Catharine swallowed hard. “No. I know I should have . . . but I’ve been worried about what he’d think of me.” Now she sounded like the one needing guidance.
“My sweet, sweet Catharine. Peter will understand and love you just the same. You should tell him.”
Catharine bent to give her sister a peck on the cheek. “Don’t look so glum. I’m just protecting you from yourself. But you’re right, once you’re eighteen, you’re really an adult. So make adult decisions, please.”
Greta walked her to the door. “I understand, Cath. I’ll send a letter to Bryan at Fort Russell. I don’t know when he’s off duty again.” She paused at the doorway. “But, Cath, you should know . . . I think I love him.” Her eyes sparkled, and the way her tear-stained face softened when she said his name, Catharine knew she did.
Clara stared at her reflection in the mirror, smiling. There was more color in her face now, and she noticed her eyes appeared brighter, reflecting her renewed interest in living for the first time in years. She felt excited about what each day would bring since getting to know Mac. He’d taken her to dinner, for long walks in the park, and for drives in the country, and he’d promised to accompany her to church soon. I wonder what he’s doing at this moment. Is he thinking of me too? Her heart fluttered. She hoped so. She’d almost forgotten the original purpose that had brought them together. They always had something to talk or laugh about, and she hung on to every word he said. The way he told a story or described a situation made her laugh.
On their drive in the country, he’d parked the buggy under a huge cottonwood tree, then pressed warm kisses to her waiting mouth and along her neck until she drew up short and cautioned herself. He was romantic, yes. But there had been no declarations of love. Yet. Surely it was just a matter of time before he declared his intentions. He’d brought her flowers and taken her to afternoon tea last week. All promising . . . very promising.
Tomorrow Mac was taking her to see Sarah Bernhardt perform at the Cheyenne Opera House. She wanted to look her very best as he paraded her amid the other “important” socialites of Cheyenne. He must do very well as an investigator. Several times he’d traveled out of town, saying how much he’d missed her when he’d returned. He’d only asked her once for an advance to continue the investigation, and when before she was reluctant, now she was eager to give him what he needed in order to speed up the process.
Clara had seen Peter and Catharine at church and was cordial to both of them, preferring to be civil until she had proof of a prior marriage. Peter seemed even more distant, and though he continued to respect her as his mother, he spent very little time talking to her. It had been a long time since he’d come to visit her. It pained her deeply to think she had such little place in his life now.
She turned her attention to the chifforobe, where she’d hung a royal blue dress of satin with black jets adorning the bodice and the back bustle. It was one of the finest gowns she’d bought in a long time. She fished around in her jewelry box for the jet earrings that were a present from her deceased husband. She sighed as she remembered the Christmas he’d given them to her. It was one of the few things he’d bought her in all the years they were married.
Clara wiped away an unbidden tear and shook her head. Well, that was in the past, and when she’d least expected it, Mac had become a part of her life. While she’d loved her husband and respected him, she’d never felt for him the way she did for Mac. Besides Peter, she now had a purpose for living.
Later that afternoon, Peter stepped from the barn and watched as Catharine lugged a pail of water to her ever-drooping flowers. A sorrier site he’d never seen, but she was determined to keep them watered. He glanced up at the sky for any sign of a cloud, but it was as vast and empty as the desert. Looking back at his wife, he saw the heat was getting the best of her as she stood and fanned herself with her apron, gazing at her sad little flower patch. Her calico work dress was stained with perspiration, and dirt clung to the hemline. Now was the time to ease her burden, just as she’d tried to ease his concerns about the crop. Peter had seen more than a few grasshoppers about, which was normal . . . but he felt a strange foreboding.
He lumbered over and slipped his arms about her waist, then picked her up and spun her around until her hair fell from its pins and they were both dizzy with delight.
“Peter,” she exclaimed, “what’s gotten into you? Put me down.” But her eyes told him a different story.
