by Cox, Carol
If this chestnut-haired woman was part of that simpering, self-centered crowd with its pompous ways, she held no interest for him at all.
Seven
“Where have you been? I can’t imagine what you could have found to do that kept you out so long.”
“Now, Letitia, I told you she would be gone for the afternoon.” Richard gave his wife a consoling pat and shot a furtive glance at Elizabeth. “Remember, we want her to be happy here.”
Elizabeth clamped her tongue between her teeth. What a contrast to the sense of freedom she had felt during the past few hours. Already she felt like she’d stepped back into a cage.
Charity suffereth long. It couldn’t be easy for Letitia, bound to her bed and chair for weeks on end. Small wonder her temper flared.
“I’m back now. I’ll get a fresh nightgown ready and start heating water for your bath.”
“Just a moment.” Richard’s voice stopped her. “I picked up the mail on my way home at noon. This letter is yours. I forgot to give it to you earlier.”
Elizabeth accepted it gladly. Spying Carrie’s handwriting, she tore the envelope open, eager for news from home. Her sister’s girlish chatter about Virginia’s wedding preparations would be just the thing to counteract the sour taste left in her mouth by Letitia’s greeting.
Are you sitting down, Elizabeth? Papa would have written himself, but he’s spending every minute down at his office, and Mama is busy having yet another attack of the vapors. I don’t understand all the ins and outs of the situation, but it seems some of Papa’s business investments have gone sour, and we find ourselves on the brink of financial disaster. “In serious straits,” Papa calls it, although Mama claims we are on the verge of poverty. You should be here to see the uproar!
Virginia storms through the house bemoaning our state in the most dramatic fashion. Not out of concern for Mama and Papa, I’m afraid, but for fear this will hinder her plans for the wedding of the century. Or—horror of horrors!—cause Emerson to reconsider his proposal entirely.
As for me, dear Elizabeth, I am sure my attitude disappoints Mama very much. Instead of feeling we’re going through a great tragedy, I have a tremendous sense of anticipation about what lies ahead. All my life, I’ve heard Pastor Whitcomb assure us that God is able to supply our needs, no matter what the circumstance. And now I shall experience the truth of that statement firsthand. I no longer have to sit and moon about the excitement I’ve missed by not being with you. I’m having my very own adventure, right here at home! Papa sends his warmest regards. He is so glad you have money of your own so you don’t have to worry.
With all my love,
Carrie
P.S. Papa has said I may come to work for him as a secretary. It will save him some money, and I may need those skills to help provide some income if things don’t turn around soon. Needless to say, I am delighted, and poor Mama is utterly scandalized.
The letter slipped from Elizabeth’s fingers. The room receded and instead she saw the image of Carrie’s laughing face. Papa’s business in ruins? Impossible! And yet, she knew Carrie wouldn’t exaggerate. How could this have happened? More to the point, what should she do?
“Are you going to stand there staring into space or take care of me?” The harsh voice snapped her back to the present.
“Letitia.” Richard’s voice held a pleading note.
“She’s quite right.” Elizabeth stood and pocketed the letter. “I’ve had my free afternoon. It’s time I got back to work.”
She set her mind on straightening the bed sheets and fluffing the pillows. All the while, her mind whirled with the question of what she ought to do.
She could take the next stagecoach and return to Philadelphia. The thought curdled her stomach, but it had to be faced. Her family needed her.
She smoothed a wrinkle from Letitia’s blanket, turning the possibilities over in her mind. If she did go back, would she be a help or a liability? Perhaps it made it easier on them to have one less mouth to feed.
Then there was Emerson. She cringed at the thought of the effect the news of his future bride’s impending poverty would have on the Fairfield family. They cared about their money and prestige almost as much as Virginia did.
No doubt he would be too embarrassed to break things off with Virginia now that their engagement had been formally announced. But he’d also be mortified for his fiancée to come from an impoverished family.
She nodded, satisfied that Emerson would do everything in his power to see that the Simmons family’s fortunes were restored as quickly as possible.
She poured fresh water into Letitia’s tumbler, a little guilty at the relief she felt at knowing she didn’t have to leave. But this, too, could be of benefit to her family.
Once her business started making a profit, she would be in the delightful position of being able to send money back to help out. Then both Mother and Virginia would have to admit her initiative was something to be appreciated.
And you’ll have to ask forgiveness for your insufferable pride.
That thought tempered her elation somewhat. A woman had an obligation to use the gifts God gave her. She remained convinced of that. How did one do that and still not be prideful about it? There must be a balance; how could she find it?
❧
“Back again, are you, Miss Simmons?” Jake Bowen, proprietor of Bowen Mercantile, shoved his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and scratched his bald pate.
“I’m afraid so. Are you getting tired of my visits?”
“Not in the least. I enjoy a lady who’s as much a pleasure to look at as she is to argue with.” His cherubic smile took away any offense his words might have caused. “You’ve got one of the best minds in the territory, I reckon. Even if everyone else around here doesn’t see it that way.”
