Authors: Ann Mayburn
Lilly placed her hand over her grand-mère’s. “Thank you, Grand-mère. I was afraid you would join the choir of disapproval. Mother seems to think I cannot cross the street without a chaperone.”
Colette clicked her tongue and poured more mint tea. “Silly girl, I was younger than you when I decided to leave Paris for America.” She set the teapot down, a distant look in her cloudy blue eyes. “I remember it well, the sense of anticipation almost lost beneath my fear. At least you told your mother and father. Mine didn’t find out until I was out at sea.” She gave Lilly a wink and popped a sugar cube into her mouth.
“I have never regretted that decision. Oh, I could have been happy in Paris in a dreadfully boring manner. Married to some stuffy old vicomte and simpering my way through life. But I wanted to go someplace new, someplace where the air was clear and there was a chance for a young painter to make her mark. And I never would have met your grandfather if they had not sent him after me, to bring me home.”
Lilly glanced around the room with a fond smile. Watercolors of various sizes covered every surface of the walls. Quite a few featured handsome young men in the nude looking out of the canvas with challenging stares and hard muscles. Before her eyesight began to fail, Colette had been one of the premier painters of the northeast. Her artwork hung in some of the finest homes, and graced the walls of a few local museums. Of course, she shared the nudes only with her family, at least those who didn’t voice their disapproval.
This had always been a place of refuge for Lilly. When she refused to learn to dance from the stuffy instructor who’d called her a graceless cow, it was Colette who taught her in this very parlor. Colette would bring her to the seashore in the summer, showing her how to shoot skeet and swim. Grand-mère taught her by example that a woman could take care of herself, and still be a lady.
“Now, I have something for you.” The older woman left the pale peach parlor room and returned with a blue velvet box. “I was going to give this to you when you married, but I think it will serve its purpose much better now.”
She scrunched her brow in confusion. “What is it?”
“Your dowry.” Colette lifted the lid of the box and revealed a cluster of exquisite jewelry. Pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and gold flashed in the afternoon light.
She covered her mouth as she gasped. “Grand-mère, I cannot take this!”
Colette smiled with amusement and thrust the box into her hands. “Silly girl, what is an old woman like me going to do with this? They are baubles from my suitors back in Paris. They have no sentimental value. Go, keep what you want and sell the rest. Start your adventure with a full purse and an open heart.” She reached over and stroked an age-spotted hand down Lilly’s pale cheek. “Do this for me, Lilly. I love all my grandchildren, but you are the only one who inherited the Bertrand spirit of adventure.”
Lilly closed her eyes and hugged the box to her chest. She knew coming here was the right thing to do. Her mother’s harsh words had almost made her break the contract to teach. “Thank you. I can never thank you enough for believing in me.” She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Hush now, no crying. You took to the life of society no better than I did. Well, maybe a bit better—there were no scandals about you and a handsome young painter caught posing in the nude.”
Lilly blushed and laughed. “No, just a few small scandals about falling from trees.”
“And beating a silly beau in the park with your parasol. I thought your mother was going to send you to a convent after she found out about that on the society page of the newspaper. The drawing of him cowering on the ground before you was quite good.” Colette’s mischievous grin deepened the lines on her face.
“I told that coot I could carry my own parasol. He wouldn’t let go!” Lilly started laughing at Colette’s knowing expression.
***
Five days later, biting her lower lip in an effort not to cry, Lilly stared out the train window at her family on the platform. She wouldn’t acknowledge the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as crying. They were simply a reaction to the smoke from the coal engine.
The train lurched forward, and she began her journey from Connecticut to Kansas. It was a long ride, and she brought her schoolbooks to read through for the trip. There was so much planning to do. She had a week to settle in and prepare, and then it would be time for school to start.
She traced her fingertips over the alabaster cameo at her throat. It depicted a cream lily on a Wedgwood blue background, the only piece of jewelry she kept from her Grand-mère’s collection. She found strength in its carved surface. If Colette could board a ship to America with only the clothes on her back, and the smuggled jewelry hidden in her skirts, then she had no excuse for letting cowardly feelings stop her from chasing her dreams.
This was a grand adventure, a chance to live the stories of the West she had read so much about. The idea of seeing a real cowboy was thrilling, and to live in a genuine log cabin was beyond exciting. She was finally going to be on her own, without chaperones watching her every move. Apprehension made her stomach tight, but she chased the feeling away with daydreams of cowboys like the utterly masculine ranchers she’d read about in her dime novels. Surely, it would not be as dangerous as her mother feared. Caldwell was an established town with a population of over 1,500 people. They couldn’t be that uncivilized.
Chapter Two
Dance-Hall Girl
Wagons stuffed with ranch hands and men on horseback filled the main street of Caldwell, even at eight in the morning. Lilly’s train had arrived in the station a half hour before and she’d taken the opportunity to freshen up and change out of her travel dress at the station. She received a message from the porter that her steamer trunks would be delivered to her house, and that Mayor Beechum would meet her at his office at eight thirty.
Now she paced back and forth on the wooden sidewalk, too excited to stand still. This was the first time she had truly been on her own in the middle of a bustling town. No chaperone, no parent, no older sister telling her not to stare or get her dress dirty. The feeling of freedom intoxicated her.
A dray packed with cowhides rolled by and she lamented her choice in dresses. The pale pink silk was already starting to attract a layer of brown dust at its ruffled hem. The sunlight burned down on her exposed shoulders, and she tugged her cream silk shawl closer to protect her fair skin.