“Baby,” he whispered in her ear, then leveled a gaze deep into her sparkling green eyes. “You need to rest. You look plumb tuckered out.” He still held her against him, and as usual he felt an intense rush of emotions. A slow smile crossed her face, and she kissed the tip of his nose.
“I’m nearly finished here and feel like resting in the shade of the porch with something cool to drink. What do you say . . . interested?” She flashed him a coy look and ran a finger along his brow.
Peter gave her a lingering kiss and then released her. He loved her lips and their softness as they yielded to his kiss. “We’ve been working too hard around here without a break, and I think we could use a trip to town to see that play at the opera house featuring Sarah Bernhardt.”
“Oh, Peter!” She clapped her hands. “When?” She had the enthusiasm of a young girl, and it did his heart good to see her smile light up her tired face.
“How about tomorrow night? I spoke to Dorothy after church, and she’ll meet us there with the tickets.” He saw her smile fade. Was she jealous of Dorothy? He couldn’t believe it but felt a twinge of flattery that she would be. “I thought it’d be nice to take Greta and Anna too. It can be a birthday celebration for Greta.”
“What a wonderful idea, Peter. You’re so thoughtful. You spoil them, you know.” She took his hand, and he picked up the water bucket as they walked back to the house.
“I hope so, because I’m rather fond of them.” They stepped up to the porch and plopped onto the porch swing. “Ahh, it’s cooler here.”
“Let me get us something to drink.” Catharine started to get up, but he pressed her back into the swing.
“No. You sit, I’ll go. You’ve worked hard enough for one day.” Peter rose and disappeared inside the house.
Catharine refastened her hairpins again, creating a neat bun at the nape, and closed her eyes.
That evening Peter slipped out of the house once Catharine was fast asleep, which lately seemed to be almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Concerns over his wheat crop were nagging him. The last couple of years, the locusts had been a huge problem, and he was seeing evidence of the insects again. He learned from the Department of Agriculture how to plow a strip between his wheat field and the sod land when there was evidence the grasshoppers were hatching. Then he would fill the strips with bait to kill the grasshoppers, thereby saving the crop . . . at least he hoped. He’d already inquired around town to hire some laborers to help him. Come Monday morning, that’s just what he’d be doing. But tomorrow he intended to show Catharine a good time away from the farm.
If the crop was good, he’d hire someone to help in the house. Greta and Anna were not cut out for housekeeping. He gave a little chuckle. Bless their hearts. They tried, but mostly they gave just halfhearted attempts in order to help their sister.
With the weather so dry, Catharine’s little flower patch was a pitiful sight to behold—he could see it clearly with the light from the full moon. Even after they fertilized, the ground needed moisture. And they sure weren’t getting any rain.
Besides the crop, he was worried about the chasm between him and his mother. He’d seen his mother only a handful of times at church and was cordial to her, but he wasted no time getting out of the building, afraid she may have more accusations about his wife. He couldn’t be happier with Catharine than if he’d known her for years, and that was good enough for him.
Before returning to the house, Peter leaned against the fence post, admiring how the silvery moonlight illuminated the prairie
. The wind whispered through the trees, and he felt a peculiar need to offer up a prayer from his heart.
Lord, I stand amazed in Your presence that You love me and care about my every need. I thank You for this land, for I know it belongs to You. I’m happy living here doing what I’m doing. But most of all I want to thank You for my sweet wife. I consider her a gift, because I asked You to send me someone special and You did. She’s worked hard learning to pitch in around the farm just for me. I’m asking You to remove this nagging doubt I have about her. I want to give my entire heart to her. I don’t know how to handle this. If what my mother says turns out to be true, then I need direction. I want to turn it all over to You. Amen.
Feeling a weight lifted, Peter made his way back to the house, eager to snuggle against his sweet woman.
