Why Not (A Valentine Matchmaker novella)

by Debra E. Marvin

  “Mr. Morrison?”

  How long had he stood there? He wiped his face again and walked to where Miss Wynott waited under the overhang.

  “Dutch is here,” she told him. “I’m going now. Is there anything you need tomorrow?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “No. Thank you.” Unless she brought second chances, he was on his own.

  Chapter Four

  Pillar—a structural support similar to a column and often substantial

  Thursday morning dawned dreary. Amber wiped moisture off the mercantile’s front window, but the bleak sky hadn’t changed. Eager to return to Hermit’s Rest, she’d have to wait until Dutch finished stocking the latest shipment. The store’s aisles needed better lighting. Even Mrs. Bunch acted cloudy today. The old miner, Barley, who’d entertained Amber with canyon lore, and was a particular friend of Mr. Morrison, had passed her outside and waved before moving on.

  “Will it rain today, ma’am?” she asked, disliking the uncomfortable silence.

  “Those are snow clouds. I know you get snow where you come from.”

  “Of course. Plenty.” But Mrs. Bunch’s scowl remained. Amber tried another tactic. “How busy are you in the summer?”

  “I ain’t got time for small talk this morning, missy. My boss is coming tomorrow.”

  “My apologies, then. I’ll return another time.”

  “Mmm.”

  Waiting proved difficult. Mr. Morrison had been unsettled by his letter, and she’d worried about him being alone, even if it wasn’t her business.

  The bell rang over the door.

  Amber was relieved to see Dutch shuffling in the shop with the same even temper she’d come to expect.

  “Everything’s put away, Maybelle,” Dutch called out. “I’ll be going now.”

  The woman grumbled again. Dutch just shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.

  Grand Canyon village was a ghost town as the wagon made its long way out along Hermit Road; the silence was immense. Each clatter of hooves on stone, each squeak of the wagon, each call of a bird was felt as much as heard.

  “Mrs. Bunch seems out of sorts this morning.”

  “Is that what you call it? Takes a keen eye to notice the difference from any other day. She was blowing up chunks of earth before you were born, missy. I think it affected her sense of humor.”

  “I wouldn’t have noticed, but Mr. Barley was just as sullen.”

  “That is unusual. I agree.”

  He said no more.

  She left it at that—but not for long. “Has something happened?”

  “I suppose you might as well know. Don’t tell anybody I told you, though.”

  She considered the grizzly man at her side. “Heavens. You make it sound serious.”

  “There was a meeting last night over at the Grandview Hotel, and I suppose that has a lot of people on edge.”

  “A meeting?”

  “People get riled up at those things. I used to work for the Forest Service before my accident, so I wasn’t invited.”

  “Persona non grata?”

  Dutch’s face screwed up. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Amber let her mind wander across the miles of view. Miles of colors and a canyon full of fresh air and silence. It should be the most peaceful place on earth, but that was far from the reality.

  “And that meeting’s nothing for you to worry about,” Dutch warned, stirring her out of her thoughts. “Not for the short time you’ll be here.”

  That made her more curious. “Is it about the mining? The Forest Service? Or something else?”

  “I suppose it’s any and all of that. Like I said, I didn’t go either.”

  “But you must have heard something.”

  He shrugged.

  Amber pulled her coat closer around her knees. “Doesn’t Mrs. Bunch know that more tourists will bring more money?”

  “It’s not that simple. She’s also got family around here. Family with claims long before the railroad and the Harvey Company came along. Her son’s been in a fight with the forest service for years. He’s made a couple good trails down into the canyon. Years of work. The Bunch family had a place they used to rent out to tourists, but after the railroad came through, their business dried up.”

  “I see.” Had it been similar concerns in his mail that had worried Mr. Morrison?

  Dutch turned to her. “Listen. I shouldn’t be talking about this.” He tipped his hat back. “Why don’t you tell me what you think of that place Miss Colter has designed out there?”

