A Beauty Refined

by Tracie Peterson

  “I’ll no doubt need them to settle my stomach.”

  Phoebe put the menu aside. “I look at all of this as a great adventure, Vater. We can certainly allow that the food will be different from what we have at home. However, that needn’t keep us from enjoying ourselves.”

  The waiter approached, and Phoebe allowed her father to order for them both. Meanwhile, Phoebe glanced around the room at the sparse collection of diners. Perhaps others had dined earlier. Americans seemed to be well-known for that. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t fault the establishment, nor Americans as a whole. She pulled off her gloves and set them aside.

  “I do hope you’ll find something to enjoy about this place.”

  “I’ll enjoy getting my business tended to,” her father snapped. “As I remind myself, I will often be gone from this . . . place.”

  Phoebe decided to leave off with the small talk. It was apparent her father’s thoughts were consumed with other issues, and nothing she said would change his mood.

  When their first course of varied hors d’oeuvres appeared, Phoebe selected several that looked promising. She sampled the deviled kidney but found it rather bitter. Next she had a bit of the pickled lamb’s tongue, but this was too tart for her taste. Last of all she took a bite of the carciofini. The artichoke was savory with just the right amount of garlic butter. When the consommé arrived, Phoebe realized she was famished. She sampled the soup, finding it delicious, although fearing the flavor of chestnuts to be a bit strong for her father’s taste. The courses continued with Vater saying very little. Halfway through the meal, however, he let his thoughts be known.

  “I credit them for palatable food.” He finished off the last of his beef. “The mustard-and-red-wine sauce on this beef is quite acceptable.”

  Phoebe nodded. “Indeed, Vater.” When the dessert finally arrived, Phoebe found herself too full to partake. She was just about to say as much when two gentlemen approached the table and introduced themselves to Phoebe’s father.

  “Graf Von Bergen, or should we call you Count Von Bergen?” one of the men asked.

  “Either will suffice.”

  Phoebe knew the title was important to her father. A graf was equal to a count or earl, and that entitled her father to a nobleman’s respect. And her father definitely demanded such.

  Not wishing to appear rude, Phoebe tolerated the introductions. The men were apparently connected to the mining interests of her father. She didn’t recognize their names, nor did she have any desire to partake of their conversation.

  She pulled on her long gloves. “I can see that you gentlemen would like to talk. If you’ll excuse me, I should enjoy a short walk before it grows too dark.” One of the men assisted her as Phoebe rose.

  Her father waved her away while the two gentlemen took chairs at the table. Phoebe made her way to the hotel lobby, noticing the enticing pattern of colorful squares and triangles on the floor. She thought it a fine contrast to the rich woodwork everywhere else in the hotel.

  “How are you this evening, Miss Von Bergen?” a man asked.

  Startled, Phoebe looked up and recognized the hotel manager. “I am quite well, thank you.”

  “It’s a beautiful evening.”

  She nodded graciously as she’d been taught all of her life. “Indeed. I believe I will enjoy a walk before turning in for the evening.”

  “Oh, you should definitely do that. You might want to walk down to the natatorium—just to get a look. It’s inspiring.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I will.”

  Outside she strolled along the porch for a time, breathing in deeply of the crisp dry air. The skies held a glorious display of orange-gold and pink against a fading blue as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Phoebe found she liked this rustic location. Its isolation gave Phoebe a momentary sensation of being one of the last people on earth, a feeling she quite liked. Cities had always been much too crowded and noisy for her taste.

  Finally Phoebe followed the path along the well-manicured lawns and cottonwood trees to the natatorium. She had been fascinated by the idea of an indoor public pool here in the middle of the Wild West. Especially one fed by hot springs. It conjured up all sorts of thoughts about Roman baths, a seeming anachronism for this western retreat.

  The natatorium, unlike the American cottage style of the hotel, was done in elaborate Moorish architectural designs. Phoebe paused for a moment to marvel at the exterior, where a line of no fewer than nine circular stained-glass windows flanked each side of the triple-arched entryway. Beside the entry, two large towers rose, topped by tiered, onion-shaped domes. The intricate tile work and Moorish details gave the building an exotic and altogether foreign appearance in its present location.

