Few folks approved of a woman being as involved in business affairs as Mollie O’Bryan was. Most didn’t take well to a woman making as much money as a man did. But Kat knew her older sister. Ida would jump in and fulfill her ambitions with gusto, no matter the obstacles, despite any objections.
Kat crossed Bennett Avenue, dodging a mule train bent on cutting the corner.
Mollie O’Bryan’s Stenography Firm stood in the block between First and Second Streets. The narrow brick building had a cast-iron storefront and lace curtains in the windows on either side of the door. Kat stepped inside, expecting to see Ida sitting behind her desk.
Instead, Miss O’Bryan sat in Ida’s chair, holding a telephone earpiece in one hand and the microphone with the other. Wearing a cream-colored shirtwaist with brown ribbons woven into a lacy bodice, the businesswoman looked more primed for a soiree than for answering telephones and greeting people walking in off the street.
Ida’s employer acknowledged Kat with a glance and pointed at three burgundy armchairs near the door.
Kat seated herself and studied the offering of magazines on the table beside her. The Century Magazine, Munsey’s Magazine, and Harper’s Bazar. Kat unbuttoned her cape and picked up the October edition of Munsey’s Magazine, resisting the temptation to admire her pen name in Harper’s Bazar.
“That’s what he dictated to Ida,” Miss O’Bryan said into the telephone. “They found a new vein, Charles.”
Kat tried to focus on the magazine, but she couldn’t avoid overhearing Miss O’Bryan’s side of the conversation. Mollie O’Bryan whispered louder than most people spoke on a moving train.
“Yes, well, you can bet I’m buying plenty before word spreads.”
Before word spreads. Was Mollie O’Bryan making her money off early information? That had to be what Judson meant. Kat felt her face flush. Was the woman using Ida to gather this information?
“Don’t be so chary. Of course she’s reliable. Ida stands to profit too.” Miss O’Bryan regarded Kat, who tried to look engrossed in the magazine. “Gotta run. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the listening piece and looked at Kat. “How may I help you?”
Kat stood. Smoothing her skirt, she walked toward the desk. “I’m Kat Cutshaw.”
“Ida’s sister.” Mollie glanced at the side table as if she’d seen Kat’s article in Harper’s, or that Ida had pointed it out to her. “The magazine writer.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Miss O’Bryan wore her hair parted low on the left side and pulled back in waves. “I haven’t had time to read the article you wrote, but it looked interesting enough.”
Unsure how to answer such a statement, Kat smiled and looked up at the clock above the door. “I’d hoped to find Ida here before she left for lunch.”
“She’s taking dictation over at Colin Wagner’s office. She’ll be done by noon.”
That was ten minutes from now.
“Tell her I said she could have an hour for lunch today,” Miss O’Bryan added.
“I will. Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, Kat sat across from Ida at a corner table in the Third Street Café.
“I’m glad you thought of this.” Ida unfolded the napkin in front of her and slid it onto her lap.
“I am too. I knew I’d see you on Sunday, but I didn’t want to wait that long.”
Ida tugged at the cuffs on her dark blue jacket. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, mostly. Midday seems my best time.” Kat removed her napkin from the table.
Ida looked out the window. “Do you think we’ll have more rain today?”
The last time Kat could remember having such a polite conversation with Ida was on their carriage ride to the train depot in Portland. She and Nell were leaving for Cripple Creek, and Ida discussed anything and everything except the good-byes that loomed before them. Kat lifted her water glass. “Are you afraid I’m going to talk about Colin Wagner or Tucker Raines? Or are you more concerned that I’ll bring up Judson’s questions?”
“Yes.” A dare mingled with a warning in Ida’s steely blue eyes.
Kat looked away and sipped her water, as much for fortification as to quench her thirst. She met her sister’s gaze. “Lest I be called unpredictable, I say we talk about men. My man, actually. Morgan is giving a piano concert at the Butte Opera House later this month.”
Ida sighed. “Saturday, the twenty-fourth of October?”
“You already know about it?”
