The Piper_The Eleventh Day

by Amanda McIntyre

  Chapter 11

  Genevieve stared at the small blue flower painted on the teacup Birdie had given her. She thought of the strange mountain man with eyes the color of a summer sky.

  “Mrs. Walters?”

  Birdie’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She realized she’d been day-dreaming, prompted, by the disturbing--yet revealing--conversation with Penelope.

  “My apologies Birdie. I fear my thoughts are a bit scattered.”

  “Has there been word of Silas’s return?” Birdie asked, placing the tissue-wrapped veil on the table.

  “I’m afraid not, but Pastor Hammond and I have found another man who has agreed to marry Penelope.”

  Birdie nearly choked on her tea. “From Noelle?” she asked in surprise.

  “Not exactly. It is my understanding that he and his brother came to Noelle shortly after the mine opened. There was a tragic accident—though I am not aware of all the details—but, sadly his brother was killed.”

  Birdie’s hand flew to her chest. “Que horreur!”

  “This man apparently retreated into the mountains and somehow survived an attack by a grizzly bear.”

  Birdie looked at Genevieve with concern. “Mrs. Walters, from what I know about Penny she is a most understanding woman, but under present circumstances should we expect more from her?”

  Noting her concern, Genevieve sighed. “I have thought of that, yes, but she is here, and her purpose in coming was to marry. No, he’s not written the flowery letters she received from Silas, that is true. But something in this man’s persona, in how he treats others, what good the pastor says he’s done for the people here makes me feel he may well be a far better match for Penny.”

  Genevieve hurried on, caught up in finding a way to explain what perfect marriage partners the two would be. “Penny is independent, but has a gentle side that this man most certainly needs. Penny could use a man who believes in her, cherishes her.”

  “And you believe after just a few hours that this man is her best match,” Birdie eyed Genevieve.

  “I know this,” Genevieve straightened her shoulders. “I can attest he is quite a handsome man under his substantial beard and quite a healthy head of hair. And he has the most remarkable blue eyes—why if I were looking for a husband myself--which I am not--he would most certainly qualify as a candidate.” Genevieve caught the curious look on Birdie’s face and stopped. “And to be certain, I spoke with him personally and found him to be a most suitable groom—broad shoulders, kind, self-sufficient, diplomatic.”

  Birdie smiled. “Well, that should come in handy in the bedroom. Has Penelope met him? Does he have a name?”

  “The townsfolk call him Kyi-yee—it was given to him by the Indian who found him after the attack. I’m told that he was under his care for quite some time, that he almost died. He became friends and has on occasion acted as a buffer between the townspeople and Indians when tensions arise.”

  “But you haven’t answered my other question. Has Penelope met him?” Birdie asked.

  Genevieve took a sip of tea averting Birdie’s questioning look. “Not yet. But I’m hoping once she has rested, she will agree to meet him at the saloon. I’m sure once she does, she will be as taken as I am.” Genevieve took out her pocket watch and realized that two hours had passed since she’d left Penelope. “Thank you, kindly for the tea.” She picked up the wrapped veil “Oh, and if it isn’t a great imposition, might I ask you and your husband to stand in as witnesses this evening? I think it would put Penelope at ease to know she was among someone she trusts.”

  “Certainly,” she said, though obviously perplexed. “I assume you will also be there?”

  Genevieve wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, preparing for the walk back to La Maison at the other end of town. She held the tissue bundle beneath her shawl to protect it. “That is a bit of a conundrum, I’m afraid. It seems that Mr. Kyi-yee, while willing to marry Penelope, has imposed on Pastor Hammond a single request.”

  Birdie frowned. “And what is that?”

  She dismissed the annoying request with a sigh. “It seems Mr. Kyi-yee does not wish me present at the ceremony.”

  Birdie opened her mouth to speak. Genevieve stopped her with an upturned hand. “Pastor reminded me it is for the greater good and I have to agree. Our primary purpose here is to give Penelope a good husband and hope for happiness.”

