Wherever You Go

by Tracie Peterson

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you have a party to help with, and I want to be alone for a bit.” Without another word, she walked away and headed from the gardens toward the stables. Despite wearing a gown that no doubt cost a small fortune, Lizzy knew she’d feel better once she was with her horses. She could only hope and pray Jason didn’t follow her.

  Lizzy hadn’t quite reached the stables when she heard Ella arguing with someone. Lizzy went in search of the younger woman and found her trying to drag Phillip toward the servants’ quarters.

  “What’s going on, Ella? Phillip?”

  The twosome stopped, and Phillip straightened and grinned. “Evenin’, Miss Lizzy.”

  The scene was almost comical. Ella stood a head shorter than Phillip. She was dressed beautifully in a pale green gown trimmed in pink rosettes. Her hair was done up high atop her head, and she was adorned with costume jewelry and full-length gloves. Phillip, on the other hand, was dressed to work with the horses.

  “I asked what was going on,” Lizzy repeated.

  “It’s nothing,” Ella assured her. “Phillip isn’t feeling well and I was helping him back to the servants’ quarters so he could rest.”

  “Are you sick, Phillip?” Lizzy’s concern grew as she approached them.

  “I’m jussss’ fine.” He wobbled a bit before patting Ella on the shoulder. “Ella’s ssso pretty. Don’t cha think?”

  “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” But Lizzy didn’t need his reply to know the truth. She sighed. “You promised Wesley that you wouldn’t drink. What in the world is wrong with you? Can’t you keep your word for even a few weeks?”

  Phillip frowned. “Sorry, Lizzy. Some—some fellasssss . . . gave me a bottle and . . . well, isssa party.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “Let me help you, Ella. We’d better get him to bed before Uncle Oliver sees him. Otherwise he’ll probably want to join in and have a drink as well.”

  She put her arm around Phillip’s waist while Ella did likewise on his other side. Together they helped him to the door of the servants’ quarters. To their surprise, one of the Adler footmen appeared. He eyed Phillip with contempt but straightened and gave Lizzy a nod.

  “Can you see that he gets to bed safely?” Lizzy asked.

  “Of course, ma’am.” He grasped Phillip by the shoulder. “Good evening, ma’am.” He closed the door as soon as Phillip was inside.

  “Well, that was quite the ordeal.”

  Ella nodded. “I found him drinking in the garden and figured it would be best to get him out of sight. I didn’t want him embarrassing the Adlers or you.”

  “That was kind of you, but you needn’t worry. I have a feeling just our presence here is enough of an embarrassment.” Lizzy put her arm around Ella. “I know this is probably more in keeping with the life you’ve known, but I’d just as soon be back in Montana, riding with the wind in my hair, instead of fending off Jason’s lovesick proposals.”

  “It’s too bad Wesley isn’t here,” Ella murmured.

  “Yes.” Lizzy gazed across the gardens. “It is too bad he’s not here. Both for my sake and yours. If he were here, Phillip would know better than to get carried away with alcohol and Jason would know better than to try to court me. We’d neither one have to worry about what was coming next.”

  twelve

  To Mary’s surprise, Henry Adler arranged for a highly publicized shooting contest to begin days before their first London performance. He also arranged for a very large cash prize. Each man who wanted to be a part of the competition had to pay to enter, but the fee was minimal, so the crowds were large.

  Most of the men were only fair at shooting. In England it was the gentry who owned guns. The poorer common folk who were attracted to the large purse didn’t generally possess firearms, much less have time and extra ammunition to practice. Henry Adler took that into consideration and made both guns and ammunition available for the preliminary rounds. If necessary, he pledged to furnish the same if a man advanced through the competition but had no rifle. In the first day alone, four hundred men were eliminated from the competition.

  Each day Mary was present while the men were put into groups and various targets and goals were presented. She was something like the queen of the festivities. Jason Adler and Oliver Brookstone paraded her around to encourage and entice the men to compete. By the end of the competition, with the numbers narrowed down to five men who were quite proficient with their rifles, Mary was anxious just to be done with it all.

