Lariats, Letters, and Lace

by Agnes Alexander

  Linda’s voice trailed off, and she carefully closed the magazine and pushed it away. “Modest savings? How much is modest?” She raised a dark, piercing gaze that pinned Irene to her chair.

  Jutting her chin and with as much dignity as she could put behind the words, Irene answered, “Three hundred after everything was sold and debts reconciled. I have another hundred or so salted away.”

  “Four hundred dollars will go quickly. Travel is costly. Establishing a new residence is expensive—”

  “It will have to do. If I learned nothing in all my years, I learned the value of frugality and how to make-do with the work of my own hands. I’ll get by.”

  “When did you decide to do this?”

  “The day after his funeral.”

  “There are plenty of men who advertise for wives. Why didn’t you choose one of them?”

  “That was my original intent, but I haven’t found even one man that I was interested in.”

  “In how many issues have you advertised your availability?”

  “For now, just the October issue, which goes out with the mail—”

  “To who knows where to be read by who knows what sort of desperate man with unknown and devious intentions.” Linda threw up her hands.

  “—tomorrow.” Irene bit her tongue, knowing it was far better to allow Linda her episode of ranting disapproval than to waste words and effort reasoning with her. Linda protected her perfectly ordered life with the tenacity of a Bantam hen protecting her brood, but Irene knew given adequate thinking time, Linda would turn this all around and somehow it would become her grand idea.

  Linda’s lips dissolved into a tight, bloodless line that matched the frown furrowed across her brow.

  As a token of peace, Irene offered, “Let’s have tea and spend the rest of the afternoon poking fun at the desperate people in this issue, including me.”

  Linda almost smiled, but forced it back with a harsh exhale through her nose.

  Irene played her key enticement. “When letters come in, you can advise and help me choose.”

  Linda wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue, and cut a narrow-eyed glance at Irene. “Well, only if you promise you’ll save back enough money for return fare or accept monetary assistance from us, if need be—even though you have never taken a penny we’ve ever offered. We will never close our door to you.” Her stiff, scowling displeasure melted away under a sigh of resignation.

  Not that she’d have changed her mind to appease her sister’s sense of propriety, but it meant a great deal to Irene that Linda had conceded this much.

  “I promise. Now, let’s make tea and eat an entire plate of sweet cakes while we guffaw our way through this magazine.”

  ****

  1892

  January 1st — Platte River City

  Irene stood beside her belongings with her head bent into the stiff breeze to keep her hat from becoming airborne. Gathering her woolen cloak closer against her body to fend off the frigid bite in the icy air, she squinted into the snowy haze. The absence of people struck her as odd. Platte River City was a good-sized town, and she was the only passenger to leave the train and no one boarded.

  A baggage handler, dressed in the uniform of the railroad, parked a luggage cart beside her steamer trunks and traveling cases. “Ma’am. I’m Eloy Betz. It doesn’t look like anyone’s meeting you. May I offer assistance?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Betz. I hope to take a room at the hotel. I suppose I should have wired ahead, but I was unsure of my arrival date. This is my first time traveling such a long distance.”

  “Well, if the hotel is full, the Mederi family has a boarding house just outside of town. Most days, they have someone meet the train, but I offered to make any runs out there today. Let’s start with the hotel, though. It’s closer. I’ve got a team and wagon right up the way. You’ll want to get settled before the storm hits.” The young man made quick and easy work of loading her steamer trunks and smaller pieces of luggage onto the baggage cart. “Just come with me, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  The train whistle sang its departure tune, and the couplings between the cars clanged and scraped as the wheels turned in their journey to the next town.

  “Oh, no! My sewing machine. My furniture. I forgot— It’s still on the train.” Irene took a few hasty, useless steps along the platform. Turning, she looked at Eloy, her shoulders slumped in despair. “I travel so infrequently. I simply didn’t think about it.”

  Eloy looked from her to the departing train and back. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now, but I can have a wire sent to hold it in Denver or have it shipped wherever you want. I don’t know how long shipping to a new address might take, though, and there might be a fee involved.”

  Irene watched the train until it was but a phantom shadow swallowed up by a gray, vaporous curtain of thickening snowfall. While she harbored some sentimental attachment to her furniture, the prospect of losing her sewing machine and not having the money to replace it was the source of the sick feeling in her stomach. She’d hate to return to total hand sewing after enjoying the convenience of a machine. She was grateful she’d kept her box of patterns and sewing basket with her instead of packing it with her furniture.

  “I’d very much appreciate if you would send a message to have it held at the depot. I’ll claim it myself. I’d hate to have it lost somewhere along the way.”

  “I’ll do that, ma’am.” He took out a pad of paper and stub of pencil from his pocket and jotted notes. “Your name, city of origin, and original destination?”

  She hesitated, and the man peered over the top of his spectacles, his eyebrows raised in expectation of a response.

  “Ma’am?”

  Once she checked into the hotel, her name would get around town soon enough anyway, so there really was no need to be so tight-lipped. News spread quickly in these closely-knit communities.

  “Yes, of course. I’m Irene Maxon recently of St. Louis with destination to Denver in care of a Mr. Calvin Schuller.”