  “Doesn’t that seem odd?” Birdie asked.

  Genevieve nodded “I would agree. And I hope that I may yet convince Mr. Kyi-yee to have a change of heart on the matter.” She lifted her shoulder. “But we must do what is best to fulfill our agreement and save Noelle.”

  “And make certain Penelope finds happiness,” Birdie interjected.

  “That, without question,” Genevieve said, “is paramount.” She shook her head. “Since Agatha chose to join Madame at La Maison, I must go to see if I can convince her to reconsider. On that topic, I understand that your new father-in-law is unattached?”

  Birdie’s eyes flew open at the suggestion, and a curious look flickered through them.

  “I imagine a newly married couple getting to know each other, might enjoy some help with a man like Gus? Perhaps a bride?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Walters, I’m not certain my husband would agree.”

  “Perhaps there’d be no harm in at least offering the idea?” Genevieve asked. “We could discuss it further this evening at the saloon?”

  “I make no promises, Mrs. Walters on the subject of Agatha. But I believe I can get him to agree to be witness for the ceremony this evening.”

  “Splendid! I thank you for being such a good friend to Penelope.” Genevieve’s smile wobbled. “You all will need each other after I return to Denver.” She sniffed, shaking her head to balance her emotions. “I must go. Eleven o’clock at the Nugget.”

  Genevieve marveled at Pastor Hammond’s words—when God closes one door, he opens another. Doubtful that she’d find the passage in the Good Book, she had been witness to its truth more than once today. She had only to speak to Agatha and hope that Penelope’s rest had given her a renewed sense of hope.

  Penelope’s bedroom door was closed. Genevieve lifted her fist, debating whether to knock. She glanced at her husband’s watch and after the chaos of the day decided a few more minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt Penny, or her.

  She walked into the front parlor, its plush furnishings oddly out of place in the ramshackle town. Red velvet curtains with gold tassels separated the room from the foyer. Here, Genevieve surmised, was where men could be entertained with food and drink as they awaited a woman chosen for their needs. Rich floral and velvet fabrics covered the settees and Queen Anne chairs. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls, a player piano stood in one corner.

  Drawn to a gentler time when she played piano in the evenings, Genevieve sat on the tufted piano stool. She ran her fingers over the worn keys. The delicate sound echoed in the empty house. The events of the morning, Penny’s challenging admonition, Seamus’s desire to rekindle his marriage, and Orvis asking her help with Miss Boum Boum—it all seemed to converge on her heart at once. Emotions she’d fought to set aside, desires she’d long ago tried to bury in her work surfaced. Memories of a young soldier with the bluest eyes she’d ever gazed into, the low-timbred voice that comforted her grieving heart the secret confession he’d shared with her in the moonlight in the veranda that fateful night…

  With one hand she plucked out the notes of the song she’d tried hard to forget--the tune the young soldier had played on his mouth pipe. Beautiful Dreamer.

  “It is my duty to inform you”--the young soldier dressed in his tattered Union uniform stumbled—“to inform you that Captain Walters succumbed to injuries received while serving in battle.”

  Frozen in place, Genevieve saw his lips moving but not until the officer stepped forward to catch her mother-in-law did she realize the woman had been standing beside her, receiving the dreadful news at the same time.

  Sh
e pointed him to the parlor where two of the estate staff--an old married couple who had despite the emancipation setting them free, chose to remain after the elder Mr. Walters had passed—aided him in settling her onto the sofa.

  Reeling still from the news, Genevieve stood motionless in the door to the parlor digesting the surreal news that she’d just become a widow.

  The sound of a door slamming upstairs jarred Genevieve from her thoughts. She walked to the stairway to see if Penelope had woken from her rest. Instead she found Agatha.

  “Good day, Mrs. Walters.” Agatha said. She was dressed in her finest dress of calico and lace.

  Genevieve stood at the bottom of the staircase, her hand on the railing. “My, Agatha, but don’t you look fetching this fine afternoon. Special plans?” Genevieve asked.

