A Sensible Arrangement (6 page)

Mrs. Landry ignored their merriment. “I will have Kate unpack your things and press them. Meanwhile, I will assist you into your bath.” She went to the far wall, where another servant pull awaited. She signaled for Kate, then turned to
face Marty and Jake. “Mr. Wythe, would you like me to show Mrs. Wythe your quarters, as well?”

Marty flushed and looked away. Perhaps the servants hadn't been informed of the arrangements. Jake seemed unconcerned, however. He moved to where Mrs. Landry stood by yet another door and motioned Marty to join them.

“This small passage adjoins your rooms to mine. There is a lock, as you can see, so that no one can disturb you.” He opened the door and moved quickly to the end of the short corridor. Opening the far end exposed light from yet another large room. Marty walked into the expanse and marveled at the space.

It was a decidedly male room, done up in dark greens and heavy wood furniture. A desk stood against the wall at the far end of the room, and Marty could see from the look of it that Jake used it regularly for business. On the wall were oil paintings of Texas-styled cattle scenes as well as a stiff, but obviously much used, coiled rope. How strange to find it nailed to the wall of a bedroom.

For a moment Marty imagined herself back in Texas. She had nearly forgotten that Jake was a Texan. Spying a few books with ranch-related topics, a rather large yellowed map of Texas spread atop a nearby table, and an impressive bronze statue of a horse and rider, Marty knew she wasn't likely to erase Texas from this man's mind anytime soon.

“It seems very nice. Is it my imagination or is it smaller than my room?”

“A little bit,” Jake admitted. “But it was the room I wanted when I moved in. The larger room seemed to be much more suited for . . . a . . . couple. I believe this was the nursery before I arranged for it to be redone.”

Marty looked away in discomfort and pretended to study the bronze statue. “Very nice.”

Kate appeared just then, and Mrs. Landry instructed her regarding Marty's trunks, while Marty could only look on. The two disappeared into the dressing room, leaving Marty and Jake alone. She saw the amusement in Jake's expression and couldn't help but question him.

“You look rather pleased with yourself.”

“I'm just enjoying your surprise at everything.” A clock chimed and he checked his pocket watch. “But now I will have to leave you in Mrs. Landry's capable hands. I have a meeting to attend. I will return to join you for supper. Enjoy the house, Mrs. Wythe.”

Marty watched him leave out another door that she could see led back to the hallway. Mrs. Landry returned just then and directed her back to the bathing room. “I would imagine you are exhausted from your travels. Once you've bathed, I will pack you into bed and you can sleep until supper. Kate will come and help you dress for dinner and arrange your hair. It will be only you and Mr. Wythe dining, and Cook is preparing lamb. I hope that meets with your approval.” All the while Mrs. Landry helped Marty from her clothes.

“Lamb is fine.”

“In the future you and I will meet to discuss the menus for each meal. You must let me know if there are any particular foods that you abhor, or ones that you love, for that matter.” She had stripped Marty down to her shift and corset.

“Now just sit here and rest while I see that the bath is still warm enough, and then we can finish with your clothes.”

Marty did as she was told, knowing that the wheels of this massive machine could not be stopped even if she wanted
them to be. No doubt Mrs. Landry was used to running this house as an army commander ran a fort. It wouldn't make sense to try and disturb the flow of things. At least not today.

After the bath, which Marty very much enjoyed, Mrs. Landry helped her into bed, then quietly exited the room. Marty marveled at the luxurious softness of the bed and the silky feel of the fine linens that graced it. She had never known such comfort, nor such exhaustion. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine how she would ever explain all of this to Hannah. Whispering aloud, she composed her letter.

“I'm to have my own maid, and a dressmaker will arrive to create a wardrobe fit for a queen. There are servants and eight thousand square feet of opulence to be explored.” She yawned and tried not to fight the sleep that was gradually overtaking her.

“And Mrs. Standish will have a new assistant in the kitchen in three days' time,” she murmured, smiling to herself. “On the twenty-third.”

Speaking the date aloud caused Marty to reopen her eyes for just a moment. That meant today was the twentieth. The twentieth of January—her thirty-fifth birthday.

“Well, happy birthday to me,” she murmured and closed her eyes again. “Happy birthday to me, indeed.”

Jake sat at work feeling rather pleased with the way things were progressing. The weekend had gone well, and he and Marty seemed able to share the house quite amicably. Because she had just arrived on Friday, Jake hadn't even approached the idea of them attending church services their first weekend together. He knew from things she'd said that while raised in a Christian home, Marty had very little interest in such matters for herself. There would be time enough to explain to her that proper society would expect them to be seen in services every Sunday.

He refused to worry about it, however. Reviewing the columns of numbers on the ledger, Jake instead thought of how surprised he'd been by Marty's quick wit and good nature. She even managed to take Brighton and Mrs. Landry in stride. No doubt in time she would come to find their mock arguments amusing. Truth be told, Jake suspected that the two held more than a passing fancy for each other.

A knock sounded on his outer door, and Jake looked up to find Arnold entering the room. “Mr. Morgan and several board members are here to see you.”

