Too Rich for a Bride (16 page)

Mr. Jing-Quo tugged at the starched collar on his Mandarin shirt. “You bring in your clothes, Mr. Raines. My wife, she clean them good. Fix buttons and holes too.”

Tucker looked at the small woman who stood off to the side. “I’d like that.” He smiled, receiving a deep bow from her. He picked a piece of straw off the top of the icebox, then returned his attention to her husband. “I’ll bring my laundry by tomorrow. Thank you.”

The man gave Tucker a slight nod, his dark eyes averted. “Ready in two days.”

Tucker followed him down the stairs, then waved good-bye on his way out of the shop.

Outside, the wind flapped his unbuttoned coat, and he looked up at the gray ceiling of clouds overhead. He pressed his hat back on his head and held it there. The wind didn’t pack a chilling punch yet, but it blew strong enough to clatter the wood signs that hung from the storefronts over the boardwalk. Otis waved at him from atop the ice wagon.

Tucker returned Otis’s wave and walked to the wagon. He did have a basket of dirty clothes to tend to, and they could surely use some repair. But day by day it became clearer why his father couldn’t build the business. Last Thursday, Tucker had accepted a dozen eggs from a young widow with three children. Earlier today he’d accepted squash and greens as payment from an elderly man whose wife was bedridden.

So many people here were starting over after two horrific fires. He needed to find a way to help the needy. But he also needed to pay his own bills and his father’s debts. He had to find a way to expand the business to include the moneymakers who had moved into town. Cash customers.

Tucker set the ice tongs in the back of the wagon and climbed up into the seat beside Otis, his first real friend in Colorado. Abraham had stayed home today to help his mother with his brothers.

“Well, what’d Jing-Quo say about the bill?” Otis snapped the reins he held.

“I’m getting my laundry done this week.” Tucker picked a blade of straw off his coat sleeve and stuck the tip in his mouth.

Otis gave him one of his lopsided smiles as the Belgian draft horses clip-clopped up Bennett Avenue.

When they turned up Third Street, a gust of wind caught the brim of Tucker’s hat, and he quickly pulled it down toward his ears. “The day I bought my train ticket in Stockton, I expected to be here just long enough to make sure my father received the medical care he needed. I didn’t expect he and Mother would have to leave their home and livelihood in my guardianship, dependent upon me for financial support. But I can’t keep the business going much longer without the loan.”

“The bank isn’t the only way to raise money.” Otis turned onto Golden Avenue, then hooked his thumb in the strap of his overalls. “You could sell stocks in the ice company.”

“I’m a preacher.
Was
a preacher. I don’t know the first thing about selling stocks. Not sure I want to.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, Tucker knew that if selling shares could save the business and his father’s home, he needed to figure out the stock market.

Otis slowed the horses in front of Miss Hattie’s boardinghouse and regarded Tucker with a raised brow. “Mind you, I don’t know a whole lot about stocks myself. I’m not welcome at the Cripple Creek Mining Stock Exchange, but I have a white miner friend. He’s takin’ a liking to my wife Naomi’s Cowboy Potato Loaf, and he’s been teachin’ me some about the stock market. I find it fascinating. Want to invest in it myself one day.”

Tucker didn’t know about going that far, but if selling shares would help, he’d consider it.

“I met an attorney at church yesterday. Apparently, he’s a good friend of Miss Sinclair’s. Talking to him could be a good place to start.”

Otis parked the wagon and headed to the back. “And when I see Boney next, I’ll ask him about sellin’ stock in the business.”

“Boney Hughes is your miner friend?” Tucker hopped down from the seat and secured the reins on the hitching rail.

Using the ice tongs, Otis pulled out a twenty-pound block for Miss Hattie. “You know Boney?”

“Met him in town last week.” Tucker waved at some neighbor kids while he and Otis went around to the back of the house. “Remember the story I told you about finding a woman muddied after running from the miners at the creek?”

A shadow crossed his friend’s dark eyes. He nodded.

“Boney was the miner who helped her.”

“Sounds like something Boney would do, all right. He’s the one who helped me when a horse stomped my head.”

That explained the palsy on the left side of Otis’s face, but Boney was still a mystery. “Seems a good friend to have.”

Otis had barely set foot on the first porch step when Miss Hattie opened the kitchen door and waved them in. “You fellas have the timing of a cooling summer rain. Just pulled the trays out of the oven.” She smiled at each of them in turn and then looked past them.

“Abraham stayed home today.” Otis removed his canvas hat. “Naomi wanted his help with the little ones.”

“I’ll send a plate of cookies home with you.”

Tucker felt better the moment he stepped inside. The aroma of freshly baked shortbread cookies called for a deep breath that eased the tension in his shoulders. He opened the top of the icebox for Otis. “Smells mighty good, Miss Hattie.”

“And you fellas look good. Been too quiet around here today. I only have two boarders right now. Miss Faith hasn’t come home from the school yet, and Miss Ida is off conquering the business world.”

Ida Sinclair wasn’t there.
Good
. Their previous meetings hadn’t gone well. Hatpins and mud. He’d been ready to pummel Boney, not to mention what he’d wanted to do to the real culprits, and then she’d heard him talking to God. He’d surprised them both with an invitation to coffee, which came out sounding more like a plea.

He could find no proper excuse for his feelings yesterday. He’d expected he might see her at church, but seeing her walk in with Mr. Wagner had caught him off guard.

She was an intelligent and lovely woman. It made sense that she’d be attracted to businessmen—and they to her—and the attorney clearly fit that category.