  The freight wagon wasn’t more than a few yards farther, and once her trunks were loaded into the wagon, the man helped her up to the seat. She stepped onto the wooden crate he’d placed on the ground to give her a boost to the seat and managed to climb up with mostly ladylike dignity and a limited display of stockinged legs.

  Settling beside her, he commented, “Seems a shame to be traveling alone on a holiday.”

  “Holiday?” Then she realized it was New Year’s Day or what was left of it. No wonder the town was so quiet. “I’ve been traveling all week, and I’ve lost track of the days.” She also recognized Eloy’s statement for the polite inquiry of her purpose, so she obliged him. “I’m here to visit the Forbes family. Could you direct me to their residence?”

  Eloy looked her over, his eyebrows arched in curious interest. “I can. I know them well. I talked to Joe and Ginny right around noon, and they didn’t mention they were expecting company. Are you kin?”

  Irene smiled at his round-about nosiness, which she figured was part of his job. “No, but I received a lovely letter inviting me for a visit.” His expression meant he was impressed or doubtful, she couldn’t decide.

  He clucked to the team and the horses moved out. “I see. So you’re a friend of the family?”

  “Acquaintance, of sorts, although I must admit we’ve never met in person, only through a recent correspondence, I feel as if I’ve known them for years.” It wasn’t an out-and-out lie, just a tiny stretch of the truth. The receipt of one letter did not constitute a friendship. Even so, the words in that single letter had touched a place deep inside her, triggering a strong need to meet them. Too bad the girls’ letter had arrived one commitment too late.

  Despite Arthur’s advice to the contrary, because of what he called her too-trusting nature, she’d sent a letter to Mr. Schuller agreeing to a six-month temporary arrangement. She reasoned she was under no permanent obligation to this man, and s
he was only a train ride from home if it didn’t work out. The man was generous, too, in paying for her train fare in addition to her shipping expenses. From his photograph, he was decent-looking and, if his letter writing was any indication, he was educated. She felt particularly secure in her contribution to the terms of the agreement that she could take all of her possessions with her when her six-month obligation was fulfilled in the event she decided not to continue the arrangement. She had, however, disregarded his suggestion that she wire her savings to a bank account he’d set up in her name. Money was one thing she’d learned to keep close at hand.

  But instead of continuing on to Denver, here she was, clearing her conscience by returning the money and the photograph the Forbes sisters had sent. If only she’d received the girls’ letter a week earlier. If only…

  “The Forbeses live right on the east edge of town, not a quarter-mile away. We’ll make a swing around there, so you can let them know you’re in town before we go to the hotel or out to the Mederi place. With the way this storm feels, it might be a few days before you’ll be able to get out to go calling. I’ll walk you to the door and make introductions.”

  “That would be lovely. You’re very kind.”

  A few minutes later, Eloy parked the wagon at the picket fence gate. On the other side of the fence stood a two-story house and a cottage under the sheltering branches of cottonwood trees. Beyond the cottage, she saw a barn with corral and a stable or livery farther back from the street. Another building with a large painted sign out front read Forbes’ Leather Works, Sewing, and Ready-Mades.

  “Here we are,” Eloy said. “Looks like everyone’s going home ahead of the storm.”

  A buckboard with a canvas cover over the bed to protect passengers from the weather and a vis-à-vis, both with horses hitched, waited at the gate.

  “Everyone?” Irene asked as she took hold of Eloy’s hand and climbed down from the wagon seat.

  “The Perlman and Driscoll families came in for dinner. They’re all old friends.” Eloy opened the yard gate, and Irene walked up the stone path ahead of him to the veranda steps where Eloy placed a gentle touch on her elbow and escorted her across the plank floor. He lifted his hand to knock just as the door opened.

  “Oh! Eloy, you startled me. We’re just leaving.” The woman laughed and opened the door wider, which Eloy took as an invitation to enter, so he did.

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Perlman. Good thing you’ll make it home before dark. The temperature hasn’t dropped yet, but it’s shaping up to be a real howler.”

  While another minute of exchanging weather observations ensued, Irene made a sweeping perusal of the house, or what she could see from the foyer at the foot of a wide staircase with hallways along both sides. The hardwood floor glistened in all directions. Framed pictures hung on the walls. A full-length cheval mirror stood opposite the coat tree. Coming in from the chill, the warmth from an unseen source touched her face, and the mixed aromas of baked bread, cinnamon apple pie, and roast chicken lingered in the air, which reminded her stomach she hadn’t eaten since last evening.

  The foyer was crowded with adults and children busy donning winter clothing or assisting with buttoning and mittening.

  “And who is this?” Mrs. Perlman asked as she looked between Eloy and Irene, a cheery, welcoming smile on her face.

  Eloy removed his hat and held it in his gloved hands. “This is Irene Maxon recently of St. Louis.”

  All talking stopped; every head turned to Irene. Eloy painstakingly introduced each member of the Perlman and Driscoll families as well as Joe and Ginny Forbes. Irene acknowledged everyone with a nod and friendly Hello.

  Ginny welcomed Irene into her home with a polite, “We’re so pleased to meet you, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met. What brings you to our home?”