  “I can tell you have your doubts.” She watched a slow grin uncover a ragged tooth.

  He chuckled. “Why they want a new building to look old, I’ll never know.”

  “It worked with the Hopi House.”

  “True enough.” Dutch scratched at his beard. “But what exactly are you doing out there, anyway?”

  “You sound like Mr. Morrison.”

  “Ahh, never you mind him. He’s just focused. That’s a good thing. That’s how people survive out here.”

  “What about you, Dutch?”

  “I’m focused. Focused every day on making it to dinner and my bed.” He winked and they rode quietly the rest of the way, as the cloud cover broke enough to let the sun tease the vista. A dark blue sky over the north rim warned of heavy snows.

  Stone Morrison was a hardworking, skilled employee, and would side with his own. She didn’t begrudge tradesmen hanging together. They had so little say against the upper classes that ran industry.

  When Uncle William told her to keep to herself and away from the locals, she’d thought it had to do with simple safety of a woman traveling alone. Now she knew enough tension brewed here to fill the canyon.

  “I see a lot of the men carry side arms. Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Not around here. Heck. There’s still a range war going on.” He groaned and slapped his knee. “Well darn. I forgot your uncle is a big shot with the Sante Fe. I shoulda kept my mouth shut.

  “I’m not about to report conversations to him. Truth is, he and I don’t see eye to eye.”

  “Still…” Dutch sat up straight. “Family’s special. Don’t take that for granted. My nephew’s gone off to the war.”

  “How?”

  “Went off to join the English. Said he couldn’t wait for us to see sense.”

  Boys and war. That never changed. “It must be an awful worry for you, for his parents.”

  “He’s a good lad, but I do wish he wasn’t so far away.”

  “I’ll keep him in my prayers. What’s his name?”

  Dutch smiled. “Ralphie. Wants to be a pilot, but he’s good with engines of any kind.”

  “Well then. Maybe he won’t be flying at all.”

  “It’s a shame to hope he doesn’t succeed, isn’t it?” Dutch’s voice held years of wisdom.

  Amber thought about his words the rest of the way out Hermit’s Road.

  ~

  Stone had tried to avoid her, but did his work crew suspect?

  Across from him, Jonathan’s face said he too might be imagining himself wooing Miss Wynott. Not that she’d fall for his lines when there were cores of men in Chicago—men of her parents’ social circle—willing to take on her independent streak.

  She wasn’t at all like Francine, his betrothed—his used-to-be-betrothed—and he’d been comparing the two. What a waste of time. Hearing of Father’s ill health and not even knowing if he was alive had Stone questioning all his choices over the last five years. If he hadn’t refused his position at the bank. If he hadn’t broken his engagement, he’d have been home now, as his mother wished, and able to fulfill the role he’d carried by being born a Morrison.

  He’d send a telegram today and tell her this was the worst possible time to come home. Maybe he was already too late.

  Across the way, Miss Wynott sat in earnest concentration, making notes or sketches as she compared their completed work with the blueprints. Hermit’s Rest rose
up out of dirt and rubble, appearing as if it grew there, planted from pebbles. When complete, it would peek out from under a man-made hillside with a charm and gentleness hiding its world-class architecture. Unusual, yet so well engineered. He’d had his doubts, but he’d come to trust Mary Colter’s judgement and understand her vision for Fred Harvey’s booming tourist industry.

  When Miss Wynott removed her hat and patted her hair, Stone realized he’d been staring. Not so much ogling her as resting his eyes. He was sure he’d be offered more jobs, but where? If things continued the way they were in Europe, would tourism wane? If President Wilson declared war, would all other work shut down? Would he go off to France or Italy? And what of the growing unrest in Mexico?

  Would Charles take over the seat on the Federal Reserve, if Father died? Five years ago, his brother had little functional knowledge of investments or banking business, but Stone’s departure left Charlie no choice but to take Stone’s top spot at Morrison Financial.