“I didn’t know he was the featured pianist, but, yes, I know about the concert. I plan to attend with a group of colleagues.”
“Colin Wagner?”
“Along with Mollie and Mr. Miller.”
“Then we’ll see you there. Hattie, Nell, and Judson are going too.”
Ida peered at her over the top of her teacup. “You agree with him, don’t you?”
Kat straightened the fork in her place setting. “Some people don’t agree with the way Mollie obtains information.” She paused. “When I arrived at your office, I overheard Mollie talking on the telephone to a man she called Charles. It sounded like she was buying stock based upon what you’d learned from a client.”
“Very likely.” Ida raised her napkin and dabbed her mouth. “We have a job to do, and we do it. We listen and learn. There’s nothing wrong with acting upon what you know. That’s what you’re doing right now. You overheard Mollie’s conversation and you’re passing on the information.”
Kat leaned forward and spoke just above a whisper. “Ida, you and I both know there’s more to your work than that. Not everyone buying and selling stocks has your advantage.”
Ida looked out the window again, worrying her jaw. “Perhaps we should talk about my niece or nephew.”
Kat wanted to protect Ida from making a mistake, from possible heartache, but that wasn’t her role as a younger sister. She sighed and pondered an agreeable change of subject. “Do you have any ideas for baby names?”
“The name Ida will soon be available. It seems my work with Mollie has brought me a new name—Mud.”
When Ida began laughing, Kat’s giggle deepened. If laughter could delay the inevitable storm that surrounded her sister’s involvement with Mollie O’Bryan, Kat was all for it.
EIGHTEEN
ucker made the post office his first stop in town Wednesday morning. He handed his letter to the balding postmaster and accepted an envelope in return.
Not another bill, please.
Tucker’s gaze fixed on the return address. Surely the asylum wouldn’t send a second statement this soon after the first. Willow’s attendant must have sent a report. His pulse quickening, he slid his finger beneath the seal.
In the two years since his father had given up on Willow and decided to have her hospitalized, Tucker’s prayers had changed. They had shifted from confident requests for a swift and complete healing to fragile pleas for even the slightest hint of hope. Breathing that prayer again, Tucker stood at the end of the post office counter and pulled out a single sheet of stationery.
Dear Mr. Raines,
We understand why you had to go, but we do miss your visits. Wednesdays aren’t the same without hearing you sing to your sister and speak to her as if she would reply.
No one missed his visits more than he did. Even though Willow didn’t respond to his presence, he at least felt like he was doing something. Here, away from her completely, he felt helpless.
We all commend you for the faithful chain of letters you’ve sent to Willow.
A chain of letters. That was all he had to offer her. If he’d been a good brother, he would’ve saved her husband.
Tucker drew in a deep breath, praying for the strength to read the words he’d heard week after week: no engaged change.
Mr. Raines, I am pleased to provide you with news of a change in your sister’s condition. A small change to be sure, but a step forward nonetheless.
Yesterday after I read your most recent letter to Willo
w, I witnessed a response from her. Willow smiled, and a few words rang out.
Tears stung Tucker’s eyes, and he blinked to clear his vision so he could continue reading. Willow had smiled. She’d even spoken. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter.
You wrote to her about Colorado. The mountains and the aspens and the people you were meeting. You wrote about taking her to see Colorado when she’s recovered.
Tucker remembered his words well. He’d told her he could see her, sketch pad in hand, not knowing what to draw first.
I’d just finished reading your name in the close of the letter, when Willow pointed her finger at me and said, “The Peak. Tell Tucker.”
Blinking did nothing to stay Tucker’s tears. They rolled down his face and he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.
Mind you, this was a slight and single occurrence, but your sister did react. The doctors view it as a sign she is ready to begin reconnection.
Tucker felt hope lifting the burden from his shoulders and softening the tension in his jaw. Willow was beginning to respond. “The Peak. Tell Tucker.” He finally had something to add to the last words he’d heard her say.
“Thank You, Lord,” he whispered.
