A Sensible Arrangement

by Tracie Peterson

  Marty nodded and hurried to take an empty chair. She felt overly conspicuous with everyone else so carefully assembled. She had clearly committed a grave error in her late arrival. She had thought to offer an excuse and tell the women about the traffic, but they’d only want to know where she’d been. Marty knew they’d never approve of her work with the orphans.

  “Ladies, as you know, our city is in peril,” Mrs. Carmichael began. “Our very society has been altered in the wake of this new economic injustice.” The women seemed fixed on her every word, while Marty wished they’d get to serving the food. She was starved.

  “I wanted to host this luncheon in order to review the situation and to determine what, if anything, is to be managed by our number. I believe Mrs. Morgan would like to speak first.”

  Mrs. Morgan stood. “As you know, I am not one to frequent these occasions. However, I felt that the circumstances of our dear city necessitated my presence. Several of our former friends have found themselves completely stripped of their financial status. Thankfully, they have taken their families and left the city, so there is no need to feel uncomfortable in their presence.”

  Marty tried not to roll her eyes. These women—these so-called dear friends—were as fickle as they came.

  “In addition to that, we are faced with a grave concern. There are a great many homeless arriving into Denver on a daily basis. As you know, a good number of the silver mines have closed, and this has put many men out of work and onto the streets. I believe this situation will only worsen as time goes on. In turn, it will cause many dangers for the people of our town.”

  Marty listened with only halfhearted interest. The women who inevitably attended these affairs bored her. Unlike some of the women she’d befriended in Texas, these women seemed to have no real understanding of or concern for humanity. They were wealthy and spoiled, and the only thing that seemed to concern them was remaining exactly so.

  “I have spoken to Mr. Morgan on this matter and have suggested that these unemployed men be sent elsewhere to look for work. Obviously, the city cannot accommodate them, and their presence will only lead to a sullying of our environment.”

  Marty frowned and couldn’t help but interject. “Where would you have them go? As I understand it, the entire country is struggling with this financial crisis.” The women at her table looked aghast that she had dared to interrupt.

  Mrs. Morgan smiled tolerantly. “That’s true, but the rest of the country isn’t my concern. Denver is. I would have them go anywhere but here.”

  The other women nodded and murmured their approval. Marty knew she should just keep quiet, but she couldn’t help herself. “Seems rather selfish. What if we were to figure out ways to help those poor folks instead?”

  “There are institutions and churches for such things, and the larger eastern cities would be better suited to see to their needs,” Mrs. Morgan replied. “I’m sure that given your background, it’s difficult to understand our position. However, people of means are the guardians of their surroundings. That instills in us a responsibility to oversee the welfare of our people and properties. Our men rely on us to practice wisdom in this matter, and this city is dependent upon such sacrifice.”

  “I understand that. And, given my background,” Marty said in a somewhat sarcastic tone, “I know what it is to help the needy. I’m suggesting that rather than try to rid ourselves of them, we give assistance—perhaps offering shelter and teaching them new trades. After all, if their work as silver miners is over, they will need to be reeducated to work in another field.”

  There were gasps from several women, but Mrs. Morgan was patient. She gave Marty a look, however, that left the younger woman cold.

  “It is not the responsibility of our society to provide such things.”

  “Maybe it should be,” Marty replied. She could see she was alienating every woman at the luncheon, but she didn’t care.

  “Such matters are better left to the churches,” Mrs. Morgan insisted.

  “Are we not the church?” Marty could have heard a pin drop. “Does the Bible not show that it is our responsibility to care for the body? I’m not suggesting mere handouts. I’m not even saying that we need deplete all our wealth. I’m merely stating that sending these people away isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “Well, you are entitled to your opinion, Mrs. Wythe. However, my husband would disagree with you. When I mentioned that these homeless and jobless people should be sent elsewhere, he agreed. He and some of our other good men are making plans to arrange for just that.”

  The other women nodded their approval. “Do tell,” Mrs. Keystone called out. “Let us know how this is to be accomplished and what role we are to play.”

  Mrs. Morgan turned away from Marty to smile at her friend. “I suggested that these people be given a train ticket to leave the city. Let them go to friends and family elsewhere.” She glanced back at Marty. “After all, we are not without heart. If they have no one to go to, then let us send them to one of the larger cities where help might be more readily available. Chicago, Kansas City, New York, and so on. All of those places would be better suited to assist the downtrodden than Denver.”

  “But Denver is a large city,” Marty protested. “Maybe we should focus on making it a better city by incorporating ideas to help the downtrodden, as you put it.”

  “Mrs. Wythe, I believe your country manners might well be acceptable in some settings, such as the wilds of Texas,” Mrs. Carmichael interjected. “But here, we rely on a better society—a way that affords us a protected life. I think perhaps you believe your Texas ways better than ours, and if that is the case, then might I suggest . . . you return to Texas.”

  “Hear, hear,” many of the women called out. Mrs. Morgan nodded her agreement.

  The women who had pretended to be Marty’s friends had now made their true feelings clear. Marty stood and shook her head.

