Tucker hadn’t been nervous about matchmaking before, but he was now. He knew about God’s surprises and detours, and he’d had enough of them lately. He already had two women depending on him, and he wasn’t about to let them down. The first bill for the sanitorium had arrived on Friday, adding to the one from the asylum and a multiplying stack of debts.
Miss Hattie turned and led them to the parlor, where a love song played on the Edison phonograph.
Before Tucker took his place in the chair across from the sofa, he glanced up at the wedding portrait on the mantel of Miss Hattie and her husband, George, regal with his mane of bone-white hair.
Tucker had wanted to be married, to have a family of his own. But the family he already had needed him. They had to be his priority. Providing for them might be all he could ever do for his sister. Even Miss Hattie’s best matchmaking efforts would be for naught.
SIXTEEN
hursday morning, Ida heard the office door open with a squeak, and she looked up from her desk. Her employer floated in, beaming and humming an unrecognizable tune. Her black satin palatine made her look like royalty.
Nearly every morning Miss O’Bryan sashayed down to the stock exchange. This morning she’d done so wearing a taffeta shirtwaist with leg-of-mutton sleeves, a brocade skirt under her hooded cape, and black calfskin shoes. Mollie was the best-dressed woman in Cripple Creek.
“You had a good morning at the Exchange,” Ida said in greeting.
“A most delicious time. Like eating dessert first and swallowing the lima beans with a mouthful of Belgian chocolate.” Mollie removed her wrap. Its rose-colored satin lining reminded Ida of the Colorado sunsets she’d witnessed on her walks back to the boardinghouse.
One day she would dress the same way—silk, satin, and Italian lace.
Mollie, her mossy green eyes sparkling, hung her palatine on an oak coat tree and planted her hands on the front edge of Ida’s desk. “I’ve been buying one-thousand-share blocks of stock in the Damon Gold Mining Company for five dollars per block.”
“That sounds like a good deal, if Damon produces well.”
“Tell me”—Mollie straightened and tapped her rounded chin with one finger—“would you consider ten cents per share a good deal?”
Ida did a quick calculation in her head. “That’s a profit of ninety-five dollars on one block of a thousand shares. A lot of money.”
Mollie squealed like a girl much younger than her twenty-three years. “That’s precisely what I did this morning. I sold a thousand of those shares for ten cents each.”
“No wonder you’re smiling and humming.”
“And I intend to do more than that. Even the gray clouds are lovely this morning.” Mollie opened her sealskin purse and pulled out two cigars. She held one out to Ida.
Surely puffing on a tobacco stick wasn’t a requirement for success. If so, this could be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. “I don’t smoke, but I am happy for you, nonetheless. Congratulations!”
Mollie returned the second cigar to her purse and set the bag on the desk. She looked Ida square in the eye. “You were right—we do make a good team.” She peeled the paper band off the cigar and pointed it at Ida. “Your day to turn a handsome profit is coming.”
From Mollie’s lips to God’s ears. At least Ida prayed it was so. Numbers set her mind whirling. Her employer had said she’d been buying a thousand shares. She’d bought more than just one block of that stock. The possibilities were dizzying, and Ida drew in a deep breath. As soon as she received her paycheck next Thursday, she’d have Mollie buy stock for her too. Vivian would need financial assistance with her travel and setup expenses once she arrived in Cripple Creek next summer. And Ida would love nothing more than to be able to donate to the widows and orphans’ fund Reverend Taggart spoke of in Sunday’s service.
Mollie stepped over to the file cabinet. “In the meantime, how are you faring with the promotional materials for the Big Four Gold Mining Company?”
Ida glanced at the proofs on her desk. “I should have them ready for the printer tomorrow.”
“That’s good news, but you’ll need to set them aside for now. I have another job for you.”
Ida couldn’t imagine ever tiring of her work. Though some tasks were a bit repetitious in nature, they were never routine. She was always juggling, and never just ledgers or mining deeds, but a wide variety of documents—contracts, wills, depositions, stock certificates, and more.