“Mr. Raines?” The familiar voice sent warmth up his spine. Tucker turned to look into the face of a woman he’d last seen in Colin Wagner’s office, a clear object of interest for the attorney. Her brow wrinkled and her jaw shifted left, then right. She wasn’t pleased to see him, and he didn’t blame her. She’d heard him reveal the mess he was in with his father’s business and then practically beg Mr. Wagner for money.
“Miss Sinclair. Hello.”
“You received the completed prospectus from Mr. Wagner?”
“Yes. Thank you again for your help. Mr. Miller has it. Now I wait for investors.”
“I’m sure plenty of people will snatch up the ice company’s stock, especially given Cripple Creek’s considerable growth.”
“I hope you’re correct.”
She smoothed the collar on her purple floral dress. “I seem quite adept at arriving just in time for your discussions with the Lord.”
“That, you do.” He felt his face flush, remembering the last time Ida had walked up on one of his prayers. He’d extended a sudden invitation to join him for coffee, which she’d just as quickly refused. No wonder, given her interest in Mr. Wagner.
“Do you make a habit of vocal and public conversations with Him?”
“Not always.”
“Not that I mind.” She glanced at the letter he held. “You’ve received good news in the mail?”
“Yes, very good news.”
She loosed the top button on the wool mantle that draped her narrow shoulders and looked at him, waiting.
“My sister is showing some slight improvement.” Tucker folded the letter and slid it into the envelope.
“I didn’t realize you had siblings.”
“Just one older sister.”
“And she’s been ill?”
He nodded, wondering how much to tell her. He felt comfortable talking to Miss Ida Sinclair, but he’d already shared too many personal details, especially as she seemed interested in another man.
“Where does she live?” Ida asked.
“I had to leave her in California. Her name is Willow. Willow Grace.”
“What a beautiful name.” Ida pulled two envelopes out of her bag. “You’ve met Kat and Nell, but I have a third sister. Vivian is still in Portland, Maine with my aunt, finishing her schooling. My father lives in Paris.” She waved the envelopes she held. “Writing letters to them just isn’t the same as being with them.”
Tucker felt his shoulders tense. “I should return to Stockton.”
Ida’s brow furrowed. “Rushing to her would be my first instinct as well.”
“First instinct.” It was his first instinct. But what was there to think about? Returning to Willow made perfect sense. She was starting to reconnect. She’d finally answered back. He couldn’t stay here. Not when she needed him.
“I could make a difference there. Here, I’m just cooling my heels. I’ve done all I can.” He’d failed at the bank, met with the attorney and then a broker. None seemed too encouraging, and without the proper funds, his hands were tied.
“I understand wanting to be with your sister.” Ida held his gaze. “But it sounds as if she’s getting better without you there.”
She was right. Perhaps his presence had been a hindrance rather than a help. Tucker slid the envelope into his coat pocket.
Ida looked down, color flushing her cheeks. “Oh my, that didn’t come out right. My sisters always tell me I need to spend more time thinking before I speak.” She fanned herself. “I meant to say that what you’re doing here is of great significance to your parents.”
“I’m delivering ice all week and eating shortbread cookies on Mondays at Miss Hattie’s. That’s about it.”
“Taking over your father’s business so he can receive the care he needs and have your mother with him is a noble task in and of itself.”
He wouldn’t call it noble, but the fact was his father hadn’t acknowledged him as a son for two years, and for months he’d been to the asylum every week and Willow hadn’t shown any improvement. And now that he was gone, she had.
His mouth went dry and his gut knotted. “You think not having me around is better for her?” The words came out in jerks and shudders, like wagon wheels trying to maneuver a rutted road.
“I didn’t say that.” Ida’s blue eyes narrowed. “But my father says missing someone you love can be like a burr in your union suit—a real motivator.”
Tucker chuckled. “Hadn’t thought of absence in quite that way.”
An endearing, nervous giggle escaped her perfectly formed lips as she apparently realized the intimate nature of her statement. “I best tend to my business here and let you go. I’m glad your sister … Willow is feeling better.”
“Thank you.”