  Miss Wynott dropped one of her charcoal pencils.

  Only a couple of the men worked today. Stone wanted to be ahead of schedule but at least they weren’t behind.

  He watched the society girl sketching. So many young debs tried to be proficient at singing, painting, piano. Skills meant to keep women of means busy and interesting while others cared for their children and ran their homes. Maybe his mother would have been happier if she hadn’t had her days emptied of purpose. Or, maybe he’d been more swayed by the suffragettes than he’d realized.

  He was all for the vote. They had a right to see the ugly side of politics, too.

  He’d adored Francine for her gentleness, but he’d tired of having nothing in common to discuss. Her training to be a perfect wife had been the very reason he’d broken their engagement.

  Then there was Miss Curious…

  Amber Wynott stared for long periods before refocusing on her work. With her wind-blown hair and staunch sensibility, she fit right in out here. Maybe the canyon had changed her.

  Ready for anything, he approached her. He needed one of her smiles today. “May I see?”

  Apparently not, by the way she pulled the sketchbook to her chest as if fearing an invasion of privacy. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’ve pretended to be drawing, then?”

  She peered up at him from under the brim of her hat. “No, but…”

  “Come now, Miss Wynott. You must be talented if you expect to follow Miss Colter into design.”

  “I’m just not ready to show anyone.”

  “That won’t do around here.” He reached out for it. “Let me see.”

  She leaned away. “No.”

  “Come on.” The embarrassment on her face made him rethink his teasing. Had she been drawing him?

  She stood and closed the book. “I’m going to eat my lunch now. Excuse me.”

  But he moved in front of her, blocking her way. “What is it you don’t want me to see?”

  “So now you’re the curious one.” Still she wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m also the worksite supervisor when Miss Colter is away.”

  Her brown eyes opened wide. “You can’t be serious. I’m not an employee.”

  “Not yet.” He wouldn’t let her win this time. “But isn’t that your plan?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You said you hoped to go with me to the next build.”

  “With Miss Colter, yes.” She walked around him. “You make it sound personal. I’m a guest here, and until the day I am told differently, I shan’t be paying heed to your pronouncements.”

  “Paying heed to my… pronouncements?”

  Now she was laughing along with him, and managed to smudge charcoal on the tip of her nose. He put his hand out for the book. “Then, as a friend, I’m asking.”

  “Oh very well.” She thumbed through the sketches. “Just this one.”

  It was nothing like he’d expected. Miss Wynott had created an exact likeness of the condors in flight. “You’ve captured so much detail, and managed to include the canyon walls without overwhelming the sketch. I’m no artist, but I know it can’t be easy in charcoal.”

  Her wide-brimmed canvas hat covered all but her mouth from view. “Thank you.”

  “But why not stick with art? Why pursue something as challenging and stressful as architecture? When you marry, you won’t be working.”

  She lifted her head to assault him with those big brown eyes. “What makes you an expert?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Unless you marry against your family’s wishes, I can’t imagine your husband will want you out in a man’s world each day.”

  Any shared amusement vanished from her face.

  “I’m sorry if that sounded thoughtless,” he offered, following her toward the rim.

  “Things are changing, Mr. Morrison. If I marry, I assure you it will be with the expectation that I will still pursue my art.”

  “Art, yes, but—”

  “But not design. Not engineering or architecture. For they need the male brain to be successful.”

  It was Stone’s turn to step back. “I didn’t say that.”

  Miss Wynott did not suffer fools. “Then what did you say?”

  “That your husband might not want to share you.” Even as he said it--

  “Share me? Heavens. You’re quite the traditionalist. Dare I say stone-age?”

  He’d had enough. Stone waved her off. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind? You will not dismiss me that easily.” She planted herself in front of him. “Explain to me why it’s expected that you use your talents to pursue employment for the betterment of society but I am to stay home.”

