A Sensible Arrangement (20 page)

“I wouldn't say that.” Marty's voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I'm becoming rather dependent on you. I rather like our time together.”

He gave her a weary smile and his drawl thickened. “Yup. I do, too.” A sigh escaped his lips. “I just don't know how bad this is gonna get. I figure we should know better in a few weeks, but for now it's a mystery.”

“Then we hunker down and ride out the storm,” Marty replied. “We're young and strong. I've even got a few things—things I left in Texas that I can sell.”

“No, I don't want you doing that. At least not yet. There's no need. I have money set aside—at least as long as the bank is solvent.”

“Is there a chance it won't remain so?”

“There's no way of knowing, and I can't very well pull my money out. Even though I might want to.” He laughed. “Imagine that—the bank manager, soon to be vice-president, pulling his savings out for fear that the bank will collapse. That wouldn't go over well.”

“I suppose not,” Marty agreed. In the back of her mind she thought again of the ranch. She could sell it and give the money over to Jake or at least use it for their day-to-day expenses. That would resolve several problems at once. Maybe Will would buy it from her rather than just take it back. She could ask him for a pittance of what it was worth.

“I'm gonna need you to watch your spending—not that you've ever given me reason to worry. Seems like the only time you have spent money has been for someone else—like the orphans.”

“That won't be a problem. I already have a good bolt of broadcloth for the projects I'm working on. Otherwise, I don't need anything.”

“I'll speak to Mrs. Landry about the household budget, as well.”

“We can certainly eat in a simpler manner. Unless you need to entertain, I can do quite well on beans and tortillas.” She grinned. “Of course, I doubt Mrs. Standish knows how to make tortillas, but I could teach her.”

Jake nodded. “I would enjoy some tortillas myself. It's been a long time.”

She leaned forward. “Seriously, we can weather this together. I'm not worried about social status or fancy baubles. Although I will say the roses you sent today were beautiful and most appreciated.”

“You deserved them. That and much more. You've been a good wife and done everything you agreed to. You even go to church with me, and I know you've had a difficult time with that.”

Marty felt her heart squeeze at his words. “Maybe it's time to stop having such a hard time of it.” She got up and
walked to the fireplace. “I know my anger at God needs to end. I know the truth, and I can't just go on ignoring it.”

“I feel the same way, Marty. Maybe it's time we repented and let the past go.”

She met his eyes. Such wonderful eyes.

Getting to his feet, Jake came to where she stood. “There's been a lot of things I've done wrong in life, Martha Wythe, but you aren't one of those things. I think you're probably the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Marty didn't know what to say. She was touched at his declaration and hoped with all her heart that Jake might seal his statement with a kiss. She offered what she hoped was an inviting smile. Jake just held her gaze for a few silent moments, then let go his hold.

“I'm gonna get some sleep before I fall down. You'd better do the same. No tellin' what tomorrow's gonna bring.”

Marty slept restlessly, and by the time dawn cracked the horizon, she was up and pacing. A thought had come to her: Alice said she read her Bible and prayed every morning before work. Would she be doing just that at this hour?

Making her way to the third floor, Marty crept along the hallway to the room Mrs. Landry had assigned Alice. There was light coming from beneath the door, so Marty gave a light knock.

Alice opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise. “Marty, is something wrong?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course. It's your house.” Alice backed up and pulled the door open.

Marty went into the simple room and noted the furnishings. The bed had already been made and the side table revealed an open Bible. “I remember you said that you spent this time in prayer and reading the Word of God.”

“I do. I was just getting ready to pray when you knocked.”

“I . . . well . . . I've not been right with God for a very long while now, as you know,” Marty began. “I blamed God for taking Thomas from me, and I know it was wrong. It just hurt so much to lose him. Seemed easy to blame God for most of my miseries.”

Alice nodded. “I know how much it hurt to lose my father and mother. I can only imagine the pain of losing a husband.”

