Eternal Deception

by Jane Steen

  I lowered myself onto my elbow—a corset is a great aid to sitting upright but difficult to lounge in—and watched Reiner unpack the meal. Like the sunflowers, the young man seemed to thrive in the summer’s heat. The sun’s rays picked out gleams of gold in his blond hair and had tanned his face to an agreeable, smooth, light brown that made the blue of his eyes stand out. Although not handsome, he was pleasing to look at and would make some—other—girl a fine husband.

  The meal eaten, Tess and Sarah set off on their sunflower-cutting expedition. Of course, when you have a two-year-old in the party, an expedition proceeds slowly, with many diversions. I was thus able to enjoy the sight of them for a long while as Reiner, who refused all help, made a thorough job of cleaning up.

  I was replete and rather sleepy, so Reiner arranged my parasol to give me some shade, and we both lay on our backs to rest. I heard the soft thunk of his Stetson as he settled it over his eyes, and his sigh of satisfaction mirrored my own contented mood.

  We talked for a while of nothing in particular. I liked the way our conversation meandered, slow and quiet, through the day’s peace. For once, my restlessness lay dormant, and I, who disliked being idle, was happy to rest in the undemanding company of the pleasant young man at my side.

  I should have known it wouldn’t last. As is the way of pleasant young men on a summer’s day, Reiner began inserting little compliments into his conversation—how well I was looking, how pretty my dress, and so on. As my dress was one he’d seen a score of times, and I was sure the heat had reddened my face, I suspected Reiner of flattery, or worse, of—

  My suspicions received confirmation when Reiner’s hand lifted the parasol and his face appeared, earnest and intent.

  “Nell—“

  An awful foreboding stole over me and I pushed myself into a sitting position, narrowly missing Reiner’s nose with the edge of my parasol. “Perhaps I should go help Sarah and Tess.”

  Reiner sat up too, capturing my hand in both of his.

  “No, Nell—please stay. I have something to say to you.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” I tried to pull my hand away, but Reiner held on tight.

  “I simply have to. My darling Nell—“

  And Reiner launched into an impassioned, eloquent enumeration of my best qualities. He assured me of his complete enslavement to my charms and requested that I allow him to admire those charms all the days of his life.

  I stared at him in dismay but decided not to pull away too roughly. I liked him too much to want to hurt his feelings, and besides, this was my first real proposal of marriage—since I was thirteen anyway. I should at least pay attention.

  “It’s nice of you to say all those things,” I began weakly when he finally ran out of breath. “But, Reiner—“

  “It’s too sudden, I know.” He let go of my waist, which he had gradually managed to encircle, and fondled my hand again, running his larger fingers over my own long, blunt digits. “But consarn it, it’s not like I’m going to have many opportunities to let you know how I feel. And I need to get my word in before that ass Poulton does.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” I withdrew my hand with a suddenness that made Reiner pitch forward, throwing his arms around me for balance. “Stop it,” I almost shouted as his arms tightened. “Let go, for heaven’s sake.”

  He did—he really was a nice young man—and even seemed a little shocked that he had almost gone so far as to capture me in a full embrace.

  “Mr. Poulton is not wooing me,” I said once I regained my dignity.

  “He’s interested though. He looks at you.” Reiner’s eyes narrowed. “And now you’re blushing.”

  “I’m embarrassed and quite rightly so. The very idea.” I was almost telling the truth. To distract Reiner, I decided to return to the main topic of conversation.

  “You’re a nice man, Reiner, but—“ Good grief, I’d almost said a nice young man—and I wasn’t even a year older than Reiner. Yet I felt ancient next to his youthful ardor.

  “It’s too soon for you, I know.” All thoughts of Judah Poulton seemed to have vanished and the glow of puppyish adoration was back on his face. “You don’t mind if I—if I renew my addresses at a later time?”

