The Bride Wore Blue Read online

  “It was less than six months ago. A dapple with three white socks to his knees.”

  She looked past him, squinting as if she were thinking, and then nodded with the enthusiasm of a fly trapped by a spider. “Yes, I remember. I sold the horse.”

  “When?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  “To a client?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t know him.”

  “You sold the horse to a stranger?”

  “He approached me in town on a Tuesday morning.” She stood, turning toward the drawn velvet drapes. “Said he needed transportation to go home to his family.”

  “Where was home?”

  Shrugging, she tilted her head. “He didn’t say.”

  Carter pulled the wanted poster out of the folder and held it out to her. “Could it have been this man who bought the horse?”

  She glanced at the poster and handed it back to him. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “The man you did business with wasn’t tall and thin?”

  She shook her head. So Pickett didn’t buy his own horse, which supported the doctor’s report that the other fellow ran the show.

  Carter slid the poster into the folder and pulled out the sketch of the second man Vivian Sinclair had described. He held it up. “What about this man? Could he be the one who bought the horse from you?”

  A quick blink hinted at recognition. “No. Wasn’t him either.” She sat on the edge of her chair, her lips pressed together. She swept curls back from her temples. Fidgeting. Pearl DeVere knew more about the horse’s buyer than she was saying. “Why all this interest in an old horse? ”

  Women like her were nothing but trouble. A breed of strife and suffering that haunted him. Carter looked straight at her. “I found the horse up in the hills, shot in the head.” Not so much as a blink from the madam. “Not long after a miner was robbed and killed.”

  “And you think one is connected to the other? ”

  “A witness saw two men matching these descriptions leave the miner’s cabin, one of them on your dapple gray.”

  “That’s terrible. I never should’ve sold the horse.”

  “Why did you?”

  “The buyer really wanted him and offered me a good price.” She smiled and winked. “Wouldn’t be much of a businesswoman if I started turning down men with a desire and a hand full of cash, now would I?”

  He’d have to settle for a hint of recognition for now. “Thank you for your time, Miss Pearl.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” The madam stood and smoothed her skirts.

  Carter followed her to the front door.

  “I hope you find your man,” she said. “Men, I suppose it is.”

  “You can be sure I’ll find them.” Carter started to step over the threshold and paused. “If you remember anything else, please let me know.”

  He set his hat on his head and stepped out into the sunlight. If he had expected Pearl DeVere to say or do anything to disprove his prejudice against women in her profession, he was undoubtedly delusional.

  Vivian walked up Golden Avenue toward Third Street.

  She’d been in Cripple Creek only two weeks, and already she’d suffered enough rejection: Etta Ondersma, the millinery, the mercantile.

  She needed some sister time. Nell had a way of inspiring her.

  Vivian was willing to take the chance that Nell would be home midmorning. If not, she would have given her legs a good stretch and her mind a rest. She’d been in Nell and Judson’s home last week during the Sinclair sisters’ whirlwind tour of the town. They lived near the base of Mount Pisgah. Vivian decided to go down the hill and head west on Bennett instead of trying to navigate the maze of roads on the hill.

  Fifteen minutes later, she turned the corner at B Street. Judson and Nell’s log cabin sat on the fourth lot on the left. Colorful flower boxes underlined the open windows, where yellow gingham curtains fluttered in the breeze.

  “Vivian!” Nell waved to her from the porch swing. A knitting project filled her lap. That was Nell, always doing something with her hands.

  Vivian stepped up onto the porch, which was just big enough for the swing and a wicker armchair. A basket of clothes sat at Nell’s feet. A half barrel of geraniums graced the corner on the other side of the door.

  “I took a chance you’d be home,” Vivian said.

  “I’m glad you did.” Nell tugged yellow yarn from the ball on her lap and glanced toward the armchair. “Join me. Sitting, I mean. You don’t have to knit.” She giggled and wove her needles through the yarn.

