Imitations of a Lady

by Kate Marie Clark

  Grams gave her approval, a mere shake of the head. “Good. At least you’re prepared on that matter. Now, what of your musical piece?”

  “My—what?” Miss Williams asked.

  Jesse leaned back in the chair to watch this disaster play out. Miss Williams seemed genuinely nervous to play for Grams or anyone, and Grams was about to ask her to play for all of Overstead at the Davis Stampede.

  “Well, what did you think all this week’s practicing was for anyhow?” Grams asked, pursing her lips. “I can tell your voice is much improved since we met five years ago. Miraculously so, mind you. I insist you sing a song at the dance. I’ve hired a magnificent string quartet, and Frank and the boys are planning to move the piano out there too. I won’t hear an excuse, Miss Williams.”

  “For the dance?” Miss Williams asked. A glimmer of excitement flickered across her blue eyes, then disappeared into a sea of dread. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  Jesse’s eyes widened. Had she really just refused Grams?

  “Pardon me?” his grandmother asked, dropping her palms to the table.

  Miss Williams looked about to cry. She shook her head, fighting the emotion that so wholly consumed her.

  “No apologies this time, I see.” Grams flicked her finger in the air, the signal for Miss Luellan that Grams was finished and needed assistance from the chair. “I won’t take a reading this morning, Miss Williams. Not if you’re to act so childish. When you’re prepared to comply with my request, return to the parlor and we’ll talk.”

  “Grams,” Jesse said, standing at once. “She’s scared.”

  Grams narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps, but I think it’s time our Miss Williams rises to the occasion.”

  Chapter 19

  Cora showed up at the barn fifteen minutes earlier than Jesse’s appointed time and leaned against the wood fence. The horses were in the coral, dancing in the morning light. Cora had always thought horses the most beautiful animals created.

  A yawn found its way to her, and Cora leaned her head against a fence post. She’d hardly slept, and the ranch tour gave her an excuse to get out of bed. She was tired of rolling back and forth in the covers.

  If ever Cora regretted a talent, it was now. She’d ended up promising Mrs. Davis to sing at the dance. Under honest circumstances, Cora would be delighted. A whole dance? A stage other than the saloon?

  But singing in front of a crowd was different than feigning mistakes each evening in the parlor, pretending her fingers fumbled or her voice cracked. She couldn’t do that at the dance. And she didn’t want to. Cora longed to sing the way she always had in Crooked Creek—loud, confident, effortless, openly.

  “Morning,” Jesse said, walking from the barn. He wore his leather vest and chaps, like he’d been riding for hours already.

  “Hello,” Cora said, standing tall. Her heart picked up speed once again—the way it had come to act whenever Jesse Davis appeared. “Thank you for agreeing to show me around.”

  He smiled, and Cora felt the heaviness surrounding her heart lighten. “Grams was quite insistent—as she is about everything. I doubt there’s much I can show you that you haven’t already seen.”

  He was right. Cora had already explored everything within a three-mile radius from the house. “Then a walk instead?”

  He nodded. “Only if you’ll tell me about yourself.”

  A lone laugh sprung from her lips. “Tell you about me? What is there to tell?”

  Jesse took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “You can start with your family.”

  Lettie had been right. Mrs. Davis hadn’t asked a single question about Lettie’s background, and because of that fact, Cora had neglected revisiting the notes Lettie had sent along with Cora to Overstead. “My family?” she asked, wriggling her brows together.

  “It don’t have to be about them in particular. Just something real, something more than what Grams would wish to hear, more than you’d write in those lady letters you send back home.”

  Something real. Cora couldn’t stand to lie, not to Jesse, not on this perfect morning walk. She closed her eyes for a moment, and a cast a line in her pool of memories. An idea caught, and she reeled it in, letting the memory simmer until the words came. “Cherry pie,” she said, laughing once more. “It used to be my favorite treat. My mother didn’t bake often, but one Sunday afternoon she made a cherry pie. She forbade me to eat it; it was for company the following day. After Mama went to bed, I snuck out to the stove and ate near half of it.”