  “Forgive me for intruding unannounced, especially during your festivities. I’m here to return—”

  “Oh, there you are, Dale, Violet,” Eloy broke in. “This is Irene Maxon from St. Louis.”

  Irene followed Eloy’s wave and recognized the man and the girl coming along the hallway from the photograph she’d received with the letter. She also noted with more than passing interest that the photograph had not adequately captured Dale’s handsome maturity, strong chin, and fine, broad-shouldered physique. Before she could greet them, movement at the top of the stairs drew her attention, and she looked up to see a girl descending one slow stair at a time, her hand trailing lightly along the bannister. The girl stopped midway down and looked right at Irene, the little satisfied smirk on her lips as pleasant as the sparkle in her eyes. So this was Meredith—the instigator of the marriage invitation.

  Then a wisp of a child with braids flying burst through the midst of the group with a shriek of squealing delight. When she leaped, Irene instinctively caught her, staggering backward a few steps under the child’s momentum. The girl clamped her arms around Irene’s neck with a grip so tight Irene couldn’t turn her head.

  “Grandma! You’re here. You’re really here. I knew you’d come. I just knew it!”

  Lydia’s face broke into a bright smile. Clara Jean clapped her hands and blurted, “It worked! She really got Meredith’s letter!”

  All attention swung to Clara Jean who realized too late what she’d said as she ducked for cover behind the coat tree.

  The few seconds of solemn, stunned silence shattered into echoes when Dale’s booming voice rebounded off the walls. “Meredith Margaret Forbes! What have you been up to now?”

  But Meredith was nowhere in sight.

  Simon slapped Dale on the back. Talking around his amusement, he said, “Looks like you’ve got a situation on your hands. Much as we’d enjoy hearing all about it, we have to get on home.” He cast a reproving glance toward Lydia and then to Clara Jean who peeked from behind her coat tree refuge. “And I suspect I know a couple of girls who can fill us in on some details. Weather permitting, we’ll see you at church, and you can tell us how this turns out. Thanks again for having us, and thanks for the good company.”

  “And the Perlman family must bid farewell, also. It was a lovely meal, and the company and conversation were outstanding, as always. Thank you all.” Ben tipped his hat. “Happy New Year.”

  Ginny stood at the threshold, holding the door partly closed against the chill as she waved the two families along their separate ways, then she closed the door and rested her back against it. She looked at her husband, moved her gaze to Irene, on to Dale, and returned to Joe to whom she raised questioning eyebrows.

  Joe shrugged into his coat and pulled on his gloves. “Um…I…uh… Mrs. Maxon, I don’t know what to say. It’s obvious the girls have their fingers in a mischief pie they’ve made, so I apologize for any inconvenience they may have caused you.” He made a rueful grimace.

  Irene smiled. “Yes, they have been caught in their own trap, haven’t they? But I assure you, once I explain, I’m confident you’ll agree their hearts were in the right place.”

  “Well, I’m glad you feel that way about whatever it is they’ve done.” Joe chuckled then called over his shoulder as he left the house, “Girls, I’ll take care of the chickens and milking for tonight. Violet, find Meredith and tell her to come downstairs. She’s not in trouble. Yet. We’ll get this straightened out when I come back in.”

  Violet scurried up the stairs, yelling, “Merrie! Pa says to come down! He promises not to tan your backside until he hears your side of the story.”

  “Violet Virginia! That’s not what I said,” Joe protested, but the sound of retreating giggles was her response.

  Dale blew out an exasperated breath. “Beryl, let loose of Mrs. Maxon’s neck and get down, and then apologize for jumping on her and for calling her your grandma. You’ve embarrassed her and us.”

  Beryl’s blonde braids swung to and fro with her ardent head shake. “Grandmas don’t mind. Do you?” Beryl leaned back and gave Irene a wide front-teeth-missing smile.

  “No, I don’t m
ind, but there’s a misunderstanding here. I’m not your grandmother.”

  “Well, maybe not right now, but why else would you come here if not to be our grandma?”

  Before Irene could work up a simple response, Ginny came to her rescue.

  “Beryl. Show Mrs. Maxon your ladylike manners, and do what your grandpa said.” Ginny’s tone and her expression brought out Beryl’s bottom lip in a pout, but the girl released her grip and allowed herself to be put down, although she clasped Irene’s hand and clung to her side.

  Beryl looked up at Irene. “I’m sorry I jumped on you without asking first.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “And the other?” Dale insisted.

  Beryl jutted her chin. “I’m not sorry about calling her grandma. That’s what you said you wanted, so that’s what we asked for. And just look what we got.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dale’s frown deepened. “I’ve said no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did. You said you’d think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  Beryl rolled her eyes. “Marrying a grandma, silly pants. That’s what I’m trying to explain.”

  “Beryl Barbara Forbes. Do not sass your grandfather,” Ginny scolded.

  Beryl dug the toe of her shoe into the rug and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

  Irene laughed outright then clamped her lips together under her palm in a fruitless effort to stay her giggles. Dale folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, his own discomfiture dissolving as he gave in to chuckling at the absurd awkwardness of the situation.