Texas Brides Collection (40 page)

She shrugged her shoulders. “Rangers mostly work out in the country, don’t they? On farms and ranches and such, like up in Mason County, but that’s pretty much range wars, from what I read.” The account of the tragedies taking place just to their north had rent her heart. “Were you involved in any of that?”

He shook his head. “And you’re right, we don’t do too much in the cities. We chase after outlaws that have built a reputation, like Wilson, the man I was chasing when I was injured. But it’s not a country or a city problem. Nor poor nor rich. It’s a heart without God.”

“But the temptations for the poor…”

“ ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man…ye have the poor always with you.’ That’s what the Good Book says.”

Rosie shut her mouth. She couldn’t argue with Bible quotes. Not with someone who had learned the truth at his mother’s knee. She knew her face must be bright red.

His blue eyes remained eerily calm. “Would it help you to know I didn’t grow up rich? Not poor, either. But my brother is living among the robber’s caves up in Indian Territory. We were both raised by the same parents. We don’t tell many people, and not many folks at church know the whole truth. But there it is. My brother is a robber and a murderer several times over. And then there’s me, putting my life on the line to put men like him in jail.”

Rosie thought of her brother, but this wasn’t the place to mention him. Would it be rude if she left? In any case, she had to leave before the night grew too dark. “Where did they put my coat?”

Owen looked at Rosie and made a snap decision. “Let me accompany you home. I’ll get our coats.”

“But your horse…” Even as she protested, she accepted his arm as she stood.

“I’ll get him later.” His broad shoulders made working their way through the crowded room easier.

The valet disappeared to get their overcoats while Mrs. Braum came to say good-bye. “Leaving so soon?”

Owen nodded. “Miss Carson needs to get home to her mother. And I offered to accompany her.”

Mrs. Braum turned her kind expression on Rosie. “I know you were disappointed tonight, my dear. The wheels of this group take a long time to engage, but once we get started, we’re hard to stop. Keep praying God will show us the right thing to do.”

“But…” It took effort for Rosie not to protest further, and Owen noticed it. “I will do that.”

How many times had Owen heard the same advice. “Pray, Owen, pray.” His job as a Ranger called for a man of action. Often a call to prayer felt like a call to do nothing. He shook his head. One of the areas where he failed the Lord.

“Here.” Mrs. Braum pressed a bag of cookies on Rosie. “My children were always fond of my snickerdoodles. I’m sure you will find homes for our leftovers.”

The grateful smile on Rosie’s face warmed Owen inside. He wanted to bring that smile to her face. Even in this tumult, he smelled the scent of cinnamon rising from warm cookies in the bag. Such a simple thing, to mean so much.

Now that she had finished her presentation, Rosie asked questions all along the route home. Who lived there? How many servants? How many rooms? She took particular interest in homes where members of the church had residences.

At the church, they changed direction and passed through less affluent neighborhoods. About five minutes later, Rosie stopped. “This is where I turn to go home. That way.” She nodded with her chin down a street that headed toward one of the city’s poorest blocks, where the streets crowded together and lamp lights were broken almost as soon as they were put up. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll feel better if you’re accompanied by me and Mr. Colt.”

She winced at the mention of the revolver. “You won’t—”

He shook his head. “Not unless our lives are in danger.”

As they entered her world, they reversed the roles of interrogator and answer giver. First she told stories. “Mr. Rivera has a vegetable stand there. If he hears somebody’s sick, why, he brings them some of the spoiled stuff so they can have a good broth. And sometimes Mr. Rosen adds some chicken wings to go with it, so we can have a good soup. It’s helped more than one person beat the cold around here.”

Such a simple gift. Spoiled vegetables and chicken parts no one wanted. No wonder the waste of the rich galled her so.

“That’s the school I attended until I was eight.” She pointed to a tiny building that wasn’t nearly big enough for all of the children who lived around the neighborhood.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was lucky to go as long as I did. When my Pa died, I had to work to bring in money. We all did. Even children too young to go to school can earn a few pennies a day.”

She continued the story after they passed the next building with its heartbreaking stories. “Ma said me and her and Jimmy were lucky when our Pa died. It was a lot easier to take care of three of us than some of the bigger families.”

In nearly every case, at least one member of the family had been arrested, imprisoned, or even died, while breaking the law.

Owen didn’t know what to say. If the ladies at the Society heard these stories, they might stay away for good, as if poverty were a contagious illness they might catch.

However, if they lived in the shoes of the poor for a week, they might change their minds.

R
osie smoothed her apron over her maid’s uniform, provided to her from the church’s clothes closet. The pastor’s mother had helped her to find a new, better-paying job to go along with her new life. Mrs. Braum, Macy’s mother and Owen’s Sunday school teacher, had taken Rosie in.

She thought she would be sent home when the butler opened the front door. He stared at her maid’s uniform. “Help comes to the back.” He sniffed.