  Phoebe made her way inside and was immediately aware of the warmth and the heavier, damp air. She marveled at the interior of the building just as she had the exterior. At one end of the massive pool was a waterfall she guessed to be nearly forty feet high. Water cascaded over large granite boulders and into the pool.

  “You’re pretty like my mama.”

  Phoebe startled. To her right a young boy in wet swimming togs smiled up at her. “My name is Kenneth, but people call me Kenny.” His blue eyes seemed to twinkle. “I’m learning to swim.”

  She smiled at the blond-haired boy. “That’s an admirable goal . . . Kenny.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Phoebe.”

  “You can come swim with us, Phoebe.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t swim, but thank you for the invitation.”

  “Ian can teach you. He’s teaching me.” The boy surprised her by taking hold of her hand and pulling her in the direction of a rather handsome stranger who was using a towel to dry himself.

  “This is Ian. He told me everybody ought to learn to swim.”

  The man he’d called Ian stopped what he was doing and looked up with a smile. The smile faded, however, as he stared at her in what Phoebe could only describe as a dumbstruck manner. Perhaps he was just as startled by her appearance as she had been by Kenny’s. On the other hand, Phoebe knew she was considered quite beautiful. She’d had numerous suitors vying for her hand since she’d turned fourteen. Maybe this Ian was simply taken aback by her looks.

  Phoebe tried her best to dispel the tension that seemed to mount by the second. “I am sorry for the interruption. We only just arrived this afternoon, and I thought to see what the natatorium was all about.”

  “It’s about swimming,” Kenny said in a matter-of-fact manner. He looked up at Phoebe and beamed her a smile. “I like the way you talk. You must be from someplace far away.”

  Phoebe’s training gave way and she found herself laughing. “I must say that I like the way you talk as well, and yes, I am from far away.”

  “Well, now you’re here and you should learn to swim. I’m almost ten and Ian says I’ve wasted way too much time.”

  She glanced again at Ian and then back to the boy. “You are quite charming, young Kenny.” She looked again to the man. “I do apologize. I will take my leave now so you can return to your instructions.”

  The boy shook his head. “Don’t go.” He turned to Ian. “She doesn’t know how to swim and I told her you could teach her.”

  The man cleared his throat. “I . . . uh . . . I should be the one to apologize.” His gaze never left her face. “I . . . well, you remind me of someone.”

  “You can teach her to swim, can’t you, Ian?”

  Phoebe felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She couldn’t think of how to explain to Kenny the inappropriateness of having Ian teach her to swim, but then the handsome man spoke first.

  “I’d be happy to teach her,” Ian replied, fixing Phoebe with a lopsided grin. “Anytime.”

  2

  After changing into their dry clothes, Ian rubbed Kenny’s wet head with a towel. “What say we go find my mother? She should be just about ready to head home. Your mama is probably done for the day as well.”


  “Do you think Grandma Harper will have some cookies for us?”

  Ian smiled and nodded. He and his mother, Georgia Harper, had been friends with the boy and his mother, Elizabeth, for the last few years. They had grown so close, in fact, that Georgia had insisted Kenny call her Grandma, especially since he had no other grandmother. Elizabeth thought this quite acceptable, which pleased Ian’s mother to no end.

  They headed around the back side of the hotel and entered through the doors to the kitchen. Ian found his mother looking over some recipes while others of the kitchen staff were still busy at their tasks. Ian knew she had been there since before dawn and must be exhausted.

  “Are you ready to head home, Mother?”

  The gray-haired woman smiled. “Indeed I am.” She looked at Kenny. “But I’m going to need some help. You see, I have this bundle of cookies and no one to give them to.” She picked up a cloth bundle that had been tied at the top with a small piece of twine.

  Kenny grinned and extended his arms. “You can give them to me, Grandma Harper.”