  Jesse smiled, shaking his head. “I can only imagine your juice-stained cheeks. How old were you?”

  “No more than seven, maybe five.” Her smile fell.

  “You remember that?”

  It was one of the few memories she had of her mother. “Yes, and I paid quite the price for the act. I was sick for the entire night after eating such a portion, but I was too scared to tell Mama for fear of her punishment.”

  Jesse laughed. “You thought she’d do worse than the pie?”

  Cora’s eyes pricked with tears, unexpectedly. “I knew she would have, and she did the next morning, when she saw what had become of her pie. She thrashed my rear five times and promised to never let me eat the pie again.” Cora turned. She’d forgotten herself, allowed herself to open to Jesse in a way that was dangerous.

  “I’m sure she forgot such a promise. Mothers always say rash things to make a child repentant,” Jesse said, smiling.

  Cora shook her head. “I never ate another slice of cherry pie, even to this day.”

  He stopped, touching Cora’s hand. “It sounds as if you punished yourself more that day.”

  Cora shrugged. “A lesson learned is a quality earned, that’s what Mag—Mama used to say. Now, tell me something real, Jesse Davis.”

  His expression lightened. “You see that cliff yonder?” He pointed west. “The hill in front of it? Now, if you follow that to the stream, there’s the prettiest spot of land I’ve ever seen. That’s where I’m going to build myself a house one day. Maybe I’ll start my own herd, given the chance. This ranch will fall to Eric, and I won’t settle for being just another hired hand. I want something of my own.”

  “You should,” Cora said, swallowing. Something of her own—she’d wished for the same.

  Jesse pursed his lips. “Just takes an initial investment. I’ve been saving best I can.”

  Cora could just make out the hill from where they stood. She wished she could see it better, see the beauty Jesse spoke of. “That’s a lovely place to build a home.”

  “I just need a person to build it with,” he said, daring to look down at her.

  Cora’s breath caught in her throat. Surely he didn’t mean… “Your brothers? They seem good with their hands.”

  He laughed. “I don’t mean someone to help build the house. I’m talking about someone to build a life with.”

  So he had meant what she’d supposed. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Cora hadn’t had a man speak sweet to her, not the way Jesse did. “You’ll have to charm a lady to meet that end.”

  Jesse’s mouth spread into a smile. “I ain’t practiced in such an art. I’ve been trying to have Claire teach me a thing or two, but she don’t know the intricacies of a lady like you do. Could you teach me?”

  A wave of dizziness overcame her. The beating of her heart, her hand in his arm, the words that he spoke—it was more delicious than any cherry pie she’d tasted. She allowed herself to laugh. “I could try, though I doubt I know much more than Claire on the matter. Each lady is quite different, I’m told.”

  “Course,” Jesse said, pulling her to face him. “But I want to know how to charm one particular lady, a lady you know better than anyone.”

  Her heart dropped to her stomach. His eyes had fallen to her lips, and the thought of kissing him on such a perfect morning seemed a fairytale, one Cora had never dared to dream of.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her an inch
closer. “Tell me. If we were to court, would you share more of those real moments? I don’t understand it, but moments like this—when it’s only you and me—feel so natural.” He leaned his head on hers, and his breath was cool against her forehead. “But Lettie, there are times when you cloud, like you’re putting on one of them masquerade masks, and I lose the essence of the woman here, right now.”

  Cora blinked back emotion. “Jesse, I can’t explain it—”

  “Try.”

  “I’m not who you think I am,” she said, regretting the words the instant they left her lips.

  Jesse lifted his hands to her face, cradling her jaw. “Or maybe, you’re just who I think you are, you just don’t know how to show it.”

  Cora winced. There he went again, thinking she was timid and shy. She pulled from his hands. “I think you better take me back to the house.”

  He staggered. “If I said something wrong, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean nothing bad.”

  Cora lowered her head. “I know, Jesse. You haven’t done anything wrong. Will you take me back?”