  “You look tired, Mary,” Chris said, joining her as she sat watching the final five men vie for top position.

  “I am. I’m weary of this affair. Some of those poor boys in the early rounds could hardly sight the target, much less hope to shoot a bull’s-eye. These final contestants at least know how to handle their rifles.”

  “They’re from a wealthier set. I interviewed them, and two are even in line to inherit titles. Something like this is a novelty to them and no doubt an embarrassment to their parents. They’ve probably gotten involved just to poke fun at their station and the rules that come with it.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad when it’s done. I imagine all these people who’ve come out to watch will be glad too.”

  A man across the way gave a wave.

  Mary narrowed her eyes. “Who’s that waving?”

  Chris glanced in the same direction. “Looks like a man I used to know. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see what he wants.”

  Mary knew Chris had grown up in London, but since their arrival, he’d said nothing about his time there. He didn’t talk about friends he’d known or even about the grandmother who’d raised him. At least he wasn’t sullen, as he had been in America, but he was still guarded. She had hoped to entice him to at least take her around the city and point out things that played a role in his youth. She thought he might even find it a good compromise to their situation, since he had been happy living with his grandmother. But the opportunity never seemed to arise. Adler kept her much too busy, and Chris was caught up in his own work.

  “Well, what do you think of our final contestants?” Oliver Brookstone asked, taking the chair beside Mary.

  “I have to admit they seem capable of giving me a run for the win.”

  Oliver chuckled. “I doubt they’ll be able to stand up to you. Your beauty alone will have them flustered. It’s always been that way. I’ll expect you to sally up to each one and endear yourself to them in such a way that they’ll be more concentrated on you than the target.”

  “That seems rather unfair, Oliver.”

  “Nonsense. A man has to be able to shoot under any and all circumstances. A woman too. Would you allow a handsome fellow to distract you from your shooting?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Exactly,” he replied with a grin.

  “How old were you when you first began to shoot, Oliver?”

  “I was just a boy. Four, I believe. My father had a very small .22 rifle that he used to show both Mark and me how to shoot. We loved it from the start, but I was never as good as you.”

  “Chris has never shot a gun,” Mary said without thinking. “I started to show him, but it just didn’t come together. Maybe while we’re here I can teach him something.”

  “Perhaps. Of course, a fella’s got to want to learn. In this modern age, learning to shoot is no longer the necessity it once was. I think a great many people are relieved not to have to shed blood to support their families.”

  “So much is changing. August used to say that soon people would no longer ride horses for transportation. He said the new automobiles were bound to get bigger and better, and people would see it was much easier to use a machine than an animal.”

  “I suppose he made a good point, but I’d much rather trust a horse to see me through in minus-forty degrees back home than a machine.” Oliver shook his head. “Of course—and you aren’t allowed to repeat this—I’m finding I prefer city life.”

  “City life? Truly?”
Mary was surprised by this. She had often heard Lizzy say that Oliver had little interest in the running of the ranch, but she’d never mentioned him wanting to leave it.

  “It’s easier in the city. You want something, you pick up the phone and call for it. Or you walk down the block and get it. Or send someone else for it.” Oliver rubbed his hands together. “When you get older, you’ll understand the charm of that. Now, where is that young man of yours?”

  Mary felt her cheeks flush. “Chris is hardly my young man.”

  Oliver laughed. “Maybe not, but you knew exactly who I meant.”

  He had her there. “Well, he was here a moment ago, but then someone caught his attention and he went to speak to him.”

  “Perhaps it’s about an article in the paper. I heard some representatives from The Times would be here.”

  Mary nodded. She hadn’t considered that possibility. “You may be right. He did seem all business about it. I’m glad Chris has been able to write about the show. He tells me it will definitely bolster sales next year.”

  “I hope so. We’ve enjoyed a hefty profit this year, but there was the added expense of coming to England. A series of magazine articles enticing people to come see the show might well secure us for a while. Jason already has the schedule lined up for next year. Isn’t that something?”