  “I’m sure he’ll find them a good home,” Ian added, tousling the youngster’s damp hair.

  The boy looked up to Ian with hope in his expression. “Swimming always makes me hungry.”

  The older woman smiled and handed Kenny the cloth bundle. “You can have one now, but the rest will have to wait until you get back to your cottage. They are even better with a glass of milk.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” Kenny agreed, setting the bundle down on the table. “I made a new friend today,” he went on as he untied the string and took a cookie. “She’s real pretty.”

  With a raised brow and a teasing twinkle in her eyes, Ian’s mother fixed her son with a smile. “I don’t suppose you think she’s real pretty too?” She retied the cloth covering the cookies.

  “I thought her quite beautiful,” Ian replied. “In fact, she looks like Elizabeth.”

  His mother chuckled. “You’ve always thought Elizabeth comely, so it seems only natural that you would look for those features in a younger woman.”

  Ian shook his head. “You don’t understand. This woman is the spitting image of Kenny’s mother.”

  Kenny nodded enthusiastically. “She looks just like Mama.”

  “Who looks like me?” came the question in a soft British accent. The trio glanced up to find that Kenny’s mother had come in through the back door to join them. “I thought I’d find you here,” she added. “It seems you’re always hungry.” She gave Kenny a hug as he crammed the last of the cookie in his mouth.

  Ian looked at the boy’s mother. The resemblance was uncanny. The same piercing blue eyes and blond hair. The same high cheekbones and narrow nose. Elizabeth was still a beautiful woman despite her age and hard life.

  “We met this lady at the pool,” Kenny said, pulling away from his mother. “She looks just like you, Mama.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Perhaps the light was playing tricks on you.”

  Ian shook his head. “Kenny’s right, Elizabeth.”

  She met his gaze and seemed to lose her amusement. “I’m sure we all have a twin somewhere.”

  “Her name is Phoebe,” Kenny added. “And she doesn’t know how to swim, but I told her Ian could teach her.”

  Elizabeth’s face lost all color. “What did you say, Kenny?”

  He shrugged. “She can’t swim.”

  “No.” Elizabeth’s voice quivered. “You said her name.”

  The boy nodded. “It’s Phoebe.”

  Ian barely caught Elizabeth as she fainted.

  “What’s wrong with my mama?” Kenny asked. He moved closer to Ian as he lifted Elizabeth in his arms.

  “She’s just real tired,” Ian’s mother declared, exchanging a look of concern with Ian. “And it’s plenty hot in here. Ian, take her outside. The cool air will help.”

  He nodded. “Come on, Kenny. You get the door.”

  The next morning, Phoebe dressed in a comfortable walking-out suit. She was most grateful that the S-shape silhouette that women had favored at the turn of the century was being given over to a sleek, straighter line. She had never enjoyed the way those corsets manipulated the body, and she hated the pigeon-breasted bodices. When newly designed corsets had debuted in Paris, Phoebe had been one of the first to try them. She found them far less restrictive, although longer in length.

  She looked at her image in the mirror to make certain nothing was amiss. This was one of the very latest fashions, which her father had purchased for her in New York. The cream-colored gown fell in a shapeless manner, but it was brought in to show a more tailored look by a snug brown plaid vest that barely reached her waist. Over this a brown cutaway coat gave the entire fashion a look of no nonsense. The calf-length coat was collared, but not designed to button, and was trimmed in piping the same color as the gown. Phoebe adjusted the lace cravat and turned to Gerda.

  “I believe that should do it. Now I’m ready to explore Helena.”

  Gerda nodded and helped Phoebe with her large matching hat. Phoebe fussed with the piece for a moment, then sighed. “I do wish hats would go back to being smaller. I feel like I’m trying to balance a potted plant atop my head.”

  Her maid smiled and handed her kid gloves. “You look beautiful as always. The ladies of Helena, Montana, will be green with envy, and the men will fall instantly in love.” She pulled on a large-brimmed straw hat of her own.