  “As long as you don’t mind if I say no again,” I replied tartly. “And no getting ideas that I’m your girl or your sweetheart just because I haven’t boxed your ears. We’re friends, and that’s that. I have Sarah and Tess to consider, and—“

  “—and you won’t countenance the idea of my suit because I’m too young and only a junior faculty member.” Reiner raised his fair eyebrows.

  “Whether being a junior faculty member comes into it depends on how seriously you take the job,” I said. “Position and wealth don’t matter to me—“

  “—which is a pity, because Pop’s provided for me pretty well.”

  “Will you stop interrupting me?” I was becoming exasperated, and somehow my exasperation seemed to have something to do with Judah and Martin, and that made me uncomfortable—and irritable. “Position and wealth don’t matter to me, but industry and application do. I could never think of joining my life to that of a man who wasn’t prepared to take his responsibilities seriously, whatever they are.”

  I put my head to one side, looking Reiner full in the face. “Do you truly think you could be a success as a teacher? I’ll admit that from what I’ve seen your command of languages is impressive, but there’s a lot more to the job than that, surely.”

  I didn’t want to say it to Reiner, but I was certain Judah Poulton, even at the age of eighteen, must have possessed a far greater air of authority than Reiner carried. I had seen them often enough in the company of students to observe that Reiner seemed like a playmate of the boys while everyone looked up to and respected Judah—everyone, that is, except Professor Wale.

  “I don’t know.” Reiner pulled at a stalk of grass that had fallen over the edge of the rug. “I’m willing to give it a try though, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?” He lowered his head. “And Pop won’t pay my fees any longer. I don’t want to go back there and work in his railroad office and have a line of idiotic society girls paraded in front of me at every opportunity as possible wives. He’s right that a good wife might be the making of me, but I don’t see why it should be one of his cronies’ daughters.”

  I sympathized, of course—the marriage parade had never appealed to me either. But—

  “There’s Tess,” I said, waving in the direction of the sunflowers. “Perhaps we should think of packing up the cart. That horse must have eaten two bushels of grass by now.”

  As I hoped, this suggestion, combined with the arrival of Tess and Sarah bearing an enormous bouquet of sunflowers, was enough to ensure no more soft words or glances for the rest of the outing.

  And yet I climbed into the cart prey to a strange mixture of elation and anxiety. Mrs. Calderwood’s strict injunction notwithstanding, it appeared I had made a conquest.

  14

  Exhilaration

  August 3, 1873

  Dear Nell,

  You’re right to upbraid me—maybe I’m getting rather dull. A lady of my acquaintance accused me, not long ago, of adhering to the narrowest type of bourgeois morality. She’s wrong—I’m not a prig, for heaven’s sake—but some of the things I see in the circles in which I now move shock me. Perhaps that’s why I don’t write to you of them, my child. If someone began opening my letters to you again, there would go both our reputations. At any rate, I’m being made to feel remarkably naïf and callow for a man of one-and-thirty.

  Or perhaps I’m simply reacting to the air of feverish gaiety all around me. There’s a bubble swelling around us of overheated wealth, driven by the idiotic speculation on the railroads and suchlike grand schemes. The industrial magnates are the heroes of the day. Those who would, fifty years ago, have been mere merchants are now grandees of Chicago. At a cost—Potter Palmer looks nearer sixty-five than fifty, and Marshall Field’s ha
ir is turning white.

  Extravagance is the rule in the grand social milieu I now frequent. Champagne wines flow freely, and the ladies’ flounces, bows, and bustles are extreme. Entering a room full of women is quite as hazardous as in the old days of hoop skirts. I’m thankful to be thin enough not to take up much space.

  Don’t think I partake of the champagne—I have no taste for the sour, fizzy stuff, and no taste for drunkenness either. I accept a whiskey as being, at least, a man’s drink, and make it last. I need a clear head for the currents of speculation, both financial and personal, that swirl around me, like the cigar smoke that billows around any place where the men gather alone. It’s exhilarating, and yet there are days when I want to turn my back on it all and go back to my drapery counter in dear old Victory.

