The Bride Wore Blue Page 12

  Ida had been right about Gregory, and Vivian so wrong. As it turned out, she did need to be told what to do and what not to do. If only she hadn’t resented Ida’s counsel. If only …

  She knew now that it wasn’t Ida’s fault her little sister was stubborn and a poor judge of character. Vivian had no one but herself to blame for her mistakes. And there was a lot about life and business that she could learn from her sister.

  Vivian folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope, then returned it to her trunk. She angled her hat slightly and pinned it in place. Reticule in hand, she descended the stairs and walked out the front door, hopefully into a new relationship with her eldest sister.

  The Raines Ice Company was located on four acres just below the depot. Ida had explained the reasoning—easy access to the ice being delivered on the train. Working for Ida, Vivian would learn not only how to be a good sales person, but also how to run a successful business. Information that would come in handy when she’d earned enough to shift her attention to her dream of being a fashion designer and owning her own clothing company.

  Heeding Nell’s warning about Myers Avenue, Vivian walked down Bennett instead. Just before the depot, she turned right, continuing down the hill and across the railroad tracks. The icebox showroom and Ida’s office were housed in a brick building adjacent to a rock-lined icehouse. An OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign hung from the doorknob. A bell jingled when Vivian opened the door, announcing her presence, and Ida and a customer glanced her way.

  “Vivian, it’s good to see you. You can wait at my desk if you’d like, and I’ll be right with you.” Ida returned her attention to the balding man in an oversized herringbone suit.

  Vivian seated herself in the desk chair along the wall and watched her sister in action.

  Wearing a burgundy linsey-woolsey dress, her hair sculpted by tortoise shell combs, Ida swept her hand across the well-stocked showroom, then rested her fingertips on a beautiful appliance with brass hinges and decorative carvings. “This Monarch is the finest icebox available today, Mr. Updike.”

  “Mr. Harry Updike?” His full name escaped Vivian’s lips before she could stop it.

  Her sister cocked a thin eyebrow and the man crossed his arms.

  “Pardon me.” Vivian had come looking for a job, not trouble. And causing her sister to lose a sale would be trouble.

  Ida dipped her chin, which meant a question was forthcoming. “You know Mr. Updike?”

  “Only the name … from the telephone company.”

  The banker huffed, a hint of recognition in his beady eyes.

  Vivian looked away, studying a pencil on the desk in front of her. She’d told her sisters she’d been fired because of a disgruntled shareholder, but given the circumstances, she should have remained silent.

  Ida turned back to her customer, and Vivian held her breath. “Mr. Updike, have you decided which icebox you’d like to have delivered to your home?”

  Vivian’s eldest sister was full of surprises, and once again, Ida had demonstrated wisdom, or at the very least, discretion.

  The banker opened and shut the door of the food compartment. “Your finest looks suitable, Mrs. Raines, but for this defect.”

  Vivian startled. Ida wouldn’t try to sell anything with a defect, certainly not in secret.

  Mr. Updike stabbed a thick finger at the top corner of the icebox. “I’m certain you don’t expect me to pay full price for damaged goods.” Even in person, he sounded like a bulldog.

  Vivian resisted the temptation to walk over and see the defect for herself, but she did straighten in her chair for a better view.

  Tilting her head, Ida examined the corner of the icebox. She pulled a handkerchief from the seam pocket on her dress and wiped the top of the appliance. “Thankfully, Mr. Updike, it was a mere smudge, not a flaw.”

  If a thorn in one’s flesh took human form, it would have jowls and be this banker.

  Ida offered Mr. Updike a smile, one Vivian recognized as second rate. “We can deliver your icebox tomorrow morning, and you’ll have the finest appliance on your block. I only need your payment.”

  Yes, Vivian would learn a lot working for Ida. And the best part was that Mr. Updike would already have the newest icebox, so there would be no reason for him to trouble her.

  Ida made quick work of the sales transaction. As soon as the bell jingled behind the banker, Vivian stood and met her sister’s gaze. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you.” Ida sighed, hard enough to puff out her cheeks. “It took everything I had in me to resist giving that rodent a tongue-lashing. He’s the one who insisted Mrs. Hartley fire you, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Thank you for resisting. He would’ve lost that battle for sure, and I’d just as soon put that all behind me.”