Elizabeth stopped in the act of examining a bolt of printed muslin and forced herself to take a calming breath. Mr. Bowen couldn’t be blamed for the opinions of the unenlightened. And she shouldn’t be surprised that some people objected to her outspoken views. On the other hand, she didn’t have to like it.
“So what do you think of my plan to supply equipment to the miners?”
“Appears to me your idea is a good one. Mining’s the magnet that draws people to Prescott, but it’s the merchants selling to ’em that makes the real money.”
“That’s my reasoning exactly.” Elizabeth basked in a warm glow of gratification. “There’s a lot of call for mining supplies right now. I can start out stocking those and expand my inventory as I become more established. I don’t have any plans to encroach on your territory of handling general merchandise, though,” she added with a grin.
Bowen chuckled. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, all right.” He peered at her over his eyeglasses. “I didn’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“For a woman. That was what you were expectin’, wasn’t it? For a minute there, you got all fluffed up like a hen ready to protect her chicks.”
Elizabeth drew herself up and lifted her chin. “Surely not.” She caught sight of her reflection in the window and laughed. “Well, perhaps you have a point. But have no fear, Mr. Bowen. In my mind, you are definitely on the side of the angels.”
She turned at the sound of the door opening and groaned when Harry Goldberg and Everett Watson walked in. Two who were most definitely not on the angelic side of the ledger. Another man entered behind them and stood off to one side.
“Look who’s here.” Everett sauntered toward her. “That pickle-juice-slinging female who thinks she’s going to be a businessman.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She would not be intimidated by the likes of Everett Watson. “God gave women minds, just as surely as He gave them to men. In contrast to you, however, I intend to use the one He blessed me with.”
She held her skirts aside and swept past the dumbfounded man as his companion burst into laughter.
“She got you good,” Harry sputt
ered. “She didn’t even need any pickle juice this time.”
Too incensed to make any further reply, Elizabeth pushed her way toward the door. The third man stood nearby, regarding her with a broad smile.
Elizabeth jerked to a halt in front of him. “And I suppose you’re another one who thinks a woman’s place is confined to the cookstove?”
The dark-haired man shook his head. “If I had presumed to hold such an opinion before, I would certainly change it now. You most definitely have a quick mind.”
Elizabeth waited for him to add “and a lively tongue.” When he didn’t, she eyed him closely to see if he was making fun of her. Every line of his face showed sincerity—and could that be a hint of admiration?
Her face flamed with embarrassment at her impulsive speech. “My apologies, Sir. It seems I leaped to a totally unfounded conclusion.” She looked back at the other two men. “I’ve seen so much of a different attitude lately, I’m afraid I assumed the worst.”
The heat in her cheeks told her she must be as red-faced as Everett. She extended her hand. “I am Elizabeth Simmons. It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of one of the few men out here who is able to see a woman as a person of worth in her own right.”
❧
She had a firm, confident grip. Not surprising, after the scene he’d just witnessed. Michael caught himself before the smile that threatened to spread across his face could surface. He had a feeling she’d never believe he was laughing at her victims and not her.
“I’m Michael O’Roarke.” He released her fingers reluctantly, missing the contact with her soft skin as soon as she withdrew her hand.
So this was the woman who had bested Everett once before. Michael took his first close look at the mass of chestnut curls framing her oval face. The top of her head didn’t come any higher than his nose. He’d seen children taller than that.
But that fiery spirit didn’t belong in a child’s body. She had dressed Everett down in no uncertain manner. He wouldn’t have believed it, had he not seen it with his own eyes. How could so much explosive power be packed into such a small package? Being around Elizabeth Simmons could prove as dangerous as juggling a twenty-pound keg of black powder.
But Michael had a feeling it would be a lot more fun.
Eight
Richard poked his head into Letitia’s room, where Elizabeth sat reading to her. “I’ve brought some friends home. Make some coffee and bring it to the parlor. And some of those sweet rolls you made last night.”
Elizabeth started at his peremptory tone and glanced at Letitia, who took the interruption with surprising grace. “Go along,” she said. “It’s some of his political cronies. You’ll find that more business is often done in gatherings like this than in official meetings.
“Go on,” she urged when Elizabeth hesitated. “It’s a fine opportunity to meet some of the right people. Connections like this will be important to you, since you plan to stay on.”
Elizabeth moved to the kitchen, pausing in the parlor doorway long enough to count the guests. Five men besides Richard filed in through the front door.
He could have given me some warning. She filled the coffeepot and stirred up the fire in the cookstove, then searched through the cupboards for something suitable to serve as refreshments.
Only a few of the rolls remained. She cut them into halves to make it look like more. Hardly a lavish repast, but it would have to do.
It could have been worse. At least he didn’t show up and demand supper for all those men. She carried in the tray of rolls, then went back for the coffee service.
“Pour for us, would you, Elizabeth?” Richard tossed the request out with a casual air.
“Of course.” She filled six cups with the dark, steaming liquid, using the time to inspect Richard’s guests more closely.
Opposites might attract in some circumstances, but Richard’s cronies looked to be men of his own type. Their physical attributes differed, but each one had the appearance of a man totally focused on himself.
