by Iris Kelly
It was a tragedy, of course. But Avery couldn’t think of a single lady in Cheyenne’s high society on whom he would bet to take an interest in the lives of miners.
It was some four hours after their meeting that Avery delivered Beatrice back to her hotel. They were to meet again in just a few hours to have dinner with Virginia and Lewis. It would be the briefest of separations, and yet it still left Avery with an inexplicable pang of longing. Had he succeeded in making the right impression? And what a surprise she was—full of opinions. He knew that a woman who expressed herself well and forcefully could assume an influential place amongst the best ladies of Cheyenne.
He had met other lovely ladies before. Cheyenne was such a relatively small city that he felt as if he’d met them all. But each meeting had left him speculating if someone more suitable was out there for him. Miss Beatrice Kirby did not leave him wondering if there was something better. He already knew that she was the one he had been waiting for.
*****
Beatrice was left to pace her room in a state of triumphant amazement. She had done it! He liked her. He wanted her to like him. And she hadn’t aroused the tiniest bit of suspicion about her background or her behavior. Oh, she knew that she was more animated and opinionated than the average lady—that was a part of her that she couldn’t easily repress, and fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary. Had she actually made a conquest? What a bizarre and peculiar state of affairs.
Her musings were cut short by the arrival of Evelyn with her ironed dresses. They were beautifully and thoroughly pressed.
“They look wonderful. Thank you,” Beatrice said.
“My pleasure, Miss,” Evelyn responded, surprised. Hotel guests were typically big on demands and short on appreciation.
“I suppose I should change now for dinner. Do you mind? It will be a little easier if someone else is around to give me a hand with the back.”
“Of course not. I’d be happy to. Such lovely things you have. You must be . . . pardon me, Miss . . . headed for a lovely dinner.”
“Well, I’ve come out here to Cheyenne to possibly get married. I only met him today.”
“Miss! That handsome gentleman who was waiting for you in the lobby? I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but notice. He seemed quite taken with you, if I may say so.”
“Well, I hope you are right. Marriage is such a . . . well, it’s there for the rest of your life, isn’t it? Good or bad.”
“I don’t think anyone that handsome could be a bad man, Miss.”
“I hope you are a talented judge of character, Evelyn.”
Beatrice opened up another box of the sweets strewn around the room.
“Those are the best ones,” Evelyn noted. ”I’ll be sure to put in some more for you tomorrow.”
“Well then, why don’t you have a few?”
“Oh, I couldn’t, Miss. Those aren’t for us.”
Beatrice forced a handful of the sweets into Evelyn’s palms. “Tuck them into your pockets and share them with your friends. And make sure your boss doesn’t see them.”
Evelyn departed excitedly with profuse thanks. What a small thing to bring about such happiness. Beatrice was sorry to see her leave. It was nice to have someone to talk to about Mr. Martin. Now, time to prepare herself for the next performance.
*****
It was strange how comfortably the gathering of Virginia, Lewis, Mr. Martin and herself felt. Which is to say, it was strange that it didn’t feel stranger. Perhaps a great deal of that had to do with the comfort that the other three shared with one another.
Avery was largely able to shed the nervousness that had been so present in their time alone together. He and Lewis spoke as naturally as brothers, and Virginia teased him as if she were a sister. The affection between Virginia and Lewis was both inspiring and intimidating. Must they flaunt a level of happiness and affection that was almost certainly impossible to obtain? Beatrice could reconcile herself to settling for half that amount. Was Mr. Martin the kind of man who kissed his wife in public places or kept an arm around her shoulder when they sat beside one another?
Beatrice was pulled out her wonderings by a question from Avery.
“Miss Kirby, I was told that you and Mrs. Carlyle have travelled together. What was your favorite city?”
“That would have to be London. Everything was so old and grand there. And the museums and concerts. Every day there was something special to attend.”
“Cheyenne is likely to pale in comparison.”
“London is old and Cheyenne is new. I like them both.”
“I take it you are fond of music, Miss Kirby. I have arranged for concert tickets the day after tomorrow. It’s in our new Opera Hall. It’s a rather magnificent setting.”
“I do enjoy music. Very much. My Aunt Lydia plays the piano wonderfully.”
Virginia smiled with relief to hear Beatrice reference their mutual “aunt” with such ease.
“That I have had the privilege of enjoying myself,” Avery responded.
“It can be so exciting to listen to her fingers fly about at such a great speed. It has you on the edge of your seat. But there are other times where certain pieces of music she plays are so relaxing, so soothing, that they make me nod right off to sleep.”
“I hope you do not find our concert to be quite that soothing, however flattered Mrs. Cooper must have been by your gratifying state of relaxation,” Avery teased.
“The mere fact of paid entry ensures I will do my utmost to stay awake, Mr. Martin.”
“I shall pinch you if you break that promise.”
“If I am not snoring, you should leave me in peace. And I shall do the same for you.”
The entire group laughed, at a high level of ease in this company. Who would have thought it? That she and Virginia would ever be sitting down with their respective gentlemen and carrying on like social equals. At times it felt like the truth, at other times, like the world’s most vivid dream, and at other times, like the disturbing acts of an immoral con artist.