  They walked in silence ‘til they reached the porch, just as a mail carrier dismounted his horse.

  “Telegram for Miss Lettie Williams,” the man said, holding out the paper.

  Cora took it, ripping it open. She’d never received a telegram. She’d never had anyone or anything so urgent.

  Milton stole your letter. He’s coming. Love, M

  Cora dropped to the porch step, grasping at her stabbing heart. Milton after her? He’d never made such an effort for any other girl that’d left his employment.

  Cora had thought herself free of him, his temper, and his relentless demands. His jarring features came to mind. A month away from him, and still his features were fresh in her mind—the way his lips lifted when he snarled, his dark and threatening eyes—black as flint, and his broad shoulders—muscle built from the tearing down of others. There was no way Cora could withstand his efforts to take her. She would be helpless.

  Unless…

  “What is it?” Jesse asked, crouching beside her. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Has something happened to your ma or your daddy?”

  Her heart pounded, slower and slower… until she worried it would stop.

  Without a doubt, telling Jesse would break her heart and possibly his. But leaving for San Francisco in the night, as she’d considered the past weeks, felt cold and wrong. Not when she cared for him and his family.

  “Lettie,” he said, falling beside her. “Tell me what has happened.”

  Tears pooled along her lower lashes, but Cora knew what she had to do. For the last month, Cora had been playing the part of Lettie Williams—the timid and proper girl. Cora had almost forgotten who she was. She was neither timid nor proper. Cora Burns was bold and unafraid, willing to do whatever it took to survive. Just as she’d tumbled off the steps of the train and pushed herself off the ground, she did so again and stood. She was good at picking herself up. She only hoped that this time, she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

  “Lettie,” Jesse repeated, grasping her hands.

  Cora swallowed and met his gaze. “My name is Cora.”

  Chapter 20

  The breakfast room was empty—Cook hadn’t even begun the meal—but Jesse sat across from Grams, both of their eyes fixed on the woman standing in front of them.

  A searing pain had started at the top of his head since she’d revealed her true name, hinting at something larger, something even more secreted than he’d imagined. He wanted to give her a chance to explain herself, but already he felt the walls climbing around his heart.

  “I should never have agreed to such a scheme…” she began.

  “But you did,” Grams said, lifting a brow. “Out with it, every detail, Miss...?”

  Cora paced, clasping her hands in front of her. Dread pooled in her eyes, but there was something else… relief? Her shoulders lifted, as if weights she’d carried for a long time were at last taken from her. “My name is Cora Burns, and I am from Crooked Creek, a three-day ride northeast of Denver. I worked the last seven years for vile man named Milton. I sang and danced at his saloon.”

  Jesse shook his head. She couldn’t be serious. Not this woman he’d fallen for. Surely she wasn’t the type of woman to work in a saloon…

  “Only song and dance?” Grams asked, raising her chin. “I rarely hear of saloon girls with such a specialized skill set.”

  Jesse let out a shaky breath. He’d been nervous to ask, but the question hung on his mind too.

  Cora’s hand flew to her heart. “Only song and dance, despite Milton’s insistent demands. When Lettie Williams came to my boarding house—sick and downtrodden—Maggie wanted to help her.”

  “Maggie?” Jesse asked, massaging the tension at his brows.

  Her expression softened. “Maggie owns the boarding house that I’ve lived in since I was eight-years old. Maggie is the woman that took me in as a child, after my mother abandoned me at the boarding house.”

  Jesse met her gaze. The calf, the cherry pie… Her actions suddenly made sense. Cora had been abandoned.

  Grams tapped her fingers together. “And Lettie? What happened to her?”

  A struggle played across Cora’s features. “Lettie, the kind soul she was, came across a difficult situation. For fear of shame and losing her family’s good opinion of her, she was at a loss as to what she should do.”

  “You mean she is heavy with child?” Grams asked dryly.

  Cora’s mouth fell open. “How did… How did you know?”