“If they’d just listen to me, we could solve this issue in two minutes.”
“McCormick’s still shaken by his wife’s death. He isn’t in a mood to listen to anyone right now.”
“Maybe we need a new governor, have you thought about that?”
Elizabeth handed out five cups of coffee and looked at the one left over on her tray. Surely she had seen six men enter the room?
Movement from the far corner caught her attention. The sixth man stood in the shadows, observing the goings-on with casual interest, but taking no part in it himself.
With one of his thumbs hooked in a pocket of his vest, he used the fingers of his other hand to preen his enormous handlebar mustache with slow, deliberate strokes.
His gaze fastened on Elizabeth. She picked up the last cup to carry it to him, then set it back on the tray. Something about the way he watched her brought gooseflesh up on her arms. He could come get his own coffee, if he were so inclined.
“I have something here, if you’d care to touch up your coffee a bit.” Richard produced a bottle half filled with amber liquid.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. With her duties as hostess completed, there was no reason for her to remain. She turned to go back to Letitia.
“Stay here, Elizabeth. We may need you for something.”
She shot a startled glance at Richard. Stay in the room with five strange men? Feeling like a fly in a spider’s web, she moved to the farthest corner of the room and stood quietly, hands clasped in front of her.
The low murmur of conversation resumed, although several of the men glanced her way from time to time. Elizabeth began to feel like an exhibit on display and disliked the sensation heartily.
A narrow-faced man set his cup down in its saucer with a clank that made her wince. “Where’s that bottle, Richard?” he slurred. “I hate wasting good bourbon like that. Get me a glass, and I’ll drink it straight.”
“Elizabeth! Mr. Matthews needs a shot glass.” The slur in Richard’s own voice alerted her to the likelihood that he’d started drinking well before coming home.
“They’re in the sideboard,” she stated, making no move to fetch one. She might have to stay in the room as a courtesy to her host; she did not have to contribute to his guests’ debauchery.
Richard sent a furious look her way but relaxed when the other men laughed. “Over here,” he told them, pulling out a glass for each one. “Let’s wet our whistles with something that hasn’t been diluted by coffee.”
Elizabeth shrank back against the wall, wishing she had chosen a station closer to the door. To leave now, she would have to cross the room, right past the drinking men.
What about the door to Richard’s study? She quickly gave up that idea when she remembered the lone man standing in front of it. Elizabeth darted a glance at him in spite of herself and stifled a cry when she found him staring straight at her.
He didn’t flinch at her scrutiny but continued to study her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
“Sure a pretty one you’ve got helping out,” called Matthews.
“I’ll say.” A tall, thin-faced man favored her with a loose-lipped leer. “We need more like that around this town.”
Richard only tipped a glass of bourbon down his throat. “I’ll have to agree that there’s a shortage of eligible young ladies in the capital.” He looked at the man in the corner and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
The man in the shadows met Richard’s gaze, then turned his attention to Elizabeth. Once more she had the feeling of being under inspection. Without making eye contact with her again, the man looked back at Richard and gave him a slow nod that chilled her.
Someone brushed her elbow, and she jumped. Matthews stood only inches from her.
“A real looker, that’s what you are.” He bobbed his head up and down, a move that threatened to upset his already precarious balance.
Elizabeth moved away, wishing she could disappear.
“Yessir, once the word gets out, every young buck in the territory will be lining up to meet you. Better get all the work out of her you can now,” he called across the room to Richard. “This one’ll be married off before you know it.”
“Enough!”
Her outburst shocked the gathering into silence. Elizabeth felt as stunned as the rest looked. Still, she had their attention; she might as well speak her mind before she lost her nerve.
“Since my future seems to be of such great interest to all of you, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I have no intention of marrying just to assure myself of security. I plan to make my own future.”
The two men closest to her chuckled indulgently. Another laughed out loud.
Richard’s expression held all the friendliness of a thundercloud. “That will be all from you.”
Elizabeth raked him with a scathing look. “I’ll be with Mrs. Bartlett if you need me.”
❧
“Richard told me of your behavior this afternoon.” Letitia pushed away her pie plate and set her fork down with fingers that trembled. “You owe an apology to him, not to mention all the other gentlemen you offended with your rudeness.”
Elizabeth felt her back grow rigid. “Not a one of them deserves to be called a gentleman, much less merits an apology.”
“We’ve heard quite enough out of you today, young lady.” Two helpings of venison stew plus a large slice of dried apple pie had toned down Richard’s tipsiness somewhat.
He hadn’t begun to hear all she had on her mind. “I don’t intend to allow a crowd of half-drunken boors to discuss my life.”
“Yes, you made your opinions quite clear. And managed to offend some of the territory’s most influential men in the process.”
“I’m sorry you feel I’ve been rude to guests in your home. At the same time, their remarks were inappropriate. It is certainly none of their business what my plans for marriage—or lack of them—might be.”
The Bartletts exchanged startled looks. “You spoke in haste,” Richard said in an appeasing tone. “I can understand that some of their comments might have caused you to say things you didn’t mean.”