“This morning you’ll learn how a prospectus is done,” Mollie said. “You know what that is, correct?”
“The document necessary to attract investors to a business.”
“Honey for the bears. Designed to grab the attention of the investing public and entice them to buy shares.” Mollie floated across the room, the smoke from the freshly lit cigar leaving a trail in the air. With her free hand, she opened a file drawer, pulled out a folder, and handed it to Ida. “This is a sample prospectus. Mr. Wagner will conduct the interview with his client while you record the information and fill in the blanks.”
Ida hadn’t seen Colin since Sunday and still didn’t know what to think of his attentiveness. Now she was going to his office?
A scowl turned down the corner of Mollie’s mouth. “Has Mr. Wagner been pestering you about the integrity of our clients?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, if he does, you let me know. I’ll make a wall mount of him.”
Ida stifled a giggle.
“Don’t think I won’t do it.”
Ida didn’t doubt that Mollie could. And would.
“In the meantime, he asked that you be at his office at fifteen minutes past ten o’clock this morning. He’ll have the forms you need.”
Ida looked at the clock hanging above the door: five minutes before ten. She jumped up from her chair.
“It’s not even a five-minute walk.” Mollie puffed cigar smoke.
“I like to be early.” Ida flushed, remembering how she’d arrived early for her interview.
“You get to hear all kinds of scandal that way.” Mollie winked. “Leastwise where me and Mr. Wagner are concerned.”
Ida pulled her reticule out of the bottom desk drawer. “Thank you for everything. And, again, congratulations on the profit.” On her way out the door, she retrieved her wool mantle from the coat tree.
Ida felt like skipping up Bennett Avenue. Instead she concentrated on taking slow, dignified steps befitting a successful businesswoman. Holding her head high, she strolled past a barbershop, a meat market, a dry goods store, a tobacconist’s shop, and the creamery.
Her life here in Cripple Creek was better than she could’ve hoped for. Mollie O’Bryan was the perfect employer—successful and full of surprises. In only one week, Ida had already learned more from Mollie than she’d learned after nearly a year working for Alan Merton. She’d been blessed with a great job, a comfortable place to live, and friends and family nearby. And this was just the beginning of the good life.
If Colin Wagner was pleased with her work this morning and she continued to provide valuable information to Mollie, it wouldn’t be long before she had money for brocade dresses and silk palatines of her own. And a fancy house like the one her brother-in-law was building on Carr Avenue. Vivian and the widows and orphans would benefit from her prosperity as well.
Perhaps God was on her side after all.
Ida crossed the street and stopped in front of the sandstone building that stood on the corner. She’d no sooner reached for the door when a white-haired attendant with a thin smile opened it for her.
“May I help you, ma’am?” Smoothing the wings on his mustache, he stepped behind a wooden lectern.
“I am Miss Sinclair. I have an appointment with Mr. Colin Wagner.”
The man adjusted the wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose and glanced down at a ledger. “Your name is here. You’ll find Mr. Wagner’s office on the second floor.” He pointed a crooked finger toward a staircase. “
Up those steps, first door on the left.
“Thank you, sir.”
Ida climbed the mahogany stairs and paused outside the first door on the left to tug on the skirt of her purple floral dress. Satisfied she was ready, Ida opened the door and entered a modestly appointed office with a maple settee and table. Various oil paintings—all containing images of ships or harbors—decorated the walls. A woman with graying brown hair rose from her chair behind a matching maple desk.
Ida could only stare at the closed door behind the woman. Colin’s private office. Moisture beaded on her palms and she wished she’d worn gloves.
This was all Bradley Ditmer’s doing. She’d never been nervous around men before his stunt. She drew in a deep breath. She’d just have to get over it. Not all men were like that. And if Colin Wagner did prove to be cut from the same cloth as the professor, he wouldn’t catch her off guard.
When the secretary cleared her throat, Ida met her gaze. “Did you hear me, miss?”