She wanted to look her best for the first meeting with her new employer, so she wore her most impressive dress for the occasion. But she was afraid she’d be a sweaty, dust-caked mess by the time he arrived. The sun glared overhead and she had to squint her eyes against the light, even with her bonnet on. She opened her parasol with a snap and smiled up at the lovely sight of light reflecting through layers of lace ruffles stretched tight over whalebone. The parasol had been a gift from her grandmother and the scent of her lilac perfume still clung to the fabric. Taking a deep breath of the familiar scent made her heart at once ache and, oddly, feel better.
Her eyes darted up and down the street. To the left, the raised sidewalks bustled with activity. To the right, the walkways were nearly empty. The granite City Hall and jail were a natural dividing line between the two parts of the city.
Twirling her parasol, she glanced at the big clock above the Southwestern Hotel. It was a three-story brick building with a wide covered porch that wrapped around its front. Mostly men, and a few women, lounged at the tables, eating their breakfast.
With a small smile, she decided she had enough time to do a bit of exploring before she met the mayor. It wouldn’t hurt to get a feel for the town, and she could go anywhere she wanted. Force of habit made her hesitate and her mother’s voice scolded her not to be reckless and foolish. Lifting her shoulders, Lilly buried the voice of reason and let the muse of adventure lead her onward. She went to the left, where the most people, and presumably the best shops, were.
As she peered through the window of a feed store, the people inside made her stop and stare. Two Indians, dressed like cowboys, talked with the proprietor. They both had long, silky black hair that fell midway down their backs in one long and thin braid decorated with beads. One wore a black Derby hat with a feather in the brim and the other wore a grey cowboy hat with a brightly beaded rawhide band. The rest of the customers in the shop didn’t seem to find anything odd about them being there, so she tore her eyes away and wandered further down the street. They were the first real, live Indians she had ever seen. True, they didn’t really look like the Indians from her books, but her sisters would be so jealous when she wrote to tell them.
She kept her eyes straight ahead and briskly walked past a stable and a laundry service. Men hung out of the doorways of both establishments and watched her in a manner she found disconcerting. Her heartbeat sped up a bit as she realized she was the only woman as far as she could see and she walked faster. Across the street, a group of men stared at her from the doorway of a saloon. One began to list across the packed dirt street toward her.
They couldn’t be drunk this early on a Tuesday morning. She dithered on the sidewalk, unsure of which way to go. Her fear gave her clarity, focus: she noted that she was surrounded on all sides by saloons and men. This was clearly the wrong area of town for a young woman by herself.
Turning on her booted heel, she started to walk back the way she came, as quickly as possible. Her shoulders went tight as she caught the sound of one set of boots, then a few more, clunk on the boards behind her.
“Hey now, pretty lady, where’re you goin’?” The slurring voice that asked came from over her shoulder.
She cursed the stupid layers of petticoats and elegant boots that kept her from walking faster. She lost her balance as a man in a dirty red shirt and brown trousers stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her. His dark beard held bits of crumbs and his face was greasy enough to fry an egg on. He tipped his stained, tan cowboy hat at her with a mocking leer.
Regaining her balance, she found herself surrounded by three men. They closed in on her like a pack of wolves, pressing her back into a dirt alley between the buildings. The men all wore pistols strapped to their thighs. She held her parasol in front of herself and wished she had a gun, too.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a meeting with Mayor Beechum.” Lilly lifted her head and stared them in the eye, watching the man with the beard. He was the instigator and the other two followed his lead. The man in a straw hat glanced nervously out to the street and then back to Lilly.
“You have a meetin’ wit’ Mayor Beechum?” The man with the dirty beard raised his bushy eyebrows high enough to disappear beneath the brim of his hat. “Why would he wanna see a dance-hall girl...less’n he’s tired of his wife?”
Lilly’s mouth dropped open in shock. The men all laughed like trolls and a trickle of sweat rolled down her spine. “I beg your pardon! I am
not
a dance-hall girl!”
“Sure you ain’t, with that fancy pink dress, wanderin’ around the saloons.” He rubbed his hand through his beard. “Now, be a good girl and give us a little sample of what yer sellin’.”
The back of her bustle hit the brick building at the end of the alley. The men closed in. As the wind shifted, the pungent aroma of their unwashed bodies assaulted her nostrils. A scream hitched in her throat, and she tried to jab them back with her parasol. The man in the straw hat grabbed it from her hands. The smooth bone handle made it hard to grip with her gloves on, and her heart slammed against her ribs as his filthy hands stroked down the white lace, leaving a trail of grime behind as he leered at her.
What was she thinking coming here alone? This wasn’t like home. None of this would ever happen on the streets of Hartford. How was she to know men like this roamed Caldwell in such a brazen fashion? It wasn’t as if she’d gone for a stroll at night—it was midmorning on a Tuesday, for pity’s sake.
“Hold ’er,” the bearded man rumbled as he began to pull at the belt that held his pants up.
Now she did scream, long and loud. She tried to hold onto her shawl, but it almost ripped in two as the men laughed and tore it from her grasp. The man in the straw hat darted forward, as quick as a snake, slammed a grimy hand over her mouth, and ripped the bodice of her dress. She stared down in shock at the sight of her corset. The tips of her nipples had escaped the confines of her modesty shift. The men let out a hungry chuckle and moved in on her. Two of them held her arms back while the third tried to tug down the top of her stubborn corset. She tried to scream past the hand over her mouth and kick at him, but her skirts hampered her movements. Fear tore through her stomach as one of the men holding her began to paw at her skirt, yanking it up with his free hand.
A gunshot rang through the alley.
The men dropped her and wheeled around toward the shooter. Lilly leaned back against the brick building, panting and holding her arms around herself.
At the entrance to the alley stood a tall man with smoke wafting from the tip of his nickel-plated pistol. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow. Waist overalls clung tight to his hips and muscled legs in an indecent fashion. She edged against the wall, getting a better look at her would-be savior and tugging at the top of her ruined dress.