“I was also glad to hear that things are more amiable between you and God.” Smiling, Ida stepped toward the center of the counter, where the postmaster sorted envelopes into various bins.
Tucker waved his hat in an awkward good-bye. Had she perceived his desire to try again for a cup of coffee with her?
Just as well she’d dismissed him. The attorney was clearly a better match for her intellect and ambition. And Tucker wasn’t looking for a social relationship.
Not the romantic kind anyway. His life was complicated enough.
NINETEEN
da stared at the dollar bills in her hands. She’d completed her first two weeks working for Mollie O’Bryan. When Ida took the job, her employer said Ida would earn a dollar a day. That seemed fair enough. She was, after all, new to the business. But the amount she held in her hand added to up to significantly more than a dollar per day.
Looking up from her desk, Ida watched Mollie pull her palatine off the coat tree. “Thank you. You were very generous.”
“You, Miss Ida Sinclair, are a peculiar mix of lofty ambition, dogged determination, and uncommon gratitude.”
The young business owner could’ve been describing herself as far as Ida was concerned.
She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out her reticule. Her strong work ethic had obviously paid off. She held enough money in her hand to pay Hattie for the first month’s rent and incidentals and still have a sufficient amount to invest in some stock.
Mollie pointed a manicured finger at her. “Your hard work earned you a percentage of the profits because of your thorough notations.”
Ida knew better than to question good fortune, but she’d simply done as she’d been asked—to listen and share what she’d learned. The same thing she’d always done as Kat, Nell, and Vivian’s big sister—paid attention and acted in the best interests of those she cared about. If that bothered Judson and Kat, then so be it. Worrying about what others thought was their problem, not hers.
&n
bsp; So why did she suddenly wonder what the ice man who cared deeply for his ailing sister thought about her business involvements?
“We girls have to stick together. The others who’ve worked for me didn’t seem to understand that, but you do. I like to reward people who are loyal.” Mollie lifted Ida’s mantle off a hook and held it out to her. “Shall we? The stock exchange awaits us.”
“Today?”
Mollie nodded.
Feeling as if she were floating on air, Ida settled her cape over her shoulders. It wasn’t a silk palatine, but as she stepped out the door and onto the boardwalk, her wrap did feel a bit like a royal robe and she a princess.
As she walked up Bennett Avenue with Mollie at her side, she couldn’t stop smiling. She felt more like a colleague and friend to the wealthy young woman than merely a loyal employee. She didn’t know many other women, if any, who would encourage other women, let alone share their secrets to success with them, rather than treating them like competition. Mollie O’Bryan was a rare breed among businesswomen. And misjudged by many.
Halfway to the imposing brick building that housed the stock exchange, a man walking toward them bent his considerable girth to talk in hushed tones to the petite woman beside him. The woman met Ida’s gaze and huffed. Her nose in the air, she moved farther away from Ida than was necessary as they passed.
Ida glanced over her shoulder. “What was that about?”
Mollie cupped Ida’s elbow, pressing her forward. “Being a schoolteacher, a writer, a nurse, even a cook running her own eatery is perfectly acceptable for a woman here.” Squaring her shoulders, Mollie stopped in front of the Cripple Creek Mining Stock Exchange. “In the world of mines and investments, not only is a smart and prosperous woman intolerable, she’s seen as a heathen by many. A threat to their manhood by others. Charles Miller and Colin Wagner being exceptions to that rule.”
The minute Ida stepped inside the red brick building, she imagined she knew what a jolt of electricity might feel like. The room buzzed with an energy unlike any she’d ever experienced. Men in suits with pipes hanging from their mouths clustered in front of Charles Miller, Mollie’s business partner and friend. White chalk notes and symbols completely covered the blackboard. Every mining company she’d heard of and some other town businesses were listed, including the Raines Ice Company. Mr. Miller called out the bidding at an auctioneer’s pace. A tall man who looked like he’d blow away in a windstorm scratched numbers on the board and erased them just as quickly to make room for new bids. Tobacco smoke and chalk dust hung in the air, along with unbridled anticipation.
Mona Hodgson Page 12
