by Iris Kelly
Beatrice shivered with fearful anticipation. It was decided.
*****
Two weeks after Beatrice sent her response back, she received a letter containing a train ticket and a considerable amount of cash, earmarked for a few new outfits that she needed to have made before her journey.
There was also some information that she would have to commit to memory: how she was to be related to them—she was Oscar Bellamy’s niece via a much younger sister—and under what circumstances they had spent time with her. Here, they tried to stick close to the truth—that she and Virginia had grown up alongside one another, but after the age of eight, when her parents died, Beatrice had grown up separated from them, and they only renewed their acquaintance in recent adult years.
They also wanted to give her a glimpse of the type of life that lay ahead for her, and it was intimidating, to say the least. Was she going to be able to throw tea parties for fancy ladies? She had certainly served at her share of them. She knew what spoon was used for what, how to clear the palate from one course to the next, and what sort of inane chatter that people of that class seemed to be fondest of: fashion, nannies, redecorating, recounting the precocious antics of their incredibly spoiled offspring, showing off gifts and jewelry, and spreading petty gossip.
Of course she could do it. She had played that game on many occasions during her well-dressed excursions into Boston’s higher classes. But those visits were brief—they were larks. Just a practical joke on the world. A way to taste the refreshing balm of being well treated. But this would not be a charade that she could retreat from. This was to become her real life, and she could never allow a careless action or word to betray her humble origins.
And what of the man himself? Could she truly present herself as the fashionable, refined woman that he was seeking? Would it come to feel like second nature, or would she always be walking a tightrope in fear of discovery?
To that end, she prepared herself obsessively. She mapped out the Bellamy family tree in as much detail as possible, noting the missing gaps and reminding herself to get that information from Virginia and Lydia. She got books from the library on style and deportment—ugh, so many rules. She picked up several fashion magazines. If this was to be the stuff of endless conversations, then she had to know it in her sleep.
She also did the most rudimentary research on the legal profession. After all, she didn’t want this man to think that she was in complete ignorance of his line of work, even though that was close to the truth. She had known that lawyers were hired to defend innocent people. Confoundingly, they also spent a great deal of time defending the guilty. Apparently, the ethics of this class of professionals were constantly in question. It probably would have little bearing on their marriage, if a marriage was indeed to take place, but Beatrice hoped it wasn’t too much to ask that her husband be an honorable man.
As for a future in politics, that was a particularly thrilling prospect. Wyoming had long loomed as a mythical paradise for Beatrice when she heard that they had granted women the right to vote some ten years ago, not to mention the right to own property and to serve on juries! The established states of the East were so completely resistant to any rights of citizenship for women that Beatrice never believed she would ever do more than dream about such rights. And as the wife of a politician, she would be right in the thick of ideas and decisions that really mattered.
*****
Beatrice’s new dresses were almost ready to pick up. A new second trunk had been purchased to accommodate them. Beatrice still forced herself to go to the factory. A little voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her that she needed to have as much savings as possible in case of emergencies. In case this implausible scheme should come crashing down, she would need to have some means to make a hasty exit. So she kept up with the tiring drudgery—it was all quite bearable now, knowing how soon it was to come to an end.
She had not yet announced her departure. She could only imagine it would encourage more resentment and ill treatment. But one day following the most recent payday, she was ready to indulge an abrupt change of plans. The supervisor was once again dishing out a verbal lashing to one frightened young girl who had probably done little to provoke it. It promised to be an endless tirade, but Beatrice saw in an instant how it could be subverted. She was happy to provide a distraction.
She stood up and gathered her things with a great commotion that couldn’t fail to attract the supervisor’s attention. He came barreling in her direction as she nonchalantly made her way for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, incredulous and threatening.
Beatrice smiled sweetly. “Wyoming.” She breezed past him, and then turned around. “To marry a lawyer.”
There was a collective gasp of envy in the room.
“Mail order marriages. You should all look into them.” And with a smirk in the supervisor’s direction, she turned heel and sauntered out. She could only imagine the look on his face. But she did take in the looks of hope and wonderment on the faces of several of the young workers as she made her exit. Good luck to them.
*****
Seven days later, Beatrice was in a first-class hotel car on her way to Cheyenne. She had traveled in third-class accommodations before—the Bellamys may have needed her to travel with them on occasion, but they were certainly never inclined to include her in their luxuries. The first class world included attentive waiters, lovely wines in beautiful, heavy crystal glasses, exquisite food prepared by a pompous chef, and goose down sleeping cabinets.
The inquisitive sociability of her fellow passengers provided Beatrice with invaluable practice. They asked about her family, her destination, her recent social events, her theatre preferences. Happily, there was no shortage of compliments on her newly made traveling outfit, made in as up-to-date fashion as humanly possible, in a color and style solely chosen to flatter her features. What a revelation that a dressmaker was so crucial for social status and self confidence. Beatrice felt well prepared to face Cheyenne’s well-heeled society with her head held high.
