The Bride Wore Blue (11 page)

Perhaps she had no choice but to work for Ida.

Carter worried the brim of his hat, waiting for Pearl DeVere in the lavish parlor of the Homestead House on Myers Avenue. The tip of his boot bounced on the plush carpet. He’d be more comfortable rolling in a cactus patch. The women here were nothing but trouble.

“Deputy Alwyn? ”

Carter spun toward the doorway, nearly dropping his folder. He hadn’t heard the infamous madam enter the room, but there she stood in a fancy gown the deep green of piñon pine. “Good afternoon, Miss DeVere.”

A slow smile curled her lips, only a shade brighter than her neatly
coiffed red hair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Had she just batted her eyelashes? “Is it safe to assume you’ve come to your senses, deputy? You finally ready for our services?”

“You know me better than that.” Carter extended his hand toward two parlor chairs and drew in a deep breath.

The madam walked toward the chair farthest from him, her dress swishing more than necessary. Once he’d positioned the other chair and sat down, she hooked a thumb under her chin. “You know what they say, deputy. ‘All work and no play makes Carter Alwyn—’ ”

“I’m here on business, ma’am.” He waved the folder in his hand.

“Not only is that disappointing news for all of us, but an unnecessary waste of your time. Since Ruby left, I only have three girls, and we had our monthly checkups last week.” She snapped her fingers.

A blonde resembling a stage star entered the room. “Did you need something, Miss Pearl?”

“The deputy wants to see the medical records from last week.”

Carter raised his hand. “No ma’am. This is about a horse.”

“Oh.” Miss Pearl looked away, and with a wave of her fingers, shooed the girl out of the room. When the door clicked shut, the bejeweled madam met Carter’s gaze. “A horse?”

“You bought a dapple gray gelding from Jesse over at the livery.”

“I’ve purchased several horses from him in the past three years.”

“It was less than six months ago. A dapple with three white socks to his knees.”

She looked past him, squinting as if she were thinking, and then nodded with the enthusiasm of a fly trapped by a spider. “Yes, I remember. I sold the horse.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“To a client?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know him.”

“You sold the horse to a stranger?”

“He approached me in town on a Tuesday morning.” She stood, turning toward the drawn velvet drapes. “Said he needed transportation to go home to his family.”

“Where was home?”

Shrugging, she tilted her head. “He didn’t say.”

Carter pulled the wanted poster out of the folder and held it out to her. “Could it have been this man who bought the horse?”

She glanced at the poster and handed it back to him. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“The man you did business with wasn’t tall and thin?”

She shook her head. So Pickett didn’t buy his own horse, which supported the doctor’s report that the other fellow ran the show.

Carter slid the poster into the folder and pulled out the sketch of the second man Vivian Sinclair had described. He held it up. “What about this man? Could he be the one who bought the horse from you?”

A quick blink hinted at recognition. “No. Wasn’t him either.” She sat on the edge of her chair, her lips pressed together. She swept curls back from her temples. Fidgeting. Pearl DeVere knew more about the horse’s buyer than she was saying. “Why all this interest in an old horse? ”

Women like her were nothing but trouble. A breed of strife and suffering that haunted him. Carter looked straight at her. “I found the horse up in the hills, shot in the head.” Not so much as a blink from the madam. “Not long after a miner was robbed and killed.”

“And you think one is connected to the other? ”

“A witness saw two men matching these descriptions leave the miner’s cabin, one of them on your dapple gray.”

“That’s terrible. I never should’ve sold the horse.”

“Why did you?”

“The buyer really wanted him and offered me a good price.” She smiled and winked. “Wouldn’t be much of a businesswoman if I started turning down men with a desire and a hand full of cash, now would I?”

He’d have to settle for a hint of recognition for now. “Thank you for your time, Miss Pearl.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” The madam stood and smoothed her skirts.

Carter followed her to the front door.

“I hope you find your man,” she said. “Men, I suppose it is.”

“You can be sure I’ll find them.” Carter started to step over the threshold and paused. “If you remember anything else, please let me know.”

He set his hat on his head and stepped out into the sunlight. If he had expected Pearl DeVere to say or do anything to disprove his prejudice against women in her profession, he was undoubtedly delusional.

V
ivian walked up Golden Avenue toward Third Street.

She’d been in Cripple Creek only two weeks, and already she’d suffered enough rejection: Etta Ondersma, the millinery, the mercantile.

She needed some sister time. Nell had a way of inspiring her.

Vivian was willing to take the chance that Nell would be home midmorning. If not, she would have given her legs a good stretch and her mind a rest. She’d been in Nell and Judson’s home last week during the Sinclair sisters’ whirlwind tour of the town. They lived near the base of Mount Pisgah. Vivian decided to go down the hill and head west on Bennett instead of trying to navigate the maze of roads on the hill.

Fifteen minutes later, she turned the corner at B Street. Judson and Nell’s log cabin sat on the fourth lot on the left. Colorful flower boxes underlined the open windows, where yellow gingham curtains fluttered in the breeze.

“Vivian!” Nell waved to her from the porch swing. A knitting project filled her lap. That was Nell, always doing something with her hands.

Vivian stepped up onto the porch, which was just big enough for the swing and a wicker armchair. A basket of clothes sat at Nell’s feet. A half barrel of geraniums graced the corner on the other side of the door.

“I took a chance you’d be home,” Vivian said.