Miss Hattie held a plate of fresh baked cookies out to Tucker. “You were hoping to see Miss Sinclair?”

“Uh.”

Otis chuckled, a sparkle replacing the earlier shadow in his eyes. “You’re in trouble now, Mr. Tucker.” He set the tongs down by the kitchen door and picked up the tray of cups. “Miss Hattie matched up me and Naomi, you know.”

He knew. He also knew about the Cutshaws and the Archers.

Tucker raised his hand. “I’m not looking to be matched up with Miss Sinclair, or with anyone else. I’m only in town for a short while.” Granted, it’d be longer than he expected, but … “Not long enough for that kind of relationship.”

Miss Hattie’s smile deepened the lines that framed her mouth. “When we’re not looking seems to be the time when God finds the most delight in surprising us.”

Tucker hadn’t been nervous about matchmaking before, but he was now. He knew about God’s surprises and detours, and he’d had enough of them lately. He already had two women depending on him, and he wasn’t about to let them down. The first bill for the sanitorium had arrived on Friday, adding to the one from the asylum and a multiplying stack of debts.

Miss Hattie turned and led them to the parlor, where a love song played on the Edison phonograph.

Before Tucker took his place in the chair across from the sofa, he glanced up at the wedding portrait on the mantel of Miss Hattie and her husband, George, regal with his mane of bone-white hair.

Tucker had wanted to be married, to have a family of his own. But the family he already had needed him. They had to be his priority. Providing for them might be all he could ever do for his sister. Even Miss Hattie’s best matchmaking efforts would be for naught.

SIXTEEN

hursday morning, Ida heard the office door open with a squeak, and she looked up from her desk. Her employer floated in, beaming and humming an unrecognizable tune. Her black satin palatine made her look like royalty.

Nearly every morning Miss O’Bryan sashayed down to the stock exchange. This morning she’d done so wearing a taffeta shirtwaist with leg-of-mutton sleeves, a brocade skirt under her hooded cape, and black calfskin shoes. Mollie was the best-dressed woman in Cripple Creek.

“You had a good morning at the Exchange,” Ida said in greeting.

“A most delicious time. Like eating dessert first and swallowing the lima beans with a mouthful of Belgian chocolate.” Mollie removed her wrap. Its rose-colored satin lining reminded Ida of the Colorado sunsets she’d witnessed on her walks back to the boardinghouse.

One day she would dress the same way—silk, satin, and Italian lace.

Mollie, her mossy green eyes sparkling, hung her palatine on an oak coat tree and planted her hands on the front edge of Ida’s desk. “I’ve been buying one-thousand-share blocks of stock in the Damon Gold Mining Company for five dollars per block.”

“That sounds like a good deal, if Damon produces well.”

“Tell me”—Mollie straightened and tapped her rounded chin with one finger—“would you consider ten cents per share a good deal?”

Ida did a quick calculation in her head. “That’s a profit of ninety-five dollars on one block of a thousand shares. A lot of money.”

Mollie squealed like a girl much younger than her twenty-three years. “That’s precisely what I did this morning. I sold a thousand of those shares for ten cents each.”

“No wonder you’re smiling and humming.”

“And I intend to do more than that. Even the gray clouds are lovely this morning.” Mollie opened her sealskin purse and pulled out two cigars. She held one out to Ida.

Surely puffing on a tobacco stick wasn’t a requirement for success. If so, this could be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. “I don’t smoke, but I am happy for you, nonetheless. Congratulations!”

Mollie returned the second cigar to her purse and set the bag on the desk. She looked Ida square in the eye. “You were right—we do make a good team.” She peeled the paper band off the cigar and pointed it at Ida. “Your day to turn a handsome profit is coming.”

From Mollie’s lips to God’s ears. At least Ida prayed it was so. Numbers set her mind whirling. Her employer had said she’d
been buying
a thousand shares. She’d bought more than just one block of that stock. The possibilities were dizzying, and Ida drew in a deep breath. As soon as she received her paycheck next Thursday, she’d have Mollie buy stock for her too. Vivian would need financial assistance with her travel and setup expenses once she arrived in Cripple Creek next summer. And Ida would love nothing more than to be able to donate to the widows and orphans’ fund Reverend Taggart spoke of in Sunday’s service.

Mollie stepped over to the file cabinet. “In the meantime, how are you
faring with the promotional materials for the Big Four Gold Mining Company?”

Ida glanced at the proofs on her desk. “I should have them ready for the printer tomorrow.”

“That’s good news, but you’ll need to set them aside for now. I have another job for you.”

Ida couldn’t imagine ever tiring of her work. Though some tasks were a bit repetitious in nature, they were never routine. She was always juggling, and never just ledgers or mining deeds, but a wide variety of documents—contracts, wills, depositions, stock certificates, and more.

“This morning you’ll learn how a prospectus is done,” Mollie said. “You know what that is, correct?”

“The document necessary to attract investors to a business.”

“Honey for the bears. Designed to grab the attention of the investing public and entice them to buy shares.” Mollie floated across the room, the smoke from the freshly lit cigar leaving a trail in the air. With her free hand, she opened a file drawer, pulled out a folder, and handed it to Ida. “This is a sample prospectus. Mr. Wagner will conduct the interview with his client while you record the information and fill in the blanks.”

Ida hadn’t seen Colin since Sunday and still didn’t know what to think of his attentiveness. Now she was going to his office?

A scowl turned down the corner of Mollie’s mouth. “Has Mr. Wagner been pestering you about the integrity of our clients?”