Marty wanted to make a snide comment but held her tongue. What had the woman expected—savage behavior and unsavory conversation? Did she believe Texans to be social clods incapable of mingling among society’s elite?
The footman arrived to clear away their dishes, and Marty took the opportunity to excuse herself. “I want to thank you for such a lovely time, but I really must be going. I have become interested of late in one of the local orphanages, and I want to stop there on my way home to see what I might be able to do to help.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled in her tolerant way. “I’m certain a small donation would benefit them. I have several charitable organizations that provide assistance to such places. Perhaps you would care to join me for one of our meetings?”
Marty nodded. “I’d enjoy that very much. I’d like to be doing something more than holding teas and reading every book in my husband’s library.” She smiled and couldn’t resist adding, “One day you and Mrs. Cooper must tell me how you endure this idle life.”
She quickly got to her feet and the butler escorted her and helped her with her coat. Once Marty was in the carriage and headed down the street, she couldn’t help but giggle. Those women were skilled in holding long conversations about nothing of importance—while believing themselves full of valuable information—and she couldn’t help but feel bored in their presence.
Samson brought the carriage to a halt outside a three-story redbrick building in a poorer part of the city. Marty glanced around the neighborhood, noting the startling contrast to that of Capitol Hill. Spring weather was doing its best to brighten things up; the grass had begun to green rather nicely and the trees were leafing out. But where Capitol Hill prided itself on well-manicured lawns, it seemed this area of Denver did well to keep glass in the windows of its buildings.
She made her way to the door and noted a sign that read Auraria Orphanage. Before she could knock, a young man of about twelve opened the door. “Good afternoon,” he said, sounding very formal.
Marty handed him her calling card. “I wonder if I might see the person in charge.”
The boy took her card and nodded. “Mr. Brentwood is in his office.” He knocked and opened the door to reveal a stern-faced man sitting behind a desk.
“Mr. Brentwood, this lady wants to see you,” the boy said, some of his formality reverting to a more youthful tone.
The man stood and took hold of the calling card the boy extended. “Very good, Adam. Now return to your post.” The boy nodded and scurried past Marty, pausing only long enough to give her a slight bow.
“I’m afraid Adam tends to forget his manners, Mrs. . . .” He glanced down at the card for a moment. “Wythe. Mrs. Wythe. Won’t you be seated?”
Marty smiled and did as he bid. Already she felt the edges of her boredom give way. She was about to embark on a worthy project. At least she prayed it would be such.
“And he said that I might come and read to the children,” Marty told Alice as she helped dress her mistress for dinner. “They are also in need of funds. The children seem to wear out their clothing so fast that I thought I might actually take up sewing for them.”
“What will Mr. Wythe say?” Alice questioned. “That’s hardly the kind of thing a lady in your position would normally do.”
“I don’t care,” Marty replied. “I’m bored out of my mind most days. I’m not supposed to garden or make my own clothes. I’m not responsible for laundry or cooking because you and the other staff handle all of that. I can’t care for the animals because that’s not fitting. Honestly, I don’t know how these ladies of leisure endure their existence.”
Alice couldn’t help but giggle. “Most women would love to be in your shoes, Mrs. . . . Marty.”
Marty slipped her arms into the sleeves of her silk evening gown and smiled. “Well, I’m glad to be in my own shoes tonight. Mr. Wythe is taking me out for what he promises will be a lovely dinner and time of music. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard a concert. My sister and brother-in-law took Thomas and me to a wonderful performance in Dallas many years ago. Before that . . . well, when I was little, my sister, Hannah, always tried to expose Andy and me to music and art whenever possible. It just wasn’t always available or timely. Ranch life is hard work and requires constant attention.”
“I can only imagine,” Alice said, doing up the back of the gown.
“I suppose that’s why it’s hard for me to sit and do nothing,” Marty continued. “I’m used to pulling my weight. Seeing you and Mrs. Landry and the others work so hard . . . well, it makes me uncomfortable. Hannah said my mother was a fine lady, but she was always seeking to do good for others.”
“My mother seemed to care about the good of others at one time,” Alice admitted, not really wanting to allow the memories to resurface.
“You seem very bitter toward your mother. Are you angry because she died?”
Alice looked at the back of Marty’s head as though carefully scrutinizing her coiffure. She thought about the question and then finally spoke. “My mother left me and my father when I was thirteen. She took my five-year-old brother and deserted us.”
Marty turned to face her. “She deserted you? I thought she died.”
“She did, but not until some months after she’d taken my brother and ran away with him. My father was devastated, as was I. I couldn’t believe she’d just up and leave like that . . . no good-bye . . . nothing. She didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go with her. Which I wouldn’t have,” Alice said in a tone that almost convinced her own heart.
“Did your father mistreat her?”
“No . . . at least I don’t think he did. They did have some ugly arguments, but I never saw him hit her. My father could be rather indifferent at times, and he worked really hard to keep us in a lovely home. I think perhaps my mother felt his neglect, but that’s certainly no reason to tear apart your family.”
“I’m truly sorry, Alice. I didn’t have any idea.”