“Mr. Martin, I don’t believe that you’ve mentioned the ball,” Virginia said.
“Yes, of course,” Avery said. “Miss Kirby, the Cheyenne Club hosts a number of large events every year, and in two weeks’ time will be the largest ball of the year. I’d be very happy if you would agree to accompany me. Thankfully, there is little danger you will nod off to sleep while dancing.”
“Dancing! I would be very happy to accept your invitation, Mr. Martin. But I don’t wish to raise your expectations. Dancing is far from my greatest talent.”
“Beatrice, you are too modest,” Virginia said, raising a warning brow.
“Undoubtedly. But, I should like to know—what is your greatest talent?” Avery inquired.
Beatrice looked down at the fragrant dish in front of her and sliced off another bite of sirloin steak. “Eating.”
This again brought forth good-natured chuckles from all.
“I confess, I have noticed your hearty appreciation of good food, and it is a wonderful thing to see. And not to imply that it isn’t a wondrous and useful talent, but—are there any others?”
Beatrice thought for a moment. “Winning arguments. Possibly because I never concede. I have a willful streak, Mr. Martin. You might as well be forewarned.”
“I engage in arguments for a living, so I have similar opinion of myself, Miss Kirby.”
“I have always thought Avery fortunate to actually get paid for his argumentativeness,” Lewis chimed in. “Which one of you will win the arguments at home, I wonder?”
Beatrice and Avery both blushed at the bold assumption that they would soon share a mutual home.
“I will,” Beatrice gloated. “For Mr. Martin has already assured me that he will do anything within his power to see to my comfort and well-being. And that is going to entail letting me win the arguments.”
Avery chuckled. “No rebuttal. And there is your first victory.”
Virginia an
d Lewis exchanged looks of amazement—this besotted fellow surely could not be the confirmed bachelor they had known for so long.
CHAPTER SIX
The next day would be a refreshing day of freedom and independence. Now that Beatrice had the lay of the land, she had no qualms about venturing out on her own. After all, no matter how lovely the hotel room, it was a bit too sheltered for her tastes. She wanted to feel the bustle of the city around her. She had seen other women walking up and down Main Street, so she would do the same.
Mr. Martin had apologized because business meetings would keep him tied up all of that day. But Beatrice didn’t mind a much-needed respite from being Miss Kirby. What a funny notion, in light of her Boston outings, that she would ever want to go out and simply be her ordinary self. Not that she could get away with it entirely. The Montrose Hotel staff continued to treat her as an important guest. But with the most subdued dress in her new wardrobe, perhaps she could blend in the streets of Cheyenne, free to just observe her surroundings.
By eleven o’clock in the morning, store workers and shoppers were out and about their business. Carriages and wagons frequently traveled down the Main Street, and one often had to scurry across to stay clear of them. Dozens of horses were tied to posts along the street. Would she learn to ride one as Lydia Cooper had? It could hardly be seen as a requirement for a lawyer’s wife or a politician’s wife, but it did look like such fun. The air was full of the smell of horses and grain and leather and wood.
Beatrice knew that there was also another side of Cheyenne, the side that involved balls and operas and wine tastings and fancy teas. That was the world that Mr. Martin was going to introduce her to. Of course, she had already had an up close look at the upper crust during her years in service. Did she truly want to join that world? It certainly had its share of disagreeable people in it.
Perhaps they wouldn’t be disagreeable if they treated her as the wife of an important gentleman. But their high regard was likely to feel like a hypocrisy. Perhaps her nerves were getting the best of her. She could already think of one very appealing aspect of this new life, and that would be Mr. Avery Martin. Intelligent and handsome. Accommodating and appreciative. But his attachment to her still felt like a fragile thing. What if she was exposed? Unlikely, for there were only four people who knew, including herself, and she knew that none of them would betray her.
Here and there, Beatrice saw a single child loading a wagon or waiting outside a store. She stopped beside a brother and sister, who looked to be between ten and twelve years of age.
“Shouldn’t you two be in school?” Beatrice inquired.
“Not any more. I know how to read and write good enough,” the boy said. ’Sides, there weren’t enough chairs and desks, and some of us had to sit on the floor, and my pa got mad at that and said we was done with that school.”
“And you?” Beatrice asked the younger sibling. “You can’t be done with school yet.”
“Pa says girls only need to be able to read the Bible. And I can do that. Kind of.”
Beatrice’s own education had been curtailed by the death of her mother. Still, she had continued as best she could, with Lydia’s invaluable help, reading literature, history, and studying French till she was convinced that she was as knowledgeable as anyone in the Bellamy household. These children would certainly not be as fortunate. On the other hand, they had their parents, a real family. Who was she to judge them as less fortunate?
As Beatrice walked on, she came across the mouthwatering smells floating from a bakery. Bread, certainly. But something sweet as well. She couldn’t resist and was soon examining a large selection of mouthwatering pastries.
“Are those ginger molasses cookies?”
“Yes, ma’am. Melt in your mouth, they will. Buy some for the family?”
