The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (17 page)

Mae rode the horse into the cave at a trot, reining her in when darkness meant she could no longer find sure footing on the sandy ground. Turning the horse around proved impossible, so she left the stubborn mare to her own devices.

A lit match revealed nothing spectacular about the cave, nor were there any other occupants. Warm and dry, with just enough jerky to silence her growling gut, Mae settled into a sleep the likes of which she hadn’t had in days. Weeks, maybe.

She dreamed of dear Henry, then woke blushing. “I need to get myself married up, and soon.”

Daniel rode next to Elias in silence, occasionally tipping his hat to those he recognized. And saying a prayer for others who nearly missed landing between the buggy wheels and the road.

He loved his friend, but Elias’s driving had never been something Daniel could claim he liked. Thankfully, hiring Isak had all but eliminated the situation Daniel found himself in.

Already they’d circled downtown once. Another lap—or another close call—and Daniel knew he’d have to say something. Elias slowed the mare to a trot as they turned down Eighteenth and headed past the Windsor Hotel.

The doorman waved, and Daniel returned the gesture, remembering the last time he’d walked through those doors. It seemed as though every dignitary in the state had been in attendance. It also seemed as
though the evening would never end. But then, most nights that he was coerced to don his formal wear turned out the same: dodging single females, talking business, and watching the clock until he could make an exit without offending his host.

Elias came to the end of Eighteenth and turned left, indicating the next lap of downtown Denver was about to begin.

“All right,” Daniel said, “I’m getting dizzy making these circles, I haven’t seen my daughter in a week, and I’ve got pressing business to discuss with her new governess. What say we go home now?”

His old friend gave Daniel a sideways look. “I’m not a hundred percent sure that’s a good idea, Daniel.”

“Look,” Daniel said, “either you’re going to tell me what’s going on back at my home, or I’m going to take over the reins. At this rate, Charlotte will be in bed before I get out of this buggy.”

Elias urged the mare to a stop just past Union Station. “It all started right here, Daniel.” He pointed to the train station. “I’ll not give you the details. One of the womenfolk can do that. Let’s just say Charlie and her new nanny didn’t exactly hit it off from the beginning.”

Daniel laughed. “Is that all?”

“I fail to see why that’s funny.” Elias leaned forward and grasped the reins tighter. “You have no idea the female fiasco you’re about to land in the middle of.”

Daniel clamped a hand on Elias’s shoulder and gave him a good-natured shake. This time his old friend had protected him from an enemy that obviously did not exist. “What say we do as we have on too many occasions to count, Elias? Let’s go face that female fiasco together.”

Elias laughed, then slapped the reins and turned the buggy toward home. “I’m a brave man, Daniel,” he said. “I faced down General Sherman himself, but this time you’re on your own.”

As soon as the buggy stopped in front of the carriage house, Daniel climbed down. Elias, however, took his time.

Daniel got all the way to the house before turning to challenge the old coot. “Are you intent on letting me do this alone?”

Elias lifted his hat to scratch his head. “You know I’ll not be thought of as a coward, Daniel,” he said as he caught up, “but I promise, you could bring ten of me and we’d still be outgunned.”

“Oh, it can’t be as bad as all that.” He paused just inside the house. “Besides, if it’s the governess that’s caused all this fuss, rest assured she will be gone as soon as I speak to her.” The look on Elias’s face surprised him. “What?”

“You might want to wait on that.”

“Not fire the woman for impertinence and telling me how to parent to my child?” He froze, then pivoted. “Why?”

Elias yanked at his collar but didn’t answer.

“All right, then.” Daniel stepped into the kitchen and inhaled the familiar scent of baking bread. “Much as I tire of the leaving, I never tire of the homecoming. Where’s my Charlie?”

He got as far as the stairs before Tova blocked his way. “I’d advise you not to go any farther just yet, sir.”

“You too, Tova?”

He pressed past the housekeeper to take the stairs two at a time. With each step, Daniel cursed the fact he’d insisted on building such a grand mansion. Tova and Elias trailed behind him.

The sound of a scuffle upstairs caught his attention, as did the squeal that followed. “What’s going on up there?”

“A bath, sir,” Tova said.

“A bath?” Daniel froze as another squeal pierced the silence. “That sounded like my daughter.”

“I reckon it is,” Elias said. “Last I heard, the nanny was intent on seeing at least the top layer of mud removed.”

“Top layer of mud?” Daniel looked to Elias and then Tova. Neither seemed interested in elaborating. “Charlotte was playing in the mud? That seems a bit childish.”

“Actually, sir,” Tova said, “I believe the nanny got the worst of it. The girl only seemed to be wearing whatever rubbed off.”

He shook his head. None of this made sense, but asking for details from these two seemed futile. Another squeal, followed by a definite yelp, sent him hurrying up the rest of the stairs.

“Where is she?” he called.

“The nanny’s bathing closet,” Tova called, “but I wouldn’t try to go in there if I were you, sir.”

“Yes, well, you’re not me, Tova. If someone were torturing your child, I doubt you’d be ignoring it.” He ran to the room on the opposite side of Charlotte’s parlor, his resolve to fire the woman he’d mistakenly trusted with his daughter growing stronger with every step. As soon as he saw the woman, he’d order her out of his home. Whatever things she’d brought would be mailed to her forwarding address.