  Vivian seated herself on the swing next to her sister. “It’s been two days since I saw you at church, so I thought I should let you see that I haven’t headed back to Maine.” She set her reticule beside her. “Yet.”

  Nell straightened, a frown creasing her forehead. “You wouldn’t really leave Cripple Creek, would you?”

  “I may have to if no one will hire me.”

  “Etta’s Fashions?”

  “She doesn’t have enough work for another seamstress right now, let alone a designer.”

  Nell stilled her knitting needles. “I’m sorry. I know that’s the work you wanted.”

  “The millinery isn’t hiring either. I checked at the mercantile too.” Vivian picked at a fingernail. She knew Nell’s next question: Have you spoken to Ida about a job?

  “Well, then I might have some good news for you. I was in the Blue Grocery yesterday the same time as Mabel Hartley. She runs the Cripple Creek branch of the Colorado Telephone Company, over on Third Street.”

  Not at all what Vivian had expected.

  “Mrs. Hartley told the grocer she needed a full-time telephone operator,” Nell said.

  “Telephone operator?” Connecting callers was a far cry from creating fashions. But Vivian’s dream of becoming a famous clothing designer had come to an abrupt end, just as her dream of one day being a wife and mother had.

  The toes of Nell’s boots tapped the pine boards with each gentle swing. “Not what you’d hoped for, but …”

  “It’s a job. Thank you.” At least the job of telephone operator would be steady work. Unlike costume design or even sewing jobs, which could ebb and flow like the ocean. There was no guarantee that work at the millinery or the mercantile would have been steady either. “I’ll go to the telephone company when I leave here. After we’ve had a chance to visit awhile.”

  Nell’s smile brightened the freckles scattered over her nose. “Good. All our visits so far have been hectic.”

  “And crowded.” A songbird chirped in a nearby sycamore tree, and Nell’s needles clicked in a restorative rhythm—the sights and sounds of bliss. Vivian relaxed against the porch swing and watched Nell work. “You’re knitting a blanket?”

  “A baby blanket.”

  “For a baby?” Vivian straightened. “Something I should know?”

  A shadow darkened Nell’s blue eyes. “It’s not for us.” She laid the blanket on the swing beside her. “I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever bear Judson’s children.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know.” Nell pressed her hand to her chest and sighed.

  Vivian fidgeted with the flouncing on her skirt. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t have what she wanted. The difference was that Nell deserved a family.

  Nell wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m tired of reminding myself that Judson and I have only been married thirteen months. I’m tired of hearing about women who waited many years before bearing children, and others who never did.”

  “It must be hard.”

  “I know I should be content with what God has given me. I want to trust the Lord. I do trust Him, but I’m so weak.”

  Vivian shuddered. She could write a book on personal weakness, and she was ready to defend Nell’s right to question God.

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t stop by to listen to me complain.” Nell pulled the blanket onto her lap. “Havin
g to wait isn’t the worst thing that can happen. An explosion in a tunnel killed a miner last month. His widow expects to deliver their first baby in just weeks.” The needles resumed their clicking. “The blanket is for her. Eleanor. She’s rather sickly. I don’t know how she’ll ever manage on her own.”

  Vivian felt her shoulders droop. That was Nell, always tending to the needs of others. Vivian could never measure up to her sisters. Ida ran a business. Kat was not only a writer for a national publication but also a mother. And Nell had charity running through her veins. She made baby blankets for widows when she longed for a baby of her own. As a child, Nell had been the one to gather all their dolls and coax them to eat imaginary food with a real spoon. Her heart ached for a baby, and she’d be a fine mother.

  “Come with me to see Eleanor Saturday morning,” Nell said. “I’d like you to meet her.”

  It would probably do Vivian good to meet more people in town, especially those less fortunate. “It would give me more time with you.”

  Nell nodded. “We can meet at the corner of Fourth and Bennett at ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Wonderful. If I finish the blanket in time, we can deliver it Saturday.”

  Vivian studied the basket of clothing at Nell’s feet. The dressing gown on top had a needle and thread stuck in it. “Mending?”

