The Bride Wore Blue Page 3

  “I’m thankful I wasn’t in your situation—two missing misters.” Vivian folded her hands in her lap. “At least I had Aunt Alma with me and three sisters waiting for us.”

  “Well, thank you, dear.” Her aunt turned and winked at her. “And here I figured myself for a mere tagalong.”

  Vivian offered her aunt a crooked smile. “I may not have been keen on having company at first, but I’m glad you came.” Although she would’ve gladly forfeited the lectures on wily men.

  “Well, I for one am delighted you’re both here.” Miss Hattie lifted her teacup off the table. “Vivian, dear, your sisters tell me you design clothing.” She raised her cup to her mouth. “And wedding gowns too, I’m told.”

  “I do.” Vivian nearly choked on the words she’d expected to say at the front of a church, face to face with Gregory. “I aspire to have my own shop one day, but …”

  “Perhaps you could work with the fashion designer we have here in the valley.”

  Vivian sat straighter. “You do? I mean, there’s a designer here?”

  “Indeed, there is. Etta Ondersma.”

  “Ondersma? On the train, at the depot, I met—”

  “Deputy Jon Ondersma?”

  “Yes.”

  “His mother owns Etta’s Fashions in Victor.”

  She glanced at her sisters. “Victor?”

  “The train ride takes nearly an hour, with stops in Anaconda and Elkton.” Ida’s teacup clinked against the saucer. “Too far for you to go every day to work.”

  Leave it to Ida to disapprove. Vivian wanted to ask if Victor had lodging available, but since staying with Miss Hattie was a Sinclair sister tradition, the question might not set well on her first day in town.

  She’d wait until next week to ask.

  Carter patted his shirt pocket. Good. He still had his notepad.

  And Miss Sinclair’s pencil. Which gave him at least one excuse to see her again. The spirited young woman possessed a captivating mix of vim and charm.

  He settled his boots into the stirrups and slapped Liberty’s rump. As his bay stallion lunged forward, Carter motioned for his makeshift posse to follow him north, up and over Tenderfoot Hill. He had assembled three others to ride along—Jesse from the livery, Otis from the Raines Ice Company, and the banker. He couldn’t say what good pursuit would do at this point, but he had to do something while praying for a lead. He needed clues as to who might be responsible for the terror on the train.

  They rode hard toward Ute Pass, to the area witnesses described as the place the two men had jumped. Carter’s thoughts returned to the wanted posters and the image of Pickett: six foot two, tall and lanky. He definitely fit the description Miss Sinclair had given of one of the bandits. And the Schofield six-shooter matched the pistol described in the Divide bank robbery.

  Thunder crashing in the distance drew Carter’s attention to the clouds rolling through the pass from the north.

  “Deputy Alwyn.”

  The banker’s voice managed to overpower the slapping of horse hooves against the dirt-packed road. Stopping for a conversation would negate any hope he had of picking up a trail. Maintaining his steady pace, Carter glanced at Updike, who looked like a frog on a horse.

  “I still don’t think this is the best idea, deputy.”

  Of course he didn’t. Antagonism had etched deep lines at the man’s gray eyes and his toady mouth. “I didn’t insist that you join us.” In fact, he’d tried to talk the banker out of it.

  “Someone needs to be the voice of reason. Otherwise, you could end up like your father.”

  Time healed all wounds? Ten years hadn’t been enough. Carter swallowed hard, fighting down the memories. He was chasing train bandits. Not a souse and a prostitute.

  “I think telephoning the deputies in the surrounding towns and sending out sketches would be more effective. And less dangerous.” Updike put slack in his reins, and thankfully his horse dropped back behind Carter.

  Carter hated the route Updike had taken to make his point, but his logic held water. It would be harder for the bandits to outrun the telephone. He hadn’t thought of that before they left. Hopefully Jon would telephone the surrounding towns when he returned from Victor on the train. Still, one or both of the bandits could have been injured in their fall. And if they were on foot, there was still a chance Carter could find them.

  The men rode in silence for the last mile until they reached the area of scrub oak the conductor had described as the robbers’ jumping-off point.

