A Sensible Arrangement (16 page)

“Ha! I know well enough, you rapscallion. You would think that the only people in the world who know how to keep order in a house are the English! I can tell you this much: I've been overseeing households for more years than I care to admit. I know perfectly well how to keep a house and how to keep the folks in it. And you still haven't removed that umbrella. I'm going to have to redo this entire foyer.”

To Jake's surprise, she got down on her knees and pulled a cloth from her pocket. Wiping at the water, she shook her head and muttered about Brighton's inadequacies. Jake smiled at Brighton, who only gazed toward the ceiling and sighed.

“Do you know where Mrs. Wythe might be found?” he asked no one in particular.

“I believe she's reading in the small sitting room,” Brighton replied.

“Of course she is,” Mrs. Landry muttered from the floor. “Just as she is every afternoon at this time.”

“Thank you.” Jake headed off to find Marty just as Mrs. Landry started in once again on Brighton's failings.

“Marty?” he called, entering the sitting room. He looked around the room and thought perhaps she'd retired. Instead, he found her dozing by the fire. How pretty she looked, curled up with her feet under her. She was dressed simply but looked as fresh and beautiful as any grand dame of society.

“Marty?” he said again, not wanting to startle her.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked up. Obviously still drowsy, she smiled and closed her eyes again. Jake touched her cheek and at this, Marty's eyes flew open and she was fully awake.

“What's wrong?”

He laughed and took a seat. “Nothing. In fact, I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? Goodness, you've done nothing but bestow presents and lovely things upon me since I arrived. I honestly feel spoiled.” She straightened in her chair and the book she'd been reading dropped to the floor.

Jake picked it up and looked at the title. “
The
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
?”

She shrugged. “I found it in the library. It's really quite entertaining. Written by an Englishman named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Actually, as I recall from my days at school,” Jake said, “he's Scottish. He just lives in England now.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I enjoy his writing.” Marty set the book aside. The clock chimed and she glanced at it as if something were wrong. Looking back at Jake she shook her head. “You're home very early.”

“I went to work very early. I'd received a note from Mr. Keystone requesting we meet prior to the bank opening for the day. Therefore, I took it upon myself to close up shop early and come home with a marvelous surprise.”

This made her smile. “Do tell?”

He leaned forward on the edge of his chair. “Well, it has come to my attention that you've not yet attended our new opera house. I was fortunate enough to secure tickets to tonight's performance of
Cavalleria Rusticana
. I thought I might entice you to spend the evening with me.”

Marty's face brightened. “I would love to. Oh, what a treat. Thank you!” She jumped up and without warning leaned over and kissed Jake on the cheek. “I've been so bored. You have no idea.”

Jake watched her for a moment, wondering if she would spoil the moment by apologizing. To his relief, however, she smiled. “I should go get ready.” She paused at the doorway. “Will we dine in or out?”

“Why don't we make a complete evening of it. I'll take you to one of the best restaurants in town.”

“That sounds wonderful. I'll let Mrs. Landry know so she can tell Cook.”

He watched her leave and couldn't contain his smile. Not only was she pleased at the thought of an evening out with him—even if it was based on her boredom—but she'd kissed him. Never before had she originated such a sign of affection. His grin broadened. Tonight might very well be the start of something entirely new.

“I wondered if you'd like to go to church with me tonight,” Mrs. Landry said to Alice. “Since the master and mistress are out until late, I thought you might enjoy it. I know it's not your regular church, but we're having a ladies gathering. There will be a speaker and good food. I'd love for you to join me.”

Alice looked up from her ironing, pleased. “I'd be happy for the diversion. Do you suppose Mr. and Mrs. Wythe would mind?”

“Not at all. I will arrange it with them so you needn't worry.” Mrs. Landry touched her hand to her graying hair. “I should go fix myself. It's been a very busy day, and I'm sure I look a fright.”

Alice shook her head. “Not at all. You look fine.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Brighton murmured from where he sat polishing a teapot.

“What was that?” Mrs. Landry questioned. “Did I just hear a dog yammering?”

Alice smiled and turned back to her ironing.

Later that evening as they walked to Mrs. Landry's church, Alice couldn't help but ask the housekeeper about her deceased husband and whether she'd considered remarrying.