  “It is. I suppose someone like him would know the best way to go about it. Still, you mustn’t be hard on yourself. As we were saying, times have definitely changed with the turn of the century. People and their interests have evolved, and even the way of doing things is moving at a much faster pace.”

  “Indeed. Still, I think there’s something to be said about the past. I think folks in the city are attracted to this connection to times long forgotten, even if they want the modern amenities and comforts. Added to that are the risks being taken and the thrill of it all, and I’m hopeful that the show will go on for years to come. At least so long as I go on.”

  Mary turned to look at the older man. “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged. “The show is my life. It’s what I love. The ranch has never interested me the way it did my brother. Life there is hard and isolated. I prefer the city, and I need the thrill of the crowd—the audience’s enthusiasm. I suppose I’m just a performer at heart.”

  “We all have our passions.”

  “What of you, my lovely Mary? Are you still passionate about shooting? Will you stay with us?”

  She frowned and looked back at the men on the field. “I don’t know. Losing August took a great deal from me. He might still be alive but for the show and his participation in it. I’d hoped that by coming along I would be able to seek justice for him, as well as deal with his death. Lizzy keeps telling me to take it back to God, but I don’t know that God is listening.”

  “I can understand that. I don’t know that He’s listening to me either.”

  Mary nodded. “Lizzy told me maybe it was more important that I listen for Him. So I’m trying. I’m reading my Bible each night and trying to listen for Him to speak, to tell me what I need to do to let go of the past and embrace the future.”

  “I must say that sounds like the wisest of solutions.”

  Mary smiled and shrugged. “I hope so. I truly want to know the answer. Sometimes I feel so lost, so sad. I think Chris feels much the same, which is why I find myself intrigued by him.”

  “He does appear to bear a heavy burden,” Oliver admitted. “Do you have any idea what it is?”

  “Some. It’s mostly to do with his family and the past. So we have that in common to a degree. But he isn’t inclined to speak about it. I know he needs a stronger faith in God. He’s said as much. I think he was speaking with Wes about God, but now there’s no one to talk to.” She straightened. “Maybe you could share with him, Oliver. You’ve long had faith in God, and you know more about such things than I do.”

  Oliver’s expression grew sad. “I’m afraid I’m a big disappointment to the Lord. I’ve failed more times than succeeded in doing what He wanted me to do.”

  “So . . . does God reject us after we fail a certain number of times?” She asked the question in all sincerity.

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.” Oliver shifted uncomfortably. “I just mean . . . well, I think when a person ignores God and does as he pleases, God turns him over to his own devices.”

  “And never has anything to do with him again?”

  “No . . . not exactly. God is infinitely patient with us, and I suppose because He is love and He loves us that He forgives us our sins over and over.” Oliver shook his head and gave a chuckle. “You have a way of convicting me, Mary, without even realizing it.”

  She laughed. “That wasn’t my intention, but perhaps it is God’s.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” he murmured and got to his feet. “I don’t believe I’m the man to help Chris, but I will keep it in mind, and should the moment present itself, perhaps God will also give me the words.”

  Mary nodded. “Maybe He’ll give us both the words.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment we’ve all waited for,” Oliver announced to a large audience. “Mary Reichert has never been bested in these competitions, but then again, she has never competed against Englishmen.”

  The crowd’s applause was more subdued than what they had from American audiences. Jason and Henry Adler had warned the Brookstone performers of this, however, so Oliver took it in stride.

  “Our winning finalist from the competition is Henry Sanbourne. Mr. Sanbourne will now compete against Mary in shooting glass orbs from the sky. One by one the orbs will be catapulted into the air. The first one to miss is the loser. Now I will introduce you to our fair Mary. Mary hails from the small farm state of Kansas. I know a lady doesn’t usually reveal her age, but our Mary doesn’t care. She’s twenty-five, and I tell you that because she’s been shooting competitively for over fifteen years, either at county fairs or with our show.”

