“Oh dear, yes,” Mrs. Gibson said in a most foreboding manner. “A city without water is a frightening thing.”
Wade didn’t bother to point out that there were other sources of water. Instead, he offered a smile of comfort. “It has been resolved, and water is once again being pumped. I have that on the best authority.”
“What a relief,” Miss Poisie said, both hands covering her heart. “Bless the Lord for His favor.”
“Indeed, Sister,” Mrs. Madison replied.
“Mr. Gibson used to find such things quite fascinating,” Mrs. Gibson said as she began settling back into her seat. “You know he was a man of science—”
“God rest his soul,” Miss Poisie interjected, as she always did when mention was made of the dead.
“Amen,” the other women replied in unison.
It was an act Wade was familiar with and had come to expect. He nodded, as if approving their prayer.
“Of course, he dabbled in things he would have been better to leave alone,” Mrs. Gibson said in her ominous way. “He read those things written by Robert Chambers and”—again she leaned forward as if to share something that her present company had yet to learn—“that Darwin man.”
Miss Poisie gave a shudder.
It was always the same. Wade wasn’t annoyed by the repeat performance at all. To the contrary, the consistent presentation amused him and endeared the older women to him more each time.
“I’m certain that it grieved our God in heaven.” Mrs. Gibson shook her head.
“Amen,” the sisters agreed.
“I hope you will never partake of such things, Mr. Ackerman,” Mrs. Gibson lectured.
“No, ma’am. I have no desire for such things.”
“That’s wise of you. Very wise. Mr. Gibson should have been blessed with such wisdom. He wasn’t at all given to reading such nonsense when we first married. I believe in truth it’s why he suffered apoplexy—bleeding on the brain, don’t you know. It was to my great shame and embarrassment.” She looked very much the martyred soul. “He was unable to speak or move in his final months, and I am certain that was visited upon him for his promiscuous affair with such dark sciences as evolution and astronomy. I endeavored to save him for God, however, until the day he passed on.”
“God rest his soul,” Miss Poisie murmured. She looked as if the sorrow was too great to bear.
“Amen.”
Wade found himself murmuring the word in unison. Their conviction that this was a most troubling situation was sincere, and he would never tell them that he questioned some of their beliefs.
“I read the Bible to him every day of his remaining life,” Mrs. Gibson said with a look that suggested she’d gotten the upper hand in a game of cards. Not that the old ladies would ever allow for such items in the house, much less to partake of their purposes. “I read the Scriptures from cover to cover until the day I found him passed on to glory. To glory—if God would have him; although I’ve never been entirely assured God could forgive such grave misjudgments.”
“Is anything too difficult for God, Mrs. Gibson?” Wade hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud. He certainly had no desire to offend the women.
But rather than be offended, Mrs. Gibson nodded thoughtfully and put her index finger alongside her temple. “That, Mr. Ackerman, is a very good question. I shall endeavor to ponder it for some time to come.”
Wade smiled. “I’m glad to have shared your company, ladies, but I really must get back to my work. I’ll try to come on Saturday to fix those windows for you.” He stood and bowed to each woman.
“We shall look forward to your coming.” Mrs. Madison rose from her seat. The other ladies did likewise. “We pray you have an easy labor today.”
He nodded, remembering the pile of work that waited. “I pray so, too.”
Just then Mrs. Madison turned and sniffed the air. “Do you smell something burning?”
Wade blanched and moved toward the door in a hurry. “Good day, ladies.” He hurried down the hall to where he’d left his hat. He chided himself for being a coward, but he had no desire to try to once again distract Mrs. Madison. For all he knew, Abrianna had just burned down the kitchen.
3
Kolbein Booth looked at the address he’d written down. He seemed to be at the right place, but he couldn’t imagine that a brothel could reside in this stately looking office building. He entered the main doors and found a small lobby. A sign pointed straight ahead to the freight brokerage firm of one Josiah Fulcher. Another sign to his left pointed up the highly polished wooden stairs. Under this was a small placard reading The Madison Bridal School.
