A Sensible Arrangement (23 page)

Must I tell him? Must I admit to
having the ranch all this
time? He'll hate me
, just like in the dream. Because the truth is that
I have wronged him. I have lied and kept from
him the only thing in life he really wants.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror. Marty thought she looked tired—not even the least bit pretty. The lies and worries had taken their toll. She wished fervently she could start anew . . . and perhaps that's exactly what was happening. Maybe she could just explain to Jake that she had once owned land and now it was held by her brother-in-law. Maybe if Jake demanded they return to Texas, he could go as a banker or bookkeeper. That was a nice safe job. But could she live again in Texas?

It's not Texas, she told herself. It's the ranch and the dangers there. It's all the terrible things that happen. She remembered her brother and Will suffering broken bones and nearly losing their lives in multiple incidents. They had lost ranch hands to kicking horses, stampeding cattle, and even one to snakebite. Life on a ranch was an unforgiving world. She could never risk living—and loving someone—in such a place.

Why did I even think of sending children there?
As if in answer to her thoughts, a knock sounded at the front door. Disregarding Brighton's duties, Marty opened it to find a young man.

“Telegram for Mrs. Martha Wythe.”

“That's me.” Marty pulled some coins from her chatelaine bag and handed them to the boy. “Thank you.”

The boy handed her the telegram, then turned to run back down the porch steps. Marty immediately opened the reply from her sister.

Happy to have them. Send as soon
as you like. Look forward to hearing more. Hannah.

There it was. Only now Marty felt guilty. What if she was only sending these children to their deaths? She heaved a sigh. Leaving them to face an uncertain life here was no better. At least under Hannah and Will's care they wouldn't go hungry.

“Madam, I heard someone at the door,” Brighton said.

Marty hid the telegram behind her back and smiled. “It was nothing.”

She closed the door and made her way to the kitchen, leaving Brighton to stare after her. She knew most likely he hadn't believed her, but his manners wouldn't allow him to challenge her.

Marty checked for Mrs. Standish. Seeing that the cook had gone out back to the small herb garden, Marty hastily tossed the letter and telegram from Hannah into the stove and watched a moment while they burned. She couldn't risk keeping either one. If Jake saw the telegram he'd know that things were apparently going well enough for Hannah and Will that they could take on a bunch of children. And if he saw the letter . . . well . . . he mustn't ever see the letter.

When the papers were nothing more than ash, Marty closed the door and stepped back from the stove. Just then, Mrs. Standish returned and upon seeing Marty held a wide smile.

“You don't look nearly so tired as you did this morning. I hope you had a bit of a rest.”

“I did,” Marty replied. “Now I find myself in need of tea. I just thought I would make it myself rather than disturb you or Mrs. Landry.”

“Nonsense. 'Tis my job,” the older woman declared. “You go right on to your sitting room, and I'll bring you a good hot cup in three shakes of a lamb's tail.”

Marty smiled. “I've seen lambs shake their tails, Mrs. Standish, and it's quite speedy. You needn't rush that much.”

The woman chuckled, and Marty made her way to the sitting room she'd come to love. But upon entering, she was surprised to come upon her butler and housekeeper in each other's arms.

“I'm so . . . sorry,” Marty declared. “I was only passing through.”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Wythe,” Brighton replied, dropping his hold on the older woman. “Mrs. Landry learned this morning that her sister has died.”

Mrs. Landry looked up, and her tear-stained face revealed her grief. Marty embraced her. “I'm so sorry. What happened?”

“She's been ill for some time.” Mrs. Landry sniffed and stepped away. “Even so, it comes as a shock.”

“Of course it would,” Marty agreed. “I want you to take the rest of the day and weekend off to rest. Where does your sister live? Will you need time to travel there for the funeral?”

“No. She lived in Michigan. I won't be attending the funeral. It's too far and too much expense.”

“I'm certain that we can find the funds if you desire to be there,” Marty insisted.

“No. I'd rather remain here. We weren't all that close . . . it's just . . . well, I thought we'd have time to settle our past.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Landry. I didn't realize there were problems.”

The housekeeper nodded. “That's why Mr. Brighton was so good to console me. I felt I had failed as a good Christian woman to help my sister see the truth about God. She called herself an atheist, and we had many a fight over it. Funny, isn't it, that something as wondrous as God's love should cause families to fight?”

It was difficult to see the pain in the woman's eyes and not feel moved. Marty reached out and touched her housekeeper's shoulder. “I still want you to take some time to yourself. I want you to know how very sorry I am, but that I'm certain you planted seeds in the life of your sister. Maybe one of them took root. You can never tell.”

Mrs. Landry nodded. “It's my fondest wish that she would have accepted the Lord. I don't know why people reject Him—the truth seems so evident to me.”

Marty knew why people rejected Him. From her own personal experience, she knew that often they did so for no other reason than to harden their hearts from the possibility of more pain in their life.

She looked to Brighton and smiled. “I'm so glad you were here to comfort Mrs. Landry. She's fortunate to have a good friend like you.”

Brighton flushed red and looked away. “Thank you, madam.”