“I’m glad you did.” Nell tugged yellow yarn from the ball on her lap and glanced toward the armchair. “Join me. Sitting, I mean. You don’t have to knit.” She giggled and wove her needles through the yarn.

Vivian seated herself on the swing next to her sister. “It’s been two days since I saw you at church, so I thought I should let you see that I haven’t headed back to Maine.” She set her reticule beside her. “Yet.”

Nell straightened, a frown creasing her forehead. “You wouldn’t really leave Cripple Creek, would you?”

“I may have to if no one will hire me.”

“Etta’s Fashions?”

“She doesn’t have enough work for another seamstress right now, let alone a designer.”

Nell stilled her knitting needles. “I’m sorry. I know that’s the work you wanted.”

“The millinery isn’t hiring either. I checked at the mercantile too.” Vivian picked at a fingernail. She knew Nell’s next question: Have you spoken to Ida about a job?

“Well, then I might have some good news for you. I was in the Blue Grocery yesterday the same time as Mabel Hartley. She runs the Cripple Creek branch of the Colorado Telephone Company, over on Third Street.”

Not at all what Vivian had expected.

“Mrs. Hartley told the grocer she needed a full-time telephone operator,” Nell said.

“Telephone operator?” Connecting callers was a far cry from creating fashions. But Vivian’s dream of becoming a famous clothing designer had come to an abrupt end, just as her dream of one day being a wife and mother had.

The toes of Nell’s boots tapped the pine boards with each gentle swing. “Not what you’d hoped for, but …”

“It’s a job. Thank you.” At least the job of telephone operator would be steady work. Unlike costume design or even sewing jobs, which could ebb and flow like the ocean. There was no guarantee that work at the millinery or the mercantile would have been steady either. “I’ll go to the telephone company when I leave here. After we’ve had a chance to visit awhile.”

Nell’s smile brightened the freckles scattered over her nose. “Good. All our visits so far have been hectic.”

“And crowded.” A songbird chirped in a nearby sycamore tree, and Nell’s needles clicked in a restorative rhythm—the sights and sounds of bliss. Vivian relaxed against the porch swing and watched Nell work. “You’re knitting a blanket?”

“A baby blanket.”

“For a baby?” Vivian straightened. “Something I should know?”

A shadow darkened Nell’s blue eyes. “It’s not for us.” She laid the blanket on the swing beside her. “I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever bear Judson’s children.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” Nell pressed her hand to her chest and sighed.

Vivian fidgeted with the flouncing on her skirt. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t have what she wanted. The difference was that Nell deserved a family.

Nell wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m tired of reminding myself that Judson and I have only been married thirteen months. I’m tired of hearing about women who waited many years before bearing children, and others who never did.”

“It must be hard.”

“I know I should be content with what God has given me. I want to trust the Lord. I do trust Him, but I’m so weak.”

Vivian shuddered. She could write a book on personal weakness, and she was ready to defend Nell’s right to question God.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t stop by to listen to me complain.” Nell pulled the blanket onto her lap. “Having to wait isn’t the worst thing that can happen. An explosion in a tunnel killed a miner last month. His widow expects to deliver their first baby in just weeks.” The needles resumed their clicking. “The blanket is for her. Eleanor. She’s rather sickly. I don’t know how she’ll ever manage on her own.”

Vivian felt her shoulders droop. That was Nell, always tending to the needs of others. Vivian could never measure up to her sisters. Ida ran a business. Kat was not only a writer for a national publication but also a mother. And Nell had charity running through her veins. She made baby blankets for widows when she longed for a baby of her own. As a child, Nell had been the one to gather all their dolls and coax them to eat imaginary food with a real spoon. Her heart ached for a baby, and she’d be a fine mother.

“Come with me to see Eleanor Saturday morning,” Nell said. “I’d like you to meet her.”

It would probably do Vivian good to meet more people in town, especially those less fortunate. “It would give me more time with you.”

Nell nodded. “We can meet at the corner of Fourth and Bennett at ten o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. If I finish the blanket in time, we can deliver it Saturday.”

Vivian studied the basket of clothing at Nell’s feet. The dressing gown on top had a needle and thread stuck in it. “Mending?”

Nell nodded. “Yes. I wanted to finish a few more rows on the blanket first. The fires last year left many families homeless. That clothing belongs to the widows and orphans the Sisters of Mercy are helping.”

“You’re amazing, Nell Sincl—Archer.”

“Because I mend clothes?”

Vivian nodded. “Among other things.”

“Sewing is something I can do to help.”

Vivian reached into the basket and pulled the dressing gown onto her lap. “I might as well make myself useful while we visit.” She pinched the ripped side seam together and began stitching.

They talked about Miss Hattie, living in a boardinghouse, and the Sisters of Mercy. Then Nell cleared her throat. “Viv-i-an.”

Vivian stilled her needle. Her name in that tone from this sister meant Nell had romance on her mind. Only this time, Nell and Ida and Kat were married, and Vivian was not. She met her sister’s gaze anyway.

“I know you cared for Gregory and hoped to marry him one day,” Nell said.

“That didn’t work out, and Gregory went his own way.” He wasn’t the marrying kind. Vivian jabbed the needle through the seam a bit more forcefully than necessary and stabbed her finger. She stuck it in her mouth to seal the wound. Not so easy to assuage her bleeding heart.