  You needn’t worry, by the way, that I’m speculating with your money. I am not, and not with my own either. I become more cautious every day, waiting for the fall. My wealth—and by extension, yours—is founded on solid ground.

  I think of you often, Nell.

  Martin

  Martin hadn’t said a word about visiting me, nor had he really told me what he was doing. Was I such a child to him, to exclude me from the details of his life this way? His words rang in my brain in time to the cadence of my footsteps, which thumped hollowly on the rock-hard mud of the trail to Springwood. I was glad I’d come alone because it meant I could walk fast, my long stride accommodated by the extra vents I’d put in my walking dress. I barely saw the little town growing nearer, its trees promising shade from the sun and scorching wind.

  It was impossible to use a parasol on the open plains. I’d had to resort to the most dreadful kind of old-fashioned bonnet to prevent my face from becoming burned. Its sides narrowed my field of vision like the blinkers on the bridle of a nervous carriage horse, and I was sure it was the cause of the tears that occasionally stung my eyes.

  “Exhilarating, is it, Martin?” I spoke loudly into the open air. “Too much so to take me into your confidence, I suppose. If I ever had that privilege.” Had he ever actually confided in me, told me his secrets as I’d always told him mine? At least, I had told him my secrets until Jack Venton had made a dishonest woman of me.

  The only answer I got was the soughing of the hot, dry wind as it tossed the heads of the browning grasses and raised little puffs of dust where the trail was particularly worn.

  “Do you often speak to yourself?”

  I jumped and spun around. Judah Poulton was close behind me, smiling.

  “I might, occasionally, when I think I’m completely alone.” If it had been Reiner who had snuck up silently behind me, I might have been cross. But it was hard to be impertinent to Judah, and my words came out sounding more kindly than I intended.

  “You shouldn’t walk around unaccompanied,” Judah said, offering me his arm, which I took. “The Indians may be gone as a general rule, but you still get a hunting party on occasion. And there are rough men around wandering from place to place, looking for work or goodness knows what.”

  “I feel quite safe, Mr. Poulton. I wished to run my errands quickly, and there’s no quicker way than to be by myself.”

  “You promised to call me Judah.” He pulled aside one of the flaps of my bonnet so that he could smile at me, and my heart fluttered a little at the attention. “Don’t keep such a distance from me, Nell. I know I can be aloof, but it’s hard to stay away from the only woman even close to my own age and class for miles around. And a remarkably beautiful one, at that. Even when wearing a ridiculous bonnet from my grandmother’s time.”

  “I have a hat and a parasol for use in Springwood.” Again I tried to inject a note of reprehension into my voice, and again I failed—I felt the corners of my mouth turn up at the word “beautiful.” “I don’t want to get freckled. And what are you doing here? If Mrs. Calderwood hears about this—“

  “—I will tell her I saw you ahead of me on the path and hurried to give you the benefit of my protection.”

  Another man who interrupted me—but somehow I didn’t mind it as much as when Reiner did it.

  “Will she accept that explanation?”

  “She accepts most things—coming from me.”

  We had almost arrived at the creek that ran a quarter of a mile from the center of Springwood. It was dry at that time of year, just a little damp mud remaining from its spring spate. The cottonwoods that bordered it were already dropping a few leaves, yellowish-brown and crackling dry at the edges. The soddies by the creek were bone-dry, the churned-up mud around them baked into an uneven surface riven by huge cracks.

  Several new houses had arisen along the road leading to the town’s center, but despite their fresh paint, the dry, weed-strewn dirt around them had a forlorn air. Yet they would soon be as respectable looking as their neighbors, bright with such flowers and lawn as grew under the hot sun.

  I had donned my hat and parasol as soon as we’d crossed the creek, and I waved at the ladies enjoying their noonday rest on their front porches. Several of them were customers of mine now. They smiled affably, with just a tinge of curiosity at Judah’s presence. He was so naturally dignified that I didn’t think any of them would dare to entertain any adverse thoughts about our joint arrival in the town.

  “What is your errand?” asked Judah.