“Oh goodness, no. Not truly. I mean, there have been
thoughts, of course, but nothing of any substance,” Mrs. Landry answered quickly, then fell silent. “Mr. Landry was quite a handful, let me tell you. That man was always in need of something. I wore myself out just trying to anticipate him. No, I don't think I'll marry again.” She walked in silence a little longer before adding, “Of course, it would depend on the man.”

“Of course,” Alice replied, hiding her smile.

They continued their journey in silence. The chilly night air caused Alice to pull her shawl close, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. She glanced around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

I
'm being silly. I'm just remembering that night.

Of course. That was all it was. This night was so similar to the evening she'd been injured and her father killed.

“You remind me of my daughter, Meg,” Mrs. Landry stated without warning. “She's a sweet girl like you. She's in her thirties now, but when she was younger, she could have been your sister in appearance.”

“Except for the scar, I'm sure,” Alice said.

“Alice, we all have our scars. Some are visible and others aren't, but they are there all the same. Your scar makes you no less worthy.”

“I'm afraid it will make me less worthy of a man's love.”

“Bah! If he's worth his salt, it won't matter to him,” Mrs. Landry said. “You wait and see, Alice. You're but seventeen. In a short time, the right man will find you, and you will lose your heart to him and he will lose his to you. It will be just as it should be, and the scar will not matter.”

“I hope you're right,” Alice replied, not really convinced. Though she'd prayed for just such a thing, her heart doubted.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Landry said, leading the way toward the large oak doors of the church. “Let's get in out of the damp night air.”

Alice hurried to follow her, but just as she reached the door, she stumbled and dropped her small purse. Pausing to pick it up, Alice noticed movement across the street and straightened. She could see the outline of a man. The cherry-colored glow of a cigarette at his lips left her feeling shaken. The man who'd cut her had reeked of cigarette smoke.

The man didn't move, even though Alice was sure he knew she'd seen him. What was he doing there? Why was he following them? Or was he? Maybe this man was simply out for an evening stroll.

Swallowing back her fear, Alice picked up her purse and hurried after Mrs. Landry, whispering a prayer as she went.

The following Monday morning, Marty looked at the paper on her desk. The blank page intimidated her in a way she didn't like to admit. Dipping her pen in the inkwell, she began to write a greeting to her sister.

Dearest Hannah,

I hope this letter finds all of you well. The weather is quite lovely here. I find it very different from Texas. The mountains are still covered with snow, which sends chilled air down over the city each evening after the sun goes down. The air is also much dryer. That, perhaps, is one thing I'm not certain of getting used to. My skin is always in need of lotions.

She put the pen aside and tried to think of what to say next. She had thought to speak about the new fashions she now possessed, but that would only cause Hannah to question how she could afford such luxuries—she knew that Marty hadn't taken much with her. No, there was little Marty could write about, if she was determined to keep her secret.

She thought again of her life in Denver and of Jake. The opera had been so enjoyable. Even now she found herself humming the intermezzo. The music had been glorious, and Marty found that it touched her soul like nothing she'd ever known. Perhaps it was because the story was one of love gone terribly wrong—of sacrifice and death.

Or maybe it was nothing more than the evening itself. She and Jake had shared a wonderful dinner together. He had been in such a happy mood, regaling her with stories of his youth. She could see the passion he had for returning to Texas, and though it concerned her, she couldn't help but recall her own fond memories of that state. More troubling, however, was that she was starting to feel things for Jake that she had only experienced with Thomas. And always, it came in unexpected ways. The touch of his hand on her arm. His hand at the small of her back. The way he looked at her.

She picked up the pen again and tapped it against her head. The time had come. She needed to tell Hannah about Jake. Perhaps she should ease into it, tell Hannah she had met someone and found him to be of great interest. Then again . . . maybe not. She dipped into the inkwell again.

I find Denver to be a marvelous place to live. In fact, I am giving strong consideration to making this my permanent home.

Marty frowned.
That alone is enough to send Hannah here
. She'll wonder if I've lost my mind.
She sighed.

I know that might seem strange to you, given that I have no family here. But I very much enjoy the climate
and the people. I have made good friends who are kind to me and have

She paused, wondering how much to put into detail.

taken me under their wings. They are well placed in society, and I find their lives to be quite interesting. The grandeur and opulence is unlike anything I've ever known.

