The Bride Wore Blue Page 13

  “Call me Pearl. I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m sure you are.” She pulled at her gloves, one finger at a time. “That’s what my family in Indiana thinks I’m doing here—designing dresses for the wives of the rich in this area.” Laughing again, she gestured toward the lavishness surrounding her. “And now I’m the rich in this area.”

  Vivian squirmed. Her family thought she was a good girl. They’d never suspect her of working here either.

  “You’d make a lot more money and much quicker working for me than you would working as a dress designer,” Miss Pearl said.

  A woman as dark as the soot in a hurricane lamp stood in the doorway. When Miss Pearl nodded, she entered the room, carrying a tray.

  “Thank you, Mary,” Miss Pearl said.

  “Welcome, Miss Pearl. I fixed them both the way you like it.” Mary handed a teacup and saucer to the madam and then glanced at Vivian. “Do you like your tea sweet, miss?”

  “A spoonful of sugar, please.” Vivian watched as Mary stirred in the sugar and delivered her cup. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, miss.” Mary shifted her gaze to the woman of the house. “You needin’ anything else, Miss Pearl?”

  “That’ll be all, Mary. Thank you.”

  Mary had no sooner cleared the doorway, when Miss Pearl turned toward Vivian. “How good are you at acting?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re in the entertainment business here, and we take our work quite seriously. Our clients are all men willing to pay well for the entertainment.” Miss Pearl lifted her teacup to her lips in a manner suited to the most refined of ladies.

  “The hostess too?”

  Miss Pearl peered at Vivian over her cup. “Yes, even the hostess in the game room and in the music room, which is where you’d work, is considered an entertainer. Nearly every room in the house is our stage.”

  “I see.”

  “We each have our own chambers, and there are two bathrooms upstairs.”

  Vivian gulped. “I have a room elsewhere, and I need to maintain that room and my presence there.”

  Miss Pearl tapped her chin with a painted fingernail. “Actually, I think that could work out perfectly. We have clients at all times of the day and night, but you’d do your entertaining as hostess during the day.” The palace queen played with the curls dangling at her neck. “You can treat your work here like a day job and go home, or wherever it is you go, before the dinner bell sounds.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There will, however, be an occasional evening required.”

  Vivian picked at a fingernail. How would she ever explain being away from the boardinghouse after dark?

  “I love to throw parties,” Miss Pearl said. “We’re having one next month—the last Friday. I’ll need you here for that.”

  Vivian nodded and lifted her cup. She’d raised it no higher than her shoulders before a pungent odor ascended into her nostrils, causing her to gag.

  Miss Pearl covered her mouth, but not before Vivian detected a grin. “I like my tea with a shot of brandy in it. You’ve never had even a sip of alcohol, have you?”

  “No ma’am.” Vivian set her cup on the table beside her.

  “The men will like you. You’re fresh, like newly fallen snow.”

  Vivian kept her secret to herself, yet again. Fresh, she wasn’t. Fallen, yes.

  “We stock cigars and serve drinks in the game room and in the music room. And some of our guests take meals.”

  The grandfather clock in the corner chimed three, and Miss Pearl stood. “I have enough time to give you a tour of the house and show you to the room you’ll use to get into character. Miss Opal will find you a wig and give you a few pointers on how to conduct yourself. Then be back here tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp.”

  Nodding, Vivian stood. This wasn’t going to be as humiliating as she’d supposed. She could grow accustomed to the smell of alcohol and cigar smoke, but what about Miss Hattie? She looked at her new boss.

  “Don’t worry,” Miss Pearl said. “We have sweet-smelling toilet waters to hide the odors. You’ll find an assortment atop the bureau in your room.”

  Vivian’s acting skills obviously needed work. If Miss Pearl could tell what she was thinking, Miss Hattie and her sisters would surely see right through her.

  Carter glanced up at the mantel clock. Again. Half past five.

  He and Boney Hughes had stopped by Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse nearly an hour ago to talk with Vivian, and she still wasn’t back.

