All in Good Time (11 page)

Mr. Hawkins crossed his arms, looking between the two women. “I want to be perfectly clear. Not only did you not expect me, but you never even extended an invitation to me?”

Evidently Mariadela felt as Dessa did; silence was confirmation enough.

If Dessa had not expected him, even less did she expect a sudden burst of his laughter. Yet he issued a deep, hearty bellow, one that seemed to have been trapped inside him for quite some time and had just now found a way to emerge.

Dessa exchanged a glance with Mariadela, who looked equally confused.

Before long Mr. Hawkins leaned against the doorframe, laughter fading, arms still crossed. Then he stood taller, unfolding his arms, and gave them a brief bow. He was back to the formal banker so quickly Dessa might have doubted he’d departed from his typical image, even for that brief moment of mirth.

“The truth is I haven’t found anything so funny in years. Do you know how many social invitations I’ve ignored since setting up business here in Denver?”

Dessa shook her head.

“Nor do I, actually. Countless. Tonight I accept an invitation, only to learn one wasn’t even issued. I find that funny. Don’t you?”

Now it was Dessa’s turn to fold her arms. While she thought him even more handsome when he smiled, she wasn’t at all sure she should be amused. What was she to say to the others? How could they possibly add another plate to an already-crowded table when William arrived and not have it seem the social mistake that it was?

Another question emerged above her concerns. “Why did you accept this invitation, then—if one had come?” Perhaps embarrassing her before her biggest donors was something else that might amuse him.

“That’s a very good question,” he said softly. “Would you rather I left?”

“No, of course not.” Her answer was hasty, but she was surprised to realize it was every bit as sincere as it was swift. If he stayed, perhaps he could see for himself the confidence her donors had in her.

“But if my count is correct, there are three couples—six people—in your parlor right now. Mr. and Mrs. White bring that total to eight. Including yourself, Miss Caldwell, along with my uncle, if I stay there will be eleven required to sit at a table that will barely seat ten. I’m afraid my one venture out to a society party has created more trouble than it’s worth.”

“There is only one solution,” Mariadela said, and Dessa turned her attention to her gratefully, since she hadn’t a clue what to do. “I’ll stay in the kitchen. No one has seen me yet anyway, just my girls who are helping out. Everyone will think I never intended to sit.”

“But what about William? You would have him sit at the table without you? And what of your gown? You look dressed to attend a party, not to serve at one.”

“Nothing an apron won’t hide. We’ll easily explain he could never be trusted to help serve a dish, so we had to put him at the table or he’d have gone hungry.”

Dessa wanted to hug her. “Oh, Mariadela!”

But Mr. Hawkins was shaking his head. “It hardly seems fair to you if I take your place, Mrs. White. I can easily leave through the back door and be forgotten in a moment.”

Mariadela laughed now, with pure amusement. “Not since they’ve seen you. I’m sure your arrival made an impression.”

Without further discussion, Dessa led the way back to the parlor, where she announced dinner would be served just as soon as their final guest arrived. No sooner had she spoken than William entered with an apology for keeping hungry people from a meal.

Henry folded the napkin beside his plate. One thing the meal reminded him of: if Miss Caldwell hoped to draw people to this place through her cooking, she was well equipped to do so. He’d
had a second helping of that apricot soufflé, after he thought he couldn’t eat another bite.

He could barely believe what he felt inside as he looked around the dining room. Here, at this table filled with people from whom he’d so long hidden himself, he found a sense of community. Something that was sadly absent at the obligatory dinner parties he held.

Even as it was surprisingly pleasant to be reminded of such a feeling, he wondered what any of them would say if they knew the truth about him. Not only that he hadn’t a bit of their belief in Miss Caldwell’s mission, but the truth of his past. He may not have hurt anyone all those years ago, but his crime certainly hadn’t been victimless. He’d stolen money he had no right to take. How would any of them feel if he’d stolen from them?

He wondered yet again if there was some connection between those bothersome notes he’d received and his crime. Asking around to see if other businessmen had been targeted, perhaps by a church trying a new method of attracting members, had led nowhere. Without revealing the existence of the notes, there seemed no way to investigate in any depth.

He needed, once again, to leave all that behind him. It was impossible that anyone should know what he’d done so long ago. Impossible.

Besides, Henry could console himself with the knowledge that five years ago he’d made an anonymous repayment to both Wells Fargo and the mine from which he’d taken the money. The banking portion of his business had succeeded by then, as he’d always been sure that it would. Repaying the illegal loan had suspended some of the guilt he’d carried.

Still, Henry had denied himself any life apart from his work because of that secret. Even after restitution, he realized secrets never really died. Those notes proved it, whether or not the two
were connected. Secrets only hibernated. If the truth came out, his bank would fail and Henry knew it.

Anyway, he was so set in his private ways that he didn’t want to change anymore. Not even for what he’d found at this table. It was too late.

“Yes, I noticed the man outside on the porch,” William White was saying. He sipped his coffee. “I thought you’d been able to hire someone.”

“As grateful as I am for Mrs. Naracott’s coachman tonight,” Miss Caldwell said with a gracious smile at the other woman, “I’ve been safe on my own. Except . . .” Her gaze landed briefly on Henry. “I did have a man well into his cups come visiting here in the middle of the night once, but he was easily directed to the porch, and after that I was more careful about locking the doors at night.”