  Ida nodded. “I’m glad you stopped by.” She pulled her reticule from a desk drawer. “It’s been too long since my bowl of oatmeal this morning. Can I buy you lunch? ”

  “I’d like that.”

  Ten minutes later, Vivian sat across the table from Ida in the Third Street Café. The same table she’d shared with Carter Alwyn the day she told him she couldn’t like him. The day he’d said he, too, had only friendship to offer her.

  After they’d given the matronly waitress their order for peppermint tea and roast beef sandwiches, Ida rested her hands on the table and met Vivian’s gaze. “How are you?”

  “I’m well. Getting a little thick around the middle from Miss Hattie’s fine cooking, though.”

  Ida chuckled. “I don’t see it, but I know what you mean. She loves to cook. Kind of sad that she doesn’t have a family for whom she can cook.”

  At least Miss Hattie had enjoyed having a husband, even if her George had lived too short a life.

  “I heard you had to quit your job at the newspaper.” Ida arched her brows. “The work made you sick?”

  “Yes. The chemicals and the ink.” Vivian moistened her lips. “Actually, that’s what I came to the icehouse to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve helped Tucker build ice delivery into a successful business.” Vivian watched the waitress set their cups of tea on the table. “Thank you.”

  “Your food’ll be ready shortly.” The waitress flipped a long brown braid over her shoulder and spun toward the kitchen.

  Ida pulled the saucer toward her. “I can’t take all the credit for all the success. Tucker built the icehouse before we married. And Otis Bernard takes care of organizing and supervising the wagon drivers and the deliveries.”

  “And you take care of the bookkeeping and icebox sales.”

  “I do.” Ida stirred sugar into her cup. “Are you asking me for a job?”

  Vivian moistened her lips again. “Yes. I’m sure it must come as a shock. I’ve not been appreciative of your concern the past year, but—”

  “Two years, almost to the day you turned sixteen.”

  Nodding, Vivian drew in a fortifying breath. “Two years. I’ve changed a lot since then.” More than she could say.

  “I can see that you have.” Ida’s smile brightened her blue eyes.

  “I’m sure with all you do here, and being a pastor’s wife, you could use some help in the store.”

  Ida took a sip of tea. “Vivian, I’d love to hire you—really I would, but I can’t.”

  Vivian reached for the sugar bowl, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “We’ve expanded the business a fair amount, hired several more delivery drivers, and I’m afraid money is a little tight right now. Too tight to hire anyone else.” Ida’s frown reflected Vivian’s regret. “Things might change, and if they do … I suppose I should think more positively than that. When they do, I’ll let you know. But I’m sure you’ll be happily working elsewhere by then.”

  Vivian stirred the sugar into her tea, a bit more briskly than she intended, and the spoon tinked the sides of the cup.

  Ida had been her last hope. She couldn’t even get a family member to
hire her.

  Vivian pinched the clothespin and pulled her red gored skirt off the line. She sighed, feeling pinched herself. The end of July already, and she had significantly fewer prospects for a job than she had two months ago.

  In the past several weeks, she’d eliminated a long list of options. Etta’s Fashions. The millinery. The Colorado Telephone Company. The Cripple Creek Times. The Raines Ice House. The mercantile. Glauber’s Clothing. The confectionary. Attorney at law. The Butte Opera House. She’d applied for an office job at the Colorado Trading and Transfer Company. She couldn’t even get hired as a maid at the National Hotel, the largest in town. And those were just the first dozen places she’d tried. She freed her plaid shirtwaist and added it to the basket at her feet. Saloons and smoke shops were the only options she’d passed up.

  After pulling the last two pieces of her laundry from their pins, she carried the full basket to the kitchen door. She had the boardinghouse to herself for most of the day. She didn’t expect Miss Hattie back from her Women for the Betterment of Cripple Creek luncheon until late afternoon.