Jake frowned and looked at the clock. They had no agreed-upon meeting today. He stood to receive the men as they filed into the room.

“Wythe,” Mr. Morgan said with a nod.

“Mr. Morgan, gentlemen,” Jake said, nodding to each man. He looked to Arnold. “Please bring in more chairs, Mr. Meyers.”

Arnold hurried to do Jake's bidding and had everyone seated comfortably within a matter of minutes. Jake remained standing, wondering what this gathering was all about.

“So . . . what can I do for you today, Mr. Morgan?”

“Well, we have come, in fact, with congratulations.” The older man smiled. “We understand you were married last Friday.”

“Yes,” Jake said, still guarded. “Mrs. Olson arrived by stage, and we were married immediately.”

“We read all about a certain Mrs. Olson driving the stage,” board member Mr. Palmer said with a sly grin. “Would that have been
your
Mrs. Olson?”

Jake swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I must admit it was. Although I will add that the circumstances necessitated it.”

“No doubt. We heard that she saved the entire stagecoach from a dozen armed marauders,” Josiah Keystone added.

“I heard she single-handedly killed half of them by herself,” the remaining man and former governor of Colorado, Mr. Cooper, declared.

“I assure you, gentlemen, it wasn't quite that dramatic. The stage was attacked, that much is true, but Marty . . . Mrs. Wythe tells me that she only saw two men approach. She fired at them, along with the men responsible for the stage. She has no way of knowing that anyone was wounded by her
efforts, however. I also assure you that while she did find it necessary to take charge of the stage, she in no way sought publicity for her actions.”

“Relax, Mr. Wythe. No one here is taking umbrage with you or Mrs. Wythe,” Morgan interjected. “In fact, I find it all rather amusing. I can hardly imagine Imogene being as capable in her velvets and silks.”

“You've got yourself a regular Annie Oakley,” Keystone added. “Sounds like she's a woman who can hold her own. Did you see the picture they drew of her? I don't know if it's a good likeness or not, but she looked like she could have taken on an entire army.”

Jake had indeed seen the drawing. He had purposefully hid the newspaper from Marty, however. He knew she had no desire for public attention, and this might only make her worry that her sister would learn the truth of what had happened before she had a chance to write and explain.

“I did see it. It looks nothing like her,” he answered honestly. “And she only had one pistol, not two. I'm afraid the artist took great license with his rendition.”

“Well, I enjoyed the article all the same,” Mr. Palmer threw in. “I enjoyed it immensely.”

Jake wasn't at all sure how to respond. Despite having told Marty otherwise, he had figured once word got out about her unseemly arrival, any desire to see him or his wife in public social settings would be discarded. But now it seemed as if these men were actually admiring Marty's performance. He sat down rather hard and awaited further comment.

“She's a real novelty,” Morgan continued. “I can hardly wait to meet her. Imogene said that she must be a woman of divine courage.”

That comment caused Jake to let out his breath in relief. If Mrs. Morgan hailed Marty as a conquering heroine, then all would be well. The community would no doubt take a cue from her.

“I believe she is,” Jake replied. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his trouser legs. “Thank you.”

“Well, that brings us to our other reason for coming by,” Morgan continued. “Imogene is planning a party for Valentine's Day, as she does each year. Only this year, she wants to incorporate a celebration to honor you and Mrs. Wythe. There will be a supper and dance, although we will end the festivities by ten since the fourteenth does fall on a Tuesday.”

Jake nodded and wrote a note to himself regarding the party. “That is very kind.”

“We will expect you by six so that you and Mrs. Wythe might stand in the receiving line and greet our guests. It will be the perfect way to introduce you. It will be a formal affair, so you will be expected to attire yourself accordingly. Do you have white tie and tails?”

“I do. If you'll recall, you helped me arrange a very fine suit of clothing for the Christmas season,” Jake replied.

“Of course.” Morgan nodded and looked to his friends. “My tailor is the best in town.” He looked back to Jake. “That will be exactly right for the Valentine's party. I'm sure that Mrs. Wythe will have something lovely to wear.”

“But tell her to leave her six-shooter at home,” Cooper teased. “We wouldn't want her rewarding us with a repeat of her arrival into our great city.”

The other men laughed, but Jake could only muster a smile. He still felt uneasy with these men and their place in society. He was a fish out of water, and they knew it as
well as he did. Truth be told, Jake was almost certain they preferred it that way. It gave them a sort of edge—a pretense of control.

But that was all it was, Jake assured himself. A pretense. Nothing more. These men did not own him, even though he was greatly indebted to them. There wasn't a single thing they had offered him that he couldn't walk away from. And while they didn't know his real purpose in accepting the high-paying job, Jake felt no remorse.

I'm only here as
long as it takes to put aside enough money for
a ranch. No longer. Texas is my home, and that
is where I'm bound to return.

Marty smiled at the sour-faced woman. “Well, Mrs. Sales, it would seem your references are in order. I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me today.”

“Yes, madam.”