  “Well, I certainly hope not. I would just as soon pass unnoticed.”

  “That would never be possible, miss. You are far too beautiful. The men will be vying for your attention and offering you proposals of marriage.”

  “They’ve been offering them since I was much too young to marry, and as far as I’m concerned they can keep their offers to themselves. I have no desire to wed anytime soon.”

  Gerda frowned. “But your vater said you were soon to become engaged.”

  “I know that’s his desire, but it isn’t mine.” Phoebe’s tone was dismissive. “Vater will give way to my thinking when he considers how lonely he’ll be without me.”

  “But a truly great beauty like you should marry and have beautiful children,” Gerda countered. “Perhaps you might marry an archduke.”

  Phoebe ignored the woman’s comment and headed out of the room. Gerda had only been her maid for the trip to America, and Phoebe was still rather uncertain of her. Phoebe found it difficult to trust people, and at times Gerda seemed to be prying. She waited as the maid locked the room behind them, then led the way to the polished mahogany stairway. Her outfit, designed for walking, was not quite so easily managed on the stairs. Phoebe found it necessary to take the steps very slowly and to raise her narrow skirt a bit more than she thought appropriate.

  She repeated the procedure for the outside porch steps and then again for the climb onto the trolley that ran throughout the day from Helena to the hotel resort and back again. The conductor handed her up and smiled.

  “You may have a seat anywhere you like, seeing as how you two ladies are my only passengers.”

  Phoebe led Gerda to a wooden bench seat near the front. “This looks nice. We should be able to see quite well.”

  “Do you suppose there will be cowboys and Indians walking the streets?” Gerda whispered as the conductor took his place.

  Phoebe shook her head. “I hadn’t given it any thought, but I suppose there might be.” The car began to move.

  “It’s quite exciting, ja?” Gerda said.

  Phoebe nodded. She had to admit there was a sense of excitement in the unknown. They had only seen a small part of the town when they’d first arrived by train, and she was anxious to see more of what Helena had to offer. Gerda seemed just as eager to explore as she gazed out the trolley window at the passing scenery.

  The sun overhead appeared almost painfully brilliant. Phoebe had to shield her eyes with her gloved hand, despite the wide brim of her hat. The landscape was one of hills, mountains, and rocks that gave way to a great many b
uildings as they approached the downtown area of the capital.

  “There’s plenty to see,” the conductor told Phoebe as he helped her from the trolley. “And we have some very fine clothing stores. You ladies might enjoy some shopping.”

  Phoebe thanked the man, then turned to make her way down the sidewalk. Gerda positioned herself in a protective manner on the left of Phoebe so that none of the men could accidentally brush up against her mistress. The town hummed with the noise of people bustling to and fro. Carriages, wagons, and motorcars were vying for position on the crowded streets. Ladies and gentlemen hurried along the walkways, seeming most intent on their destinations, and because it was summer and school was no longer in session, there were quite a few children running around, not to mention a variety of animals.

  “It’s much busier than I expected.”

  “Ja, very busy,” Gerda agreed. “Oh, here’s a store that sells clocks and music boxes.”

  Phoebe paused to look in the window of the small shop. “Those cuckoo clocks look like they might have come from Heidelberg.” Gerda nodded in agreement.

  They continued their walk, noting various stores, including a candy shop that Phoebe decided to visit in order to purchase a treat for her father. She knew with his sweet tooth he would appreciate the caramels and chocolates.

  For the most part people were friendly and in some cases too friendly. Phoebe found the attention of several cowboys toward herself and Gerda to be annoying, but she said nothing. She often found that silently ignoring offenders was much more effective than making a scene.

  By noon Phoebe was quite famished, and Gerda agreed it was time to stop for something to eat. They located a respectable restaurant and were seated at a table near a gathering of ladies, who appeared to be arguing about an upcoming church function. Gerda rolled her eyes, and Phoebe smiled at her maid’s annoyance. They ordered from the menu and waited for their food, all while the ladies next to them continued to take umbrage with one another.