“Maybe I should have told you sooner.” Alice shrugged. “I used to spend long hours trying to figure out why she left me. Right after it happened I would cry myself to sleep every night. I would ask my father every morning if they’d returned. Finally after several long months of this—maybe even a year—my father told me he’d received word that they had died in an epidemic back east.”
“That must have been hard.” Marty’s words were soothing and kind. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a mother.”
Alice went to the dressing table for the gown’s sash. She returned and fitted it to Marty’s waist and artfully tied it in a large bow. “I got very angry. Father would speak ill of Mother and I suppose that birthed anger in me—anger at her and even anger at him. I’m still trying to overcome it.”
“I can imagine your hurt.”
“I remember one of the first times Father and I attended church after learning that Mother had died. The pastor spoke about forgiving people the wrong they’d done you. He said that often the hardest thing to let go of was our disappointment in others, including God. That spoke straight to my heart. I’d like to say that I immediately forgave my mother and no longer felt anger toward her, but that wasn’t the case. Forgiving Father was less difficult—after all, no matter his role in her desertion, at least he stayed.”
“So you still battle your wounded heart?”
“Yes.” Alice stepped back and admired her mistress. “You look so beautiful. That color of blue makes your eyes seem even brighter.”
Marty didn’t appear to hear her, however. The older woman had drawn her brows together, as if thinking hard on something Alice had said.
“Are you all right?” Alice asked.
Her mistress nodded. “I think part of my own trouble has to do with my anger at God. Maybe even anger at Thomas for getting himself killed. It’s hard to accept that God could have stopped a bad thing from happening but didn’t. I’m just not sure what to do with that knowledge.”
“It isn’t easy, I’l
l admit. I’m still struggling to forgive my mother, but every morning I wake up and tell myself that today will be the day—even if for just a few hours. Maybe you could try that, too, to help you forgive Thomas for dying and accept that God is good, even when He doesn’t ward off the bad.”
“Maybe,” Marty said, not sounding at all convinced.
Jake stepped into one of the handsomely appointed lounges of the exclusive Denver Club. Mr. Morgan beckoned to him immediately and one of the footmen escorted Jake to where he sat. Men all around the room were puffing away on fat cigars, chatting about the day’s events. Jake wasn’t sure why Morgan had sent word for him to join him there. It was going to make Jake extremely late getting home, and he’d forgotten to send word to Marty.
“I received your note, Mr. Morgan.”
“Good to have you join me, Mr. Wythe. Have you been here before?”
Jake shook his head. “No. I’m afraid this club has always been too elite for me.”
“Nonsense. This is exactly where you need to be. If you want to get ahead in the banking industry, this is where business is done.”
Jake didn’t wish to tell him he had no desire to get ahead in the banking industry, so he simply gave a curt nod and took an offered chair.
“Cigar?” Morgan asked, holding one out.
“No, thank you.” Jake noticed another footman had arrived.
“Would you care for something to drink, sir?”
Jake could see that other men in the room, including Morgan, were imbibing liquor. Since he’d made a fool of himself in Texas at the house of the Vandermarks, Jake had sworn off all alcohol. “No. I’m fine, thank you.”
“My boy, you need to learn the importance of relaxing.” Morgan smiled. “Business and pleasure are more easily enjoyed when a man is calm and not so anxious.”
He wished Morgan would get to the point of this meeting. Jake had picked up a bouquet of flowers for Marty, which the doorman was now watching over. Jake didn’t trust the man to watch them indefinitely, and besides, he was anxious to give them to Marty and see her reaction.
“So, what kind of business are we about today?” Jake asked.
Morgan laughed. “The business of getting your membership arranged in the Denver Club.”
“That’s hardly necessary,” Jake answered. “The cost alone is rather prohibitive.”
“Nonsense. It’s a part of your duty as bank manager, and therefore the bank will pay your dues. Of course, I don’t want that to get around to any of my other employees.” He slid an envelope across the table. “I will sponsor your membership, and the board will also act as references. This will take care of your dues.”
“But, Mr. Morgan, I assure you it’s not necessary.”
“But I say it is. I intend to see you in the position of vice-president by summer’s end. That will only be accomplished by your working hard to bring in new accounts and see to it that this financial wrinkle doesn’t cause us any setbacks.”
“Vice-president?” Jake shook his head in surprise. “But what of Mr. Keystone?”
“He will assume the role of president for a time. Eventually, I intend to see you in that position, when he retires. But one step at a time. Keystone will be much too busy to tend to the daily operations of business. That’s why you need to have a membership in this austere club. The wealthy men you need to entice to my banking organization will frequent this place. I’m counting on you, Wythe. I expect to get a strong return for my investment.” Morgan gave him a pointed look.
“And I always get what I expect and then some,” Morgan added, then lifted his glass in a salute to Jake.
Chapter 15
April arrived, and with it a growing concern in the financial world. Many people were now convinced that the problems were only going to get worse and because of that, were starting to pull back on investing. Jake had witnessed several customers, mostly those with smaller savings accounts, pull their money from the bank. They were inclined to trust their mattresses or other hiding places more than the bank’s questionable future.