  The landlady told them Vivian had gotten the job at the newspaper but had to quit due to problems working with the chemicals and ink. Miss Hattie pulled her teacup from the side table beside her chair. “Vivian’s been out looking for a job most every day.”

  Commendable, and he hoped she found suitable work, but the thought of her returning home so late in the day made his shoulders tight. It wasn’t safe for a young woman like her, attractive and naive, having only recently come from the East. “You said Vivian … um, Miss Sinclair usually returns home by four o’clock?”

  “Yes. But if she’s found work, those arrangements could detain her.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t forget … she does have a passel of sisters.” Boney drained his coffee mug. He’d chosen to sit on the brick hearth. “Could’ve met up with any one of ’em and stopped somewhere to jaw.”

  Miss Hattie stiffened and narrowed her eyes at the miner.

  “Now don’t go gettin’ your feathers ruffled, Hattie,” Boney said. “Didn’t mean any disrespect. Just sayin’ that those young women could outtalk a gaggle.”

  Carter snickered, earning a scowl from the widow.

  “Don’t encourage the old coot,” she said.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “For your information, Boney Hughes, women don’t jaw.” She stuck out her pinky and raised her cup to her mouth. “We leave that to old miners.”

  Boney chuckled, revealing gaps between his teeth.

  Miss Hattie leaned toward Carter. “Are you ready for a refill?”

  “No ma’am. Thank you.” Carter lifted the cup to his mouth and breathed deeply of the brew’s aroma, hoping to adjourn his nerves. Contrary to his first impression, Vivian wasn’t a mere girl. She was a bright young woman, and he needn’t worry about her. But he did, anyway. She was his friend, after all.

  “Hattie, you might want to give the deputy a nice, calming chamomile next time.” Boney grinned, holding out his pinky.

  Miss Hattie nodded and walked to the window. “You do seem a little edgy where our youngest Sinclair sister is concerned, deputy.”

  “Miss Sinclair is new here. A single woman.” He probably shouldn’t have emphasized that point, given Miss Hattie’s reputation as a matchmaker. “She’s inexperienced with the West and its ways. I don’t like the thought of any young woman being out alone when the sun goes down.”

  A woman like Vivian shouldn’t have to work for her livelihood. She should be courted and wed to a man who …

  Who what? Carter argued. With himself.

  A man who appreciated the love and affection of a bold and independent woman and provided for her.

  Miss Hattie pulled the lace curtain back from the window. “Vivian has a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be in before dark. Why, that looks like her now.”

  “See.” Boney looked Carter’s way, and then joined Miss Hattie at the window. “All that fuss over nothin’.”

  Miss Hattie and Boney suddenly looked at one another. Their brows furrowed and their chins dipped.

  “Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Miss Hattie let the curtain close.

  Carter went to see for himself. “You saw her?”

  Miss Hattie nodded. “I thought she was headed home, but she’s just standing there across the street.”

  Boney stepped away from the window, and Carter pulled back the lace curtain. Vivian stood at the corner, looking like a princess in her purple dress. A reticul
e hung on her arm. Her hands were tucked in white gloves and clasped in front of her. After seeing his bay hitched to the rail out front, she’d no doubt stopped in her tracks. And why not? He’d been avoiding any social gatherings that involved her family.

  He’d said, and she’d agreed, that their relationship had to stop at friendship. And despite a few hold-out feelings to the contrary, he still believed it.

  Then she looked up. Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other, never mind that a window and an entire road stood between them, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that he wanted more than friendship.

  She looked away and stepped into the street. Carter ran a hand through his hair and followed Miss Hattie to the door. Vivian stood on the porch, staring at them, her eyes wide.

  “We saw you at the corner, dear. Did you lose something?” Miss Hattie asked.

  “No, thank you, ma’am.” Vivian stepped over the threshold and looked up at Carter. “I was thinking.”

  “About how to avoid me?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

  Vivian quickly shifted her attention to the old miner.

  Boney pressed his hand to his shaggy beard and bowed. “Mr. Boney Hughes, ma’am.”

