Maddie, enchanted by the woodcut depicting a miner outside his shanty, ran her finger over the printed image. "This is wonderful."
"She's been writing for this magazine and others. I read that she's even written a book, maybe more than one." Lena’s face took on a look of eager animation. "Maybe we could make some inquiries and find out where she's living. Perhaps you could correspond with her."
In a moment, her doubts seemed inconsequential. She held in her hands tangible evidence that she could pursue her dream even living outside the eastern publishing world. Here, standing with her boots covered in dirt, was another forward-thinking woman, here on the frontier. Her teachers were right to encourage her to push beyond her insecurities about being a woman pursuing unconventional work for her sex. Maybe she wasn't just a hopeless dreamer.
Lena opened another magazine. Settling herself back against the porch post she began to read to them. In moments, the three were transported to the camp where Mary had lived, hearing the sounds of rock crushers and the curses of workers. Eloquent and evocative, her writing captured the atmosphere in all its raw sensory details.
Closing the magazine, Lena touched Maddie's arm with her fingers. "You're young, Madison. Many will try to discourage you, but you mustn't give up what you feel called to do."
"That's right! Lena knows what she's talking about," Jessie chirped.
Lena's voice softened. "It's different here than it is back east. Some things are more difficult."
Jessie screwed up her face, then rolled her eyes. "Much more difficult!"
Lena exchanged a glance with Jessie that suggested some difficult miles shared between them. "But different isn't necessarily bad. Right, Jessie? Opportunities are here that we never saw when we were living in cities. We just need to keep our eyes open to see them. I think you do."
Maddie wanted to believe that. She also greatly desired to believe that she had a future involving more than pretending to be someone other than who she really was.
Maddie's pencil flew across the page, scratching ruthlessly across the paper the details of a gruesome murder. She sat back, shaking her hand to relieve the stiffness in her wrist. Picking up the page, she positioned herself where lamp light better illuminated her carefully crafted words. She read aloud to the cat watching her with practiced disinterest.
She put down the page, seeking Havoc's quiet opinion. "Oh, that's deliciously brutal! What do you think?" The cat blinked once, her green eyes disappearing for an instant into her black face.
Gnawing the inside of her lip, Maddie tapped the tip of the pencil against her temple. "Perhaps the mining supervisor should discover the body instead of the Chinaman. That way the reader may suspect the Chinaman. Mustn’t make the crime too easy to solve."
Havoc blinked twice.
Taking another piece of paper from the stack, Maddie scribbled a second version not stopping until she heard Jessie call for dinner. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet, stretching her stiff arms over her head. Before leaving the room, she returned to the desk, carefully folded the papers she'd written and tucked them into her skirt pocket.
As had become their habit, the men retired to the front porch after dinner. The women followed later after dishes were cleaned and put away. The couples found each other, leaving Dr. Reynolds, Ely and Maddie to make their repose apart but within proximity to participate in the conversation.
During a lull in news exchanges for the day, Bart leaned around Jessie to catch Maddie's attention. "Miss Alexander, I hear from Jessie that you're writing now. Any chance you'd like to entertain us with your words?"
Ely said, "Ja, Miss Alexander. I have played for you. Now will you play for us?"
"Yes, Maddie. Did you bring something to share?" Jessie asked.
As Maddie pulled the pages from her pocket, Jessie clapped her hands. "Wonderful!"
All eyes were upon her as she cleared her throat. She began in a soft voice. Two sentences and Bart interrupted her to ask that she speak louder. She began a second time, voice a little louder. With each page she became more animated, managing to adapt a separate voice for each of her characters. The Chinaman's accent presented a challenge since she'd never actually conversed with one.
After reading the last line, she looked up at her audience. She found a variety of expressions watching her. Bart and Evan's faces matched perfectly, mouths slightly ajar and brows knit together as though working out a troublesome conundrum. Ely held his pipe suspended to his side, a cloud of smoke expelled in one long breath. Lena’s smile appeared frozen in place, her eyes unfocused. No one spoke for several uncomfortable moments.