  “I feel sorry for you. I thought you were women of means, but instead I find that you’re simply mean women. You have, but you’ve no desire to share. You know comfort and full bellies, but you would send others away hungry. I would remind you that it was Jesus himself who said that whatever we do unto the least of these . . . we do unto Him.”

  With that, she left the murmuring dissension and made her way back through the house and out the front door. Samson looked up in surprise as she stormed to the carriage.

  “Get me out of here, please. Those women have seen the last of me.”

  He grinned, seeming happy for the news. “Yes’m.”

  Marty fretted the rest of the day, worrying about what Jake would say when he heard what she’d done. She feared she’d be the reason he’d fall from the good graces of his employer. She agonized over whether they’d be put out on the street for her behavior.

  Perhaps I should send a letter of apology to Mrs. Morgan. I shouldn’t have been so cantankerous, I suppose. I could have handled the situation with better judgment.

  But the women had been so calloused and unfeeling. Maybe it was their fear of change that made them so, but to Marty, they bordered on cruel. She thought of all the orphans in the city—would the elite put them on a train and rid their precious Denver of their presence, as well?

  I won’t apologize. For once I did speak the truth, and they didn’t want to hear it. They were much too worried about their town being dirtied with the poor and needy. And they call themselves Christians! How she seethed. It made her want to march right over to the Morgans and give them both a piece of her mind.

  It was past eight before she heard the carriage arrive with Jake. She panicked. What if he was livid over her actions? What if she’d ruined everything? Marty began to pace in the sitting room. Jake cared for her, but he also cared about keeping his position at the bank.

  It wasn’t long before she heard Brighton greet her husband at the front door. There was a quick exchange that she couldn’t quite hear, and then footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor outside the
sitting room pocket doors.

  The doors slid back, and Jake walked wearily into the room. Marty could see he was exhausted. She had arranged a very simple dinner for them that evening and hoped he wouldn’t even feel the need to change his clothes.

  “You look spent,” she said. “Why don’t you sit here and I’ll rub your shoulders.”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather eat. I’m famished.”

  “I waited dinner for you. It’s simple fare, so you needn’t redress. It’s just you and me and we could even take it upstairs if you’d like.”

  “No, that’s all right. We can eat in the dining room, but I will take you up on the suggestion of not changing. I doubt I’d have the energy to return if I climbed those stairs.”

  She smiled. “I’ll let Mrs. Landry know.” She pulled the cord and waited until the housekeeper appeared. “Mrs. Landry, we’ll have dinner in the dining room—right away, please.”

  The housekeeper smiled. “I figured as much. Well, not the exact location, but I had Cook get to it when I heard Mr. Wythe’s carriage.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be right in,” Marty said. “Oh, and please have Brighton ready a hot bath for my husband. I’m sure he’ll need to soak a bit after he eats.” She looked to Jake, who smiled in spite of his exhaustion. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You. The way you’re taking care of me. Feels good. You’re a real asset, Marty.”

  She thought of the way she’d acted at the garden party. “You might not be inclined to say so after you hear about my day,” she said in as nonchalant a manner as she could manage. “But that can wait. Let’s eat first.”

  Chapter 21

  Jake awaited Marty’s arrival at breakfast the next morning. She had told him of her falling-out with the society women, and he wanted to assure her that she needn’t fear—at least not on his part—any repercussions. He couldn’t care less about the social side of life. At one time it had seemed important, but financial crashes had a way of leveling the playing field, and Jake was beginning to see what a fool he’d been to even worry about such matters. Just looking back on the choices he’d made to please Morgan almost made him feel sick.

  It seems all my life I’ve been trying to please someone rather than figure out what God desired for me in the first place.

  “I didn’t expect to find you still here,” Marty said as she entered the dining room. “I was so glad you sent Alice for me.”

  “I thought you deserved to see your husband in a rested state.” He held out her chair and helped seat her at the table. “Not only that, but I wanted to reassure you.”

  Marty’s expression changed to one of confusion. “Reassure me?”

  “Marty, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but I think our days in Denver are numbered anyway. Your falling-out with Mrs. Morgan and the other great ladies of society may simply coincide with a progression of changes that cannot be stopped.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I feel confident, given the problems going on in the country, that it will only be a matter of time until our bank collapses. There are all manner of problems at our institution, and I cannot begin to figure them all out. I can say without a doubt, however, that changes are upon us.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Marty declared. She shook her head when Brighton offered to pour her a cup of coffee. He retreated to Jake’s side of the table and refilled his cup instead.

  “I’m afraid it is. What you experienced at the garden party is just the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid. The few ladies that were mentioned as having left the city with their families are only the start of what may well become a mass exodus.”

  “But things aren’t any better anywhere else, are they? I mean, my sister has even talked about how awful things are in Texas. Cotton prices have dropped so low that farmers aren’t even considering replanting another crop.”

