The Bride Wore Blue (25 page)

M
emories from Ida’s first months in Cripple Creek washed over her as she reached for the new doorbell at Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse. Like Vivian, she’d come to town with high hopes of fulfilling a dream. Unlike Vivian, she’d achieved her goal of becoming a businesswoman within a few weeks. Granted, she’d run into trouble working for the unyielding Mollie O’Bryan, but things worked out all right.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before Vivian gained recognition as a costume designer. Her work at the hotel may not afford her much opportunity to mingle with those who would appreciate her fashion sense, but perhaps she’d accept a little help from her big sister. Mollie O’Bryan had commented more than once on Ida’s serge suit, one of Vivian’s designs. And Mollie had lots of contacts in Colorado Springs and even in Denver. Perhaps she’d be willing to put in a good word for Vivian—one businesswoman helping another.

True to Miss Hattie’s hospitable nature, she whisked open the door and reached for Ida’s hand. “Ida, dear.” She squinted against the bright sunlight, motioning Ida inside. “Come in. Probably muddier than a bog after that downpour we had last night.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m not wearing my best shoes for a couple days, for certain.” Ida closed the door behind her. She expected to see Vivian strolling down the staircase, overdressed for their Saturday baking project at Kat’s. “How are you faring, Miss Hattie?”

She wanted to ask how the landlady was faring with Vivian, but didn’t want to ripple the waters with nosy inquiries. Vivian had grown up considerably since Ida had last seen her—probably as a result of her newfound independence.

“Finer than peach fuzz.” Miss Hattie tittered. “And I love having your sister here. Of course, I’ve been busier than a bee in a flower garden, and Vivian and I haven’t gotten to spend as much time together as I’d like. But we’re getting along just fine.” She smiled. “That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it? ”

“Yes.” Ida giggled. “You do know me well, Miss Hattie.” She glanced toward the parlor, then toward the kitchen. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. “Where is your newest Sinclair boarder? Kat and Nell are waiting for us, and I was ready for breakfast an hour ago.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I haven’t seen her yet this morning.” Miss Hattie pressed a finger to her chin. “Why, I’ve been so busy getting ready for my day that I don’t even know that I’ve heard Vivian stirring.”

“She better be. We have big plans.” Ida took a step toward the stairs. “More precisely, Nell has plans for us.”

“Making banners for the harvest festival, isn’t it? Vivian mentioned something about it at breakfast yesterday morning.”

Ida nodded, taking several more steps. She pressed her hand to her growling stomach. Knowing Kat, Ida expected her sister to have the scones and sausage patties ready when they arrived.

“You know after last night,” Miss Hattie said, “Vivian may have been so tired that she overslept.”

Ida straightened and looked over her shoulder at the widow. “Last night?”

“Oh, you don’t know … Vivian telephoned me last evening.” Hattie tucked a gray tendril of hair behind her ear. “She said she had to work late. Not to wait up for her. Must’ve been about five o’clock, maybe half past.”

“The hotel requires her to work at night?”

Miss Hattie leaned on the oak railing at the bottom of the steps. “Only last night. She’s usually home just after five o’clock. But they needed her to help serve during the dinner hour.”

“It seems everyone was busy in town last night. Did you hear the news?”

“I had a headache and went to bed with the chickens last night. What news?”

Ida set her reticule on the entry table. “Otis came by the parsonage this morning and told us Pearl DeVere died last night.”

“The young woman from the Home—”

“That’s the one.”

Miss Hattie clucked her tongue. “She wasn’t more than thirty-five years old. Did she fall ill?”

“She was found in her bed.” Ida lowered her voice. “I heard one of the girls who works there made the discovery.” She glanced at the landing, half expecting her little sister to be standing there with her mouth wide open. “Apparently, it was a suspicious death. The girl who found her may have even had a part in it.”

“They think someone killed her?”

“I don’t know. The city’s doctor will examine her body today to figure out why she died.”

“Poor woman. That’s terrible.”

Ida wanted to agree. She should agree; she was a pastor’s wife. But was it so bad to have one less of those women around to lead other women astray? Why, many of them were girls younger than Vivian.

“Since Vivian’s not coming to me, I better go up and see if she’s about ready.” Ida started up the stairs.

Miss Hattie huffed and puffed up the steps behind her. “It happened during the party? Several of the Women for the Betterment of Cripple Creek were going. Said they felt obligated to attend the festivities since the woman is … was such a philanthropist. I’m sure it’ll be the talk at our luncheon today.”

Ida sighed. Since when was one’s charitable nature enough to excuse her immorality?

Ida stopped in front of Vivian’s door. She didn’t hear any activity inside. Her little sister had obviously overslept. Clearing her throat, Ida reached for the doorknob. “Rise and shine, little—”

The room was quiet and the bed empty. Ida glanced from the dressing table to the wardrobe to the open space in front of her sister’s trunk. Vivian wasn’t there. And everything from the dressing table to the pillow on the rocker was as neat as a butler’s suit, including the bed covers.

Miss Hattie joined Ida in the room. “She’s not here?”

“No, and I didn’t hear her downstairs.”

“If she’s anything like me, she may have stopped at the necessary on her way down. I’ll check.” Miss Hattie took quick strides to the end of the hallway and tapped on the door. “Vivian, dear, are you in there?”

No answer. The room was empty.