Excitement filled the farmhouse while everyone hurried around with last-minute touches to their toilette before leaving for the opera. Catharine was filled with love for Peter that he would do this for Greta’s birthday. He looked so handsome, stirring her heart in his pinstriped trousers with leather braces. She’d ironed the white shirt he’d paired with a brocade burgundy vest, then helped him tie his black string tie and tuck it into his vest. Finishing off his look, Peter sported a wool felt-top hat with grosgrain ribbon around the band and a black frock coat.
“You look dashing, my love.” Catharine watched him as he admired his reflection in the hallway mirror.
“Thank you, but I’m already feeling quite warm.” Peter removed his coat. “I’ll just wait until we get there, then put the coat on.” He turned around to get a better look at her, and his jaw dropped. “Catharine, my dear, you are simply stunning! I’ll be proud to have you on my arm, and I’m sure the envy of my friends.” He held her hands at arm’s length to admire her outfit, then leaned in to kiss her brow.
“I’m glad you like my gown. It’s not new, but I hoped I’d get the chance to wear it again,” Catharine said, then walked over to the mirror. The off-shoulder, jewel-green taffeta with its daring décolletage complemented her auburn hair. She had dusted her face to tone down the freckles and smiled at her reflection. “Do you think my hair is all right?” It was pulled up into a pompadour with a few curls tickling the nape of her neck and the sides of her face.
Peter reached for her and pulled her against him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe we should just let the girls go and we can stay here.”
Catharine stepped away from his grasp and whacked him playfully on the arm with her fan. “I think not. Nothing you could say could keep me from the play tonight.”
“I bet I can change your mind . . .”
A rustle of silk and the flurry of footsteps descending the staircase thwarted Peter’s teasing. Greta and Anna stepped into view, and Peter said, “My, my, but don’t we all look so elegant and grown-up. Quite a switch from the calicos and brogans. Guess I’ll have to play the knight in shining armor to keep the men away.”
The sisters giggled and Catharine remarked with a smile, “You’re already my knight, Peter.”
“Let’s cut the sweet talk, you two, or we’ll be late,” Greta teased.
Anna gave a quick curtsy. “Do you think I look older now?”
Catharine laughed and winked at Greta over Anna’s head. “Indeed you do. Why, I hardly recognized you with your hair curled!”
Greta was wearing the pretty blue gown that she’d charged to Peter’s account, and Anna wore a mint-green gown with velvet bows on the skirt that lifted the frothy material in peaks all around the hemline.
“You two are beautiful!” Tears sprang to Catharine’s eyes. “I have the loveliest of sisters, don’t you think, Peter?”
“Absolutely!” Peter laughed. “But I think we’ve stood here admiring one another long enough.” He opened the front door, offered his elbow to Catharine, and escorted her to the waiting surrey. Peter had spent the afternoon polishing the surrey used for special occasions, cleaning it until it shone like a new penny. Catharine was impressed at the great lengths he’d gone to in order to make the evening perfect for all of them.
Moments later they were all settled and off on an adventure to Cheyenne, their laughter and chatter spilling out across the yard. Catharine couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen this much excitement on her sisters’ faces. They’ve needed this outing. She felt a twinge of regret that they had had to leave the city life of Amsterdam behind. Not so much for her but for her sisters.
Cheyenne, or Magic City, aptly nicknamed by a newspaper journalist because of its rapid growth, boasted the finest opera house in the West, Peter told her, and Catharine was in total agreement. An air of excitement filled the streets as carriages and people on foot lined up in front of the impressive building. Peter lined his carriage up with the rest of those arriving, then assisted the ladies down, being careful not to catch their gowns in the carriage door or wheels.
Catharine and Peter headed toward the huge double doors with Greta and Anna following. Dorothy was waiting inside, dressed in a deep ruby gown of silk and lace, and looked lovelier than ever.
“So wonderful to see you all again.” Dorothy hurried over, passing a handful of tickets to Peter. “Our seats are up in the balcony. I think we’re going to really enjoy this performance.” Then before Catharine or Peter could answer, she turned to Greta. “I hear birthday greetings are in order for you.”