But while five days of such role play promised to calm her nerves, they returned in full, agonizing force when the conductor announced that they were pulling into Cheyenne’s Union Station. Beatrice’s heart was pounding as furiously as if she was about to ride through an armed ambush. Was Mr. Avery Martin waiting on that train platform for her?
There was a thick, bustling crowd on the platform. A porter helped her find her way to her two trunks, and she tipped him nicely for his troubles. Like the other train employees she had rewarded over the past five days, he had a big smile of gratitude. Which probably meant that she was over tipping, but . . . she wasn’t much bothered by it. She could certainly see how hard they were working.
She was uncomfortably aware that she didn’t even know what Avery Martin looked like. Lydia had said, “We will meet you at the station.” Who was ‘we?’ Where was her welcome party?
A tap on the shoulder sent her whirling around to face the lovely auburn-haired Virginia Carlyle. They looked at one another, overwhelmed by a flood of memories. Childhood companions and self-proclaimed sisters who became adults on two far ends of the social class divide. Virginia, who had been her employer, her superior, who had to be addressed as Miss Bellamy, who gave orders and who had to be obeyed. Virginia, who she had served fine delicacies at the dinner table, only to have to pick after her leftovers if she ever wanted to know what such elite food tasted like.
Beatrice had not even thought of what she would say. But she was spared the effort. Virginia wrapped her arms tightly around her and drew her close. She could feel her former employer’s body shake with the heaves of sobs that were coming out. Struggling to contain herself, Virginia whispered in her ear, “Welcome home, Cousin Beatrice.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Beatrice was speechless and stunned over her warm reception. Was Mr. Avery Martin present, and was Virginia only playing a role? But the t
ears felt too genuine, the emotion too heartfelt to be counterfeited.
“Come now, Virginia. You mustn’t monopolize her,” Lydia said.
Virginia released her hold on Beatrice, and Lydia gladly stepped in for another warm embrace.
“You look wonderful. Fresher than I did after my journey out here,” Lydia declared.
Virginia concurred with a nod, still sniffling her tears away. A man holding a small year-old baby stepped up beside her.
“Oh, Beatrice, this is my husband, Lewis Carlyle, and our little Felicity.”
“Very pleased to meet you, ‘Cousin Beatrice’,” Lewis said with a kindhearted smile.
Of course Beatrice knew that Virginia had a husband and a baby, but it was still startling to see them in the flesh.
“I’m pleased to meet you . . . Mr. Carlyle,” Beatrice said.
“The name is Lewis. If I understand the situation correctly, we must develop a family attachment with all due speed.”
Beatrice reached out to gingerly stroke the cheek of little Felicity. She turned to Virginia.
“She looks exactly like you.”
“Can’t I even take credit for her chin?” Lewis complained good-naturedly.
“Let’s head to the hotel, shall we?” Lydia said.
Lewis handed the baby off to Virginia. “I’ll get porters to get the trunks out to the wagon.”
After he left, Beatrice looked at Lydia. “You have children too. A lot of them.”
“I do, and I have to get back to them soon. But I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“I’d like to meet them.”
“You will, but not till after you settle in. You will have a great deal to do and think about.”
“Where will I be staying? At the same place that you both did?”
“Ah, Miss Mabel’s,” Virginia said. “No, though I hope you become acquainted with her soon enough. No, you’re going to be staying at the finest hotel in Cheyenne.”
“My goodness. That sounds . . . expensive.”
“The hotel’s owner is a client of Mr. Martin’s. I believe he was able to exchange some of his legal services for a complimentary room, so you needn’t worry that it put too much of a dent in his wallet,” Lydia explained.
“But he’s . . . not here today?”
“He was most anxious to be here, my dear, but we convinced him that you would need time to wash and rest and settle in,” Lydia said.
“I suppose I have him to thank for the first-class accommodations on the train. And for the money for my new dresses.”
“Actually, no,” Lydia admitted. “He offered of, course. The groom always covers those expenses in these circumstances. But I didn’t want you to feel obligated to him. You’re still free to make a decision about him, and I didn’t want to complicate your decision by your feeling beholden to him in any way. So . . . just consider it a birthday present.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Wedding present, Christmas present . . . it was my pleasure. And you know, my first husband left me with more money in the bank than I know what to do with. So let’s hear no more of it.”
Beatrice sighed. The warmth and kindness surrounding her were most disorienting. They were a decided contrast to the harshness and indifference that seemed to characterize her recent life in Boston. How lovely the baby looked in Virginia’s arms, and what a sweet husband she had found. Would Mr. Avery Martin be anything like that? Or should she expect a more aloof manner befitting a lawyer? And above all, how oddly unnerving it was to finally be here, a place that existed only in dreams and letters. What would tomorrow bring?
*****
It didn’t take long to get to the hotel, just a twenty-minute buggy ride. It was a good chance to take in the look of the town, and her three hosts helpfully explained points of interest. For the first time since her arrival, Beatrice felt a smile steal across her face. Cowboys. Saloons. Such a tough, gritty look about everything. Plenty of women bustling up and down the Main Street, some with children in tow. There seemed little possibility of a high noon gunfight. Not a bandit or unsavory character in sight. That should have been comforting. It was oddly disappointing.
