The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (13 page)

After what little Gennie had observed of the Beck girl’s bad behavior, she realized it was likely as much attributed to the adults who allowed her free rein as it was to Charlotte, obviously a girl of high aptitude and even higher spirits. As Gennie ran the borrowed brush through her hair, she couldn’t help recalling the events of last evening.

Last night, Tova and Elias were the only ones allowed near the child. Gennie’s approach at bath time caused shrieking, as did her suggestion
that she might see to the girl’s bedtime routine. It was all most improper and, Gennie decided, most theatrical.

There was nothing wrong with Charlotte Beck that a firm hand and a good dose of prayer wouldn’t handle. For a moment, she thought about giving the challenge a go. A few weeks under her tutelage and Charlotte would be a different child.

Then reality and good sense returned. A task this size would take months, and her time with the girl was limited to weeks. One month at best.

She paused, the brush gripped tightly in her hand. One month to tame Charlotte Beck. She smiled. She’d wanted a Wild West adventure, and the prospect of turning that girl into a young lady certainly qualified.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that when Daniel Beck returned, her month might be cut short. “That could be a blessing,” she whispered as the brush slid through the last of her tangles, “or I might just regret leaving so soon.”

Still, she intended to leave her mark, even if it meant finding a way to let these people know she would do her job until her replacement arrived.

Gennie set the brush on the dresser and reached for the horrid frock. The Beck household might run fine without her, but she’d taken on the job of governess, and until Daniel Beck returned, she intended to do it.

She repeated this statement to herself three times before gathering the courage to take up the table scarf and make her way down to the kitchen. There she found Elias at the stove and Charlotte finishing her breakfast.

“Good morning, Mr. Howe,” she said. “Breakfast smells delicious.”

Rather than wait to be invited, Gennie took her place across the table from Charlotte and reached for a spoonful of eggs scrambled with some sort of meat. As she silently blessed the food, Gennie also prayed that the Lord and not her feelings would lead the coming conversation. Surely the former would have a much better result than the latter.

“Good morning, Charlotte.”

The girl didn’t respond.

“You’re not deaf, child,” Elias chided. “Else there’d be an excuse for your rude behavior.”

Eyes narrowed to menacing slits met Gennie’s unwavering gaze. She thought she heard the words, “Good Morning,” though it sounded more like a hiss than a hello.

Choosing to ignore the child’s atrocious response as well as her outfit of overalls, cap, and boots, Gennie focused on the lovely face that held such potential. Charlotte appeared to be concentrating on a book, though the girl’s attention seemed to waver from Gennie to the page and back again.

On the table next to the egg concoction sat a pie, likely the same one the girl had brought home last night. Gennie watched Charlotte cut a large slice and slop it onto her plate, leaving a mess on the tablecloth.

“Pie for breakfast?” Gennie said as much to the adult in the room as to the child.

“I can have what I want,” the girl replied.

Gennie looked at Elias, whose face told her the child likely spoke the truth.

“Charlotte,” Gennie said firmly, “while I disagree that any breakfast is sufficient for a growing child, there’s nothing to be done for it this morning. But you’ll need a cloth to remove the stain.”

The girl looked at Gennie as if she’d grown a third eye. Willfully, she stabbed her fork into the pie, then went back to reading her book. Behind her, Elias watched with interest until he saw Gennie’s pointed stare. Then, suddenly, something on the stove seemed to catch his attention, and he turned his back.

Tova stepped into the room, a basket of clean laundry in her arms. While Elias greeted the housekeeper, Gennie kept her attention focused on the girl.

When it became apparent that a showdown was not likely to produce a winner, Gennie decided to try a different means of reaching the child. She’d already thought of several possible activities—china painting, embroidery, and a lesson in the care and braiding of hair, among them—for the hours between school’s end and dinner’s beginning, all of which would be beneficial for a girl’s upbringing.

On second thought, perhaps embroidery wasn’t such a good idea. The thought of Charlotte Beck in possession of sharp objects made Gennie shiver.

“After school today, I’ve an afternoon of adventure planned for us, Charlotte,” Gennie said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

The girl continued to turn pages in her book, though Gennie noted a brief look of interest.