  Agatha lowered her voice as she descended the steps. “I have a beau,” she said primly.

  “A beau? Who pray tell?” Genevieve tried not to sound too exuberant about the prospect that her absentee twelfth bride might still be resolved.

  “It’s a young man who comes to see me three times a week. He carves these tiny animals. Brings a new one each time he visits.”

  “Does Madame allow these gifts?”

  Agatha’s eyes twinkled. “What she don’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, he pays, so she gets her cut.”

  “And he’s a nice man? One you feel safe with? Easy to talk to? Does he have your best interest at heart?” Genevieve was intrigued. Perhaps there was hope yet that Noelle could be saved.

  Agatha raised her brows. “That’s a lot of territory to cover in less than a week, Mrs. Walters. But he is a gentleman. Pays for services and then we sit and talk the whole time. He is a very learned man.”

  “Why Agatha, he sounds wonderful. Is he…young enough for you?” Genevieve skirted around the topic. She’d never met a woman with Agatha’s constitution at her age.

  “You mean do I find him compatible in all ways?” she asked with a sly grin. “We haven’t gotten around to that just yet. He keeps forgetting why he shows up at the house and so we just talk. But from what I can determine, it appears everything is in tip-top shape.”

  “This is wonderful news,” Genevieve said. “Do you suppose a consideration of marriage is possible?”

  Agatha seemed to chew on the thought. “Oh, I suppose it’s possible.” She shrugged then smiled sweetly. “He is a dear man. Did I mention he brings me these tiny animals he’s carved?”

  Gus? Genevieve smiled, believing more and more in Pastor Hammond’s belief about doors opening. “You did, actually, yes. I think it’s wonderful.”

  Agatha’s eyes darted to Genevieve. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. No one, not even his grandson, knows about us.”

  “You have my word,” Genevieve said.

  “Marriage, hum…” Agatha grinned. “No promises, Mrs. Walters. Want to get to know this one a bit first. Still, the thought isn’t entirely terrible.”

  Genevieve nodded. Her heart pleased that Agatha had found someone it seemed she enjoyed being with. What more could she ask than that? “Oh, by the way, have you seen Penelope Jackson?”

  Agatha paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Earlier, she had a bag. Looked like she was moving out.”

  Confused, Genevieve looked on as Agatha turned to grab her shawl from the hall tree. “I told that Madame Bon—whatever her name is—that I wanted to live in this house and I would come over in the evenings. To be fair, I haven’t much liked what I’ve seen over there and I’m just as happy for Gus’s company. That sorry excuse for a woman doesn’t treat her ladies very kindly. And I don’t take kindly to bullies.”

  She was still pondering if the woman Agatha saw was Penny. She might have been mistaken. “Agatha, I think you’re right to feel as you do about Madame Bonheur. Be careful of her.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.” Agatha grinned. She was even at seventy a lovely woman with silvery hair worn in a braided bun atop her head. Her eyes, bright blue sparkled with mischief. She and Gus would most certainly make a handsome couple, should they ever choose marriage as an option

  Genevieve stopped Agatha before she left. “Are you certain it was Penelope you saw? She indicated to me she needed to rest. Why would she just decide—” the sudden realization that Penny may have left town completely pushed Genevieve up the stairs.

  Finding the door closed, Genevieve knocked once, then opened the door. The room was void of anyone still residing there. Penelope’s bag was indeed gone. Propped on the dresser was a white envelope. Genevieve saw her name written neatly across the paper. She removed the folded notepaper inside, her eyes blurring as she read Penelope’s words.

  Dear Genevieve,

  My heart is heavy as I write this, knowing how reading it will hurt you; yet I must be true to my convictions and not allow weakness to dissuade me. You have been true and faithful, and have always had my fulfillment as your highest priority, and for that I cannot find words to express my gratitude. But Providence has made it clear to me, and now I must accept, that marriage is not meant to be my future.

