The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Becomes A Lady

by Iris Kelly

  “Goodness. Another little auburn-haired beauty running around out there? Well, I can say with near certainty that if the child were still living, she would be brought here immediately to grow up right beside her sister. And her parents.”

  “Lewis,” Virginia said, pleased.

  “And do you think that Mr. Martin would be similarly disposed to forgive if he ever were to find out?”

  Lewis sighed. “I wish I could provide assurances. Avery is a dear friend. But I was a very ambitious man, and to some extent, I continue to be. Virginia was a very ambitious young lady. And yet, Avery’s ambitions dwarf us all. His confidence is unshakeable, and his grasp of protocol and logistics . . . he knows how to meticulously plot his way to every goal.”

  “Like needing a wife and family in order to be trusted politically,” Beatrice said.

  “Ah, I see he has been quite honest with you.”

  “But I am not being honest with him. And if he were ever to find out, he couldn’t forgive. You won’t say it, but I can see that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m a poor soothsayer. I can only recommend one preventative measure that will buffer you against absolute catastrophe.”

  “And that is?”

  “You must make sure that he falls in love with you.”

  “Well, now how am I supposed to do that?”

  “Judging from our dinner the other night, he is halfway there.”

  “And the second half of falling in love is like a boulder rolling downhill,” Virginia added. “It can’t be stopped.”

  She interrupted their dance by transferring the baby into Lewis’s arms. “I nearly forgot something.”

  Virginia disappeared into the nearby bedroom and emerged a moment later with a dazzling ball gown draped over her arm. Beatrice gasped.

  “The Russian gown.”

  “Russia by way of Paris.”

  “You still have it.”

  “Of course I have it. It’s silly, really, because I’m certain I will never need it again. Even so, I could never bear to part with it. Until now.”

  Beatrice squealed, “You can’t be serious. For me?”

  Virginia nodded, and Beatrice went to her and reverently took the gown. It was modeled after a dress worn in the Royal Courts of Moscow. Its golden, voluminous skirt was made of the airiest fabric, and the bodice was of navy velvet, with gold embroidery echoing the color below. Beatrice held it up against herself and whirled around.

  “If Mr. Martin needs you to be the belle of the ball, then that is precisely what he will get,” Virginia said. “Don’t you think, Lewis?”

  “Oh, I would very much like to see the final picture. We shall see you off that evening, I’m sure. Now, Virginia dear, I must return to work. Are you quite sure there’s nothing you needed to tell me?”

  “Beatrice! Look what you’ve done. He will never get it out of his mind now.”

  “I would love to have two children,” Lewis said.

  “Soon enough, no doubt. But it will have your eyes and your deplorable sense of humor. Of that you can be sure,” Virginia asserted.

  “Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

  With that, Lewis departed, and Beatrice and Virginia were left to scheme the goal of entrapping Avery Martin’s heart. Could it really be as simple as Virginia had indicated? Was she really engaged in a harmless and forgivable offense? Or was she living in a fool’s paradise? With so much at stake, it was really starting to look like her best strategy was simply to make sure that she was never found out.

  *****

  The next day, Beatrice was again free to roam the town until an evening dinner appointment with Avery. A stroll down Main Street never failed to inform and entertain. On this occasion, she spotted a figure just ahead that of her that was unmistakably familiar—Harriet. It’s always pleasant to run into a friendly face, but Beatrice was particularly glad for the chance of this encounter. She didn’t want the poor girl to think that Beatrice was avoiding her society.

  “Harriet, how nice to see you again.”

  “Beatrice. Hello. Is it . . . are you sure it’s all right for me to call you by your first name?”

  “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. I used to dislike my name up until very recently. Now, I like to hear it.”

  “It’s nice for me to hear Harriet, too. Makes me feel like a whole different person.”

  “Well, might I add that you’re wearing an especially lovely dress today, Harriet. You’ll share your dressmaker with me, I hope.”

  Harriet was indeed sporting a fetching red and white striped walking dress with some very fashionable frills.

  “Thank you. I’m right proud of this one. I made it myself.”

  “Harriet! That’s remarkable. It’s so detailed. The peplum, the ruffles, the darts, the embroidery. Did you really? How on earth did you learn?”

  Harriet hesitated a moment. “I guess by now, you done figured out who I am—what I am.”

  Beatrice nodded. “You are someone who needs food and a roof over your head, same as everyone else. I think that you are someone who is without family support or protection. And that you had to make some very difficult choices in order to survive.”

  “Some folks think I shoulda been willin’ to die before I made those choices.”

  “Those people are blinded by their comfort and good fortune. And it’s not only great wealth. Just having your parents alive, just having family that will always look after you. Or a good job and a kind employer. It’s hard for people to understand what life would be like if they hadn’t been blessed with those things. It’s hard for them to know what desperation feels like.”

  “I noticed that myself. Most lucky people don’t seem to know how lucky they are. Anyway, a lot of the dressmakers here don’t wanna have nothin’ to do with . . . us saloon girls. It’s better in Denver, where no one knows us. But that costs money to keep goin’ back and forth. And Zachary ain’t usually willin’ to give us more than one day at a time off.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Your money should be as good as anyone else’s.”