“Then it’s settled,” Gennie said. “I’ll fetch you from school myself.”

“I think that’s a grand idea,” Elias said. “Isak can fetch you wherever the two of you would like to go.”

Tova’s inelegant snort caught Gennie off guard. Rather than argue, Gennie rose and nodded before escaping. She was a coward, true, but some battles were better fought in small skirmishes, and she intended to meet Charlotte Beck on the battlefield immediately after school. There was no need to do the same with Tova.

A visit to the carriage house kept Gennie well away from the perturbed Scandinavian housekeeper. The horses, a bay and a well-matched pair of chestnut mares, were exquisite. She stepped carefully across the straw-covered floor to rub her hand over the muzzle of the bay. As she did, the makeshift shawl slipped, and Gennie reached to adjust it.

“She’s a spirited one.”

Gennie turned toward the voice and found Isak watching her.

“That one’s Mr. Beck’s favorite.”

“She’s exquisite. They all are.”

Isak ducked his head as he stepped past her and opened the stall. Gennie watched as he led first one chestnut then the other out and harnessed them to a waiting wagon.

“A moment of your time,” Tova called, exiting the house and walking toward them. The housekeeper thrust a folded piece of paper in Gennie’s direction and gave her a look that dared her to complain. “Isak,” Tova said without taking her eyes off Gennie, “your other duties will wait until after the governess has completed her errand.”

Before Gennie could form a question, Tova dismissed them both and stalked back inside. She turned to Isak, who seemed amused.

“It appears I’m to fetch you to the grocer’s,” he said.

“More than just the grocer’s, it seems.” Gennie consulted the paper and discovered the list of destinations was much longer than a mere trip for foodstuffs. “Perhaps you should have this.” She handed him the paper.

“My mother wishes you to be out of the house for an extended period, I think.”

“Her wish is my command.” The sarcastic statement slipped out before Gennie could stop it. “Oh my, I’m terribly sorry. That was an
awful thing to say. It’s just that she seems to have taken a dislike to me.”

“I wouldn’t be so worried,” Isak said. “I’m sure she likes you just fine.”

“She picked out the dress.”

“Ah, I see.” His laughter was contagious.

“Miss McTaggart.”

Gennie froze at the sound of Tova’s reproving voice. Isak’s merriment ceased, though his smile was only barely tamed.

“I require my tablecloth to remain here,” Tova said as she approached.

Isak made it his business to be occupied with securing the horses by the time his mother reached Gennie. He did, however, send her a most impudent wink.

“The tablecloth,” Tova said, her arm outstretched.

Gennie gathered the makeshift scarf closer. “I need it.”

“Likely to sell,” Tova snapped. “I’ll not have Mr. Beck’s things go missing.”

“Sell?” Gennie straightened her spine and eyed the woman with what she hoped was something akin to superiority. “I’ll have you know the only reason I need this thing is because you chose this horrid dress for me.”

The housekeeper’s face flamed bright red. Behind her, Gennie heard Isak’s footsteps retreating into the carriage house.

“And furthermore…” Gennie caught her breath as well as the expression on Tova’s face. “Never mind.”

“Turn around,” Tova said, her voice hard as steel.

Gennie turned and slid the table scarf off her shoulders to reveal the gap in her dress. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, quickly, Tova finished the job of buttoning her in and yanked away the scarf.

“Isak!”

A moment later, Gennie was lifted onto the wagon seat as Tova bustled back toward the house. To Gennie’s surprise, the housekeeper paused at the door to call to her.

“Add one more thing to the list.”

Isak handed Gennie the list and a pencil. “All right. What is it?”

Tova straightened her spine and gave Gennie a look of distaste. “See that you find an outfit that does not cause me this sort of trouble. Mr. Beck keeps an account at Fisher’s.”

Gennie nodded, her smile concealed behind her hand. Perhaps she and the stern housekeeper might become friends after all.

Isak made short work of negotiating the distance to downtown Denver, though finding a place to park the wagon took some doing. The city appeared no different than Manhattan, Gennie decided. A definite disappointment.