Jessie was the first to break the silence by clapping her hands. "That was really exciting. I can’t begin to guess who killed the man, but I don’t think it would be the Chinese man. Do you, Bart?"
Bart sat unresponsive, looking mildly baffled.
Evan made a strangled sound as Lena extracted her elbow from his ribs. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, the story is certainly full of some dangerous types. Glad they don’t live in Ketchum."
Lena lifted one eyebrow at Evan’s remark.
He glanced at her, then added, "It has a lot of action, for sure. I just never heard of a woman doing detecting work like that. That kind of threw me."
Maddie sat a bit straighter, her lips pressed into an even straighter line. A finger tapped her leg in a rapid cadence. "Surely, you’ve heard of the famous Pinkerton agent, Kate Warne? It was in all the papers. She was the woman who foiled the early attempt on Abraham Lincoln's life?"
Bart let out with a loud guffaw before Jessie could stop him. "Guess she got that wrong then. Cause last I checked, he died."
Jessie punched Bart’s arm. “Bart Long! I’m ashamed of you! That was a tasteless remark!”
Maddie threw him an icy stare. Now her foot began to tap to the same rhythm as her finger. She continued, "She was successful in 1861 when he was on his way to Washington to take the oath of office."
Another awkward pause passed before Ely said, "I think your prose is quite lively."
The line between Maddie's eyebrows deepened. She pulled her hands tightly together into her lap and put one foot on top the other to keep it from tapping.
Lena smiled and offered, "I thought your protagonist was quite brave and very clever, Maddie. She didn't fall into the natural trap of thinking the Chinaman had committed the crime."
The room grew deathly quiet.
The only one who had refrained from comment was David Reynolds. Maddie's breath came in shallow puffs as her eyes turned to him, her ears felt as though a candle flame were burning beneath them. He appeared keenly focused on removing a stray thread from the button on his coat.
Maddie rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt. She teetered there for a moment more before announcing, "I have work in the morning so I'll be retiring now. Thank you for your honest reactions." As she hurried to the door, she tripped on a chair leg.
She fumbled with the door handle to her room. Through blurred vision she jerked the pages from her pocket, tearing them into eight precise pieces. Flinging herself onto the bed, she curled up next to the cat, burying her face in its fur. She mumbled, "I should have listened to you, Havoc."
As much as the comments had hurt her, Dr. Reynolds' silence stung worst of all. In his eyes, she knew she must appear an immature little fool to think she had some talent for writing. She rubbed the tears away with the back of her fist, then stared up at the ceiling until the cat's purring ceased. Rolling to her side, she slid from the bed and sat at the tiny desk. Bright stars, the guides to sailors and seekers of wisdom, filled the frame of her window. She surely wished that one would guide her now.
From here she could see the Methodist church steeple and a portion of the river, both reflecting silvered moonlight. She knew that just beyond the hotel the train station stood as the terminus for the rail line stretching from one ocean to the other. The town, grown from discoveries of rich ore, stood now as the gateway to th
e wild Sawtooth range to the north.
Her breathing calmed as did her pulse, giving her time to take hold of more rational thoughts. Those turned to the people in the rooms below her.
What were the stories that had brought all these people together? Within this house were stories she had scarcely considered. Who was Ely, the talented violinist with the wry sense of humor? What had happened in Sawtooth City to bring Evan and Lena here? What had turned the young doctor so solemn? What melancholy experience with the young woman doctor caused him to seek a new beginning here? Each was a fascinating story to contemplate. Her imagination began to form the answers.
As more questions came to mind, Maddie picked up her pencil and held it balanced between two fingers. What would Mary Hallock Foote find to write about if she lived in Ketchum?
Maddie reached for a fresh sheet of paper. The cat stretched, yawned and curled itself into a tighter ball. Even the cat had a story to tell if anyone would bother to ask her.
Chapter 17
Mrs. Wilkerson surveyed the room, a hand pensively gripping her chin. Two gaping holes looked back at her from the opposite wall. Two young men glanced up, then turned back to their work.