Jake had tried to assure each man that the bank was sound, but as he continued to look into the monetary backing of their branch, he felt less and less certain. Josiah Keystone only added to his concern on that early Friday morning.
“Wythe, good of you to see me,” Keystone announced, entering the office. “I realize it wasn’t in the best taste to send you a message so early in the morning. I appreciate your meeting me here.”
“You said it was urgent.”
“And so it is,” Keystone said. “I won’t take up much time, but I wanted to ask you to personally handle a matter for a friend of mine.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Jake replied, still not knowing what Keystone needed.
“It would need to be kept quiet. I don’t want Morgan hearing about it. He’ll feel offended by our friend taking this path.”
“What path is that?”
“He wants to trade in his gold certificates for gold. He’s fretful about the economy, as are many. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he’s convinced that this is what he must do. He said he’d rather have the gold itself on hand rather than a marker from the bank. I told him we would try to handle it with as little fanfare as possible. Not to mention we don’t want to give the public any reason to make a run on the bank.”
“Mr. Keystone, you know that this can’t be kept from Mr. Morgan. All redemptions of gold certificates must have his approval. Besides, it will all depend on how much this man intends to cash in. You know as well as I do that the bank doesn’t keep large amounts on hand and that the ratio of deposits to currency is severely declined.”
“Surely this can be dealt with,” Keystone all but growled. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips as if trying to rid himself of a bad taste.
Jake hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I’ll do what I can, Mr. Keystone. But again, it’s all going to depend on the amount of withdrawal.”
“Where is Morgan? I suppose I’ll have to speak to him on this matter.”
“I would imagine that he’s still at home,” Jake said, glancing at his pocket watch. “Perhaps you could catch him there.”
“No, I don’t want to make a scene.”
“Well, he intends to be at the Denver Club around three. I’m to meet him there.”
“I suppose it will have to wait until then.” Tension laced his words, and he stormed from the office, leaving Jake to stare after him.
It seemed anyone with something to lose walked a narrow line these days, and there was an overwhelming sense that the financial world was holding its breath. Unfortunately, the daily newspapers were doing nothing to help the matter. Every time Jake picked up the paper, he read another story about a railroad facing bankruptcy or the rising unemployment. Such widespread problems, stated in the most alarming ways possible, served only to cause mass hysteria. It was a wonder they hadn’t had a full run on the bank.
“Sir, this letter arrived for you,” Arnold announced from the still open doorway. “It’s notification of our upcoming audit.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Why not?”
Marty awoke after a restless night’s sleep. Alice hadn’t opened the drapes, yet there were hints of light playing at the corners. Silence cloaked the house in a sort of surreal, almost dreamlike state.
Getting out of the bed, Marty yawned and tried to ignore the fact that she was still exhausted. Glancing at her writing desk in the muted light, she could see the reason for her inability to sleep.
Hannah had written her a letter. Her unhappiness at Marty’s last missive was quite clear. Hannah didn’t try to hide her disappointment or pretend to understand Marty’s desire to remain in Colorado for an extended visit. She wanted to know why Marty was being so vague with her information and when she intended to return.
There was more—comments about the ranch and Hannah’s worry that Marty would get herself into trouble.
“If she only knew,” Marty said, walk
ing across the chilly hardwood floor. She picked up Hannah’s letter and wondered how she could best reply.
Marty’s first thought had been to just tell the truth—it would be the simplest way. But since when had she ever taken the simple way out? Her stomach growled. Perhaps a little milk and maybe one of Cook’s good biscuits would stave off her hunger until a later breakfast.
Marty put the letter down and took up her robe. It was still early enough that she thought perhaps she could sneak down to the kitchen without notice. Cook was usually quite occupied first thing, and she and her assistant, Willa, would most likely be in the pantry or perhaps busy elsewhere.
Well, even if they’re right there in plain sight, I am mistress of the house, and I have a right to the food that’s in it.
Her reasoning did little to still the unease within. It wasn’t the early morning raid on the larder, however, that had Marty tied in knots. It was knowing that she had to answer Hannah’s letter and tell her about Jake.
Deciding to slip down the servants’ stairs, which would lead her directly into the kitchen’s back entry, Marty did her best to descend quietly. She was on the next to the last step when she heard a woman speak.
“Why don’t we end our study with prayer,” Mrs. Landry announced.
Marty frowned and halted, remaining still as one woman after another asked for God’s provision and offered thanks for His blessings already received. It wasn’t until Marty heard Alice in prayer that she felt a strange sense of guilt mixed with irritation.
“And Lord,” Alice prayed, “please help Mrs. Wythe. She has a wounded heart and needs to see that you love her and that you are there to comfort her. Help her with the decisions she needs to make.”
Marty stepped back, shaking her head. She didn’t want to listen to another word. She hurried back to her room, hoping that no one had known of her presence. She didn’t know why the prayer had bothered her so much. She knew that Hannah prayed for her every day, but there was something about these women—her servants—praying for her that was unsettling.
A Sensible Arrangement Page 14