  Nell nodded. “Yes. I wanted to finish a few more rows on the blanket first. The fires last year left many families homeless. That clothing belongs to the widows and orphans the Sisters of Mercy are helping.”

  “You’re amazing, Nell Sincl—Archer.”

  “Because I mend clothes?”

  Vivian nodded. “Among other things.”

  “Sewing is something I can do to help.”

  Vivian reached into the basket and pulled the dressing gown onto her lap. “I might as well make myself useful while we visit.” She pinched the ripped side seam together and began stitching.

  They talked about Miss Hattie, living in a boardinghouse, and the Sisters of Mercy. Then Nell cleared her throat. “Viv-i-an.”

  Vivian stilled her needle. Her name in that tone from this sister meant Nell had romance on her mind. Only this time, Nell and Ida and Kat were married, and Vivian was not. She met her sister’s gaze anyway.

  “I know you cared for Gregory and hoped to marry him one day,” Nell said.

  “That didn’t work out, and Gregory went his own way.” He wasn’t the marrying kind. Vivian jabbed the needle through the seam a bit more forcefully than necessary and stabbed her finger. She stuck it in her mouth to seal the wound. Not so easy to assuage her bleeding heart.

  “There are other men, you know.”

  Vivian tied off the thread and snipped it with her teeth. “The deputy and I are committed to stopping the robberies. I was a witness, and he is quite thorough. That’s all.”

  “I didn’t mention any names.”

  Vivian swallowed hard. She’d just set her own matchmaking trap.

  Nell grinned, a calculating gleam in her eyes. “The lawman isn’t the only good-hearted, single man in town.”

  But he was the only one who’d captured her attention.

  “Judson works with several eligible fellows. There’s Tim Phieffer in shipping and receiving. Melvin Whitman is an inspector at the mine. And there’s—”

  Vivian raised her hand to stop her sister. “I’m not interested in courtship, Nell.” If she could be, Carter Alwyn would be at the top of her list.

  They moved on to other topics, and Vivian mended the dressing gown, a skirt, and a shirtwaist, then left Nell to finish the blanket.

  A light breeze teased the ringlets dangling at Vivian’s collar. From Nell and Judson’s home near the base of Mount Pisgah, she headed down B Street toward Bennett Avenue. She dodged a feisty horse pulling a wagon at the corner of Bennett Avenue and stepped up onto the boardwalk. So far, life in Cripple Creek was nothing of what she’d expected. Bank robbers and lawmen. Shop owners who thought her too costly, too young, too weak. Well, she’d show them they were wrong.

  “Good day, ma’am.”

  Vivian looked up into the face of an elderly gentleman doffing a derby.

  “Sir.” She returned his smile and continued on her way to Third Street.

  Although Vivian wasn’t fond of the idea, work as a telephone operator would give her a lot of opportunities. And she couldn’t sit around doing nothing while waiting for Mrs. Ondersma’s business to thrive. She needed to go where the job opening was. She could do just about anything for a time if she knew it was merely a steppingstone.

  The Colorado Telephone Company office sat on the west side, across from the Third Street Café. A blue metal factory-made storefront and gold lettering on the glass door embellished the two-story brick building.

  Vivian drew in a deep breath and wrapped her gloved hand around the doorknob. As Father would say, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so she entered.

  A woman rose from a small desk and tucked a sprig of gray hair under the circle of braid that clung to the back of her head. “May I help you, miss? ”

  “I was told there is an opening for an operator.”

  The woman looked Vivian over and tugged the banana-yellow pinafore straight on her bright orange linen dress. Surely that wasn’t a required uniform. If so, Vivian already knew this wasn’t the job for her.

  “Your name?”

  “Vivian Sinclair.”

  “Have a seat on the bench there.” She looked past Vivian at the wooden deacon’s bench against the wall. “I’ll let Mrs. Hartley know you’re here.”

