Kristin felt terrible. Mr. Sean had been so kind to her, for all he looked at her in the strangest way. She noticed with astonishment that Miss Kat was following the firemen into the house. What a brave woman! Augustina had arrived also, but she stayed across the street with Father Boniface Wirtner and the children.
"How did it happen?” she asked Kristin.
"I don't know. I lit the stove, the first time I ever managed it, and suddenly there was smoke."
"Well, don't look so stricken,” said Augustina. “Fires are common enough in Breckenridge. This house has already burned once."
"Yes, but that one was set. I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you didn't."
"My stars, Augustina, who's this girl? She looks just like Phoebe and Sean Michael.” A hefty lady had come puffing up, having run all the way from her own house to participate in the excitement.
Augustina turned pale, and Kristin felt a new wave of anxiety. Several strangers had pointed out that she resembled Sean Fitzpatrick's blond children, and she now remembered what Sean Michael had said about his mother running away. I'm not their mother, thought Kristin, so why does everyone in the family stare at me? And since he married Augustina, he can't be still mourning a woman who ran away from him, a woman whose name is never mentioned.
Oh, life was such a puzzle. Always more confusing and less satisfying than one's daydreams. In her daydreams, Jack Cameron was still the handsome prince. She couldn't seem to overcome her infatuation completely.
Chapter Seven
"I don't know what I'm going to do with Kristin,” said Kat as she and Connor lay curled together in the tower room. “She simply will not entertain suitors, and the girl's a dreadful housekeeper."
"Worse than you?"
"Not that bad,” admitted Kat, laughing, “but she did almost burn the house down."
"Nonsense. She forgot to open the flue."
"And in case you haven't noticed, my brother's mooning after her as if she were really Ingrid, and Augustina's miserable even though I don't think she knows why Sean seems so taken with the maid. And then I caught Kristin painting a picture of Phoebe instead of doing the ironing, and she allowed Liama to wet on the carpet and Molly to smash Augustina's favorite lamp. I've never had a worse housemaid, except perhaps for Colleen."
"The one who eloped to the Sisters at St. Gertrude? Maybe Kristin would like to become a nun. She seems to be a devout Catholic."
"Well, the nuns are no longer here,” said Kat in such a woebegone tone that her husband gave her a consoling kiss. “I do miss Sister Freddie since they moved to Mason City,” said Kat, sniffing. “Maybe I can set Kristin up in business,” she mused.
"You'll send us to the poor house trying to make entrepreneurs out of these girls. Are you hoping, if you make enough women into proprietors, you'll convince the state of Colorado that women should have the vote?"
"Women should have the vote,” said Kat.
"Well, at the moment men have the vote, and this man casts a vote for making love."
"I'm tired,” said Kat, trying to sound reluctant.
"If you're so tired, why are you snuggling up to me?"
Downstairs Kristin had heard Connor's first outburst of laughter, then Kat's, then the sighs and groans. What was going on up there? she wondered. For some reason, they made her think of Mr. Cameron.
"Have you ever thought of going into business for yourself, Kristin?” asked Kat, who had stayed home to help with dinner and have this conversation.
"My ambition is to be a professional artist.” The two were sitting on the back porch shelling peas grown by a man in Braddock who had to cover his vegetables at night lest they freeze. Maybe Miss Kat will find me a studio and art patrons, Kristin thought with dawning excitement.
"You'd starve to death painting pictures,” said Kat. “We need to find something practical and lucrative for you."
Kristin stared out at the mountains, sadly disappointed. No one thought she could be an artist.
"How did your father make his living? Was he a farmer? Vegetable growing has been profitable for Dave Braddock."
Kristin was so surprised at the idea that Kat might try to make a farmer of her that she dropped a handful of pea pods. “Sausage-making,” she muttered.
Kat's face lit up. “Do you know how?"
Kristin mumbled that yes, she did know how to make sausages. Anyone with an ounce of wits would know how, more or less, if they'd gone to the sausage factory as many times as she.
"Well, I think that's a wonderful idea,” said Kat, as if Kristin had suggested it. “Sausages should sell very well in the mountains. Miners love sausages."