  “I appreciate your sayin’ so. Most folks see different. So, I’ve become awfully good at puttin’ together my own dresses. And I do some for the other girls as well. But . . . speakin’ of money, I got myself a problem that I don’t know what to do with. You’ve been so kind and you’re so smart, I can tell. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do.”

  “I hope I can help.”

  “My pa died when I was twelve. Ma was already gone. I can’t even remember her. Anyway, he named me in his will to take all of his belongings. It wasn’t much, I can tell you that. My uncle forced me to sell all pa’s stuff, and he took the money and said he deserved it for all the extra expense of takin’ me in.”

  “Exactly what your father didn’t want, I’m sure. So you were left with nothing.”

  “That’s it. And I done run away when I was fifteen. The thing is . . . my pa was on real bad terms with his pa. They didn’t talk for over twenty years. Now, he’s died—my grandpa—and in his will, he left everything to my pa. Which means he never even knew my pa was dead. Anyway, I write to my little cousin. Not often, but sometimes, and she wrote back to me just a couple weeks ago. My grandpa’s money is supposed to go to me now.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “It surely is. But they’ve sent me all kinds of papers, and I don’t really understand them. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to get a hold of the money. I’ve never even had a bank account. I just keep everything in a box in my room. And to make it worse, my cousin says that my uncle keeps insistin’ that I’m dead, even though she tells him I’m not. Can you . . . tell me what to do?”

  “Me? Not a chance. You need a lawyer.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Avery glanced up from his desk, and through the large glass window facing the street, he saw a sight so peculiar that he couldn’t believe it was actually happening. He saw the lovely Miss Kirby, who he soon hoped to make his o
wn, dragging by the hand one of Zachary Scott’s prostitutes! And they were headed straight for his office. He took a few deep, sharp breaths to help maintain a calm demeanor.

  Beatrice burst into the office with Harriet in tow.

  “Mr. Martin. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all, Miss Kirby.” Avery looked pointedly at Harriet. “Is there some way I can be of assistance?”

  “Thank you. That is precisely why we are here.”

  Beatrice quickly introduced Harriet and explained her dilemma. On the way over, Harriet had stopped at the saloon to pick up the papers that she had received from some government office in Kansas. Avery took them wordlessly, his mind spinning in several different directions. Beatrice was so calm—she couldn’t possibly realize who Harriet was. How on earth had they met? Had anyone seen Harriet enter his office? He was going to have to gently explain to Beatrice that this was someone that she really couldn’t afford to associate with—that he couldn’t afford for her to associate with. Not with the reputation that he was trying to build and the respectable alliances he was trying to forge.

  Despite this disturbing train of thought, another corner of Avery’s mind was very aware that Beatrice was pleading earnestly for his help. And the girl looked pitiable: intimidated, downcast, hopeless. She seemed to feel Avery’s reservations even more strongly than Beatrice did. As Beatrice waited hopefully for his reply, he couldn’t help but instantly recall something she had said to him—I want a husband who treats everyone with dignity, no matter their station. Good heavens! Was he really going to be tested in this manner?

  “Is your uncle the next beneficiary?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “If you were dead, then would he be first in line to receive your grandfather’s estate?”

  “I think so. My cousin says he’s just tryin’ to keep the money for himself.”

  “Do you have a certificate of birth?”

  Harriet shook her head.

  “Do you have letters addressed to you, with your full name on the envelope and your Cheyenne address?”

  “I kept all the letters my cousin sent me.”

  “Good. You’ll need evidence to establish identity. You should also go to the photographer here on Main Street. Have a small photograph taken. Have the photographer date and sign the back. And you will sign it as well. We can at least put the lie of your death to bed.”

  “You’re gonna help me?” Harriet said, incredulous.

  Beatrice beamed proudly, and Avery could see there was no way out of this mess.

  “Let me have a good look at these papers, and why don’t we go over it on Friday? At two o’clock.”

  “Okay, so I’ll come back here then?”

  Just what Avery needed to avoid—another very public visit from this soiled dove. “No. No. That’s probably not ideal.”

  “I don’t want you comin’ to the saloon. If Zachary ever found out about this money, he’d do everything he could to take it away from me.”

  “All right. I’m going to impose on an old friend. Do you know Miss Mabel’s boarding house? Good. Meet me there Friday at two.”

  Before they left, Beatrice took his hand warmly and smiled at him with such gratitude. When they left, Avery sank into his chair. He couldn’t have been more frazzled. He had sought to bring Beatrice into his life to strengthen his social status and his political strength, and now there was every chance that his association with her might turn out to be the ruin of him!

  *****

  Dinner was a quiet affair in an establishment with very good food, but it was by no means a fancy place. Though Avery was more than willing to wine and dine Beatrice in the highest fashion, he was also relieved to see that she didn’t insist on an extravagant meal on every occasion. In fact, it was she who had suggested this restaurant. The irresistible aromas floating out onto the street had caught her attention.