  By the time you read this, I will have left town. Now, I am leaving to go see Mr. Hardt about arranging to take me to the depot, and will be catching the first train back to Denver in the morning. We can correspond once I’m settled. I shall look forward to hearing more about this man you believe represents the best possible husband material. If he is as wonderful as you say he is, then I think you should consider him for yourself.

  You spoke to us ladies often of the deep and abiding happiness that can be found in a loving companionship, so I implore you to embrace the opportunity to find your own happiness. Search your heart, dear friend. It will not lead you astray.

  Most affectionately yours,

  Penny

  Genevieve brushed a tear from her cheek, tucked the note into her pocket, and hurried downstairs. Retrieving her shawl, she opened the front door and let out a startled yelp.

  “I have zomething I weesh to speak with you about Meesus Walters.” Madame Bonheur walked past Genevieve, her skirts whooshing as she turned to face her. “It has come to my attencion that you are attempting to sabotage my business.”

  Genevieve stood, her hand in her pocket, debating how she could defuse Madame’s anger as quickly as possible. It was imperative she find Penelope. “Madame Bonheur, I implore you. Can this wait? I have more pressing matters--”

  “Do you not theenk that my livelihood, the welfare of my girls is not of grave importance?” she bellowed.

  Genevieve’s ire rose along with the woman’s voice. “Madame Bonheur—if that is indeed your real name, for you are no more French than I am a saloon girl. I must attend to my own matters.”

  Madame reared back as though Genevieve had slapped her. She held up her finger. “YOU have been trying to get my Boum Boum to leave me.”

  “Your Boum Boum?” Genevieve was in no mood to take Madame’s accusations. “Do you think then that you own her, as though she were an animal, or here to serve your bidding?”

  Madame’s eyes widened. “I warn you, Mrs. Walters. I don’t give a damn about your leetle tête-à-tête with the mayor or the preacher. It is my business that has kept this town from going under.” She slapped her fist to her ample breasts. “Ever since you arrived you have created chaos for me. First my Pearl leaves, buying into your silly notions for marriage.”

  “Pearl? You are most certainly misguided or that tight corset had blocked the blood flow to your brain since I have neither the time or interest in your cushy little business. And your thoughts on the railroad agreement and how it may or may not affect you is a matter you will have to take up with Mayor Hardt—your landlord, so I understand.” Genevieve leveled a look at the woman she’d just about had enough of. “And perhaps he’d be interested to know how poorly you treat the women who work at La Maison.”

  Madame gasped and covered her mouth.

  Genevieve took a step toward the shocked woman. “As far
as Miss Boum Boum, or Pearl, or any of the women of La Maison”--Genevieve waved her hand as her voice rose in ire—"any whorehouse from here to either coast. “I would most ardently defend her right—or any woman, for that matter the right to make her own choices,” Genevieve countered.

  Madame shoved her finger beneath Genevieve’s nose. “Then you admit to you encouraged Orvis Weston to abscond with my Boum Boum?” It was peculiar though not entirely surprising that Madame’s French accent had faded away, a richer, nasal tone taking its place along with her anger.

  Genevieve squared her shoulders and held Madame’s steely gaze “If they love each other, then I do not see why anyone or anything should stand in the way of their happiness. She prayed the woman did not carry a small pistol under her skirts as many women in her profession did.

  “Love? What makes you think Boum Boum knows anything about love? Or worse, that low-life of a man, Orvis Weston? He’s nothing but a filthy miner who will never have more than the shirt on his back!”

  Genevieve studied her, then shook her head. “I feel sorry for you Madame Bonheur. For as enterprising as you believe yourself to be, you really have no idea how to treat others with a decency and respect. I wonder is it because you were once treated so poorly that you feel others should share in your pain? Wake up, Madame Bonheur. There is a new day dawning where women will share a greater respect for themselves. They will see the value in who they are and in the choices they make. If you do not change, you will remain enslaved in your own bitterness.”

  The sound of a man clearing his throat brought both women’s heads around to the open front door. Orvis and Miss Boum Boum stood just outside. Considering the shocked expression on both of their faces it appeared they’d heard much of the conversation.