These were a brave lot to advertise so freely. Bridal school indeed. He stuffed the slip of paper into his vest pocket and took the stairs two at a time. He reached the second-floor landing to find a single point of entry. The door was closed, but a beveled glass window revealed a tidy entryway and what appeared to be a small sitting room.
He hesitated for a moment, not knowing whether to knock or just barge in. After all, if this establishment was really what he figured it to be, surprise might well be his best weapon. With that in mind, Kolbein turned the handle and opened the door. He heard girlish laughter and wondered if it might be his sister Greta.
“So Mr. Rybus didn’t come for dinner?”
“No. Something important came up at the last minute. I was relieved, but then Father rescheduled the dinner for next week.”
The second one sounded somewhat like Greta, and Kolbein steeled himself to confront her. However, when two young women rounded the corner, he could see that neither was his sister.
The girl with red curls flying in all directions startled, while the young lady with the fashionably coiffed hair and elegant gown offered him a smile. She was beautiful—the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes upon.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Madison Bridal School.”
He turned to the redhead, who fixed him with a stare as she studied his face. “Uh, good morning.” He pulled his hat from his head and reminded himself he wasn’t there for small talk. “No, it’s not a good morning. In fact, it’s probably one of the most unpleasant I’ve had to deal with.”
“Oh my,” the young woman replied. She pushed red curls over her shoulder. “Are you ill? Have you suffered a financial loss? Or perhaps you are as disturbed by the Anti-Chinese League as I am? Goodness, but there are hundreds of problems to lay a person low.”
Kolbein hadn’t expected such a barrage of questions. “I . . . uh . . . I’m a lawyer from Chicago.”
“Oh dear,” the redhead replied again. “I’ve heard nothing good comes out of Chicago. Of course, they said the same of Nazareth, and our Lord clearly lived there, so perhaps my sources of information have been prejudiced by unseemly characters who compromised the experience for them.”
“What? What are you going on about?”
At this the fashionable young woman stepped forward and took his hat. “I’m Miss Fulcher and this is Miss Cunningham. Her aunts are the proprietors of this school. If you have a card we can certainly take it to Mrs. Madison.” She handed the hat to Miss Cunningham, who placed it on a receiving table by the door.
He nodded numbly and reached into his pocket. He took a small gold case from his jacket. “I have one here.” He handed over a calling card.
“‘Mr. Kolbein Booth,’” she read. Looking up, Miss Fulcher smiled, and it very nearly took his breath. “Why don’t you take a seat, and we will deliver this.”
Kolbein wasn’t sure what to say. He had so expected to find debauchery of every sort behind the doors of the school’s façade that seeing such refined young ladies—well, at least one of them was refined—came as a surprise.
He softened in her nearness. “Is this . . . I mean . . .” He fell silent and then tried again. “Is this truly a school set up to train brides?”
Miss Cunningham’s brows knit together. “What else would it be?”
“I heard a man
’s voice.” An older woman dressed in a starched white nautical-looking blouse and navy skirt joined them.
Miss Fulcher turned first and then Miss Cunningham. “Miss Poisie, this is Mr. Kolbein Booth. I believe he is looking for Mrs. Madison.” She looked back over her shoulder and threw him a smile. “Or perhaps you would care to visit with all three ladies, Mr. Booth?”
Kolbein was at a complete loss. All he could do was nod. Every threat, every word he had planned to rail at the management of this establishment, fled his conscious thought at the sight of this petite young lady.
The older woman gave a bob of curtsy and took the calling card in hand. “I am Miss Poisie Holmes, and you may address me as Miss Holmes or Miss Poisie. Come this way, Mr. Booth. We are taking tea. Girls, you will join us, as well. Miriam sent me to find you, and she’s adamant that you come at once.”