She reread the last few lines. Hannah would know that Marty's simple taste would not be drawn to such finery. How could she make it sound more like her old self? A thought came to mind, and she smiled.

I find myself wondering just how much better the money might be spent on helping the poor or attending to the needs of orphans. Speaking of which, I have arranged to spend some time at a local orphanage reading to the children there. I've even decided I might take up sewing for them, as well.

Marty bit her lip and whispered the next words aloud before she wrote them. “Of course, the pay would not be much, but with my wealthy guardians insisting that I need not concern myself with the financial aspects of life, it will give me a small amount of spending money for extras.”

It was a perfect way to ease any worries Hannah might have about Marty's well-being. She wrote the words, then wondered if she should go forward with her plan to mention Jake.

“Mrs. Wythe?” Alice called from the doorway.

Marty looked up to find the young woman with Kate, the household maid. “What is it?”

“Mrs. Landry would like to have Kate scrub the floors in here. Would that be acceptable?”

Marty nodded. “Yes, I need time to think about what else I want to say in this letter.” She put the pen down and got to her feet. “I'll be downstairs if you need me.”

Her mind overflowed with scenarios she could make up—stories that would sound completely plausible. She could mention meeting Jake at church her first week there. That would have an element of truth, but it would cause more questions, since Hannah knew she'd not attended church after Thomas's death. She could just say that she'd fallen head over heels and they'd gotten married. Or she could tell Hannah the truth . . . but she doubted her sister would take very kindly to having been duped.

No sooner had Marty stepped onto the first floor, however, when she noticed someone looking into the foyer from the porch window. She pretended nothing was amiss but went quickly to where she kept the shotgun.

“It might be nothing,” she told herself as she moved back to the foyer. “But I'd rather not take a chance.” Opening the front door, she peered out but didn't see anyone. She walked to the railing and looked out on the yard. Apparently whomever she'd seen was gone now.

A shiver went up her spine. She didn't like the idea of people sneaking around the house. But she also didn't want to jump to conclusions. She needed to make sure she hadn't mistaken one of their own workers for this mystery man. Marty made her way down the porch stairs and around to the back of the house, crossing to the stable.

“Samson?” she called, pausing just inside the doorway.

“Mr. Samson is fetching supplies for Mrs. Landry,” Obed, the young groomsman, replied. He beamed a broad smile. “Can I help you?” His eyes widened at the sight of the shotgun. “You gonna go huntin', Miz Wythe?”

Marty smiled and shook her head. “Have you seen anything of Mr. Lawrence . . . the gardener?”

“No, ma'am. He ain't been here today. Leastwise not yet.”

Marty nodded. It answered her question. She turned to go, but the boy called after her. “You want that I should have Mr. Lawrence come to you when he gets here?”

“No. That won't be necessary.”

“It was good of you to come today, Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Brentwood said, leading her down the hall of the orphanage. “As I mentioned to you when we first met, we have only been open a month and already we have fifty children.”

“Goodness. I had no idea there were that many orphans in the area,” Marty replied.

Mr. Brentwood gave her a sympathetic look. “My dear Mrs. Wythe, these are but a handful of those out there. Denver has many orphanages. Some are run by churches, and others like ours are helped by the city or are funded by private individuals. Unfortunately, there are hundreds if not thousands of motherless and fatherless children in Colorado.”

Marty couldn't begin to comprehend. “Where do they all come from?”

“A great many have come to us from the mining towns to the west. Parents left their homes in the East and came to find gold or silver. Unfortunately, most found starvation and
death. Rather than see their children die, they leave them with us or one of the other institutions.” He paused at a classroom door.

“This is where we school grades one through three. Miss Vernon is the teacher here.”

Marty looked into the classroom and found a dozen or more children. It appeared the tall, willowy Miss Vernon held their attention as she showed them pictures of animals and asked the children to identify them.

“Then down the hall here, we have Mr. Cabot's classroom. He handles the fourth through sixth graders.”

Marty followed him down the hall, noting the extreme cleanliness. From what she'd been told, each of the children helped in the upkeep of the house, as well as learned to handle laundry duties and other skills.