Marty couldn't help but think of Jake holding her in the night. That comfort had meant more to her than anything he could have bought her or done for her. The troubles of the world were upon them, but in his arms she felt completely safe—at ease. Somehow, she had to convince him that this was where she belonged.

Alice hated waiting outside alone for Mrs. Landry, but neither did she want to frighten or upset the children inside the church. She'd been the recipient of too many ugly comments about her face; she couldn't bear to see the repulsion and hear the whispers from the little ones. Mrs. Landry had scoffed and insisted Alice come inside, but Alice simply shook her head.

“I'll take this bundle of cookies in and then come back for yours,” Mrs. Landry said in exasperation. They'd baked cookies for the children's fair that the church was sponsoring, and Mrs. Landry had needed Alice to help carry the cookies because the carriage was in use. Samson had taken Mrs. Wythe to the orphanage.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Landry returned and took the bundle from Alice. “I don't know why you worry so much about your face. That scar isn't as noticeable as you think.”

She touched the scar on her cheek and tried to forget how a child had once screamed in terror at her face. Of course, that had not been long after the attack, when Alice was barely up and around the hospital grounds. The scar didn't look as bad now as it had then, but it was still puckerish and very evident.

“With adults it's not so bad, but it scares the children,” Alice whispered.

Mrs. Landry gave a heavy sigh. “Very well. I'll try to hurry, but I have to speak with the pastor.” The older woman disappeared inside the church, leaving Alice alone once again.

Pacing the small walkway, Alice glanced at the door of the church and tried to calm her nerves. It was broad daylight and no one would—

“Well, I see you're finally alone.”

She whirled around to find the man she feared most in the world. “What do you want?” She moved toward the church, but the man reached out and held her fast.

Smith gripped her arm in a painful manner. “You know very well what I want.”

“I told you before and I'm telling you now: I don't know anything about a bank envelope. I told you that. I had very little left me after I got out of the hospital. My friends had to sell off our things to pay for my hospital bills and Father's funeral.” She pulled against his hold. “Not only that, but you and your thugs frightened them so much, they left town without a chance to even tell me all that had transpired while I'd been in the hospital.”

“They were only questioned about the envelope. If they were afraid, that was their problem.”

“No, it was your fault. Your friends threatened them. They told me how awful it was.”

He shook his head. “Not nearly as awful as it's gonna get if I don't get that envelope.” Alice tried again to move away from him.

“You're a fool if you think you can escape me.” He grinned, forcing her closer. “That scar does mar your face, but it
doesn't steal all your beauty. I might have use for you. I have gals uglier than you making me a good living.”

“Leave me alone!” Alice pulled even harder.

Smith slapped her across the face, and Alice fell backward from the blow and crumpled onto the ground. She had hoped he would leave her there, but instead he reached down and yanked her back to her feet.

“That's just a sample of the kind of pain I can cause you. You have something that belongs to me, and I intend to have it back. I'm watching you all the time, Miss Chesterfield. There's no place you can hide and nothing you can do to escape my reach.” He let go his hold. “Even if you think you can. Now, I suggest you write a letter to your friends and find out what they did with your father's personal papers. That ain't something you can sell.”

Alice frowned. She'd not really given that much thought in the aftermath of the attack. Her father hadn't had many personal business dealings, and he wasn't one for corresponding with anyone. Alice did recall there were a few personal things he kept in a box—among them her mother's wedding ring, which she had left behind. He'd once showed it to Alice and told her it was a reminder to him of how the devil can appear as an angel to fool man. Alice had never thought about what might have happened to that box.

“It's been nearly a year. I honestly have no memory of him keeping any personal papers.” Alice was silent a moment. “I suppose there might have been things that wouldn't have been sold. . . .” She shook her head and let the words trail off.

The man loosened his hold, to her surprise. “Write to your friends. I'll be in touch.” He hurried down the road and had already turned a corner by the time Mrs. Landry appeared.

“They were ever so glad for the refreshments. Thank you for helping me get them here.” She stopped and looked at Alice oddly. “What happened?”

Alice shook her head and struggled to keep her hand from covering the cheek where Smith had hit her. “What are you talking about?”

“Your cheek, it's red—and there are grass stains on the sleeve of your blouse.”

She swallowed hard. “I fell, that's all.”

“Alice, don't lie to me. You have the perfect imprint of a hand on your face.”

Alice lowered her gaze. “That Mr. Smith showed up.”

“Here? Why didn't you scream for help?”

“I was too surprised. I never imagined anyone would attack me outside a church in the middle of the day.”

Mrs. Landry frowned. “We must tell Mr. and Mrs. Wythe immediately. That man is a menace.”

Alice nodded and felt her every hope dissolve.

“You must know this is an answer to prayer, Mrs. Wythe.” Mr. Brentwood slapped his hands atop his desk. “An answer to prayer.”

“My sister and her husband are quite generous. I know they will see that the children are well provided for. There may be other ranchers and farmers in the area who could take a few on, as well. I will write to her and let her know your situation. There are some very good people in our circle of friends.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “This has weighed so heavily on my heart. I immediately went to prayer and fasting after you
mentioned the possibility. So now my question is, how do we arrange for their travel?”