She hadn’t. “I’m Miss Ida Sinclair, here to see—”
“Mr. Wagner is expecting you, Miss Sinclair. Please have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” The woman pinched her cheeks before knocking on the door behind her.
Ida smoothed her moist palms over the front of her dress before seating herself on the settee. She watched Colin Wagner follow his secretary out of his office and walk toward her, wearing another fine suit and a welcoming smile. She stood.
“Miss Sinclair, I appreciate you agreeing to work with me this morning. Here, let me hang up your wrap for you.” Ida handed her mantle to him and he placed it on a coat tree.
“Mr. Wagner.” Ida glanced at the folder in her hand. “Miss O’Bryan said you needed me to take dictation for a prospectus.”
“Yes, thank you.” He motioned toward his office. “Miss Vanderhorn has her hands full with routine tasks. I often use Mollie’s services for some of the more time-consuming jobs.”
Ida stepped into Colin’s office. A model ship filled most of one corner of a claw-foot desk and she admired it, remembering the Atlantic Ocean.
“As a boy, I dreamed of sailing the high seas in search of treasure.” Colin glanced toward the four-paned window on the back wall. “And though my feet are still firmly planted on the land, I never got the notion out of my system.”
“Having lived in Maine all my life, I also feel at home with ships and waves.” Ida thought the small talk should calm her nerves, but the mention of waves only made her queasiness more pronounced. She pressed her reticule against her stomach, hoping the pressure would settle her insides some.
“But you’re adjusting to life in the West?” Leaving the door open, he took long strides to an oak office chair.
“I am. I actually prefer the full plate of opportunity Cripple Creek offers.”
“That it does.” He tapped the back of an oak office chair. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” Once she was seated, he sank into a leather chair behind his desk. “I trust your work with Mollie is going well.”
“Quite well. Thank you.”
“We have a few moments before my client arrives.” Colin leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. “Would you mind if I asked you a question—one of a more personal nature?”
Ida felt her mouth go dry. Did he plan to interview her since she’d be working with him? She moistened her lips and nodded.
“Mollie and Charles Miller have invited me and a guest to attend a piano concert at the Butte Opera House on Saturday, the twenty-forth of this month.”
Ida shifted in the chair. She did want to enjoy some of the culture her new city had to offer, but.
“We’re all essentially working together, so I thought you might like to join us.”
With the others joining them, the invitation didn’t sound anything like courtship, but more of a business outing instead.
Before she could answer, the sound of voices in the front office drew her attention to the doorway, where Miss Vanderhorn stood.
“Mr. Wagner, your ten-thirty appointment is here.”
“Thank you.” Colin stood, looking at Ida. “We can discuss my invitation after the business at hand.”
Ida nodded, preferring a retraction to a discussion. She’d come to town to work, not to socialize with men. Although it probably wouldn’t hurt her standing in the business community to be seen with the successful likes of Mr. Wagner, Mollie, and Mr. Miller.
Colin’s secretary stepped aside, and Tucker Raines sauntered in wearing slightly worn dungarees and a soft chambray shirt the color of blueberry cobbler.
Perfect. She would take dictation for the man she was trying to avoid in the presence of the man who awaited her acceptance for a social engagement. Ida felt her face flush and raised her chin a notch in greeting. “Mr. Raines.”
“Miss Sinclair.” He glanced at the flat-topped hat in his hand, then up at Colin. “Am I interrupting something?”
Colin motioned for the ice man to have a seat in the chair beside her. “Miss Sinclair is here to take notes. She will fill out the paperwork for your prospectus.”
“I work for Miss Mollie O’Bryan’s stenography firm. Mr. Wagner is one of our many clients.”
Colin cleared his throat as if he were aware of her distraction. “Shall we get started?”
Nodding, Ida retrieved a small notepad and a sharpened pencil from her reticule.
“Yes, thank you.” Tucker pulled a thin stack of loose papers out of a ledger and handed it to Colin. “I need to expand my father’s ice delivery business. I want to build an icehouse, purchase two or three more delivery wagons, and add the sale of iceboxes.”