  “I know, but it would seem that folks of means are tightening their belts just as we are. Instead of having three or four homes at their disposal, they’re consolidating and selling off some of their holdings and real estate. At the very least they are closing the houses in an effort to save money. I heard Mr. Morgan speak of selling his seaside place in California. He may move back east if he finds it necessary to close down the banks here. All I’m saying is that I didn’t want you to fret over what happened with the ladies. You aren’t to blame. You’ve a kind heart, Marty. That’s something most of them can’t understand.”

  “And you believe we’ll need to move, as well?”

  Jake nodded. “I never wanted this house in the first place. For now, Mr. Morgan told me to sit tight. He’s not even requiring I make the mortgage payment on it since he’s had to cut back on my salary.”

  “I didn’t know that he’d done that,” Marty said, the worry in her tone obvious.

  “I didn’t want to scare you.”

  “What will we do if you lose your position?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I do know, however, that there’s little we can accomplish by being afraid. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

  Marty looked unconvinced but said nothing more on the subject. They made small talk over a light breakfast of eggs and toast, but Jake could tell her heart wasn’t in it. He finally pushed back from the table.

  “I’d best get down to the bank.” He moved to where Marty sat and gave her a kiss on the cheek. In the past he’d only done this for show, but now he felt his heart beat a little faster at the mere touch of his lips to her face.

  “Will you be late?” she asked. Her gaze lifted to meet his.

  “Probably. But don’t worry about me, Marty. You need to take care of yourself.”

  He rode in silence to the bank and arrived twenty minutes before the doors were to be opened to the public. Jake tensed at the sight of Mr. Morgan’s fine carriage. There was another carriage parked in front of Morgan’s, and Jake guessed it belonged to Mr. Keystone.

  Making his way into the bank, Jake spotted the men waiting for him in his office. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, walking to his desk. “Did we have a meeting this morning?”

  “No,” Morgan replied. “But we need one. I’ve been going over the papers you sent me. It would appear there are problems with some of the numbers being duplicated, just as you stated.”

  Jake felt a sense of relief. He’d almost worried that the men were there because of what Marty had said and done at the garden party. “Yes, it’s clear that there are duplicated numbers and a lack of inventory to back up what’s been declared.”

  Morgan smiled and lit a cigar. “Well, I know we’ll get to the bottom of it in time. I just wanted to tell you that you’ve done a fine job here. I’m going to turn it all over to Mr. Keystone, and he will take care of it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve enough on my agenda to keep me busy. Is there any other news out of Washington?” Jake asked.

  “Not per se,” Morgan replied. “Although I read this morning that Lizzie Borden will most likely be acquitted of murdering her parents.”

  Jake had read about the Massachusetts woman who had been accused of killing her parents with an ax. He nodded but had no desire to discuss it. “I thought maybe something related to the economy and the well-being of the American people.”

  Morgan gave a laugh. “Oh, there is news out of Washington, but it’s from last month. However, it continues to amuse me. It would seem the Supreme Court has finally ruled that a tomato is a vegetable.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Keystone said sarcastically. “At least now waiters will know the proper place setting for it.” He and Morgan roared with laughter, and even Jake couldn’t help but chuckle. The world was falling down around them, but at least they now knew that a tomato was officially a vegetable. And because the Supreme Court had declared it such—it must be so.

  “Mrs. Wythe?” a little boy said in a questioning tone.

  Marty looked to her left and found the
little waif looking at her with great expectation. “What is it, Wyatt?”

  “Do you have children of your own?”

  The seven-year-old’s question threw her for a moment. Marty finally shook her head. By now several other children had gathered at her side. “No, I don’t have any . . . yet.”

  “Maybe I could be your little boy.” His eyes were filled with hope, and it made Marty want to snatch him up and pledge her undying love.

  “Well, right now all of you are my children,” Marty replied. “I so enjoy getting to be with you and share our stories together.”

  “But it ain’t the same as havin’ a real ma and pa,” one of the older boys stated.

  Marty caught his look. She saw betrayal and hurt in his eyes. This was a child who had been gravely wounded. “You’re Adam, aren’t you?” The boy nodded. Marty wondered how best to answer the lad. “You know, when I was a newborn baby my mother died. My father died when I was five, and my sister raised me. I know it’s not the same as having to live in an orphanage, but I think it’s important to find love wherever we are.”

  “Do you love us?” a little girl Marty knew as Nettie asked.

  Marty smiled. “I do indeed. I love each and every one of you. You make my day brighter.”

  “So couldn’t you ’dopt us?” Wyatt asked.

  How she wanted to tell him yes. She knew these children were afraid of their future. They only had the employees of the orphanage to show them affection and love. She hated that she couldn’t just tell them to line up—that she’d take them all.

  “Children, it’s time for lunch,” Mrs. Staples called from the door. Most of the children made a mad dash for the dining room.

  Wyatt gave Marty one last hopeful look, then ran after his friends. Marty knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget that face.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Wythe?” Mrs. Staples asked.

  Marty looked up and met the woman’s questioning gaze. “I suppose so. I . . . well . . . what are the chances these children will find homes?”