  Grams shrugged. “Only one condition that can bring that kind of shame upon a young woman. In any case, you came in her place. What was your plan, to continue playing the part of Miss Williams until she had the baby, then feign your return to Virginia?”

  Cora nodded, planting her feet. “San Francisco, the center of entertainment in the West.”

  “Mmm,” Grams said, scratching her head.

  Jesse surveyed his grandmother. She didn’t look the least surprised. In fact, she shared Cora’s expression—relief. “Grams, how long have you known?”

  Grams tipped her head to the side. “My eyesight is failing, but not so dreadfully, Jess. I can see enough to know that Cora is nothing like the little mouse I met years ago. I tried a few tricks too.” She smirked, turning to Cora. “Lettie detested Shakespeare, thought him much too flowery. Lettie couldn’t abide the taste of sausage, and she sang poorly. Not to mention, her dresses were less eye-catching. Much more modest.”

  Cora shook her head, and a small smile lit her eyes. “You knew that early?”

  “Straight away,” Grams said, grinning. “But at my age, there are few surprises. And so I’ve waited, knowing the mystery would unfold. Perhaps the greatest surprise has been my grandson’s liking to you—he never did go for the fancy type.”

  Heat overcame Jesse, and he stood to leave. He wouldn’t listen to Grams speak of his feelings that she knew little about. He hardly knew what to think of Cora Burns.

  “Don’t you want to know about the telegram?” Grams asked, winking at Jesse. “Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  He sighed and returned to his seat, however reluctantly.

  “The telegram?” Grams asked Cora.

  “It came from Maggie. Milton intercepted one of my letters, and he intends to come to Northwind Range and drag me back to the saloon…for his customers and business and his own foolish pride.” She crossed her arms. “Maggie warned me to run straight away, to take the first train out of Overstead. But I couldn’t leave without telling you, and somehow I hoped that you might be able to…”

  Her voice drifted into silence. Jesse felt the heat of Cora’s gaze, but he couldn’t return it. Not yet, not when he felt so conflicted.

  “You hoped we might be able to overlook such deception and keep you safe here?” Grams asked, cackling. “Of course, my dear. I’ve never had a more enjoyable time than this last month. You’re one of
us, at least until you wish to leave.”

  Jesse’s head shot up. Grams wasn’t the warm, fuzzy type. What was she playing at?

  Cora dropped in front of Grams, leaning her head on his grandmother’s knees. “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. I’ve never felt more keenly my own wickedness and unworthiness, but what I’ve felt in my time here gave me hope.”

  Grams stroked Cora’s hair and smiled softly. Sentiment leaked from the old woman’s eyes—a sight Jesse had never seen. “Amazing grace—I think that’s what it’s called, my dear. And you, dear child, have need of a bit of it. Now,” she said, wiping a shaky finger at the moisture dripping down her cheeks, “send for Cook, Jess. We’ve got enough to do with the stampede tomorrow. Ain’t no time to waste on tears.”

  Never had his Grams so much as moved to touch him except to pinch or badger him. Never had Grams cried or offered comfort of any kind. If the brash old blister could forgive this woman and welcome her so fully into her arms, maybe Jesse could also give her another chance.

  Chapter 21

  When Mrs. Davis told Cora that the whole town of Overstead attended the Davis Stampede each year, she hadn’t exaggerated. The front drive and pasture were adorned with lanterns and garlands strung across wooden poles. The chairs that lined the gathering were tied with multi-colored ribbons and tulle, coordinating with the wildflowers of the pasture.

  Frank and his sons had built a wooden platform, a makeshift stage, and the piano was carried out to the lawn, just as Mrs. Davis had suggested. Already the quartet had tuned their instruments and settled the sheet music.

  Cora hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Jesse amidst the other guests. Since her revelation, he’d been more distant, cautious. He hadn’t given up on her—she could tell—but there was something different about him. And like the gentleman he was, he stayed true to his offer and escorted her. He spoke to her periodically, but his words were short, his questions only about her comfort. At that moment, he’d gone to fetch her punch.