Colin studied the papers. “Very ambitious. And smart. Good timing too.” As he read the notes, he asked Tucker specific questions, and Ida used shorthand to record the answers. She’d transfer her notations to the proper forms this afternoon.
Tucker straightened. “Mr. Wagner, I have certain obligations that must be squared up immediately. Do you think it will take long to raise capital?”
Ida assumed his father’s care was chief among those obligations. Treatment in a sanitorium had to be costly. He’d listed “traveling preacher” as his most recent work, which explained the black, wide-brimmed hat lying on his lap. Her admiration for him grew as she considered all he was doing for his family. He’d given up his chosen work to run his father’s business and pay his family’s debts.
Colin leaned back in his overstuffed chair. “The capital you raise through the sale of stock is to be used solely as investment in your business, per the plan we are about to set forth in your prospectus. Any nonbusiness debts are your responsibility and would be payable from your profits.”
A frown creased Tucker’s tanned brow and his shoulders sagged. “But how do I keep from succumbing to my debts in the meantime?”
Ida felt her own shoulders sag. He had turned his life upside down to help his family, and she wanted to help him.
Colin leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Tucker. “What a person does is directed by his own conscience. But what you say about how you spend other peoples’ money is very important to the continuation of that income.”
Tucker released a long breath, appearing to digest the attorney’s ambiguous comments. “I understand.” He closed his ledger, and Ida saw the conflict muddy his brown eyes as he stood. “If you don’t need anything else from me, I must—”
Colin nodded. “We’re finished here for now.”
She hated that he had to leave on such a sad note, but she stood anyway and collected all of the necessary paperwork from the desk. “I’ll type this up this afternoon and return it here.”
“I’ll pick up the prospectus when I’ve finished my deliveries.” Tucker extended his hand to Colin, and they shook.
“If you’ll stop at Miss Vanderhorn’s desk on your way out, she will phone Charles Miller, a broker I trust, to set up an appointment for you.”
“I’ll do that.” Tucker turned
to Ida. “Good day, Miss Sinclair. Thank you for your fine work.” He looked at Colin, then again at Ida. With a gentle shake of his head, he walked out into the main office.
Ida finished collecting her things and tried to do the same with her thoughts. Hatpins. Shortbread cookies at Miss Hattie’s. Muddy wagon rides. Dictation. She and Tucker Raines continued to meet in the most unusual of circumstances. And she had to put an end to the distraction he caused her.
“Miss Sinclair?” Colin said, taking her mantle from the hook and holding it open for her.
Ida quickly slid beneath her wrap and stepped away from him. “My answer is yes. I will gladly join you and the others on the twenty-fourth of October.”
She’d add the concert to her social calendar, but her involvement with Mr. Wagner was strictly business.
SEVENTEEN
at stuffed the pencil into the top of her chignon and stared at the first paragraphs of her new article.
Gibberish.
The one-room cabin seemed especially small today. She felt better but still lacked inspiration. Perhaps some fresh air would help.
She hadn’t seen Ida since the picnic on Sunday, and it was now Friday. If she timed it right, maybe she could take her sister to lunch during her break.
Kat retrieved the pencil from her hair and returned her writing box to the bookshelf. She closed the flap window and latched it shut, then grabbed her reticule and cape on her way out the door.
Starting down the hill, Kat drew in slow, deep breaths of the crisp autumn air. The rocky peaks surrounding the town all wore winter white caps thanks to last night’s storm. She stepped around the puddles left from the heavy rains in their valley.
As Kat neared Mollie O’Bryan’s office, she reflected on the Sunday afternoon gathering at Nell’s house. Judson’s turbulent questioning and Ida’s equally tempestuous responses had caused a layer of tension to settle over the gathering like heavy clouds over the Rockies. Judson and Ida had been cordial the rest of the afternoon, but Ida worried her jaw when she was upset, and she’d spent the remainder of the day doing just that.
Mona Hodgson Page 11