They paused a moment at Mr. Cabot's room, and Marty looked in. There were a couple dozen children—mostly boys. Mr. Cabot was directing their attention to a map of the United States. The children looked clean and well groomed, and most appeared content enough.

“You will do a great service to the teachers by offering the children your services. I know you had only in mind to read to the little ones, but since you are an educated woman, I wonder if you might also be willing to offer some tutoring. Some of our older children could benefit from having someone take a little extra time with them.”

“I'll do whatever I can,” Marty replied. “I want to be useful.”

“Well, you are an answer to prayer for us. We don't get a great many volunteers—not like the church-sponsored orphanages that have pastors and priests to request help from the pulpit.” He smiled. “I hope this doesn't sound too for
ward, but I will admit I'm surprised that a woman of your social standing would even take the time.”

“Social standings mean very little to me. I am where I am because of my husband's placement in Denver society. In Texas, I was a simple rancher's wife. I know, however, what it is to grow up without your parents. My sister and her husband were good to my brother and me, however. We were very loved.”

“So many of these children will never experience the love of a family. We're the only family they have, and we do our best to encourage them, but it isn't the same.”

He continued their tour. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, they looked in on the boys' dormitory first. Row after row of iron-framed beds lined the walls.

“We have more boys than girls at this point.”

“And do you only have the younger ones—up to grade six, I believe you mentioned?”

The man shook his head. “We also have some older children. They attend the public school. We believe that will better prepare them for their life ahead. We're trying to find apprenticeships for them, as well. They very much need to learn job skills in order to support themselves as adults.”

“And what do most of them desire to do?” Marty inquired.

The man chuckled. “Well, right now I have a great many would-be cowboys and a few who would like to attend military school. The girls mostly want to be nurses or teachers, wives and mothers, that kind of thing. Although I will admit we have one young lady who desires to be a suffragette.”

Marty smiled. She thought of all the young men they had employed on the Barnett Ranch. Perhaps in time she could recommend some of these youngsters to Will and Hannah.
They often hired boys as young as fifteen. Maybe with a little bit of information on the plight of these children, they would agree to take them on at an even younger age.

“I must say I'm very impressed with the organization and cleanliness of your orphanage,” Marty told Mr. Brentwood. “I suppose I had in mind a gloomy place where the rats ran free. Forgive me.” She offered him a smile. “I'm glad to be wrong.”

“There are such places, of course,” the older man replied, directing Marty to the girls' dormitory. “We strive here to teach the children pride in their surroundings. We do not seek to make it all about work, however. You will note out back we have a very nice play area.”

He drew Marty's attention to the window, and she followed him and peered out. There was, just as he said, a nice area for the children to play, complete with swings and a seesaw.

“There is a movement,” he told her, “that has been encouraging schools and public facilities such as city parks to provide a variety of equipment to encourage physical activities. Fresh air is good for one's health.”

Marty again thought of ranch life. Ninety percent of her day had been spent outdoors during the warm months. She couldn't imagine growing up in a city and having only limited sessions of outdoor play.

She finished the tour and returned home more determined than ever to do what she could to better the lives of the orphans. It grieved her to imagine thousands of children without the love of a mother and father. Perhaps she would consider adoption one day.

Later that afternoon, Marty picked up her letter and read
the lines she'd penned. She hoped that Hannah wouldn't overreact to her confession.

“It's silly. There's nothing wrong with the choices I've made. Jake's a good man.” She looked over the final lines of the letter.

I have delayed far too long in finishing this letter. I wanted to share some news with you, however, and I hope you won't think me silly. I know this will come as a shock, but I have remarried. I have married a wonderful man, a Colorado banker named Jacob Wythe. Jake is a fine, upstanding man who has shown me great affection and consideration. He has generously provided an opulent home for me and has gifted me with more than you could imagine. We attend a wonderful church every Sunday.

She smiled to herself. That alone would entice Hannah to think twice before reprimanding.

I do hope you will be delighted for me and not angry. I didn't mean to be so covert. Well, I suppose I did, but not for the purpose of hurting anyone. Please be happy for me, because I'm happy.

Love, Marty

“Would you like me to post your letter for you?” Alice asked.