He halted at the door to her bedchamber. Old habits died hard, and he’d been taught to be a gentleman. A gentleman did not step into a lady’s bedchamber uninvited. Another squeal, however, caused him to throw propriety out the window. He turned the knob and stormed into the room. Finding it empty, he followed the sounds of splashing to the closed door of the bathing closet.

A trickle of water leaked from beneath a door that was, to his surprise, locked. Outrage and yet another shriek from inside the bathing closet sent his shoulder crashing into the door. How dare anyone lock him out of a room of his home, especially when his daughter was on the other side?

Anger warred with concern as he prepared to break down the door. “Sir?” Tova called from somewhere behind him. “Perhaps the key would help.”

While getting Charlotte into the tub had been relatively easy washing her hair was just the opposite. Charlotte Beck did not like to get her face wet. This Gennie discovered while getting soaked from head to toe, despite the fact she was still fully clothed.

“All right, then,” Gennie had declared as she used the towel to wipe the water from her face. “We’ll manage, but you’ll not splash me again or I’ll be forced to go for help.”

For a moment, it appeared Charlotte would not give up the fight, so Gennie made good on her threat by walking to the window and throwing open the curtains. To her surprise, though the buggy was gone, Isak had remained behind.

“Isak,” she called as she raised the window sash, “might it be possible to come and help me up here? Charlotte’s being a bit of a problem, but the shampoo must come out.”

“I don’t know, miss,” he said, then realized she was playacting. “Oh yes, of course. Should I fetch Mr. Howe, as well?”

“Don’t you dare bring those boys in here!” Charlotte squealed.

Boys?
Gennie tried not to laugh as she called a quick, “Never mind,” and closed the window and curtains. Likely neither of the men had been called boys in a very long time, but the empty threat worked.

With a little cooperation on the girl’s part, the soaping of her long tresses was done. Each time Gennie came too close to her head with the pitcher of water to rinse it, however, the girl made enough noise to wake the dead. To remove the soap from Charlotte’s hair, Gennie borrowed a memory from her own past and encouraged the girl to dive for pennies.
Any penny she found, while keeping her eyes and nose covered with a washcloth, she kept to be spent on a future shopping trip. It worked, and most of the soap was rinsed away. With the last three cents in her reticule, Gennie had managed to purchase compliance, however temporary.

Gennie heard footsteps approaching and dove for the door. While her clothing, albeit soaked, still rendered her decent, the mud once caked on her cheeks now ran down the front of her frock in slimy ribbons. She was, in short, a wretched mess.

“Tova, please wait,” she called as the key scraped against the lock. “A few more minutes, and we’ll be finished.” She pressed her shoulder into the door. With the task nearly complete, she feared any disruption might cause the girl’s obedient state to disappear.

To her surprise, the door thumped hard against her shoulder.

“I demand you open this door at once,” came a deep and slightly familiar voice.

Charlotte bobbed to the surface, the final penny in her hand. “Papa?”

“Yes, Buttercup, it’s me.”

Buttercup?
Gennie shook her head and pressed harder against the door. Of all the terms one might use to describe the girl,
buttercup
was not one of them.

“I’ve learned to dive for pennies, Papa,” Charlotte said as she shimmied out of the tub and into a towel. “I got all three, and I put my face under water.”

“Mr. Beck, might I have a few more minutes with Charlotte? She’s not yet had her hair combed.”

“I don’t care. Come out here and speak to me.”

“I’m not decent, Mr. Beck. Would you have me come out and speak to you in a less-than-proper state?”

Silence.

Charlotte shook the water from her hair much like a dog might dry his shaggy coat. Fat water drops landed on Gennie’s already stained frock and splattered back into the once-clear bath water.

“I insist you stop that at once, Charlotte Beck. You’re making a mess.”

“See here,” the girl’s father said through the door. “I’ll not have you speaking to my daughter that way. Get yourself decent, then come out and explain yourself.”

“No.” Gennie turned to glare at the girl, who stopped her antics immediately. “Someone must take this child in hand. Since you and the others in this house are unwilling or unable, the task has fallen to me. I will speak to you when my job here is done.”

“Oh, your job’s done here, all right,” he said.

Gennie blinked back her astonishment at the words she’d just spoken and the response they had garnered. If the child’s father fired her, that just gave her the chance to escape and have her adventure. Why did she care if the girl went to bed with tangles and soapsuds?

Stepping away from the door, Gennie was about to tell the man just that, when Charlotte snatched Gennie’s wrapper from the hook behind the tub and threw it on over her towel. Before Gennie could voice a protest, the girl bounded out the door for what sounded like a gleeful reunion with her father.

To his credit, the man slammed the door shut with himself and his daughter on the other side. The confrontation would obviously happen later rather than sooner. That she would be summarily dismissed was clear.

Beyond caring, Gennie flopped down on the window seat and stared at the formerly rose-scented bath water, now the color of the
Hudson River after a hard rain. The effort to drain and clean the tub then refill it was beyond her, both in energy and ability, and the likelihood that Tova would accommodate the request was slim to none.

It was all too much. While the celebration continued on the other side of the door, Gennie rested her head on the windowsill and fought back tears.
Lord, how did I get myself into this mess?

Downstairs, the bell rang. The commotion outside her door moved away, presumably to greet whoever had arrived to join the party. Had she the strength, Gennie would have seized the opportunity to gather her wits, her copy of
Mae Winslow, Woman of the West
and her nearly empty reticule and escape down the back stairs.