Uncertain what else to do, Marty looked to Mrs. Landry for help. “If you'll come this way, Mrs. Sales, I will see you to the door. Mrs. Wythe will notify the agency if she wishes to retain your services.” Mrs. Landry led the way and the seemingly unhappy woman followed. She was the fifth woman sent over by the agency, and Marty liked her no better than the first four. Most were quite dour and rigid. All had worked for numerous years as ladies' maids and were well versed in their duties, even if Marty wasn't. They impressed Marty as women who would impose their will upon her rather than take instruction.

Mrs. Landry returned. “There's one final applicant.”

Marty sighed and looked beyond the housekeeper to where
a young woman stood with her face turned slightly to the right. She was staring at the floor, as if too shy to meet anyone.

“Miss Alice Chesterfield,” Mrs. Landry announced. She turned to the girl. “Give Mrs. Wythe your references.”

Alice stepped forward, but her gloved hands were empty. Marty could see that the small woman couldn't be very old.

“I'm pleased to meet you. May I call you Alice?”

The girl nodded, but still refused to lift her head. “I wanted to apply for the job, but . . . well . . . I have no references.”

“Why would the agency send her to interview for this position?” Mrs. Landry interjected. “I'll turn her away and send a letter of reprimand to the employment official.”

“No,” Marty declared, seeing something in the girl that touched her heart. “That won't be necessary. Alice, have a seat.”

The girl looked up in surprise. It was then that Marty caught sight of the scar that ran down the right side of her face. The nasty pink scar was evidence that the wound had not healed that long ago.

“Please sit, Alice. I'd very much like to talk to you.”

Mrs. Landry was less than pleased, but instead of saying anything, she positioned herself in a chair by the archway and waited for Marty to continue. Alice took the offered chair and licked her lips in a nervous fashion. Her dress was too short for her and rose to reveal tattered boots, but Marty pretended not to notice.

“So tell me about yourself, Alice.” Marty smiled, hoping it would relieve the girl's fear.

“I want to say that I know it was wrong of me to come here. The agency . . . they didn't send me. I was there and heard some of the other women getting their instructions to come.
I . . . well . . . I need to work, and I thought I would . . . apply, as well.” She straightened her shoulders and fixed Marty with her gaze. “I know that wasn't right, but I need this job.”

“Well, Alice, why don't you tell me about yourself.” Marty noted her clothes were frayed and far from the latest fashion. They were, in fact, too immature for the young woman, but Marty supposed they were all she had. “I'd like to know about you and why you want to work as a lady's maid.”

“I . . . well . . .” She cleared her throat and seemed to carefully consider her words. “I'm seventeen. I know how to work hard, although I don't have experience as a lady's maid. I'm a good learner, and I have an eighth-grade education.” The latter she said with some pride, and Marty couldn't help but smile.

“That's wonderful. So you can read and write should I need you to handle correspondence for me.”

“Yes, ma'am. My penmanship is quite good.”

Marty nodded. “That's definitely a benefit to us both.” She could see this bolstered the girl a bit and hoped to encourage her further. “I've always appreciated those who understood the value of education.”

“My father saw schooling as very important.”

“And who is your father?”

The girl frowned. “Mr. George Chesterfield, deceased.”

“I am sorry.” Marty could see the pain in Alice's expression. “Has it been long?”

“No. Just about five months ago. He was . . . murdered.”

Mrs. Landry let out a gasp that echoed in the room. Marty tried to handle the news in a less stunned fashion, although she was rather shocked to hear the declaration. “Can you speak about what happened?”

Alice nodded. “We were walking home in the evening. My father was carrying some papers for a banker named Mr. Morgan.”

Marty immediately recognized the name. Apparently Mr. Morgan was a very busy man. Alice continued to speak.

“Father often carried papers and money for Mr. Morgan—it was his job as a bank manager. I suppose the men who attacked us knew that. The men stopped us and demanded that my father turn over the satchel he was carrying. Father refused and they took hold of me and . . .” Her voice faltered.

Marty thought to stop her, but for reasons she didn't entirely understand, she remained silent and let the girl struggle through her explanation.

“I . . . tried to fight them off.” She paused and bit her lower lip. The pink scar seemed to pale a bit as Alice clenched her jaw. “I wasn't strong enough,” she finally said. “One of the men held me while another put his knife to my face. She touched her hand to the scar. “He . . . he . . . cut me before I even realized what was happening.”

“I'm so sorry, Alice. What a terrible thing to endure.”

Alice looked Marty in the eye. “My father screamed at the men to take the satchel and let me go. He rushed them, and the men forgot about me and pushed my father away. He fell to the ground and hit his head. I don't remember anything after that because I fainted. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. They told me Father had died from striking his head. They weren't even sure I would make it. Honestly, at that point I didn't care if I did.”

“I can well imagine,” Marty replied. She looked across the room to where Mrs. Landry was dabbing tears from her eyes. “Mrs. Landry, would you arrange some refreshments for us?”

“Of course. Poor wee girl,” the housekeeper said, heading from the room.

Marty turned back to the blond-haired girl. “Do you have no other family?”

“No. No one. I'm alone and I need to work in order to support myself. Up until now, some friends from church have helped me get by, but they're moving away and I have no one else. I'm sorry if I've wasted your time.” She looked up with an expression that seemed to plead for Marty to assure her that she hadn't done wrong.