Maddie lifted her skirt as she stepped over a small stack of bricks. "Your husband doesn't waste any time, does he?"
"No, my dear, he does not. It's one of his most charming traits, that and the one that allows me to pursue my creative and charitable interests. He's a jewel. That’s what he is to be sure."
Surveying the construction chaos of window panes, bricks, and stacks of lumber strewn across the room, Maddie asked doubtfully, "So what would you like for me to do today?"
"Oh." Mrs. Wilkerson raised both eyebrows. "Hmm. . .Yes. It does seem to be quite impossible to work under these conditions, far too much noise and dust. Why don't we resume in a few days when this is all concluded? Then again, perhaps Mr. Wilkerson could use your assistance for a few hours a day until we can open our treasure trove to the public." She started for the door, navigating through the debris with surprising agility and characteristic efficiency.
By early afternoon Maddie returned to the boarding house. She slipped into the kitchen to ask if she could make a small snack for herself.
Lena looked up as she worked to clean a chicken for the pot, a willful strand of hair dangling in front of one eye. "Oh, Madison, you're home early." An unmistakable look of relief washed over her face. "Would you mind helping me?" With the back of her hand, she pushed back the hair from her face. "I sent Jessie to bed. Poor dear looks exhausted. Truth be told, I'm worried about her."
Maddie picked up an apron, quickly tying it about her waist. "Of course, I can help."
"I wouldn't ask, but Evan and I are meeting with the widow who owns the ranch we were hoping to purchase. She's bringing along her brother to meet us. They'll be here any minute."
Maddie stepped to the sink, handing Lena a cloth for her hands. "Then shoo! I can handle dinner. I'll check in on Jessie later."
"Thank you so much. Please say a prayer that Mr. Toliver will be reasonable." She tugged at her apron strings. Maddie helped her while Lena continued, "And she’ll be agreeable to our offer. We have no idea how her brother will feel about this. In fact, we were surprised to hear that he had any interest in our transaction."
"I’m sure it will be fine. Now go! You can freshen up before they arrive if you hurry."
Maddie watched her go, then steeled herself to wrestle the unwieldy chicken into the pot.
The door to the parlor stood open across the hall. Maddie's hands were too smeared in chicken guts to close it. She heard Evan and Lena welcome the widow and Mr. Toliver into the house. The man's voice filled the corners of each room, certainly loud enough to be heard in her bedroom on the third floor.
Feeling guilty at listening in on their conversation, it was impossible for her not to do so. Maddie's ear attuned to inflection and pauses, words not spoken as much as those voiced, filtered the man’s comments as she had for her father. How often had he placed her on a chair, perched behind an open door to listen in on his conversations with prospective marks? It was her talent, not as celebrated as others that Providence might have bestowed upon her, certainly not as valued, but useful.
Mrs. Wagner's voice, soft as it was, held less interest for her. She was a trusted friend of the Hartmanns. But the man, the man's pattern of speech conveyed a disturbingly familiar quality, the same intonations as carnival barkers and, more significantly, her father's scamming associates.
"We've had a chance to look over your offer, Mr. Hartmann. While my sister and I would be very agreeable to passing the ranch over to someone who would take care of it as my sister assures me you would, I must consider what is in my sister's best interests. I’m sure you understand."
There was a pause before Evan replied, "Of course, Mr. Toliver. You must also know that Lena and I have been friends with Mr. and Mrs. Wagner for some years. We would never consider taking advantage of Mrs. Wagner."
The widow said something that Maddie could not hear.
Toliver loudly cleared his throat and said, "Oh, I was not suggesting anything of the sort. It is just this. You see a gentleman from Pocatello has an interest in sheep ranching in this valley. He has been quite prosperous in his business dealings both here in Idaho Territory and Wyoming. I recently learned that he purchased a large herd of cattle from Texas and is, even now, driving them north. He seems to believe in diversification."