"Excuse me,” said Kristin, “I have to use the necessary house,” and she dashed away toward the amazing little structure with its window and scrollwork. Probably the design of the kidnapper carpenter.
Sitting on the back porch with an apron full of peas, Kat stared after Kristin. What was wrong with the child? Lack of confidence, in all likelihood. She probably thought women couldn't make their own way in the world.
Kat decided to investigate the sausage-making business. Now what would they need? Well, pigs, obviously. The Landis family, who leased her ranch outside Dillon, would have to raise the pigs. Kristin could make and sell the sausages to Kat's Fitzgerald Sweet Cream Butter customers. But what could they use for a place of business? Kat didn't want the sausages made in her own house. She ran over various unoccupied properties in her mind and settled, with malicious glee, on the Fleming mansion on Nickel Hill. It had been vacant for four years. Considering its state of disrepair, she ought to be able to get it in lieu of the slander judgment she'd won against Medford. The Fleming Mansion would get Kristin off French Street and away from Sean. He certainly didn't need to be reminded of Ingrid now that he was married to Augustina.
On the other hand, Kristin was such a spineless little thing; she might be afraid to live by herself. Who can I get to live with her who might be interested in sausage making? Kat wondered. I'll write Genevieve.
"Care for another?” asked Robert Foote, the owner of the Denver Hotel in which Jack was staying. Foote was a friendly man, but not given to dispensing free drinks. However, it was after legal hours, and his bar was closed, so Jack accepted the offer.
Why the devil couldn't Mrs. Macleod see that he hadn't stolen a portion of their mine from them? Jack wondered. He'd rescued them. They hadn't, as he'd originally thought, been diverting Cameron money to their losing silver mines. They'd lost the vein at the Chicago Girl for a time while expanding to try to increase their profits. Jack was convinced that the bank's money would be returned manyfold, but in the meantime his father had just sent a telegram saying, in essence, that the Wapshot profits were all very well, but why was nothing being done about the Chicago Girl?
Some investments took longer to pay off than others. Jack had yet to inform Pitman Cameron that there was a new branch of the Cameron Bank in Breckenridge, which would pay for itself many times over, although his father would complain at every turn, might even refuse to participate. If so, Jack had inheritance money, the investment profits on that, and his own share of the Wapshot deal.
The fly in his ointment was Kristin. He'd managed to corner her twice since their first meeting, and their last confrontation had been as angry as the first. “I only want to help you,” he'd said.
"You came here on business, not because of me,” she'd retorted.
"That's not true. Well, not entirely."
"Leave me alone,” she'd said. “If you don't, I'll tell Miss Kat and everybody at St. Mary's what you did to me, and they're very devout and upright people. Kat will have you run out of town."
Jack could believe that. Kat Macleod, who was loved by one and all, still disliked him intensely. He had on his hands two women he couldn't win over, when in all his life heretofore he hadn't found one he couldn't charm, except for Kristin's Aunt Frieda. Well, he'd not let them ruin his plans to settle in Breckenridge. He wante
d to stay, and there were townsfolk aplenty who wanted him to.
Which would win out? he wondered. Moral indignation or greed? Greed, he thought. But lord, he didn't want to hurt Kristin. If she told Kat what she thought had happened to her—did she think a kiss amounted to seduction? It was possible. She was such an innocent girl.
The worst of it was that every time he saw her, he dreamed of her, the most incredibly erotic dreams, and in the dreams he did seduce her. In dreams she was a better bed partner than any of the experienced women he'd been involved with. I'm turning into a fool, he thought, and over a woman. No, not even a woman. A slip of a girl. She'd never welcome his advances as she did in his dreams. He'd probably have to get her drunk again to win so much as another kiss. Jack shook his head.
"Aye,” said Robert Foote, “if Passmore and Kat Macleod have their way, every bar and saloon in town will have to close on Sunday."
Jack smiled at his host. He did have friends in this town, even if Kat Macleod and Kristin weren't among them.
"Have another shot, my boy. We'll drink to—what? Perdition to the Brother Passmores of the world."