  Vivian set up the ironing board in front of the stove and laid a folded sheet over it. She pulled the hot sad iron from the stove and a shirtwaist from the basket at her feet. When she’d moved in with Aunt Alma two years ago and had to start doing her own ironing, she quickly developed a new appreciation for all that Tilly, their household domestic, had done for her family before Father left for Paris. Now, taking in ironing seemed all that was left for Vivian to do.

  As she pressed the sleeves on her broadcloth shirtwaist, memories from that Tuesday and her time at the bench on Bennett Avenue washed over her. She thought about the girl who stepped out of the millinery, looking like she’d just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine. She’d spoken to Vivian as if they could be friends. “Are you a working girl? We work for Miss Pearl over at the Homestead House. Opening. Daytime hostess. Partial to someone as chic as you. Come by and talk to her.”

  At the time, Vivian didn’t know the Homestead was one of the places on Myers Avenue—the street good girls didn’t frequent. Then Carter Alwyn had come along and enlightened her.

  Tuesday mornings the other women do their shopping.

  Little did the deputy know how much more she identified with the group on Tuesday mornings than she did with the respectable women every other day of the week. And he couldn’t know. Just one more reason she should be grateful she and the deputy had come to an understanding concerning any mutual attraction.

  “I can’t offer any more than friendship either, Vivian.” And she had no doubt he meant to keep his distance from her. She’d overhead her family and Miss Hattie invite him to Sunday supper on several occasions during the past few weeks, and he’d always declined.

  The dark-haired girl had said the opening at the Homestead was for a downstairs hostess during the day. Most likely serving food and drinks. A job that sounded innocent enough.

  Vivian snickered. But what did it matter what the job was or where? She wasn’t blameless, and certainly no better than those girls. Besides, everyone else had turned her down.

  The Homestead was her only lead. She’d be stupid not to at least talk with this Miss Pearl.

  Two hours later, Vivian walked down Fourth Street toward Bennett Avenue wearing white gloves. The ink stains had faded from her hands, but she felt anything but spotless. Still, it wasn’t as if she intended to work as one of the other women. It just happened that an available job required her to work in such an establishment.

  She’d done worse. The first time she surrendered herself to Gregory’s desire and her own lust for love, she vowed it would never happen again. Not until they wed as he’d promised. Then a second time. A third. Who would do that? The answer sent stomach acid into her throat.

  The next time they were alone together, they stood in the grand entryway of his parents’ home. Gregory took her hand to lead her up the stairs to his bedchamber, but she stood her ground. She couldn’t do it anymore. Not like that. She told him no and asked when he planned to marry her. His guttural laughter still echoed in her heart and mind, almost as deafening as the statement that followed.

  “Don’t be silly. I have no intention of marrying you. Any girl who has sullied herself can’t be my bride.”

  Vivian wiped a tear from her cheek. Shaking his head like a stern schoolmaster, Gregory had opened the palatial door of his home and motioned for her to leave. That was the last time she’d seen him.

  At the corner of Fourth and Bennett, Vivian sidled up to a tall brick building and looked around. When she was satisfied no one was watching her, she continued south to Myers as if she were going to Poverty Gulch. Except when she arrived at the corner, she turned right instead of left.

  The Homestead House stood on the north side of the road, and the white two-story building looked more like a palace than a brothel. Not that she knew what a house of ill repute looked like. But this one was crisp and clean. Light blue filigree hung from the roof, shading the house like a fancy hat brim. The same light blue framed the two open windows at the second story. Lace curtains fluttered in the breeze. The front door was to the left of a glassed-in alcove that added an elegant charm.

  Vivian pressed a hand to her waist. She could do this. After all, she was only here to talk to the woman. There was no harm in that. She’d find out if the job was still available. It wasn’t as if she’d committed herself to the work. She’d hear what Miss Pearl had to say and look at the place before making a decision.

  And if she did take the job with Miss Pearl, it would only be temporary. It wouldn’t take her long to make enough money to go to Denver. There were bound to be several dress designers there with enough business to share.

  Vivian drew in a deep breath and reached for the brass latch.