  Carter pulled up on Liberty’s reins. The other men came to a stop directly in front of him. “This is the general area where the two thieves jumped. Conductor said they took a tumble into a clump of trees and scrub brush.” Pointing toward the likely spot, he noted the clouds looming closer. “Best find what we can in a hurry. Look for any evidence of blood, horses, the cash box—anything out of the ordinary.”

  Carter and the others spread out over the hill and at the bottom of it, examining the ground and the surrounding area.

  “Over here!” Jesse’s shout had them all scrambling around a shaggy-barked juniper about a quarter of a mile from the train tracks. “They’re on horseback.”

  Carter dismounted and stepped around the still-steaming evidence that at least one horse had been present. He also found freshly rubbed stripes on the tree trunk where the horse had been secured by a rope.

  “They had another horse tied over here.” Otis waved his hat from a sycamore several yards away, no doubt trying to fend off the flies.

  Carter studied the area. “Both horses were shod.” Unfortunately, there was nothing special about the tracks in the dust.

  “Looks like they headed farther north, away from Cripple Creek.” Updike pointed at the gray sky. “No sign of any injuries. On horses, with a three-hour lead, they’ll be long gone by now and the coming rain’ll wash out any tracks.” He pinned Carter’s gaze. “I say we head back.” A thunder crack served as punctuation.

  Carter blew out a deep breath. The banker was right—the bandits could be anywhere by now, but … “They wouldn’t have hauled the cash box with them. Has to be somewhere close.”

  Otis Bernard straightened his floppy canvas hat. “Real quick-like, I can go check around those outcroppings.” He pointed out about another half a mile.

  “Does seem like a good place to empty a cash box.” Carter considered Otis. He was as big as a bear. Lifting blocks of ice had added brawn to his bones. Otis could easily take either of the outlaws down. Unarmed. Carter nodded. “Take Jesse with you, and be careful. We’ll”—he looked at Updike—“follow the brush line this other way.”

  They split up to finish their search. A raindrop the size of a healthy grape plopped on the horn of Carter’s saddle. Another one thumped his hat. Carter was about to turn back when he saw Updike heel his horse toward a stand of pine. He rode up beside the banker.

  “Find somethin’?”

  The banker dismounted and tugged a steel box out from under a sage bush. “I saw the lock on the ground and followed the drag marks.”

  Sure enough, the rocky soil was smoothed where the bandits had dragged or pushed the box. Carter followed the marks back to the lock, stuck it in his jacket pocket, and slapped Harry Updike on the back. “Good eye.”

  The portly man smiled—something Carter had never seen him do. “Glad I could help.”

  They bent over the empty box. Not a single stock certificate, receipt, or bill remained inside. By the time they’d loaded the box onto Liberty’s back and mounted their horses, Otis and Jesse were headed their way.

  Once Carter returned, he’d get on the telephone to Divide, Florissant, and Colorado Springs. And then he’d return Miss Sinclair’s pencil.

  Vivian pulled the last shirtwaist from her trunk and hung it over a yarn-wrapped clothes hanger. She added it to the wardrobe and looked around her new bedchamber. A fourposter bed with a sunbonnet quilt served as the centerpiece on the back wall. An oak chest of drawers s
tood on one side, a matching washstand on the other. A small lamp table sat beside a rocking chair in the corner opposite the wardrobe. Her trunk fit nicely under the second-story window.

  A mansion suite compared to the bed and slight wardrobe she had in Aunt Alma’s sewing room. Admittedly, the location was handy for designing costumes, but hardly private.

  For now, this was her home. And Cripple Creek, her proving ground.

  She knelt in front of her open trunk and unfolded her mother’s lap quilt. The large family Bible lay neglected, nestled in the bittersweet memories of her mother’s life and death. Tears stung Vivian’s eyes as she ran her fingers over the gold leaf decorations and the embossed lettering as if they were priceless jewels. HOLY BIBLE.

  I’m so deeply sorry, Mother.

  Teardrops escaped her clenched eyes, and she brushed them away. After she wiped her wet hand on her chemise, Vivian lifted God’s Word out of the trunk and carried it to the rocker in the corner. Seated, she laid the Bible on her lap and stared at the inscription at the bottom right corner: “The Harlan Sinclair Family.”