"Perdition,” said Jack companionably and raised his glass. He didn't mind drinking with Foote, but a whole barful of friendly natives would have cheered him more. Foote was abysmally distressed at the Sunday closing ordinance, afraid that eventually the temperance contingent would get a court order for its enforcement in Breckenridge.
"Perdition to Kat Macleod,” said Foote.
Jack grinned. “I dare not drink to that. If it got back to her, she'd treat me worse than she does already."
"Oh, Connor will bring her around. She may be hardheaded, but she's also the prettiest woman in town."
Jack thought Kristin prettier, but he couldn't say so. He wasn't supposed to know Kristin.
"So if you won't drink perdition to Kat, how about the Methodist Ladies Aid Society? Teetotalers, the whole lot."
As a Catholic, although not a very devout one, Jack didn't mind that toast. “All right. Perdition to the Ladies Aid Society.” As he raised his glass, his mind wandered back to Kristin and how pretty she had looked the last time he saw her, how sweet her mouth had tasted when he kissed her at the Macleods’ house and in the dark on Main Street. “Perdition to women,” he muttered in frustration.
"Oh now, I wouldn't go that far,” said Robert Foote.
"Kristin, I wonder if I might have a word with you?” asked Connor Macleod.
"Certainly, sir,” she replied and tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron.
"Why don't we go into the corridor room where we'll have some privacy."
Why did he want privacy? she wondered, remembering that one of the maids at home had accused her brother Ludovich of making advances. The girl had been fired. Was Mr. Connor going to make advances when they were alone in the corridor room? Very reluctantly, she followed him out of the kitchen. Where was Miss Kat? she wondered desperately. Miss Augustina and Mr. Sean were at choir practice and the children all abed.
"Kristin, I've been wondering whether you've thought about your future."
"My future?” she echoed in a wobbly voice.
"Yes. You don't seem to be interested in any of the suitors Kat's turned up for you."
Oh lord, they're going to ask me to leave because I won't get married.
"I was thinking you might want to become a bride of Christ?"
"What?"
"The Benedictine Sisters. Maybe you'd like to join."
"Become a nun?” Although her girlhood had been spent at school with the sisters, Kristin had never considered becoming one. Jack Cameron's handsome face flashed in her mind. If she became a sister, she'd never—never what? she asked herself sternly. She wasn't going to see Jack Cameron again. “Do I have to?” she asked Connor.
He looked quite taken aback. “No, of course not. I just thought you'd like it."
"I don't think so,” said Kristin.
"Well, that settles it. I'll bid you good night.” Connor Macleod rose and left.
Was he angry? she wondered. Was that why he had ended the conversation so abruptly? He'd said she must think about her future. What was it? Housemaid? Sausage maker? Nun? She supposed that if she became a nun, she could teach art like Sister Ermentrude, but surely God wouldn't like it if someone joined a convent because they couldn't find anything better to do. A pox on Jack Cameron, she thought. No matter how handsome he had looked the last time she saw him, he was a bad person. She must stop thinking about him.
"Mother!” cried Kat. “I'm so glad to see you. And who's this young woman?” She glanced at the stocky girl who stood behind Maeve on the porch. The girl had a broad face that might have been pretty except that the eyes were narrow and set too close together over a thin blade of a nose.
"Patsy Monroe. Genevieve sent her, and I brought her straight along, knowing you needed better help."
"Kristin is improving.” Kat waved them in and picked up Bridget. “Have you a kiss for your big sister?"
"You're too old to be my sister,” said Bridget. “I don't see why I can't call you Aunt Kat like Sean's children do.” She gave Kat a kiss on the cheek and then drew back to pat her curls into place.
Kat set Bridget down and turned to the new maid. “Patsy, your room is just behind the parlor to your right. You'll be sharing with Kristin. Why don't you unpack while Mother and I sit down to chat?” Patsy, lugging her own bag, went off, although in no great hurry.
"Has a Mr. Jack Cameron come to visit here?” asked Maeve, getting right to the point.