“My sister, Hannah, shared the plan of salvation with me when I was just a little girl. It seemed so easy then to accept that Jesus would come to earth and give His life to bring us into right accord with His Father—God. I remember Hannah telling me that Jesus loved me so much that He would rather die a horrible death on a cross than spend eternity without me.” She smiled. “Isn't that a sweet way of putting it?”

Again Alice nodded, but this time she said nothing, as if sensing that Marty needed to get something off her chest.

“I asked Jesus to forgive me my sins, just like Hannah told me to do. I was a terrible liar at that time . . . I still have trouble with lies.” She frowned. “Hannah told me lying was a sin just as much as killing was—that sin was sin in the eyes of God. All sin would keep us from Him.”

Marty toyed with the belt of her robe. “I know the truth, and I've ignored it these last four years. Well, maybe not in whole, but in every way that mattered. I put a wall between me and God, and frankly . . . I'm tired, and I think it's time for that wall to come down.”

Alice smiled and nodded. “Would you like to pray . . . with me?”

Marty felt a sense of relief and warmth of comfort pour over her. “I would like that very much.”

Alice took hold of her hand. “I think God would like it, too.”

The weeks slipped by in a nightmarish sort of madness. Marty continued her work with the orphans, feeling that it offered her some semblance of order. But in truth, life in Denver verged on chaotic.

Daily the papers told of the financial collapse and all the problems that the state was bound to face. Women's suffrage was mentioned in the background, with some people claiming it would pass on the ballot come November. Marty had never concerned herself much with politics or the idea of voting, but given the state of the country, perhaps women did need to have a voice.

She considered the day laid out for her that June morning, and while the morning's activities were to her liking, the afternoon's were less favorable. She would first go to the orphanage; Marty loved getting to know the children, and today she planned to take pinafores for all the girls. Samson had already loaded them in the carriage. And, lest the boys feel left out, Marty had managed, with the help of Mrs. Landry, to secure a good number of donated shirts. She figured the sizes would be questionable, but since there hadn't
been time to measure and sew for each boy, this would have to do. Those, too, awaited her in the carriage.

She ate breakfast alone that morning, as she often did of late. Jake had been forced to arrive at the bank earlier and earlier. Just as Jake had predicted, many banks were folding, though Mr. Morgan's banks seemed to be managing. Jake served faithfully to see that they continued to keep their place in the business world, but who could say where it would all end. Often he was gone until late at night, and Marty noticed that he'd begun to lose weight.

Soon after Jake had mentioned his concerns for both the banks and the silver market, Marty had written to Hannah. In the letter she had requested that Will sell her ranch. She told Hannah that she would prefer they buy the land so it would remain in the family.

Marty was anxious to hear what her sister would have to say, but feared Hannah would brush aside her concerns for the banks and her husband's job and instead chide Marty for not simply returning to Texas. But for Marty, Texas was still a thorn in her side.

The children at the orphanage welcomed Marty with open arms that morning. The kids had come to recognize her carriage and would eagerly await her arrival. Since it was summer, school was concluded for the time, and Marty had taken the opportunity to volunteer her time to read with them more often.

“Children, Mrs. Wythe has come with gifts this morning,” Mrs. Staples announced. She was one of the caretakers of the children and although strict, was quite pleasant. “You will have a chance to receive a present later—if you listen well to the story and do not give Mrs. Wythe any trouble.”

“What's the present?” one of the boys asked.

Mrs. Staples smiled. “Robert, you will have to wait with everyone else until after story time. Mrs. Wythe cannot spend all day with us. She has other appointments to tend to after this.”

Marty waited until some of the other children posed their questions before pulling out her book. This signaled the children to take their seats on the floor around her. She waited patiently until everyone was positioned where they wanted to be.

“Good morning, children,” she said, smiling. “I've brought a new book today, just as I promised. This one is called
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
.”

“Who's that?” a boy named Clyde asked.

“He's an energetic young boy who has many great adventures along the Mississippi River,” Marty replied.