Before Isak took the list and went about collecting the needed items, he pointed Gennie toward Fisher’s Dry Goods. She went willingly. Never had a shopping trip been so needed.

As she stepped inside the store, Gennie paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. What she saw when her vision cleared was truly a disappointment. Instead of row upon row of beautiful dresses, she found precious few garments among the items for sale.

“Careful,” a bespectacled young man said as he climbed off a ladder in the rear of the store. “The floor’s been freshly waxed.”

“Thank you.” She picked her way toward the clothing section.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he called.

“I’m in need of dresses,” she said. “And all that goes with them, actually.”

The clerk gestured to his left, where bolts of calico were piled nearly to the ceiling. “We’ve enough fabric to make any housewife smile.”

Calico. Housewife. Smile. Where she came from, those three things did not go together.

“Actually,” she said, turning from the mountain of cloth, “I’d hoped to find something already made.”

He nodded as he adjusted his spectacles. “I shoulda pegged you for a store-bought gal.”

“A store-bought gal,” she said in her best attempt to be serious. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Then come this way,” he said. “Fisher’s Dry Goods has the broadest selection of ready-made clothing this side of the Rockies.”

“Indeed.” Gennie fell in step beside him, pausing only when she passed a display of jewelry items made from bear teeth, or so the sign boasted.

“Over here,” he called. “Might I show you anything in particular?”

“I’ll browse, thank you,” she said, though she held out little hope she might actually find anything among the slim choices the lone clothing rack held.

Somehow, she pulled together a decently constructed dress in a lovely shade of blue, and a hat that matched. While it was nothing near her usual mode of dress, Gennie felt sure she could endure her short time in Denver clothed in such a manner. A smart pair of shoes in something approximating Denver’s version of the latest Paris fashions was added to the stack on the counter. When she returned to New York, she’d have a check sent to Mr. Beck as reimbursement.

She could do with this for a few days, but one good dress was not enough. The hideous garment she wore notwithstanding, she would need a second set of clothing. This she found in a mint-colored ensemble, which she decided to wear out of the store.

The surprised clerk pointed her to a back room, where she shed the saffron dress and tossed it into a rubbish bin. Gennie donned the mint
gown and tied a ribbon sash around her waist, already feeling more like herself. And more like an adventurer. Perhaps she’d find someone to take her on a tour of Denver. If Mr. Beck released her from her duties, she’d have plenty of time to see the sights.

For that, she would need a proper riding outfit. She found a jacket in a lovely buckskin with fringe on the sleeves. Holding the supple leather to her nose, she inhaled what she knew immediately to be the fragrance of the Wild West.

As Gennie slipped it on over her new dress, she instantly felt transported to the pages of last month’s novel. In it, Mae had worn a jacket much like this one while rescuing three small children from a mountain lion’s attack.

A pair of boots beckoned, and she reached for them. Sliding out of her shoes, Gennie stepped into what could have passed for a pair of Mae Winslow’s own footwear. They were big enough to share and flopped when she attempted a step, but she didn’t mind. The store was empty except for the clerk, who had returned to whatever called him up on the ladder.

Boots and a jacket with fringe on it. All she needed was a buckskin skirt and the appropriate hat, and she’d be as close to a Wild West adventure as she’d been since arriving in Denver.

Then she spied the section reserved for reading materials. There, prominently displayed on a shelf near the store’s entrance, was the latest edition of Mae Winslow’s adventures.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t move fast enough to fetch the slim volume from its resting place. The oversized boots slowed her down, but she managed a decent pace as she crossed the store.

Just as she reached for the novel, the store’s door opened, hitting her squarely on the backside and sending her sprawling. She landed in
a most unladylike heap, and volume XXVII of Mae’s adventures came to a stop against a pair of well-worn boots.

Following them upward, Gennie’s gaze slid past long legs, broad shoulders, and an even broader smile set between a pair of deep dimples. A fringe of sandy hair nearly hid eyes the color of a stormy afternoon as he leaned over her.

“What have we here?” he said in a dreamy combination of slow drawl and British aristocracy. “George,” he called to the clerk, “it appears Mae Winslow has stepped off the pages of her latest penny dreadful and landed in your store.”