“Dank U wel. My birthday is next week, but this is a gift from Peter.”
“I appreciate you getting the tickets for us, Dorothy. Look there, I see Francis and Helen Warren.” Peter waved to them from across the room and they smiled back, then continued into the theater to locate their seats.
“Goodness! This place is spectacular!” Anna looked around the hall in amazement.
“Yes, it is. I’m on the Cheyenne Opera Committee,” Dorothy said. “The opera house holds 860 people.”
“That’s a lot of folks,” Greta acknowledged.
Peter took Catharine’s arm with one of his and Dorothy’s with the other. “Follow me, ladies,” he said to Greta and Anna.
Catharine took in the gas lighting throughout the vast foyer, where a fifty-two-light chandelier hung from the ceiling. A gas reflector above illuminated every corner of the auditorium. “So beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” Greta said. “Even the railings have upholstery. I’m impressed.”
“There’s a large banquet hall for refreshments on the second floor too,” Dorothy added.
Catharine was in awe of the rich, carved woodwork that gleamed from the soft glow of gaslights and the three large cathedral windows at the back of the balcony. The hundreds of colored glass panes were impressive. Her gaze traveled up the grand stairway to the balcony. “Is that where our seats are?” she asked Peter.
“Yes, my sweet. We’ll have a grand view from there. Shall we go find our seats?”
“I think we should,” Dorothy said with a nod. “Later, at intermission, we can have refreshments.”
That sounded good to Catharine since she was already hungry. She’d been a little too excited to spend much time in the kitchen for supper, and now she regretted not eating more.
Once they were seated, Greta remarked at the perfect view of the stage. “I like it up here. I can watch everyone below before the shows starts.”
“There are many truly magnificent gowns being worn tonight,” Dorothy whispered. She sat on the other side of Peter and Greta, with Anna occupying the seat on Catharine’s left.
Catharine wasn’t sure how to respond to Dorothy, and she’d felt miffed that Peter would extend his arm to her as well. Maybe he was just being a gentleman. But my, he looked so handsome, and she’d seen the way Dorothy glanced at him from time to time. Was she thinking it could have been her who had wed him?
Catharine felt foolish with this kind of thinking. Dorothy had been nothing but friendly to her. Perhaps all the unkind thoughts had been placed there by Clara’s mother at their wedding. Well, I�
��m going to sit back and enjoy my evening, because I know tomorrow I’ll be the one by Peter’s side. I’ll choose to remember this special outing with my husband.
Peter held her hand and pointed out the arched stage supported by Corinthian-Doric columns, and an elaborate curtain covered with a portrayal of Roman chariot races. She knew he was proud to have brought them to the opera.
Soon the curtains were drawn, and for the next hour or so, Catharine settled back with nothing but rapt attention at Sarah Bernhardt’s acting.
Intermission came quickly, Peter thought. The play was a good distraction from his earlier worries, and from the looks on the ladies’ faces, they felt much the same way. He rose from his seat to suggest refreshments when suddenly he spotted his mother in the crowd below, being assisted down the aisle by an attentive gentleman. His mother had a big smile on her face and was dressed to the nines, and he had to admit she looked wonderful. Could this be . . . please, don’t let it be . . . the private investigator she hired? Hopefully he could avoid a confrontation tonight.
“Shall we go have a glass of lemonade in the banquet hall?” Peter asked, turning back to his party.
“Wonderful suggestion, Peter. I’ll lead the way,” Dorothy said, getting up from her seat.
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more. This is such a treat for us, Peter.” Catharine smiled at him.
Peter thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right at this moment. Well . . . maybe that wonderful night they’d spent in the city. His heart rate increased when he thought about it. He swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise up his neck. “I’m so glad you’re having a good time. That’s why we’re here. Everyone needs some fun to look forward to.”
Anna stood on tiptoe to reach Peter and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you so much!”
Peter was flustered. “Well . . . goodness, you’re welcome.”
Deeply Devoted Page 16