Marty smiled. “I've already thought of that. You see, I happen to know that Mrs. Morgan has petitioned her husband and his friends to provide free rail passage to the poor in order to rid our precious city of their presence. She is no longer receiving me, because of my response to her ideas.”

Mr. Brentwood frowned. “I am sorry, Mrs. Wythe. I don't see how this will help us.”

“She won't see me, but she would no doubt see you. I think you have only to go to her and request train passage for the orphans. Tell her you thought you would have to put these children on the streets, but instead you have found a location for them in Texas—if only you can transport them there.”

He smiled. “I think I understand. She would rather get her husband to pay the passage than to have additional homeless milling about her fair city.”

Marty nodded. “Exactly.”

“I don't think that will be a problem,” Brentwood replied. “I will go and see her this afternoon. I won't ask for an appointment ahead of time, lest she refuse me. I'll simply show up and explain our plight.”

“I think that's best.” Marty felt a deep sense of satisfaction. “If my time spent with her has taught me anything, it's that surprise will work to your advantage. When anything threatens their way of life, they can't help but respond quickly.”

Jake thought so often of Marty and their kiss that he had to refigure a column of numbers four times to get it right.
Everything balanced. The money that had been missing, though comparatively small, was now all accounted for.

When Jake had repeatedly mentioned the missing money to Mr. Morgan, the bank owner had been unconcerned. And now that it appeared the matter had resolved itself, Morgan felt certain the money had just been mislaid or accounted improperly. At least that's what he'd told Jake earlier that morning.

Still uncomfortable about the matter, Jake closed the ledger and stretched. He felt weariness settle over him. He thought again of Marty and the way she'd felt in his arms.

He grinned. She didn't seem to hate the kiss so much herself. Maybe, just maybe, she had wanted it as much as he had. After all, she did call out to him and ask him not to leave.

But that could just have been the fact that she was afraid. Something had caused her great worry in her sleep.

“Sir, Mr. Keystone is here to see you,” Arnold announced.

Jake nodded and straightened his tie. “Send him in.”

Arnold gave a nod and left the doorway. Keystone quickly entered and Jake got to his feet. “Mr. Keystone, this is an unexpected surprise.”

“Yes, well, it would seem a most necessary one.” He seemed bothered by something, so Jake only motioned to the chair and said nothing more.

Taking the seat, Keystone wasted no time. “Our funds are short. The banks are not doing at all well here in Colorado. We held a board meeting just a short time ago. I'm here to report on our decision.”

“Decision about what?” Jake could only pray they hadn't decided to close the bank.

“We're going to start refusing to cash depositors' checks.
Instead, we will issue them bank checks that they can use in lieu of money.”

“Won't that signal a problem and cause a run on the bank?” Jake asked.

“Not if it's handled properly,” Keystone replied. “We must assure the depositor that this is merely a safety precaution and point out that we've remained solvent while other banks have collapsed—but only because of implementing such measures. If we focus on the fact that their money is still safely available to them in this form, I believe they'll understand.”

Jake was less inclined to think so. “I've seen these people daily,” he began. “I'm not convinced it will work. After all, we're talking about the life savings of some of these folks.”

“I'm well aware of that, Wythe,” Keystone said, clearly irritated. “It's a sound measure and we're not the only bank doing this. If folks want to be able to access their funds, they'll do it through a bank check or not at all.”

“And what of the larger depositors? The businesses?”

“It will work well for everyone. You'll see. We have this all figured out. I only stopped here to let you know what was decided. You needn't approve or disapprove. It's done.”

Jake nodded. “Well, I thank you for letting me know.”

“Honestly, Wythe, the customers will be glad just to have the ability to purchase goods and pay their mortgages. You'll see. This is the only way it can work right now.”

“I suppose so.” Jake thought to change the subject. “What of the gold certificates being duplicated? Did you get to the bottom of that?”

“I'm still working on it,” he assured Jake. “It won't be an easy matter to resolve. After all, each of the gold certificates is backed by gold marked with the same identifying number.
With the banking system in the mess it is now, we will be hard-pressed to get anywhere with this investigation for some time. It falls low on the priorities we have.”

“And if those people come to get their gold?”

“That's exactly why we are resolving matters this way with the bank checks. There's obviously been a moratorium placed on cashing out for gold. Hopefully the bank checks will ease the worries of those who had thought to redeem their silver certificates.”

“I hope you're right,” Jake said, still uncertain it would satisfy the customers.

On his way home from work that night he very nearly had Samson stop by the florist's shop. Though he wanted to bring Marty flowers again, he put aside the idea, when considering the cost. He knew they would have to be very careful with their limited funds. He was thankful that Morgan continued to waive their mortgage payments, but that was only a short-term solution.

Samson slowed the carriage to round a street corner, and Jake heard a young boy calling out with the new edition of the
Evening
Post
. Jake tapped on the roof of the carriage. “Samson, would you stop so I can buy a paper?”