Kolbein watched the girls fall into obedient step behind Miss Holmes. They appeared content to follow the older woman’s instruction and seemed well behaved. Kolbein glanced around at the fine furnishings. They weren’t opulent, but neither were they shoddy. The furniture and bric-a-brac had been given the utmost care. He felt almost certain that he could see his reflection in the polished wood floor, but there wasn’t time to study it because the ladies were moving right along.
Miss Holmes stopped without warning before a set of pocket doors. Miss Fulcher and Miss Cunningham all but walked right into her.
“What is the purpose of your business, Mr. Booth? Are you here to find a bride? I only ask because our regular receiving day is Saturday. We have a monthly event with refreshment and entertainment, but that isn’t for another week.”
“I am searching for my sister,” Kolbein replied with renewed determination. “Her name is Greta Booth.”
Miss Holmes nodded and pushed back the pocket doors. “Sister, Selma, we have a visitor.”
They entered a large parlor where two old women sat sipping tea from fine china cups. They looked at him with an expression that suggested he’d just broken protocol in a most unforgivable way. For the first time in years, Kolbein felt rather sheepish.
“Mr. Booth, this is my sister, Mrs. Madison. The school, you might have guessed, is named for her, since the Madison Building was once owned by the dearly departed Mr. Madison. God rest his soul.”
“Amen,” the other women responded softly.
“And this is Mrs. Gibson. She is one of the instructors here, as am I. My sister also teaches.”
Kolbein gave a slight bow. They studied him for a moment and then Mrs. Madison pointed to the chair across from them. “Please sit there.” It looked rather like the position of honor one might give a criminal about to be interrogated. Afraid of further offending, Kolbein sat, while Miss Holmes remained standing to one side.
“Would you care for tea? We have Darjeeling today, and it is quite good.”
“Poisie, do sit down. We will determine if Mr. Booth is to have tea after we learn of the reason for his coming.”
“He’s looking for his sister,” Miss Holmes offered and then took a seat beside Mrs. Gibson.
“Booth, you say?” Mrs. Gibson interjected. “You aren’t at all related to that horrible scoundrel who killed President Lincoln, are you? What a vicious man—a sneak of the worst possible kind. Oh, it was a terrible tragedy. Poor President Lincoln, struck down in the twinkling of an eye.”
“God rest his soul,” Miss Holmes murmured.
“Amen” came the chorus from the other women.
Kolbein found the entire scene rather disconcerting. “As far as I know, our family is not related to John Wilkes Booth. However, whether we were or not, there is still the subject of my sister.”
“I say!” Mrs. Gibson gasped. “It very well matters, for we would never entertain a man or woman related to that cad. You seem quite unconcerned with the company you share.”
“He’s from Chicago,” Miss Cunningham whispered ominously but loud enough that all could hear.
“Well, that explains it.” Mrs. Gibson leaned toward Mrs. Madison. “I believe we should put him out.”
“Now then, Selma, we must have charity. Perhaps the man could not help his place of residence.”
“That’s true.” Miss Holmes nodded. “Perhaps he was stranded there by circumstances and unable to leave. Such a tragic thing. Much like my dear Captain Richards when his ship broke up at sea. God rest his soul.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Madison said in a curt manner. “Now, Sister, this man has no time to learn of your lost captain.” She turned back to Kolbein. “Mr. Booth, no matter your reason for residing in Chicago, please tell me why you feel your sister has come to be with us.”
“She left me a letter before running away. Your school was mentioned as her destination.”
“I see. What is your sister’s name?”
“Greta. Greta Booth. She’s but a child, only nineteen.”
Mrs. Madison looked at him in the same fashion his sixth-grade schoolmistress had when he’d forgotten his homework and made up a story about its absence. “Now, Mr. Booth, that is a bit of an exaggeration. Nineteen is hardly the age of a child. Your sister is a young woman of marriageable age.”
“But she’s too young to run away and make do for herself. And despite what you think, she’s also too immature to marry. Her departure from the safety of her home proves that.”
“I assure you, Mr. Booth, the laws here allow for a woman as young as eighteen to marry,” Mrs. Madison declared. “Therefore, I would venture to say that the territory of Washington thinks her not a child at all.”