  There were some exclamations at this announcement. Mary stood just out of sight, dressed regally in one of her formal costumes. It was funny how the outfits created for the show were so much roomier in the shoulders and arms than the clothes Jason had arranged for her. Why a woman wouldn’t demand the more maneuverable gowns for everyday wear was beyond her.

  “So without further ado, may I introduce you to the one . . . the only . . . Brookstone’s Wild West Extravaganza’s Mary Reichert!”

  The audience applauded, and Mary entered the arena. She waved and blew kisses. When she reached the competition area, she paused and unfastened the frogs that held her cloak closed. She let the cloak fall to the ground to reveal a beautiful yellow gown trimmed in black velvet piping and lace. At her throat was a choker of rhinestones, and matching earrings dangled from her earlobes. A household maid had done Mary’s hair up in a fanciful weave of curls with a few well-placed rhinestones to give her even more sparkle.

  “Mr. Sanbourne,” she said, turning to the gentleman who stood at the end of the table. “Are you ready to compete against me?”

  He gave her a once-over and smiled in a leering manner. “I can think of a dozen things I’d like to do with you, and none of them involve any form of competition.”

  She was used to men who tried to break her concentration with either idle talk of love or lewdness. She gave him a smile. “Well, I can only think of how embarrassing it’s going to be when your friends tease you because a woman bested you at shooting.”

  He cocked a brow. “I say, you haven’t bested me at anything.”

  “Not yet. But it’s just a matter of a few glass orbs. Shall we get to it?”

  She saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes and knew that his false bravado was failing him.

  Oliver called for silence and then ordered the crew to prepare for the first throw. Mary went first and blasted the glass ball to pieces without much effort. Henry went next, and although he only grazed the side of the ball, it too burst and al
lowed him to move on to the next round. The competition continued with one ball after another. In America, Mary had never had a competition go past fifteen orbs, but after twenty balls had been released and shot, she could only wonder how long this would continue.

  Around their twenty-fifth ball, she spied Chris standing in the corner of the arena, speaking to someone. Perhaps it was The Times man. Chris seemed chatty enough and didn’t appear at all uncomfortable. Perhaps the man was even an old friend. With any luck at all, maybe Chris would introduce her.

  The next shot was hers to take, and Mary found herself thinking of Chris and nearly missed her mark. She knew she needed to focus, but she couldn’t help but wish she knew what was going on with Chris. She cared about him.

  A gasp from the crowd along with a moan of disappointment drew Mary’s attention back to the competition. Henry had missed. The ball had fallen to land on the tarp below, and only then did it break.

  “And Mary Reichert wins again!” Oliver declared. “Let’s give the little lady a hand, folks.”

  The audience overcame their surprise and began to clap, and then a few began to cheer, and before long there was a standing ovation to celebrate Mary’s win. Gone was the English reserve, as they seemed more than a little impressed with Mary’s contribution to the entertainment.

  She cradled her rifle with her left hand and waved with her right. She’d nearly lost the competition by letting her thoughts dwell on Chris and what he was up to. She’d have to be especially careful as the show continued.

  Turning to Henry Sanbourne, she extended her hand. “Very good competition, Mr. Sanbourne. You were a worthy opponent.”

  He shook her hand but said nothing. Sulking, he walked away with his expensive rifle, leaving Mary surprised by his attitude. If he’d thought this would be an easy win, he apparently hadn’t considered her reputation.

  She looked back at where Chris had been. He was gone, and so was the other man.

  thirteen

  The Adlers hosted another grand party, this one at their London home, three weeks after the Brookstone show went abroad. England was in half mourning for Queen Victoria, who had died in January, although many felt full mourning had been set aside much too soon. King Edward, however, was a man who craved entertainment and socializing. He was known for his mistresses and extravagant lifestyle, and the death of his mother wasn’t going to keep him from living life to its fullest. Much of the nobility disagreed with this, while others rejoiced. The last few decades under Queen Victoria had been dark and void of joy as she maintained a permanent state of mourning for her husband, Albert.