  Would her sisters have accepted her so freely, their hearts and arms open wide, if they knew the truth? Would Hattie Adams? How could they feel anything but disgust and disdain? She and her sisters had received the same teaching. They’d all been raised to be respectable and to revere God’s Word and His laws. None of her sisters had broken His commands.

  She alone.

  Cupping her face in her hands, Vivian let her silent tears pool and stream down her wrists. She’d placed a man’s word above God’s Word. She’d given her heart to Gregory. Then she’d given him more.

  When her tears subsided, she snuffled and trailed her finger over the brass clasp that sealed the leather-bound Holman. She hadn’t opened the family Bible since that day last December. Dare she open it now?

  Vivian wiped her hands on the skirt of her dressing gown and gently pinched the sides of the clasp, releasing its hold. She choked back her shame and opened the cover. Taking in the colorful illustrations, she turned the gilt-edged pages until she came to the Family Records.

  MARRIAGES

  Harlan Sinclair and Elizabeth “Betsy” Shindlebower wed 1872, 5 August

  Her mother’s handwriting.

  Katherine Joyce Sinclair and Morgan Cutshaw wed 1896, 30 May

  Nellie Jean Sinclair and Judson Archer wed 1896, 30 May

  Written in Ida’s confident penmanship, her S’s regal and her T’s controlled.

  The next line, where Ida’s name belonged, was blank. Vivian looked at the fountain pen and the pencil that lay on the round oak table beside her. When Ida packed her trunk to leave for Colorado last year, she’d left the Bible in Vivian’s charge. Grasping the fountain pen between her fingers, Vivian drew a deep breath and began writing.

  Ida Marie Sinclair and Reverend Tucker Raines wed 1897, 31 January

  Vivian stared at the empty space below her untamed penmanship. That line would’ve held her name and …

  She longed to do the right thing, remain detached. To gracefully accept her life as a spinster as Aunt Alma had. Her aunt lived in a comfortable house and owned a small dry goods and sewing-supply store in Portland, Maine. Her ever-expanding family loved her, and she loved them. Aunt Alma had a good life.

  Feeling a slight lift in her chin, Vivian carefully turned to the next gold-trimmed page.

  BIRTHS

  Ida Marie 1874, 15 July to Harlan and Elizabeth “Betsy”

  Sinclair

  Katherine Joyce 1875, 18 December to Harlan and Elizabeth

  Sinclair

  Nellie Jean 1877, 20 March to Harlan and Elizabeth Sinclair

  Vivian Dee 1879, 17 April to Harlan and Elizabeth Sinclair

  Vivian ran her finger over the blank line that belonged to her sweet-faced niece. Yes, she was blessed with the love of a family she held dear. And she wouldn’t … couldn’t risk jeopardizing that love, no matter how badly she wanted to step out of the lie she was living.

  She sighed and began to write.

  Hope Joyce 1897, 21 April to Dr. Morgan and Katherine “Kat” Cutshaw

  Finished with the updates, Vivian closed the Bible. She held it to her chest and leaned back in the chair. While she rocked back and forth in a gentle rhythm, her thoughts ran away with her. Aunt Alma had provided her room and board for nearly a year and a half. Her father had sent the money for her train ticket. Her sisters had let her room from Miss Hattie for the first three weeks of June.

  After that, she was no longer their charge. Her aunt would board the train Monday to return to Portland. If Vivian ever expected to alter her reputation as the baby of the family, she must first prove she was capable of providing for herself.

  Vivian followed her brother-in-law Morgan up a floral-lined walk to the front door of Ida’s home. He cradled his infant daughter in his arms. Kat and Aunt Alma trailed them, talking about Cripple Creek’s ups and downs with the fires last year and the rebuilding of the business district.

  A district that didn’t yet house a costume-design shop. But at least nearby Victor did.

  White paint trimmed the red brick parsonage that sat behind the First Congregational Church, just up the hill from the center of town. Cheery columbines and primrose swayed in the building breeze. Clouds grayed the sky above.

  Standing in the shadow of the church, Vivian stared at the white steeple as if pardon and some measure of faith might rub off in the viewing. She and God hadn’t always been at odds.