“I don’t care about that or what the territory believes. My sister is young and naïve. She’s not been out in the world to know what dangers abide. She grew up sheltered in boarding schools of the highest repute. Now, may I see her?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Madison declared. “She isn’t here. I have never met your sister.”
Kolbein had prepared himself for the worst, that his sister might have been duped to go west and found herself forced into prostitution. He had prepared himself to find her wounded and beaten for refusing such a position. However, he had never considered that she might not have gone where she claimed to be going.
“I have made inquiries and followed her from Chicago to San Francisco and finally to Seattle. Witnesses along the way declare her to have taken the train west and then came north by ship.”
“She may very well have arrived in our fair city, but she did not come here to participate in our school. Of that you are clearly misinformed.”
Sitting back hard, Kolbein could only shake his head. “Then where could she be?” The fear he’d shoved down for many weeks now reared its ugly head. What might have become of her? What if he never saw her again?
“I believe now would be a good time for the Darjeeling, Poisie,” Mrs. Madison said. “I do apologize, Mr. Kolbein. The tea is from the autumnal flush, which ended in December. However, as you know, Darjeeling tea is not picked from December to March, so we await the spring flush most eagerly.”
“We hope to be some of the first to receive it,” Miss Holmes added, her head bobbing up and down.
Her sister quickly took over. “It is some of the very finest tea. Personally, the spring flush is my preference.”
Kolbein couldn’t believe that the women were droning on about tea. His sister was lost somewhere in the city, and they were talking about whether the tea was fresh. Unable to gain further insight, Kolbein knew he had no reason to remain. He stood with abrupt agility.
“If you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I need to find my sister.”
“We could certainly ask our friends,” Miss Holmes declared, looking to her sister and friend for approval.
“That is a good idea, Poisie.” Mrs. Madison gave Kolbein another stern look. “Why don’t you return here in say a week? We will ask amongst our friends at church. If anyone has heard of your sister, we will make certain they are here to meet you.”
This wa
s a turn Kolbein hadn’t expected. The old ladies were looking at him with expressions of deep concern. Perhaps he had misjudged them. “I could return next week. Is there a day that would be convenient?”
“Actually, Mr. Booth, if you would desire to come on Saturday, we have a reception where young gentlemen may come to meet our young ladies. There is usually a fee; however, we wouldn’t expect that of you. You may take your choice of days. I only offer the Saturday reception as an option.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to participate in the reception. If it pleases, I’d just as soon return here next Monday.”
“Very well. Abrianna, why don’t you show Mr. Booth out.” She paused and frowned. “Surely you had a hat.”
Kolbein could hear the concern in her voice. “I do. Miss Cunningham took it at the door.”
“Ah, very good. Abrianna, don’t forget to return his hat.”
“Yes, Auntie.” The redhead got to her feet and motioned him to follow.
Kolbein glanced at Miss Fulcher. He lost himself in her smile. “Miss Fulcher, thank you for your kindness. And, ladies, thank you for your concern.” He followed Miss Cunningham from the room.
“I do hope you find your sister,” she began. “The city isn’t nearly as dangerous as one might think. Not if you know where to go. Of course, your sister won’t know where to go, so I suppose that is a concern.” She glanced over her shoulder at him as they retraced their steps to the front door.
Kolbein didn’t know what to say. Miss Cunningham had a way about her that suggested she was unconcerned with social etiquette. He found her openness rather refreshing, but her manner of chattering on and on was exhausting.
She extended him his hat and smiled. “I do hope you find your sister.”
“Yes, you said that.”
Miss Cunningham nodded. “So I did. Well then, perhaps I shall merely say farewell . . . until next we meet again.”
4
Priam Welby was a man used to making things happen—especially when they involved something that he wanted. He smiled at Miriam Madison, but inside he was seething. He’d just offered the old crone an outrageous sum of money to buy the Madison Building, but she had refused.
Steadfast Heart Page 3