Tiny hairs rose along Maddie's arms. Formal speech pattern and a long, well-rehearsed speech—this man was lying. She scrubbed her hands and quickly dried them on her apron. With footsteps as quiet as Havoc’s, she stepped into the hall where she could hear the entire conversation, her consideration of impropriety replaced with concern for the Hartmanns.
"He’s made it clear he can quite well afford to invest in my sister's ranch. So, as much as my sister likes you and your wife, I am afraid his offer might be the better one for her to accept."
Evan started to speak, then stopped, then started again, frustration coloring each carefully chosen word. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Mr. Toliver. We thought we had an acceptable agreement."
"Oh, Mr. Hartmann, I'm so sorry," the widow said. Her voice rang sincere. "I didn't mean to mislead you. I just don't understand these things. Business was something my husband took care of while I took care of the house and garden."
Maddie heard the catch in her voice, the rasp of emotion.
"That's why I asked my brother, you see, to look over the paperwork. He's made so many transactions in his life, unlike me."
Maddie gripped the stair railing. I'll bet he has, lots of them, and very few honest ones. He wasn't the best liar she'd heard, but he wasn’t a rooky either.
"Now, Mr. Hartmann, not all is lost.” That was Toliver speaking. “You know the value of the property. Not a prettier piece of ranch land exists along the Big Wood River. If you could see your way clear to increase what you are offering, I am sure my sister would much prefer to sell to you. She’s made that clear, I think. Then, in good conscience, I could agree to the transaction."
Maddie chewed her lip. Wait a little longer, Evan. Don't be the first to speak, never be the first! She counted the seconds wordlessly, her eyes closed.
At last Evan spoke, his words spaced with a cadence that reflected his suspicions. "What amount were you considering?"
Without even seeing Toliver's face, she could imagine the creased brow, the attempt to appear torn by a confidence, the earnest desire to be amendable, the final forced smile. He was skilled at using the pause, the carefully contrived moments needed to set a hook.
"Well, I think that we'd need to see at least 15 percent more to turn down our gentleman's offer."
The expulsion of air from Evan's lungs carried from the room the weight of his disappointment. A long moment passed before he said, "I don't think we can do that, Mr. Toliver."
Toliver remained quiet for a time, then quietly said,
"Now, you just give it some time. I think we can stall our rancher for a little while, give you and Mrs. Hartmann some time to talk it over. My sister really would prefer to sell to you."
Maddie tiptoed back to the kitchen as she heard the rustle of skirts combined with the sound of chairs scraping the floor. She heard the front door open and close.
Neither Lena nor Evan spoke for long moments until Lena asked in a shaky voice, "There's no way we can come up with that much is there?"
"I don’t know how we could. What we offered was risky enough." Evan’s voice sounded husky, no doubt restraining his disappointment and anger.
The couple’s footsteps receded into the parlor.
Maddie leaned her forehead against the door sill, clenching and unclenching her fists. How could she convince them that the man was lying without revealing a disgusting piece of her past? It wouldn't be enough to simply tell them he was lying. Even if she told them how she knew why should they believe she'd had years of practice judging a man's voice and facial expressions for her father’s deceits? And if they did, what questions would follow?
A loud moan jerked her attention away from Lena and Evan. Jessie! She’d nearly forgotten. She raced up the stairs where Maddie found her doubled up on the bed, groaning.
"Oh, Jessie! What's wrong? How can I help you?" Maddie knelt on the floor beside her, stroking her back.
"I don't know that you can. I think this little boy is trying to kick his way out of my insides." Jessie tried to laugh, instead, her face twisted in pain.
Maddie jumped to her feet. "I should go for the doctor."
Jessie grabbed her hand, pulling her back. "Will you try to find Bart at the mill yard? Please?"
"All right, but you lie still. I'll send Lena upstairs to keep you company."
Maddie trotted up the street to Dr. Reynolds' office praying the whole way that he'd be there and not out on a call. With relief, she saw his buggy tied in front of the office.
Redeeming Lies Page 12