  The front door whooshed open. The man who stepped out onto the small front porch had to be Tucker Raines. Nell had described her Judson’s blue eyes in nauseating detail in her first letter after their wedding. The man smiling at them from the porch better fit Ida’s description of her husband—broad-shouldered and brown-eyed.

  “Vivian, I presume.” He gave her a warm smile and wrapped her in a welcoming embrace. “We’re so glad you’re finally here with us. Ida has told me much about you.”

  “It’s good to meet you. She’s told me a fair amount about you too, Reverend Raines.”

  His eyes widened. “We’re family. Call me Tucker.”

  The ostrich feather in Aunt Alma’s hat swayed as she moved up the steps. “By the looks of things, Tucker, I’d say you’re still lifting big blocks of ice. No preacher I know has arm muscles like that.”

  Ida, wrapped in a crocheted lavender shawl, stepped out onto the porch and squeezed her husband’s upper arm. Vivian recognized the tomfoolery sparking her sister’s blue eyes. “Tucker’s strapping physique has nothing to do with delivering ice, Aunt Alma. We can attribute it to his many attempts to push me back into line.”

  Aunt Alma tittered. “I needn’t ask how he’s faring in that regard.”

  Ida wagged a finger at her husband. He pretended to seal his lips.

  Vivian laughed with them, fighting the knot in her midsection. The two brothers-in-law she’d met were wonderful. Attentive. Good-humored. Charming. And knowing Nell, Judson Archer was certain to be just as grand a husband.

  Vivian took a big swallow of regret and pressed her hand to her throat. She would never forgive herself for destroying her chances for such a spellbinding love and marriage. How could she? Her married sisters would unknowingly serve as a constant reminder of what she’d given up.

  Ida finished the introductions, glanced up at the dark clouds gathering overhead, and waved them inside. On the other side of the threshold, Ida took their summer wraps and hung them on a coat tree. “You still have one more brother-in-law to meet, Vivian. Judson and Nell are in the kitchen. I’ll give you the full tour of our home after the meal.”

  Vivian nodded and followed her oldest sister into a small kitchen that smelled like Sunday suppers back in Maine. Before Father left for Paris. When life was right.

  At the cupboard, a trim man sliced a ham. Nell lifted a salad bowl out of an oak icebox. When she saw Vivian, she stopped and stared at her. “You’re really here in Cripple Creek.” The Edis
on bulb hanging in the center of the room lit the smile that widened Nell’s freckled face. “I was sure I’d imagined the whole afternoon—the carriage ride … tea at Hattie’s with you. All of it.”

  “I know. While I hung my clothes in the wardrobe I pinched myself.” Vivian squeezed the sleeve on her red plaid shirtwaist. “But it’s true. I’m finally here.”

  The man laid the knife on the platter and extended both hands to Vivian. “I’m Judson.” Nell was right about his vivid blue eyes. “Good to finally meet you, baby sister.”

  Vivian bristled but accepted his hands. He’d meant it as a term of endearment, she told herself.

  He studied her from shoe-tip to the curls atop her head. “A bit of a pipsqueak, but a solid grip and toes that can frustrate a bandit, from what I hear.”

  Her timing perfect, Aunt Alma stepped into the kitchen and extended her hand to him. “I bumped against poor Vivian in all the excitement and knocked her off balance.”

  “Aunt Alma. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Judson slicked his wavy blond hair back from his broad forehead. “Your braids are every bit as bright as Nell described them. Like the cinnamon atop Kat’s applesauce.”

  Ida had mentioned Judson’s tendency to be straightforward and outspoken, and he was true to the description. As well as attentive and good-humored.

  “I say we eat while the food’s hot.” Ida poured a pan of peas into a fluted serving bowl.

  They moved into the dining room. As soon as Tucker finished saying grace, Ida started the platter of ham around the table. Tucker plopped two thick slices onto his plate just as someone knocked on the door. “My apologies, but duty calls. Knocks, rather.” Standing, he laid his napkin on the chair.

  Vivian had just sprinkled a pinch of salt over the vegetables on her plate when Tucker returned to the room. Whoever was at the door hadn’t followed him in.

  “That didn’t take long.” Ida added peas to Tucker’s full plate.

  “Deputy Alwyn came to speak with Vivian. He’s waiting in the parlor.”