  When the woman dressed like a fruit basket had disappeared through an open door, Vivian seated herself. A chorus of pr-ring, pr-ring, pr-ring overpowered the muffled female voices emanating from the other side of the wall. She looked through a stack of magazines on a side table until footsteps drew her attention back to the door.

  “Miss Sinclair?”

  Vivian looked up into a smiling face and stood. “Yes.”

  “I’m Mabel Hartley, the manager here. Someone told you we needed another operator?”

  “Yes, my sister, Nell Sinclair … I mean, Mrs. Judson Archer.”

  Recognition registered in Mrs. Hartley’s gray eyes. “She’s come here for donations to the benevolence fund. I am short one girl.” She glanced toward the open door. “If you’ll follow me, we can go to my office and discuss your qualifications.”

  Mrs. Hartley was about Vivian’s height, but fleshy. A cacophony of bells and chatter filled the room they entered. Vivian followed Mrs. Hartley past three young women seated at desks in front of panels covered with holes and flickering lights. Thankfully, they all wore different patterns of dress in various colors. No uniform. She could do this.

  The operators pulled cords out of the table in front of them and plugged them into the holes with lights next to them. Vivian was sure she’d heard the words “Who are you calling?” twelve times between the door and the narrow steps in the corner of the room.

  Upstairs, the manager’s office was modest but neat and clean. Mrs. Hartley pointed to a wooden office chair and then seated herself behind the oak desk. Vivian folded her hands in her lap.

  “You saw the operators at the boards?” Mrs. Hartley asked.

  “Yes ma’am, I did.”

  “Then you saw that our work here is rather clear-cut. A telephone operator receives incoming calls and directs the caller to the intended recipient.” Mrs. Hartley opened a drawer. “You think you could do that?”

  It sounded easy enough. “I would do my best.”

  “You’re young and bright. I say we give it a try.” She pulled a form out of a folder and handed it to Vivian. “Fill this out and bring it back with you Monday morning.”

  “Monday. Yes, thank you.”

  “You’ll begin your training at ten o’clock.”

  Vivian had walked halfway to the boardinghouse before her new reality sank in—she was a working woman. Helping Aunt Alm
a unpack boxes of fabric and thread and stock shelves in her dry goods store in Portland didn’t count. On Monday she would begin her first real job. She was finally on her way to becoming a self-reliant woman.

  A surge of hope powered Vivian’s steps as she strolled down Fourth Street Saturday morning. At the corner, she stepped up onto the boardwalk. Nell walked toward her down Bennett Avenue and waved. In Nell’s other hand, a paper-wrapped bundle dangled by the string that bound it.

  “You finished the blanket,” Vivian said as they walked.

  Nell sighed. “Just last night.”

  “But you finished it. When you set your mind to something—”

  “Yes, well, it’s a Sinclair trait, which means I’m not the only one.” A smile reached Nell’s blue eyes. “Any success in your search for employment? ”

  “I went to the telephone company when I left you Tuesday and spoke to Mrs. Hartley.”

  Nell’s eyebrows arched. “And?”

  “And I start work at the telephone company on Monday.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  Vivian wasn’t sure how she felt about being a telephone operator, but she was thankful to have a job.

  Nell paused at a busy intersection and waited for a donkey cart to pass, barely turning her head to the right. “This is Myers Avenue.” She spoke the street name in a whisper. “We have to turn left to get to Poverty Gulch where Eleanor lives, but good girls don’t frequent Myers.”

  Blameless girls. Girls who weren’t living a lie. Feeling like an impostor, Vivian followed her sister’s lead and looked straight ahead as they continued down the hill behind the depot.

  They’d just walked under the trestle and down into the Gulch when three little girls ran toward them in flour-sack dresses, all of them shouting her sister’s name, their arms open wide. “Miss Nell!” “Mith Nell!”

  Nell pulled them into a hug. “Girls, this is my sister, Miss Vivian.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  Nell introduced them. “These are the Zanzucchi sisters, Jocelyn, Jaya, and Julia.”

  Smiling, Vivian looked at each one in turn, spending more time on the youngest sister. “Girls, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”