”

Molly turned and pointed to a group near the exit. “She’s over there. Oh, Papa, wait till you hear.” Molly jumped up and down, her brown ringlets bouncing. “Miss Sarah got invited to go to some fancy gathering Miss Amelie and her friends are putting on and she’s gonna be the featured guest. And Miss Amelie’s gonna take Miss Clay’s whole class out for ice cream.”

Daniel’s heart skipped a beat and a sense of dread crept up his spine. Exposing Kate and Molly to new ideas was one thing. Exposing them to prostitution was another thing entirely.

He stared at Sarah as the dread mutated to protective anger. His jaw tightened and a lump filled his throat. He glanced at the girls and swallowed his urge to confront Sarah.

“Let’s go home, girls.” He nodded to the back door. “I don’t think I need to talk to Miss Sarah, after all.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lavinia perched on the edge of the horsehair sofa in Mrs. King’s parlor, wishing Frank would hurry back with whatever it was he wanted to show her. She had three days until the rally, and her agenda was overflowing with important items that far outweighed Frank Bates and his constant complaints.

She picked at the ratty brown velvet and frowned.

Frank had been part of her life for close to twenty years now. Gracious, how she put up with the little gopher was beyond explanation. If it weren’t for his fawning adoration, she would have dismissed him long ago. In recent weeks, though, his once petty worries had mutated into unpredictable outbursts that made her skin prickle.

“I’m awful sorry you had to wait, Lavinia.” Frank stood in the parlor archway, his eyes drawn into dark slits. “I was takin’ care of business, protecting myself, you might say.” He approached with quick, uneven steps and handed her a crumpled piece of paper.

Lavinia unfolded the worn sheet. One quick look and she’d be gone. When he’d asked her to wait in the parlor, she’d thought it might be something important. She glanced at the paper, then stared at Frank in disbelief.

The semblance of the letter was clear, it was a business offer, extending the personal favors of one Sarah Donovan in return for a position in the Kansas Pacific telegraph office. It was also clear that it was not written by Sarah Donovan.

Lavinia smiled in spite of herself. It was a brilliant stroke and she was surprised Frank had thought of it. Combined with the remnants of the telegram messages Frank had dug from the garbage at the station and wires he sent last Thursday while posing as Sarah, it was all the proof Frank’s uncle could want.

“Well?”

“Who told you to do this?”

“Nobody. I thought of it all on my own, just like I done with them wires and the logbook.” He paced the worn carpet of the parlor, scratching the back of his left hand with short jerking movements. He stopped, pivoted, and glared at her. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let nobody push me around. I ain’t gonna take the fall at work this time and I ain’t gonna let that woman do me in. No, sirree.” His black eyes glinted.

Lavinia drew a breath. “Well, my gracious, Frank. You truly never cease to amaze me.”

“Really? I done it for you, too. She’s tryin’ to mess things up for you, too.”

“Yes, Frank. I know that.”

“Of course you do. I just wanted you to know how I know it, too.”

Lavinia’s mind raced. Only Frank would use a tattered scrap for something this significant. It was not something a woman like Sarah would have done. Nor would she have sent a message this poorly crafted. If it weren’t fixed, no one would believe any of it. Still, it was a genius move on Frank’s part.

She offered Frank a dazzling smile. “Frank, dear? You are such a clever man. Would you let me make a suggestion?”

He nodded, eager as ever to please.

“We need to polish this up a little, maybe put it on nicer paper. You don’t want anyone just tossing it away, now do you?”

“No, ma’am. That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re a lady, through and through.”

“Go on over to Mrs. King’s desk and get me a piece of stationary.”

“Right out of her desk?”

Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Just get it.”

“But ain’t that stealin’?”

“It’s paper for goodness sake, not anything of value. Besides, when did you get so concerned about doing right?”

“Mrs. King’s never done nothin’ to me. It ain’t like
she’s
trying to ruin my life.”

“Calm down, Frank. You can replace it later.” She stared at him, uncomfortable with his rising volume. Though she’d mocked his docile subservience, she preferred it to this strange, erratic raging. She was tempted to leave. Still, Frank was on to something here, something that might prove very valuable indeed. She patted the sofa. “Sit. We won’t worry about the paper, now.”