  He leaned in. “Maybe you have a beau now and he’s waiting for you to begin your employment. It’s really none of my business.” Her mouth gaped open in surprise, but he took a step closer. He’d show her stone-age.

  But the urge to kiss her left him as an El Tovar vehicle pulled up with a rattle and cough. The driver got out, came around, and opened the back door. A dapper gentleman emerged.

  “Oh fiddlesticks,” Miss Wynott whispered. Despite that, she stepped forward with an enthusiastic “Uncle William. What a surprise!”

  Chapter Five

  Bond—pattern of masonry; adhesion between units; a tying together

  Double fiddlesticks. Why did he have to show up?

  Amber forced a smile. Wasn’t it enough that Stone Morrison challenged her every action and word? He pretended to be so modern, but when it came down to it, he was as old-fashioned as Uncle William.

  “Amber dearest.” Uncle William took her hand. “You look tired. I knew this would be too much for you.”

  Her fingers clung to the sketchbook. “Nonsense. I’ve never felt better. There’s no need to fuss over my appearance while I’m working.”

  “Working. Yes.” He said it like he’d swallowed cod liver oil.

  Uncle William scrutinized Mr. Morrison; Mr. Morrison folded his arms across his chest and returned the gaze as if they were equals. This could only get worse.

  “Uncle William. May I introduce Mr. Morrison? He’s Miss Colter’s lead builder on the project.”

  Mr. Morrison’s stance didn’t help. She wanted to elbow him into civility. “This is my uncle, Mr. William Wynott of the Atchison, Topeka and the Sante Fe Railroad.”

  Mr. Morrison offered a hand, making a show of wiping dust off of it. “What brings you out here, sir?”

  “I have a meeting at the hotel tonight, on behalf of the railroad, but I’m also hoping to take my niece back to Chicago.”

  Amber stifled her immediate response in favor of one more civilized and adult. “I’ve just arrived and Miss Colter expects to see me when she returns.” She tried a smile—a don’t-be-ridiculous smile.

  “Then it’s true? She’s not here?” He glanced around the clearing. “You’re alone out here. With no chaperone?”

  “She’s perfectly safe with our crew, sir. Every emplo
yee of the Harvey Company will see that no harm comes to her.”

  Uncle William stared long and hard before answering. “You sound quite confident of that.”

  Mr. Morrison didn’t flinch. Not one iota.

  Amber covered her eyes, pressing on her forehead. Two pig-headed men. Well, she’d have to get used to it if she was to succeed. “Let me show you around so Mr. Morrison can get back to work.”

  “Oh?” Uncle William’s gaze remained sharp. “I didn’t realize I’d interrupted the building process.”

  She wanted to shrink out of sight. He’d seen them…discussing her future.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mr. Morrison offered, though he didn’t go more than a few steps away.

  “Uncle William, I—”

  “I don’t have time or interest right now, Amber. I’ve come to see if I can talk some sense into you. Or have you already seen your error?”

  “As a matter of fact, no, I haven’t.” She took his arm and tucked hers into it, walking him away. “I intend to stay as long as I can. How do you expect me to learn anything if I’m allowed so little time?

  “It’s what you’re learning that worries me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Trying not to be nosy, she nonetheless watched her uncle’s driver hand Mr. Morrison another one of his mysterious packages.

  “You’ve made your point, young lady. I’ll reconsider art school as your mother suggested, but I can’t have you out here any longer.”

  This young lady was gritting her teeth. “Why ever not?”

  “Things are escalating in Europe.”

  “So?”

  “And in Mexico.”

  She didn’t have an answer for that, and felt her hands tighten. “For goodness sakes. I’ll come home when I’m done. This is the best chance I have, and if Miss Colter supports me in this, can you imagine what I might be able to accomplish?”

  “I don’t think so, Amber.”

  Mr. Morrison cleared his throat. “If I may offer a suggestion, sir…”

  She and her uncle pivoted at the interruption.

  Uncle William tossed a hand. “By all means. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”