“Is he a big boy?” one of the little girls asked.

Someone else called out, “Does he swim in the river?”

Marty laughed. “Why don't I read the book, and then you'll see for yourself what kind of boy our Tom is and how he lives his life.”

She opened the book and thumbed to the beginning. “Chapter one.”

The children settled in and Marty, in her animated way, began to read.

After entertaining the children for over an hour—without a single one wanting to leave or do something else—Marty had to bid the children good-bye. She didn't want to leave. Leaving meant she would have to attend the luncheon being hosted by Mrs. Carmichael. The pretentious rich woman gave Marty a case of hives. Well, very nearly.

Samson waited faithfully to help her into the carriage. “There's lots of folks out today,” he told her. “Might be late.”

“That would be fine with me,” Marty murmured. “I wouldn't even be attending if it wasn't important to keep up appearances.”

“Yes'm.”

She settled against the leather upholstery and sighed as Samson merged into traffic. Marty couldn't help but feel like she'd left a part of her heart behind. A half dozen of the youngest had given her hugs before she'd departed. It made her want to load them all into her carriage and take them home. The children gave meaning and purpose to her life, and she was starting to consider speaking to Jake about adoption.

Of course, the timing wasn't exactly ideal; it might be difficult to care for children in an uncertain future. Still, Marty knew that the children needed love and attention whether the economy fell apart or not. They couldn't comprehend the devaluation of silver or the insolvency of banks. Nor should they have to. Children were to be loved and protected, and Marty found herself stirred to do both.

Mrs. Carmichael's butler met Marty at the door with a curt nod. He ushered her to the garden, where tables had been laid for their luncheon. Mrs. Carmichael greeted Marty in her cool and composed manner. She always had a way of making Marty feel substandard, no matter the gathering.

“Mrs. Wythe.” She peered at Marty as if she were something the cat had dragged in. “We feared you weren't coming.”

“Mrs. Carmichael. It was kind of you to invite me.” Marty smiled and nodded her head toward a group of society matrons seated around a table.

“Please have a seat. I believe we can finally get started.”

Marty nodded and hurried to take an empty chair. She felt overly conspicuous with everyone else so carefully assembled. She had clearly committed a grave error in her late arrival. She had thought to offer an excuse and tell the women about the traffic, but they'd only want to know where she'd been. Marty knew they'd never approve of her work with the orphans.

“Ladies, as you know, our city is in peril,” Mrs. Carmichael began. “Our very society has been altered in the wake of this new economic injustice.” The women seemed fixed on her every word, while Marty wished they'd get to serving the food. She was starved.

“I wanted to host this luncheon in order to review the situation and to determine what, if anything, is to be managed by our number. I believe Mrs. Morgan would like to speak first.”

Mrs. Morgan stood. “As you know, I am not one to frequent these occasions. However, I felt that the circumstances of our dear city necessitated my presence. Several of our former friends have found themselves completely stripped of their financial status. Thankfully, they have taken their families and left the city, so there is no need to feel uncomfortable in their presence.”

Marty tried not to roll her eyes. These women—these so-called dear friends—were as fickle as they came.

“In addition to that, we are faced with a grave concern. There are a great many homeless arriving into Denver on a daily basis. As you know, a good number of the silver mines have closed, and this has put many men out of work and onto the streets. I believe this situation will only worsen as time
goes on. In turn, it will cause many dangers for the people of our town.”

Marty listened with only halfhearted interest. The women who inevitably attended these affairs bored her. Unlike some of the women she'd befriended in Texas, these women seemed to have no real understanding of or concern for humanity. They were wealthy and spoiled, and the only thing that seemed to concern them was remaining exactly so.

“I have spoken to Mr. Morgan on this matter and have suggested that these unemployed men be sent elsewhere to look for work. Obviously, the city cannot accommodate them, and their presence will only lead to a sullying of our environment.”

Marty frowned and couldn't help but interject. “Where would you have them go? As I understand it, the entire country is struggling with this financial crisis.” The women at her table looked aghast that she had dared to interrupt.