Frank plopped down beside her, sullen. “It ain’t like I can’t do it on my own, you know.” He paused, staring at her, and his jaw quivered. “I just like makin’ you a part of it. Seems like the right sort of thing to do when you’re courtin’.”

Lavinia’s hand froze on the sofa. “We’re not courting, Frank.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that cause you don’t want nobody knowin’ till after the rally.” He grinned and winked. “It’s all right. I understand.”

Lavinia shifted against the chill creeping up her spine. Just a few more minutes, that was all she’d need.

She pulled a pencil stub from her pocket book and scratched a few corrections on Frank’s note, rewording it to sound like the educated woman Sarah appeared to be. It was too bad Frank hadn’t thought of this sooner. While his efforts would remove the troublesome telegrapher from her job, she knew it wouldn’t happen before Saturday. She’d still have the little upstart at the rally. But, it wouldn’t take long after that and she’d be gone for good, provided Frank did things right.

She handed Frank the paper. “Here, I’ve made corrections. This sounds more like something Donovan would write.”

He clutched the paper and peered at it.

Lavinia leaned closer to him and touched his hand. “You might consider getting that rewritten, too. Use a sample of Sarah’s handwriting, something from the depot. Someone over on the Row might do a good job making it look like Sarah’s hand.”

Frank grinned, then kissed her on the hand. “I reckon I could bring home one of the logbooks.”

Lavinia fought back a wave of nausea, deciding Frank wasn’t so much a gopher as he was a ferret, a greasy little ferret, and he was beginning to give her the willies.

* * * * *

Sarah looked up from her desk at the depot and rubbed her temples, glad the Wednesday afternoon crowd had thinned and the place was quiet. For once, the quiet was preferable.

She should be happy. She’d achieved success, after all. It was a week of accomplishments. The play had gone off well, bringing her plenty of praise in all of Friday’s papers, even though the accolades really belonged to the children, not her. Then, on Sunday, the
Rocky Mountain News
had published an article on the upcoming suffrage rally, with her name listed among the dignitaries and featured speakers, right up there with Susan B. Anthony herself. This morning, she’d passed the primary operator’s test, and Jim Wilson would promote her as soon as he returned from his two weeks in Kansas City.

She laid her head on the table and sighed, drained and empty and devoid of satisfaction.

Daniel had left without a word the night of the play, taking the girls with him. And who could blame him? She’d insulted him by walking away, twice. No wonder he was cool.

She just hadn’t expected his coldness would matter so much.

Her eyes grew wet and she laid her head on her arms, wishing she knew when the thrill of success had ceased to matter as much as one man’s desire and two little girls’ smiles.

She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and sighed again. If she’d given them half a chance, Daniel and the girls would be sharing in her accomplishments now. But they’d do so because they cared about her, not because she’d done anything remarkable.

“Miss Donovan?”

Sarah started, then pasted a smile on her face and turned toward the voice.

Amelie Parsons stood in the doorway, once again clad in fashionable attire. “The man in the lobby said I’d find you here. I hope I’m not interrupting.” Her voice suddenly cracked and her eyes filled with tears.

Sarah rose and rushed across the room, instinctively pulling Amelie into the office, away from any prying eyes in the lobby. She grasped the woman’s hands and squeezed gently, unsure of what else to do. “Miss Parsons? What is it?”

Amelie blinked and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know where else to come.”

Sarah pulled her into the office and led her to her stool. “What happened?” she asked.

“Mattie sent me to get Silverman but I couldn’t. Dora hated him.”

Sarah shook her head, confused. “Mattie? Dora? Amelie, what’s going on?”

Amelie’s teary eyes widened. “Oh, my. You didn’t know, did you?” She sobered. “Sarah, I work for Mattie Silks. Dora is … was … one of the other girls. She’s dead.”

Sarah’s mind scrambled, fitting it together. “Mattie Silks? From Halladay Street?”