Hmm. Beatrice had been toying with the idea of dropping by to say hello to Avery at his office. She knew that he was preparing to meet with the miners today and get their statements. Poor men. To lose four of their companions. Her heart went out to them, and she felt the urge to do her small part to comfort them.
“I’ll take a dozen, and another six separate. Thank you.”
Avery had pointed out the location of his office on their original tour of the town. Sandwiched between the post office and the sheriff’s office, it was an easy spot to remember. Beatrice backtracked just a bit to drop off two cookies to the joyful and nearly speechless children.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She winked at them. “Eat quickly before your father gets back.”
She left them gobbling down the cookies and made her way over to Avery’s office. She hoped he wouldn’t mind the surprise, but unless she had completely misread him, she was fairly confident that he would always be glad to see her. And so he was.
“Miss Kirby. What a delightful surprise.”
“I will not take up much of your time, Mr. Martin. I remembered that those miners were stopping by today. They’ve been through so much, haven’t they? To say nothing of the comrades they lost. And the poor families. In any case, I stopped by the bakery and picked these up for them. They’re very good, I can attest to that.”
Avery looked almost as awed as the children had. “They will be very, very grateful. As am I. Please sit a while, Miss Kirby.”
“No, Mr. Martin. They will be here shortly, and you have important matters to tend to. I shall see you tomorrow night. Oh, and be sure to try one yourself.”
“Thank you, Miss Kirby. Till tomorrow.”
Avery sank absentmindedly down into his chair. What a surprise. A bit spoiled wouldn’t have surprised him. A bit self-absorbed wouldn’t have surprised him. He had spent enough time around privilege to see many recurring patterns of personality and behavior. But this act of kindness for miners who she might never meet? On the one hand, it was a small thing, and on the other hand, it was unfathomable.
In his experience, charitable acts were generally done very publicly to promote the image and reputation of the generous donor. This was something quite different. Who was this Beatrice, and how had he come to be so lucky? He smiled to think of his long laundry list of requirements for a suitable high society wife. They were all rather important qualities, and he stood by his list. But how could he have forgotten kindness? Perhaps it had just seemed like too much to ask.
As Avery munched on the delicious cookie, it occurred to him that a cup of coffee would be the perfect accompaniment. Not only for himself, but for the men as well. He was low on supplies, but fortunately, the mercantile, with coffee and milk, was right next door. He made haste, and by the time the miners arrived, there was a fresh batch of coffee to welcome them. Thank goodness he had Beatrice to remind him of his manners.
There were three miners, tired and wary. Their ages were hard to determine—it was an occupation that wore a man down. They knew that they were there to help out the newspaperman who had told the truth about the owner’s miserly provisions for the families of the dead miners. It didn’t feel as if anything could really be accomplished, but they were willing to give him their support, if only for what he tried to do for their friends.
“Please help yourself to coffee. There’s milk and sugar right there. And my . . . lady friend, Miss Kirby, brought over these cookies for you. So go right ahead and help yourself.”
Avery would have bet good money that he’d never see a smile from any of these men. And yet there they were, grinning and stuffing themselves with cookies.
“Is she pretty? Your lady friend?” one miner asked.
The other two listened with interest.
“I don’t think I would use the word pretty for her,” Avery said. As the miners groaned sympathetically, he added,” She is much closer to beautiful.”
This news was received with cheers and laughter.
“I knew it. I knew it. I could tell from the cookies that she was a good lookin’ woman.”
It was such a ridiculous conclusion that Avery had to laugh
along with them.
“We should get started. I’ll need your names and the length of time you’ve worked for the company. But all this testimony is anonymous and confidential.”
“Can anything be done to force that man to give some money to those families?” a second miner spoke.
“Well, I can tell you what would need to happen,” Avery began.
*****
Beatrice continued her stroll about town, and her attention was drawn to a young woman who was window shopping in front of a fabric store. She wore a becoming yellow silk dress, trimmed with organza ruffles, and a very stylish pair of shoes, reminding Beatrice that her own collection of footwear was small and probably needed to be expanded for the social demands ahead.
“Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind my inquiring. I was wondering where you got your shoes. I’m new to Cheyenne and not sure where to get things. And they’re lovely.”
The young woman looked very surprised to be addressed by Beatrice—a bit awestruck.
“Shoe store’s down this next side street, just a couple of minutes’ walk. He’s got a bunch of shoes all ready to sell. But he’ll make up somethin’ special for you. You want me to show you?”
“Thank you. That would be very nice. My name is Beatrice, by the way.”
She hoped that a first name acquaintance would put the woman at ease.
“I’m . . . well, everyone calls me Junebug. It’s silly, I know. My name used to be Harriet.”
“Well, if your name used to be Harriet, then it still is.”
“I guess so. My relations would still call me Harriet, if I was ever to see them. I haven’t though. Not in three years.”
Beatrice took a closer look. Harriet only looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old. Quite young to have left the family. Had she already married?
“You say you just moved out here,” Harriet continued.
“Yes, I . . . may be getting married. If all goes well.”
“My, my. Is he rich?”
“He’s a lawyer. Comfortable enough. Very ambitious. And a real gentleman. I think we might like each other. I wasn’t sure we would.”