The Montrose Hotel was luxurious and imposing. It wasn’t that Beatrice hadn’t set foot in others similarly grand, but those had been on occasions when she had recently been seeking employment in Boston, or while traveling with the Bellamys and helping her employers to get settled in their rooms.
Nothing in those previous experiences could have prepared Beatrice for the astonishing reception she received on this occasion. As soon as her name was made known at the front desk, Mr. Daniels, the hotel manager was immediately summoned to give her a heartfelt welcome.
“You are a most highly valued guest here, Miss Kirby. We want your stay here to live up to the highest standards. You must let me know of any of your needs and desires, and I assure you, my staff will attend to you immediately.”
Good Heavens! Mr. Martin must have provided invaluable legal services to have bartered for such first-class treatment. Beatrice couldn’t even remember the Bellamys being fawned over to this degree.
Her room was a large velvet and lace filled luxury suite on the third floor, with flowers on every table, and boxes of candy scattered about like decorative knickknacks. Beatrice descended on one of them gleefully—she loved sweets.
“I hope that you’ll let Mr. Martin know that the accommodations meet with your approval,” Mr. Daniels said.
“It’s perfect,” Virginia said.
“Hmm,” Beatrice mumbled assent, her mouth full of candy.
“Whenever you’re ready for a hot bath, simply pull the bell for the maids, and it can be assembled in less than half an hour. And again, please let us know if there’s anything more we can do for you. We will send someone up tomorrow at one o’clock to notify you when Mr. Martin arrives.”
Beatrice almost choked. “Yes. Of course. Thank you.”
After Mr. Daniels and his porters departed, Beatrice moaned, “Tomorrow at one!”
“Plenty of time to get prepared,” Lydia assured.
“But we should take a little time to help you unpack your things and to answer any of your questions about Mr. Martin and what to expect. And we must be very sure that our stories are all in alignment regarding our mutual family history,” Virginia said.
They all settled down on the sofas. Lewis was a bit out of the way, content to supervise the baby’s attempts to walk, and he was quietly entertained by this fantastic scheming.
“So he’s going to be here tomorrow. Will you get here early before he arrives?” Beatrice fretted.
“No, my dear. He will wait for you in the lobby, and the hotel staff will summon you. Then he will take you for a walking tour of the town.”
“What! Just the two of us? No chaperone?”
Virginia smiled wryly. “It’s a savage new world. Boston proprieties hold little weight here.”
“Well, not entirely. Although Mr. Martin does mingle in many circles, he does hope to curry favor with the most influential sector,” Lydia added.
“I can’t . . . I don’t even know what I will say to him,” Beatrice said.
“Just a comfortable exchange of pleasantries. He will surely ask you about your journey: who were your fellow passengers, how did you like the scenery, did the hotel car have good amenities?” Lydia suggested.
“Believe me, he will be more nervous than you are, though he is normally as composed and in command as the finest representative of his profession. But courtship . . . I think he has little practice in it, and it may fall on you to put him at ease,” Virginia said.
This was a novel and comforting thought for Beatrice. This man who wanted to become an important official and leader in the community—perhaps he was also a mere mortal as well.
“Why don’t we have a cup of tea?” Lydia suggested.
Beatrice leapt to her feet, at first a bit confused about how to go about obtaining tea
in these new surroundings, and then she saw Virginia and Lydia both shaking their heads in concern.
“That, my dear, is the sort of thing that may give you away. You have a seat, and I will ring for the maid,” Lydia instructed.
Beatrice sighed. Being a lady of leisure was going to require more effort than she had imagined. Over tea, the next hour was filled with Beatrice being interrogated on her family connections to Virginia and Lydia, which she had successfully committed to memory. Her social pastimes in Boston were reviewed till they could be discussed at comfortable length.
“Theatre, museums, parks, and reading. It’s not difficult to remember. It’s close enough to the truth.”
“Close enough to the truth is an admirable goal,” Virginia assured.
Lewis pulled little Felicity into his lap. “I’m so glad that she’s not old enough take heed of these dubious ethics,” he said.
“I think you would like to see your dear friend Avery happily married as much as we would,” Virginia said. “But none of us have a perfect understanding of what we really want or need. We are simply ignoring his misguided list of necessities and offering . . . an alternative.”
Before they left, Beatrice’s wardrobe was inspected, to great approval, and she was happily surprised to find that both of the other women had earlier sent additional dresses culled from their own wardrobes to her hotel room. It was collectively enough to get “Miss Kirby” off to an impressive start.
“Lewis and I will be back tomorrow at seven in the evening to join you and Mr. Martin for dinner in the hotel dining room. We’ll leave the baby with our friend, Miss Mabel, for the evening. She’s always happy to take her. And then, you and Mr. Martin can continue to grow your acquaintance, and hopefully a larger gathering will help put you both at ease,” Virginia said.
It had been one of the most eventful days of Beatrice’s life, but also one of the most exhausting. Lydia could see that Beatrice was worn out and urged the others to give Beatrice her rest.