“Yes. I should have told you before, but hardly anyone in the association knows. I haven’t been here long enough for word to leak out and I’m so used to keeping it secret. I … will you help me, Sarah? I don’t know who else to ask.” Her eyes pooled again and her lip trembled.

Sarah folded Amelie into a hug. “Shhh,” she offered. “Now, this Dora, how’d she die? Maybe we need to get the marshal.”

“He’s been there and gone.” She sniffled and looked away.

Sarah patted her shoulders. “You and Dora were close?”

“She went out of her way to make me welcome. I liked her a lot. That doesn’t happen much in my business.” She pulled out of the hug and stared at Sarah. “Please, I can’t bring Silverman, I can’t. H-he was rough with her and she hated him. She wouldn’t want him pawing her, laying her out.”

Sarah envisioned Silverman’s distasteful attitude and shivered. “No, I don’t think she would. But what can I do?”

“None of the other undertakers will do business on the Row.” Amelie hesitated, then continued. “You know Daniel Petterman. Can you get him to come?”

Her thoughts drifted to Daniel’s stony principles and she offered Amelie a weak smile, unwilling to make any promises. “I don’t think he will, but I’ll try.”

* * * * *

Sarah had left Amelie at the depot, sitting in the office, with a gawking Ernie covering the wire. Now, approaching Daniel’s coffin shop, she was glad she had. Convincing him was not going to be easy and having Amelie along would make his agreement even more unlikely.

She opened the door and entered the shop. The acrid scent of embalming fluid filled the air. She wrinkled her nose and spotted a pile of shattered glass and the still half-wet remnant of spilled liquid on the otherwise tidy floor. A side window had been opened, the cold winter air obviously meant to diffuse the lingering smell.

 Daniel stood at the counter, stocking bottles of colored liquids into the cupboard. His white shirt stretched across his shoulders and Sarah’s breath hitched.

Good Lord, what that man does to me.

He looked up at the sound of the door. The pleasant, businesslike smile on his face dissolved into stony intolerance.

“Miss Donovan?”

Sarah’s heart tumbled at his distant greeting. She closed the door and approached, feeling skittish and unsure of herself. She hadn’t expected him to be this angry. She should have come over last week and apologized, no matter what it cost her pride.

“I’m sorry, Daniel.” Her voice quivered and she fought for control. “I shouldn’t have just left like that. I … sometimes, I don’t want to face things. I’m sorry for my words.”

There, it was out. Days late and far from adequate.

“Doesn’t matter.” He turned back to his assortment of bottles and resumed organizing them.

Sarah choked back the sting of his dismissal. “Oh.”

The clunk of a bottle hitting the wooden counter filled the silence and Daniel again looked at her. “Is that it, or was there something else you needed?”

She swallowed and stepped forward. “There is something.”

“Look,” he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at her, “I’ve resigned from the committees, the play is over, and I don’t think there’s anything else we have in common.”

“A friend of mine needs an undertaker.”

His eyebrows lifted. “And this friend couldn’t come?”

“She’s very upset.”

“And you can give me all the information I need? How long the body’s been dead, where it’s at, what type of coffin, when to schedule the funeral, how elaborate the arrangements?”

“Well … no.”

He shook his head and resumed stocking bottles. “Then your friend needs to be the one I’m talking to. Or is this just another ruse to interfere in my life?”

A surge of anger poured through her. “That’s uncalled for, Daniel, and you know it. First you dismiss my apology, then you throw accusations.” She marched to the counter and caught his gaze. “As I recall, you do your own fair share of interfering.”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll give you that one. I
did
poke and prod. But what I didn’t do was expose your children to people and things they don’t need to know about.”

“What are you talking about?”

He jaw dropped open and he stared at her. “I’m talking about your friend, the one whose guest you’re going to be on Saturday?”

“Guest? Saturday?” Confusion swept through her. “Daniel, the only thing I’m doing on Saturday is making a speech at the suffrage rally. You
know
my views on suffrage and you also know I am doing my utmost to respect the fact that you don’t share them. Did agreeing to give a speech cross the line so far that you feel you need to bring that up again?” Lord, she was gesturing like a mad puppet. She took a deep breath and waited.