Mrs. Braum swept past him. “Don’t mind him, Miss Carson. Come on in. I’m so glad you were available. Good help is hard to find. We may have another opening later, if you think your mother might be interested. I’ll call the head maid, and she can explain your duties.”

Rosie lingered in the front hall, catching sight of a full-sized mirror. She had never seen what she looked like from head to toe. The pins she had stuck into her hair kept it off her neck and out of her face, and the toes of her boots were a shiny black, her apron snow-white and her dress a faded black. Inside she didn’t feel nearly so black and white; she was bursting with joy in all the colors of the rainbow.

The head maid, called simply “Franklin” and referring to Rosie as “Carson,” had the no-nonsense attitude of a schoolteacher. She wasn’t cruel or mean, but she and Rosie would never become friends. She escorted Rosie to the kitchen. “When you arrive tomorrow, come around here.”

Rosie peeked out the door and saw how the drive swept past the house, around the back on its way to the stables. “I never been in a house with a back door before,” she said.

Franklin raised her chin, as if anyone should know at least that much. “Miller will undertake your training. This job requires that you work hard, but the mistress is fair.”

Following Miller around felt like trailing a jailer. Do this, don’t do that, be careful. When they were in one of the back bedrooms on the second floor, she explained her attitude. “I know your story. You say you’ve changed. I think it’s just a pious coat for the old you, so you won’t fool me. You’d better watch your p’s and q’s around me, or I’ll see you’re fired before the end of the day.”

At that, tears jabbed Rosie’s eyes, and she wanted to run away. She blinked them back; she didn’t want to ruin her newly clean uniform with a childish fit. Mrs. Braum’s house was almost as big as Mrs. Wilkerson’s, and room after room stood empty. Miller said the Braums entertained a few times a year, and guests used the rooms at that time. With or without guests, Rosie’s job was to keep the rooms clean and change and launder the bed linens at least once a month.

After lunch, Miller left Rosie to clean an indoor bathroom. Alone in the magnificent house, Rosie allowed herself to wander. She had never imagined such luxury in a chamber designed only to sleep in, not to mention a whole room just to take care of personal needs. Five pillows were piled on a mattress wide enough for three or more, but where most people slept alone. Even husbands and wives slept in different rooms, according to Miller, although a door connected them. That seemed downright odd to Rosie, against what God intended for man and wife. A ewer and basin to wash in waited on a small washstand, with a thick blue towel embroidered with pink roses draped over it. In the cabinet beneath the basin, she found a matching set. Did each room have its own bath? These folks didn’t even need to share bathwater. Imagine that.

Rosie sat by the vanity and stared at her reflection in the three-way mirror. This room must be designed for a lady. Right was her best side, she decided, as she looked this way and that. Peeking in the drawers, she found combs and brushes and a can of sweet-smelling powder.

Rosie had to stand on tiptoe to make the high bed. One thick mattress lay on top of another. Imagine having extra mattresses, when some people she knew slept on the floor. She shook her head.

After she finished the room to Miller’s satisfaction, Rosie cleaned two more bedrooms as well as an upstairs closet where she found a rack of coats and dressing gowns for guests who came unprepared to spend the night.

By the time she left at the end of the day, a kernel of an idea had taken root in her mind.

At Mrs. Abbott’s invitation, Owen attended the next meeting of the executive committee of the Ladies’ Aid Society. Pastor Martin was also in attendance. However, to Owen’s disappointment, Rosie didn’t attend.

Mrs. Wilkerson, who hosted the meeting, led the board members group past the large parlor where the Society had gathered to a small sitting room. Every item was perfectly placed—knickknacks sat on every surface with a precise design, and fresh flowers adorned an empty stand here and there. He sank into an imposing chair with a curved back, and when he was tempted to slouch he straightened his back and leaned forward, dangling his hands between his legs. The day he had put in had tired him out more than usual, thanks to his injury. But he fought fatigue. This subject required his entire attention.

The women who gathered were often in the society pages of the San Antonio Express, and their names guaranteed the success of many civic activities, from musicales to libraries to parks.

“You may wonder why I have called everyone here today.” Mrs. Abbott’s voice was rather like fingernails on a chalkboard. Owen cringed at the sound.

She looked straight at Owen, inviting him to respond. “I assume it has something to do with my speech the other night.”

She nodded, as if she were approving a smart schoolchild. “Miss Carson’s plea for help touched all of us, but I confess, we fear encouraging someone already committed to a life of crime.”

Beside him, the pastor fidgeted in his seat. “The Bible tells us not to judge.”

“But it also says not to throw pearls before swine.” Mrs. Wilkerson smiled as if she had spoken the last word. Her smile urged Owen to agree to anything she had to say. She was a beautiful woman. “That’s where you come in, Mr. Cooper. We hope you can help us identify the deserving poor.”