  “Vivian Sinclair. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Boney. My sisters speak highly of you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Vivian.” Boney shook her gloved hand.

  She turned to Carter. “Deputy Alwyn.”

  Feeling more like a schoolboy than a lawman, Carter straightened his shoulders. “Miss Sinclair.” So they knew one another’s names. Despite his intention to remain detached, Carter wanted to know more. “How are you faring in your search for a job?”

  Vivian’s head reared slightly. “Fine, thank you.” She removed her shawl, her movements deliberate and as smooth as butter. “Were you just leaving? ”

  Miss Hattie grinned, clearly as amused by Vivian’s candor as he was. “Honest mistake, dear, seeing how we were all gathered in the doorway, but the men came to see you.”

  “Me?” She didn’t look him in the eye.

  “Yes.” His mind returned to the Third Street Café. Neither of them was open to romantic entanglements, but they’d agreed that friendship was good. So why was Vivian so uncomfortable around him today? Had she changed her mind? He cleared this throat, hoping to dislodge those thoughts. “You mentioned having sketched the clothing of the two bandits on the train.”

  “I did. That’s why you’re here?” Her shoulders relaxed.

  “Yes, we’d like to take a look at them, if you don’t mind.”

  She glanced toward the stairs. “I’ll bring them down and meet you in the parlor.”

  “I’ll have a cup of tea for you when you come down, dear.” Miss Hattie spun toward the kitchen while Vivian climbed the stairs, her head held high.

  Carter felt a tug on his arm and looked down into the leathery face of the old miner. “Shall we do as the lady says, deputy?”

  Ignoring the gleam in Boney’s eye, Carter nodded and led the way back into the parlor.

  They’d just walked to a round table in the corner when Vivian sauntered into the room, carrying a sketch pad. She’d removed her stylish hat and gloves. “I don’t know how helpful these will be.”

  He didn’t either, but it was good to see her again. On business. “You heard about the miner who was killed in his cabin the day I saw you in Victor? ”

  “Yes, Miss Hattie told me the awful news.”

  “Boney saw two men leaving Mac’s cabin the afternoon the young miner was killed.”

  “You think they’re the same men who robbed the train?” She set the sketch pad on the table and seated herself.

  “We have reason to, yes.” Carter sat on one side of her, Boney on the other.

  She began flipping past page after page of sketches of children’s clothing. “Uh, I was playing with costume ideas for my niece.” The pink coloring returned to her cheeks.

  She wanted children. That was nothing that should cause a young woman embarrassment. At one time, he’d fancied himself a family man … a father.

  Carter nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. He needed to put any and all thoughts of a future with this woman to rest. Regardless of what his mother would or wouldn’t have done had she known his father wouldn’t survive, he couldn’t ask a woman to step into that kind of uncertainty.

  “Here they are.” Vivian opened the pad to a page full of sketches of men’s outerwear.

  She pointed to a single-breasted overcoat with a wide collar and big buttons. “This is the coat the tall one wore.” She moved her finger. “And his hat. I only had a quick look at his boots, but I think these are close.”

  Boney peered over his coffee mug. “Didn’t get a look at the boots, but same kind of coat and hat I saw that day at Mac’s.”

  Carter guessed that if he ever saw that coat or hat, even those boots, he’d recognize every crease and smudge. Vivian’s talents would be wasted anywhere here in town. Tomorrow morning, he’d call Etta Ondersma himself and put in a good word for her. “Your attention to detail is amazing, Vivian.”

  Her brown eyes seemed to reflect his own mixed feelings. “Thank you.” Quickly shifting her attention back to the sketches, she flipped to the next set of drawings. “This is what the shorter man wore.”

  Most of the items didn’t come as a surprise to him. She and Boney had described them pretty clearly, but neither had mentioned seeing a belt buckle. She’d sketched one in the bottom right corner.

  “You saw his belt buckle?” he asked.

  She nodded, focused on the drawing. “When he tripped and spun around to glare at me, his coat caught on the seat in front of me.”