  “A paper of pins, a bag of taffy for Tess, any small thing I might find to amuse Sarah, and most important of all, a postal money order to put in my letter.” I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and waved it at him.

  I was sending it to Martin, of course. It wasn’t a particularly friendly letter, although the “I think of you often, Nell” had the overall effect of softening my tone. It detailed my earnings of the last month, stated my understanding of what my total wealth now was, and asked him if that was correct.

  Truth be told, my small capital had increased to such an extent that I was beginning to wonder if perhaps, in a few months, we could afford to return to Chicago. Perhaps we could buy a modest house somewhere, from which I could commence a dressmaking business. Whether Martin wanted to bother himself with me or not, I was becoming restless. While making dresses for the Springwood ladies was by far the most absorbing time of my day, they didn’t keep me nearly busy enough. I wanted more. My skills had been tested and found more than sufficient, and I was ready to spread my wings a little. And yes, I too thought of Martin often.

  “Ah, Mr. Rutherford of Chicago.” Judah’s perfectly white teeth showed again. “You’ve seen his name in the Tribune too, I imagine?”

  “Yes.” I kicked at a rock-hard rut that had tried to trip me up.

  “In the company of Chicago’s leading gentlemen. And ladies.” Judah’s smile grew wider.

  “I’m sure he knows most of the elite by now. But look, Mr. Poulton—Judah. I think we must go our separate ways now. I’ve barely enough time to get back as it is.”

  “Could you perhaps entrust one of your errands to me?” He removed his hat and bowed. “I could purchase your pins and taffy and bring them back later, or get the money order and give it to Mr. Yomkins to send on.”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t think I trust you to distinguish one type of pin from another.”

  “The money order, then. I’ll be sure to do it straightaway. I’m in no hurry. I promised to drop in on Mr. Fairland to commiserate with him over his nag. It developed the spavins after his son rode it too hard. I hope they won’t have to sell it for glue.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at that and impulsively fished out the folded paper that contained the money I had earned. “Very well.” I handed the paper over, feeling the reassuring solidity of twenty dollars and thirty-five cents within its folds. There was something truly satisfying about knowing Tess and I were adding to our wealth by our own efforts—because, of course, part of it was hers.

  Judah bowed again and headed in the direction of the Wells Fargo office while I turned my steps toward the mercantile. By the time I came out again, the
street was deserted, and I saw no one on my way back to the seminary.

  15

  Panic

  October 10, 1873

  Dear Martin,

  Thank you for the reassurance about my money; it was good of you to write so soon, busy as you obviously are. Yes, even out here on the frontier we heard about the banks failing in New York and Chicago—bad news spreads fast, even beyond civilization.

  I wasn’t worried about myself—you told me you had invested my money wisely, and I trusted you. And so did Tess, of course, although money means little to her in the larger sense. Which is strange, isn’t it, considering how much she likes adding up columns of figures in a ledger?

  And yet when I heard the news, my blood ran cold. I wrote immediately to Catherine Lombardi because of something she’d written to me the week before, and my worst fears became reality. Martin, Pastor Lombardi invested almost all the money he kept by for a rainy day in the railroads. Their fortunes fell with the crash. Catherine was brave about it, of course, and thanked God for the home and employment they have left, but how are they going to send Teddy to school now? He was going to apply to the seminary, but even if he’s not needed now to work at the mission, I doubt the Calderwoods will admit him for no fee.

  My heart’s too full of sorrow for them to write more. I must send another letter to Catherine immediately and offer her whatever help I can. Thank you for your letter.

  Nell

  I raised my head at the sound of the library door opening.

  “Is there anything wrong, Professor Wale?”

  I frowned, seeing the harsh lines drawn on the teacher’s face. Defeat and fury were written there plain as a pikestaff.

  The professor dropped into one of the large armchairs near the extinct fire and regarded me morosely. “What are we supposed to be?” he demanded, stabbing a yellow-stained finger at me. “A locus of rigorous intellectual inquiry or a—a—a nanny-school for rich imbeciles?”