"Of course he has,” said Kat. “He owns part of the Chicago Girl and wants the controlling interest. I'm sure I wrote about that."
"I thought Mr. Cameron was coming here about Kristin."
"I don't think he even knows her.” Kat passed her mother a cookie from a plate on the lamp table. “She's such a shy thing, Mother. She hides every time we bring a man into the house. I despair of ever finding her a husband."
"Well, you've found her one,” said Maeve. “Bridget, why aren't you playing with the other children?"
"I want to stay and listen, Mama."
"Kristin and your cousins are in the back yard, Bridget. Take off your hat, dear, and run out.” Kat relieved the child of her boater with its blue bow and streamers. “Are you saying that Kristin and Mr. Cameron know each other?” Kat asked her mother.
"That they do, and in the biblical sense."
"Oh Mother, I can't believe that. There never was a more virginal girl than Kristin. She's—” Kat stopped because Kristin herself came in from the yard with a basket of flowers. Kat wondered how much of the conversation the girl had heard. Most of it from the look of her.
"Sit you down, girl,” said Maeve, “while I tell Kathleen how you've bamboozled us all. She was disowned by her family, weren't you?” demanded Maeve. Kristin looked stricken, but Maeve continued, “Because she'd been pursuing her own sister's fiance."
"I wasn't,” cried Kristin.
"And because her father caught them together. Right in his own house they were. Genevieve told me about it."
"Genevieve would never have betrayed me."
"Ah, but she did. Wrote me a letter because that Jack Cameron came to her and she didn't know what to think. He claimed he wanted to make it right."
"How can he make it right?” Tears began to roll down Kristin's face.
Kat moved to the sofa and put her arm around Kristin. “Has he offered, child?"
"He wants to take me back to my family, but they won't have me."
"Well, you certainly can't stay here,” said Maeve.
"Now, Mother."
"Do you want your children growing up in the house with a fallen woman?"
"Mother, I'm not throwing any young person out in the street,” said Kat, “especially one as unprepared to take care of herself as this one."
"Kathleen, I intend to stay with you until James arrives, and I don't want to set my eyes on this girl. I haven't any do
ubt that she led that Mr. Cameron on."
Did I? Kristin wondered. Maybe if she hadn't been fantasizing about him, she'd never have got in trouble, never have sipped the brandy, never told him about her activities with Genevieve. He must have thought that if she would associate with lower-class women, he could treat her just as he liked.
"He'll have to marry her,” said Kat.
"I doubt that's what he wants,” warned Maeve.
Kristin agreed silently. Jack Cameron had never mentioned marriage. Not to her. What would she have said if he had?
"What have you got against Cameron?” Connor Macleod asked his wife. “Jack's a fine fellow."
"The devil he is,” said Kat and told him the story she'd heard from her mother.
Connor shrugged. “You and I jumped the gun."
"You're no gentleman to remind me of that."
"Several times,” said Connor, grinning, “and we loved every minute of it, both of us. I swear I thought that you meant to keep sleeping with me but never marry."
Kat felt the color staining her cheeks. “What are we going to do about Kristin and Mr. Cameron? He's left town, undoubtedly to escape his duty to her."
"He's just gone to Denver on business. Jack couldn't have had any idea we'd hear the story. Wait until he gets back and talk to him then if you must."
"I don't think Kristin wants to marry him. She wants to be a famous spinster artist."
"Well, surely you can find something more sensible for her."
"But she's been dishonored."
"No one will know if you don't tell them."
Kristin and Patsy were sharing dishwashing duty after an unnerving dinner. Maeve, having insisted that Kristin be sent away, had stared at her throughout as if she were a leper plopped down in their midst. And now that Kat and Connor had an efficient maid in Patsy, they wouldn't need Kristin. But where could she go? Kristin wondered. If she'd taken up Mr. Cameron's offer, she'd be on her way to Chicago—and what? Mama and Papa wouldn't welcome her. Oh, it was all his fault! If he hadn't gone looking, Genevieve would never have written to Maeve, and Kristin would have been safe here. Kat Macleod was too charitable a woman to throw her out under ordinary circumstances.
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