  A bell chimed as she opened the door and stepped inside. The carved rosewood ceiling of the foyer captured her attention. Velvet wallpaper lined the entry, and her shoes sank into a plush Persian carpet. She’d never seen so much opulence.

  Footsteps sounded on the ornate staircase, and Vivian turned. The dark-haired girl she’d spoken to that Tuesday descended the steps with the flair of a stage actress and a painted face fitting for a matinee.

  The girl smiled. “I remember you. It’s been three weeks.”

  Vivian nodded. “You mentioned an opening for a daytime hostess.” She leaned forward. “Downstairs.”

  A smile added sparkle to the girl’s coal black eyes. “You decided to apply? ”

  “Is the hostess job still available?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Good.” It was good, wasn’t it? “I would at least like to talk to Miss Pearl about it.” Vivian glanced from the crystal chandelier above her head to the Persian carpet. “This place is—”

  “Extravagant, I know.” Clasping the frilled edges of a fine paisley shawl, the girl floated off the bottom step. “Nothing but the best for Miss Pearl.”

  “And for her girls.” A woman who looked like the palace queen sauntered into the room. Her lace gloves matched her green satin gown. She wore her shiny red hair up in a pompadour.

  “This is the young woman I mentioned seeing out on a Tuesday morning when the girls and I were shopping,” the black-haired girl said. “Said she was out of work.”

  “I remember the story.” The queen shifted her attention to Vivian, her painted red lips pursed. “You’ve never been a working girl, have you?”

  “No ma’am,” Vivian said. “Not in that way.”

  “You probably hadn’t even seen a real working girl until … what was it, three weeks ago?” the queen asked.

  “I don’t believe so. No ma’am.” Vivian extended her hand. “I’m—”

  The woman raised her hand abruptly. “No real names.” Her painted eyebrows narrowed. “One’s former life … private life is just that—private.”

  That was an advantage. Vivian wouldn’t have to worry about being linked to anyone else in town
, anyone whose respectability could be at stake.

  “I go by Pearl DeVere—Miss Pearl—in the business.” Miss Pearl strolled around Vivian, her emerald green skirts whispering with each move. “You’d need plumping up a bit, and a tighter corset that would give you at least some semblance of a waist and a bust. Shorter than the others too.” She stopped in front of Vivian and looked her in the eye. “Violet. You look like a Violet to me.”

  A color that wasn’t quite a true blue. “Yes ma’am. It suits me.”

  “Very well. Violet, join me in the parlor, and we’ll discuss the possibilities.” Miss Pearl started across the foyer.

  “Ma’am.”

  With measured ease, Miss Pearl turned to face Vivian, a penciled eyebrow raised.

  “I want to discuss the hostess job. During the day. Downstairs.” Vivian knotted her hands. “I’m not interested in … the other kind of work.”

  “I understand.” In the manner of a true lady, Miss Pearl pinched the sides of her skirt and lifted it ever so slightly. “Opal, dear, would you ask Mary to bring us some tea? Something with a little zing in it, please.”

  “Of course.” Opal disappeared into the hallway.

  Vivian pressed her gloved hand to her middle, hoping to calm the bees buzzing in her stomach, and followed Miss Pearl into an imperial parlor. Her eyes feasted on the large room—a cranberry swirl glass chandelier, green velvet drapes, a large Persian carpet, an electric lamp with a red tasseled shade sitting on a polished black walnut table.

  Miss Pearl lowered herself onto a rosewood settee as if this were her throne room. She looked up at Vivian and pointed to a swing rocker. When Vivian sat down, Miss Pearl regarded her with a knowing smile, as if she were amused by Vivian’s awe. “So, Violet, what do you wish to do with your life?”

  Vivian startled at the sound of the unfamiliar name. She picked a piece of lint from her skirt. “I want to design fashions, ma’am. Mostly gowns.”

  A sudden, sharp laugh escaped Miss DeVere’s perfectly rounded mouth.

  Vivian straightened, gripped the arms of the chair, and met the madam’s misty-eyed gaze. “Miss DeVere, I’m really quite good at sketching new designs.”