“Goodness!” said the reverend’s wife, Mrs. Sempkins. “I’m sure I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Likely leaving him alone would have been enough,” Miss Caldwell said. “He was well past all sensibility or harm. I’m really fine here. In any case, I own nothing anyone would want to steal. Except for the wonderful new stove that cooked this meal.” To Henry’s surprise, she smiled at him, and he found himself unable to do anything but offer a small one in return. “And that would be rather hard to get out of the door, if I can judge by its delivery.”

He’d have wondered if she were trying to coax a reaction from him, but her face lacked all malice. So he let himself enjoy the private jest between them as others complimented her use of that kitchen stove.

“It’s too bad you don’t have dear Miss Pierson here to live with you,” Mrs. Naracott said. “At least two might be safer than one.”

“Yes, I miss her every day of my life,” Miss Caldwell said. Had she purposely avoided acknowledging the censure in the other’s tone?

“She was so sensible,” Mrs. Naracott went on. “Not to mention a formidable person in her demeanor and forthrightness. I recall her saying, though, Miss Caldwell, that she didn’t plan to move into the neighborhood for a few more years, allowing the two of you to establish friendships and trust first. What made you decide to move in so soon?”

This time, not surprisingly, Miss Caldwell avoided any eye contact with Henry. “How many girls might be lost in the next few years if we waited?”

“But if they haven’t the trust, as seems obvious from your lack of clients, perhaps the opening might have been better served by Miss Pierson’s plan.”

Tobias raised one of his hands to attract the eyes now focused on an increasingly uncomfortable-looking Miss Caldwell. “If I may say so, Miss Caldwell’s research was thorough enough to compare experiences from two other such missions. It’s not uncommon to begin modestly, then multiply. I have no reason to believe that pattern won’t be repeated right here.”

“Miss Pierson never expected immediate success,” Miss Caldwell added, sounding less confident than she had before the conversation took such a turn. “Patience was one of her many virtues.”

One that, perhaps, Miss Caldwell lacked? Henry didn’t have to voice the question to see he wasn’t the only one wondering.

The sun was barely setting behind the mountains by the time Dessa said good night to many of her guests—only the Whites and Mr. Ridgeway remained. And Mr. Hawkins.

Like the servants whose roles they’d taken that evening, Mariadela and her daughters whisked away the dishes, insisting Dessa leave the cleaning to them. Although she’d spent the
majority of her years doing those things for others, she knew that until the two bankers left, she had little choice but to continue playing the hostess.

Ever since Mrs. Naracott had voiced her doubts, Dessa had thought of little else. Only when the conversation took on a lighter tone did she force herself to listen. They talked about an electric trolley that promised to revolutionize the movement of people all over the city. People needed no longer live, work, and die within the same small radius once such a marvelous thing came to town.

With so few of them left in the parlor, Mr. Ridgeway asked William White to accompany him out to the porch to help affix the sign he’d brought as a gift to Dessa. Delighted that the sign would be hung so quickly, she hurried off to find a hammer, hooks, and nails. Then she moved to follow them outside.

“No need to come out until the task is over, Miss Caldwell,” Mr. Ridgeway said. “The night’s surprisingly chilly.”

She might have argued—she found the temperature quite comfortable—except William claimed he worked best with a partner but without an audience. So since she hadn’t the energy to go against both of them, she stayed inside.

Unfortunately, with the girls and Mariadela busy in the kitchen, that left Dessa alone in the parlor with Mr. Hawkins. The very person she’d hoped to avoid speaking to, now that he knew he wasn’t alone in his doubts about her plans.

She told herself not to be nervous; after all, he hadn’t rescinded the loan, and even though his quiet presence hadn’t given much of a clue as to whether or not he’d enjoyed his first social outing in years, he hadn’t been the first to leave. Maybe that meant something.

Before she could ask, he spoke. “I told Tobias that you should consider opening Pierson House as a café. After two excellent meals here, I no longer take those words lightly. You could, you know.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was that what he thought she should do with his bank’s money? “It’s the soul, not the belly, I’m hoping to see filled.” Then, because she didn’t want to risk reigniting the sour mood she knew him capable of showing, she added a smile. “Even with the best stove in the neighborhood.”

He held her gaze, and for a moment seemed younger than he normally appeared. When he’d laughed earlier, so unexpectedly, he’d looked young then, too. Hiding behind that banker’s facade might be a man who could attract many a woman—well, at least ones unlike Dessa, those who hadn’t the benefit of a mentor like Sophie to show them there were other things besides marriage that a woman might reach for.

“I saw you the other day,” he said without looking away. “At City Park. You appeared to be waiting for someone.”

She nodded. So she hadn’t imagined seeing him there. “I’d received a note from a woman who said she wanted to meet me. But she didn’t arrive after all, much to my disappointment. I’m confident she’ll reach me again, though.”

“There was at least one person here tonight, Miss Caldwell, who was surprised that you haven’t yet housed any of the women you hope to help. Has it surprised you, this slow start to your mission?”

“Anything slow surprises me, Mr. Hawkins.”