  Beatrice was bubbling with high spirits from a very eventful day. “I had a late cup of tea with Mrs. Preston. Do you remember her? She was one of the ladies at the concert.”

  “I certainly do. Philip Preston’s wife. A very influential man. And a friendship that will turn out to be very useful, I’m sure.”

  “I’m not sure about that. But I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would. I hope she can say the same. I’m sure that she intended to discuss fashion and opera and how difficult it is to add to her china collection here in Cheyenne. But I maneuvered us in a different direction, and I don’t think she minded at all.”

  “Do tell. Where did that surprising mind of yours decide to visit?”

  “There is something I have wanted to do all of my adult life, and tomorrow, I shall finally be satisfied.”

  “And what could that be?”

  “Vote! Or at least register to vote. I cannot wait. Wyoming was the first territory to grant women’s suffrage. Now, there are over a half-dozen. But none of the states back East. And I don’t know when that’s ever going to change. But Mrs. Preston had been out here all this time and she’s never registered. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “She had spent half of her life without the vote, and is probably so content with her life, she sees no need to pursue any changes.”

  “Oh, but that’s where she is wrong. I reminded her of all the women back East who have been jailed and attacked and spit on, fighting for this right that she takes so for granted.”

  “Hmm. Did all that lecturing annoy her?”

  “She is accompanying me tomorrow morning, and we are registering together.”

  “Goodness. I’m delighted, but not surprised. I wish there was an election in the immediate future to give you even more satisfaction. But I am particularly happy about one thing. That when the time comes, I may add you to the list of votes I may rely on.”

  “Now, Mr. Martin. I can make no such promises.”

  “What!”

  “I have yet to hear your platform. Or your opponent’s. If you want my vote, you shall have to make a good case for yourself.”

  “That is a cold and ruthless reasoning.”

  “And as a lawyer, I hope you can appreciate the good sense of it. I owe it to all those women who fought for the vote, and continue to fight, not to be frivolous with it. But if you can win me over, I promise you I will do my utmost to exert whatever influence I can on the other ladies.”

  On the one hand, Beatrice was everything he had hoped she would be. She was someone the other ladies could admire, and listen to, and be guided by. All well and good. But still, there was this other matter that threatened to negate all of the positive assets.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Harriet Warner.”

  “I’m so happy you’re going to able to help her.”

  “Yes. But . . . I need to make sure that you’re quite aware that your friend is . . .”

  “A soiled dove?”

  “Then you do know.”

  “Of course I know. But that is precisely why I wanted so badly to help her. She is so young, and without anyone to take care of her. But if we can help her get a hold of this money, it will change everything for her. She’ll no longer be at the mercy of this terrible life that she’s fallen into. She’ll have a real chance for happiness and dignity. And I couldn’t be more grateful to you. I don’t know how we would have figured it out.”

  Avery leaned back in his chair. She never ceased to surprise him. Most respectable women were very antagonistic toward the local working girls, seeing them as sullying the institution of marriage and dragging down the morals of the entire society. And yet here was Beatrice, speaking of Harriet as a valued friend, as a person worthy of assistance and entitled to a decent future, untainted by her soiled past.

  “Did you perhaps, in Boston, devote yourself to charities for the unfortunate?”

  “Not as such. But I did spend a great deal of time thinking about the predicament of the less fortunate. I never felt in a position to do much about it. But I’d like to try
. Now. In my new home.”

  “That’s most admirable, and I don’t want you to find me unfeeling, but—”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t have brought Harriet to your office. It only occurred to me afterward that it would have been awkward if one of your friends had seen her coming out. I don’t always think things through. In any case, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “My dear Miss Kirby. You are a kindhearted, compassionate, and sympathetic woman with the best and most natural generosity I have ever encountered. And for that, you are forgiven.”

  They both chuckled, and he reached gently for her hand.

  “Are you looking forward to the ball?”

  “Are you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I will too. Although I don’t know if I’ll ever enjoy such big events as I do these quiet evenings when it’s just the two of us,” Beatrice confessed.

  It was all Avery could do not to propose on the spot. He had earlier decided that he and Beatrice should take a full month to deeply acquaint themselves with one another. Now that plan felt like a bothersome formality. All of his alarming concerns from earlier in the day were fading to manageable size. After this Harriet matter was quietly dispensed with, he and Beatrice could move forward together to take their place in society as he had hoped from the start. After today’s tiny hiccup, there was no reason to doubt that there was anything but smooth sailing ahead.

  *****

  Beatrice had never seen anything so astonishingly, marvelously lovely. But what a terrible thing to think when the object being admired was oneself. To be fair, it was herself in the dazzling Russian ball gown that left Beatrice dazed and speechless. She couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror, for a lifetime’s experience had proven to her that the person peering back at her would always be the spitting image of herself. But this creature was unrecognizable, grand and exquisite, and from some lofty realm that existed only in fairy tales. Was this really how Russian royalty lived?

  “I have never seen anything lovelier,” Lydia declared.

  “Nor I,” Virginia agreed.

  “She’s like a princess, isn’t she?” Evelyn sighed.