  “A racehorse with the word Derby below it?” As in Kentucky Derby, perhaps?

  “Yes. The buckle was silver. This is a crude likeness, to be sure.”

  “A lot better than crude, miss.” Boney smoothed his beard. “Why, those fancy cameras they have nowadays wouldn’t capture as much detail as you did.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Boney. I enjoy drawing clothes. But I usually sketch fashion designs for women, not the fashion faux pas of scoundrels.”

  The miner laughed, and so did Carter. Miss Sinclair was anything but predictable.

  “Deputy, this one’s talented, humorous, and an eye-catcher.” A sly grin parted the whiskers on Boney’s face. “If I was you, I’d snatch her up right quick.”

  Vivian gasped, her coloring deepening to a rosy red.

  Heat rushed up Carter’s neck and burned his ears. Shifting in the chair, he looked down at the sketch. But the old rascal was right; if he knew what was good for him, he’d take Vivian’s hand and not let go.

  Quit squirming like you’re sitting in a bed of mad ants.” Opal hooked her fingers under Vivian’s chin. “If you don’t hold still, you’ll end up with stripes up into your hair.”

  Vivian sat in a well-appointed bedroom, wearing a silk chemise. A velvet black ribbon adorned her neck and two silk violets sat atop the dark wig on her head like a table decoration. She gripped the sides of the chair to still herself and looked up into Opal’s painted face. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job, but wearing this stuff … being here is normal for you.”

  Opal raised a thick eyebrow. “I wasn’t born doing what I do.”

  “My face feels like I got sloppy with the maple syrup.” Vivian folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult. I know there’s a lot here that I’ll have to get used to.”

  Opal held a fluffy brush over the can of face powder the way an artist would hold a brush to a palette of paints. “You have nothing to worry about. Miss Pearl treats us all real good, and so do her clients.” A satisfied smile graced her light brown face. “The way I have you looking, you’re sure to be a favorite hostess in no time.” Leaning forward, Opal brushed ochre on Vivian’s cheeks, then set the brush on Vivian’s table and stood. “I wish I had your high cheekbones.”
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  “And I wish I had your height.”

  Being here with Opal was almost like sisters playing grownup. But that was Vivian’s private life, and this was to be her other life for a time. As long as she kept the two separate, everything would be fine.

  Vivian peeked in the mirror. Her face was at least a shade lighter, almost white, and her lips several shades darker, a blood red. Long brown curls draped her bare shoulders. No one would recognize her like this. Looking at herself now, she couldn’t even say who she was for sure.

  Two bedrooms. Two dressing tables. Two mirrors. Two lives.

  Violet.

  “It won’t take you long to get used to things around here. Pretty much the same day to day.”

  Opal pulled a sapphire blue Sunday dress from the wardrobe and helped Vivian into it. Buttoned and cinched, Vivian wrapped a silky cream-colored shawl below her shoulders, and then chose an embroidered lace fan from the shelf.

  “You ready to go downstairs?” Opal asked.

  As ready as she’d ever be. Vivian nodded and followed her new friend to the door. At this point in her life, all she knew was one foot in front of the other, so down the stairs she went.

  Opal had given her a tour of the Homestead yesterday. The game room, the music room, and even the modern kitchen, complete with a full staff. Vivian paused at the doorway into the game room and drew a fortifying breath. Cigar smoke hovered over one of the green leather-topped tables where three men sat playing cards. One of the many things she’d have to grow accustomed to at the Homestead House.

  Opal sashayed into the room, right up to the table. She made it look so easy. The men paused their game, and the tall beauty conversed with them as if they were lifelong friends. Opal was acting, that was all … playing a character.

  Vivian squared her shoulders. She could do that.

  Miss Pearl stood in front of the liquor cabinet, her arm draped on the herringbone-patterned shoulder of a man much shorter than she. She turned and met Vivian’s gaze.

  After whispering a few words to her companion, Miss Pearl swept her pink brocade skirt forward with a gloved hand and glided to the center of the room. “Gentlemen.” She held her other hand out to Vivian.