Mrs. Morgan smiled tolerantly. “That's true, but the rest of the country isn't my concern. Denver is. I would have them go anywhere but here.”

The other women nodded and murmured their approval. Marty knew she should just keep quiet, but she couldn't help herself. “Seems rather selfish. What if we were to figure out ways to help those poor folks instead?”

“There are institutions and churches for such things, and the larger eastern cities would be better suited to see to their needs,” Mrs. Morgan replied. “I'm sure that given your background, it's difficult to understand our position. However, people of means are the guardians of their surroundings. That instills in us a responsibility to oversee the welfare of our people and properties. Our men rely on us to practice
wisdom in this matter, and this city is dependent upon such sacrifice.”

“I understand that. And, given my background,” Marty said in a somewhat sarcastic tone, “I know what it is to help the needy. I'm suggesting that rather than try to rid ourselves of them, we give assistance—perhaps offering shelter and teaching them new trades. After all, if their work as silver miners is over, they will need to be reeducated to work in another field.”

There were gasps from several women, but Mrs. Morgan was patient. She gave Marty a look, however, that left the younger woman cold.

“It is not the responsibility of our society to provide such things.”

“Maybe it should be,” Marty replied. She could see she was alienating every woman at the luncheon, but she didn't care.

“Such matters are better left to the churches,” Mrs. Morgan insisted.

“Are we not the church?” Marty could have heard a pin drop. “Does the Bible not show that it is our responsibility to care for the body? I'm not suggesting mere handouts. I'm not even saying that we need deplete all our wealth. I'm merely stating that sending these people away isn't going to solve anything.”

“Well, you are entitled to your opinion, Mrs. Wythe. However, my husband would disagree with you. When I mentioned that these homeless and jobless people should be sent elsewhere, he agreed. He and some of our other good men are making plans to arrange for just that.”

The other women nodded their approval. “Do tell,” Mrs.
Keystone called out. “Let us know how this is to be accomplished and what role we are to play.”

Mrs. Morgan turned away from Marty to smile at her friend. “I suggested that these people be given a train ticket to leave the city. Let them go to friends and family elsewhere.” She glanced back at Marty. “After all, we are not without heart. If they have no one to go to, then let us send them to one of the larger cities where help might be more readily available. Chicago, Kansas City, New York, and so on. All of those places would be better suited to assist the downtrodden than Denver.”

“But Denver
is
a large city,” Marty protested. “Maybe we should focus on making it a better city by incorporating ideas to help the downtrodden, as you put it.”

“Mrs. Wythe, I believe your country manners might well be acceptable in some settings, such as the wilds of Texas,” Mrs. Carmichael interjected. “But here, we rely on a better society—a way that affords us a protected life. I think perhaps you believe your Texas ways better than ours, and if that is the case, then might I suggest . . . you return to Texas.”

“Hear, hear,” many of the women called out. Mrs. Morgan nodded her agreement.

The women who had pretended to be Marty's friends had now made their true feelings clear. Marty stood and shook her head.

“I feel sorry for you. I thought you were women of means, but instead I find that you're simply mean women. You have, but you've no desire to share. You know comfort and full bellies, but you would send others away hungry. I would remind you that it was Jesus himself who said that whatever we do unto the least of these . . . we do unto Him.”

With that, she left the murmuring dissension and made her way back through the house and out the front door. Samson looked up in surprise as she stormed to the carriage.

“Get me out of here, please. Those women have seen the last of me.”

He grinned, seeming happy for the news. “Yes'm.”

Marty fretted the rest of the day, worrying about what Jake would say when he heard what she'd done. She feared she'd be the reason he'd fall from the good graces of his employer. She agonized over whether they'd be put out on the street for her behavior.

Perhaps I should send
a letter of apology to Mrs. Morgan. I shouldn't
have been so cantankerous, I suppose. I could have handled
the situation with better judgment.