Ida’s stomach knotted. This wasn’t like Vivian. She paused on the
staircase and looked back at Miss Hattie. “Do you mind if I telephone Kat?”

“Please do.” The quiver in Miss Hattie’s voice reflected the tension Ida felt in her neck.

Ida walked to the telephone on the kitchen wall, lifted the earpiece off the hook, and looked at their family friend. “I’m sure she’s already there, claiming my scone and eating the last of Nell’s berries.”

When the connection was made, Kat asked the first question. “We thought you and Vivian would be here by now. Where are you?”

Ida moistened her lips. “Vivian’s not there with you?”

The answer weakened her knees. Her little sister had expected Ida at the boardinghouse that morning and knew Kat and Nell expected them early. Vivian had told Miss Hattie so just yesterday, and the landlady’s creased brow did nothing to pacify the question pounding in Ida’s heart.

Where was she?

Vivian sat behind her captor as the horse picked its way up a rocky path on the side of a mountain. She should be watching where they were going, but she didn’t dare look down. Neither did she wish to stare at the back of the outlaw’s head. Instead, she turned away from the edge and closed her eyes.

Letting happier times fill her mind, Vivian recalled running across a summer lawn with her sisters. Climbing onto her father’s lap for a story. Standing on a kitchen stool, making jelly rolls with her mother.

By now her sisters would know she was missing, and her heart ached for them. They believed she was a good girl. They trusted her,
and she’d traded their trust for lies. Not only had she deceived them, but now she may never have the chance to tell them the truth, express her regret, and apologize.

And what about Carter? He cared for her too. She’d seen it in his eyes and felt it in the touch of his hand. A part of her wanted to believe that if he knew she was gone, he’d come looking for her, but she wasn’t sure she could bear the humiliation if he found her.

The horse stopped. Vivian’s ear slammed against her captor’s shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. They still clung to the mountainside, about halfway to the top. She let her gaze settle on a patch of columbines blooming in the rocky soil.

“That’s your new home.” The outlaw pointed at a slanted shack to the right, about fifty feet below them.

A new stream of tears slipped down her cheek. Home was Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse. Home was eating breakfast with her sisters. Home was a checkerboard surrounded by her family.

“Too bad you won’t be here long enough to pretty up the place.” He snickered.

He was planning to let her go? Or kill her after … The shiver up her spine had little to do with her damp clothes.

“You best not waste your time dreaming of freedom, though,” he said. “You’re coming with us.”

Her breath caught. She’d strayed far enough from the people she loved. She couldn’t leave the area with this wretched man. “I’ll just slow you down. Why not let me go now? ”

He shook his head. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since I first laid eyes on you.” Reaching back, he set his filthy hand on her knee and squeezed it. “You’ve come a long way from the prim and proper girl on the train.”

Her hands still restrained behind her back, Vivian dug her teeth into his shoulder. Growling, he jabbed her in the side with his elbow, knocking her off balance. She slid off the saddle and tumbled onto the muddy ground. Her hip struck a rock, and she moaned.

Her captor stood over her, his stare blistering. “You think I’m stupid enough to leave you behind to play the hero?” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. He huffed in her face. “You’re our insurance, missy. And our entertainment.” He lifted her onto the saddle and swung up behind her. “You try anything like that again, and I won’t wait to kill you.”

He spurred the horse toward her prison, where two men stared at them from the stoop. The tallest wore a straw hat like the one she’d seen on the second train bandit, only it wasn’t as ragged then. Without a bandanna covering his face, she could see the scar on his cheek that scaled up his ear. The younger man, who didn’t look any older than she was, had yet to look away. Vivian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to exhale her fears.

“What do we have here, Pops?” the young man asked. Her captor was a father?

“Since when are we allowed to bring them home, Leon?” the taller man said.

“You’re not,” Leon growled behind her.

The outlaw Carter had referred to as Pickett joined the son in gawking at her. “When did you start foolin’ around with anyone but Miss Pearl?”

“She’s dead.” Her captor spit, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “She’s dead, and I’m in no mood for storytelling.” He glared at Vivian. “This here’s Violet. Leastwise that’s her entertaining name.” He finally loosened his grip on her hands. “Get her out of my sight.”

“My pleasure.” The son grabbed her waist and dragged her off the saddle.

Once her feet hit the ground, Vivian jerked away from him. “Keep your hands off me.”

“Good job, Pops. You know I like ’em feisty.” The young man snatched her hand and pulled her toward the shanty. “Come on, Violet, I’ll show you around the place.” His lecherous laugh soured her stomach.

Lord, are You here?

W
hat kind of establishment would ask a young woman to work late into the night and not see her safely home? Tucker at her side, Ida walked into the vast reception area of the hotel that employed Vivian.

The clerk behind the mahogany counter smiled and removed his hat. “Reverend. Mrs. Raines.”

“Good day, Mr. Beverly.” Ida took a deep breath to settle her nerves so as not to embarrass her husband. Vivian’s boss may have given her a room for the night.

Tucker shook the clerk’s hand.

“I’m sorry I missed the Sunday service,” Mr. Beverly said. “Our twins had sour stomachs and my missus asked me to stay home with her.”

“We hope they’re back in good health,” Tucker said.

“Yes, thank you.”

Ida cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t normally disturb a family member during work hours, but I need to speak to my sister.”