The Bride Wore Blue (19 page)

She looked away and stepped into the street. Carter ran a hand through his hair and followed Miss Hattie to the door. Vivian stood on the porch, staring at them, her eyes wide.

“We saw you at the corner, dear. Did you lose something?” Miss Hattie asked.

“No, thank you, ma’am.” Vivian stepped over the threshold and looked up at Carter. “I was thinking.”

“About how to avoid me?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Vivian quickly shifted her attention to the old miner.

Boney pressed his hand to his shaggy beard and bowed. “Mr. Boney Hughes, ma’am.”

“Vivian Sinclair. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Boney. My sisters speak highly of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Vivian.” Boney shook her gloved hand.

She turned to Carter. “Deputy Alwyn.”

Feeling more like a schoolboy than a lawman, Carter straightened his shoulders. “Miss Sinclair.” So they knew one another’s names. Despite his intention to remain detached, Carter wanted to know more. “How are you faring in your search for a job?”

Vivian’s head reared slightly. “Fine, thank you.” She removed her shawl, her movements deliberate and as smooth as butter. “Were you just leaving? ”

Miss Hattie grinned, clearly as amused by Vivian’s candor as he was. “Honest mistake, dear, seeing how we were all gathered in the doorway, but the men came to see you.”

“Me?” She didn’t look him in the eye.

“Yes.” His mind returned to the Third Street Café. Neither of them was open to romantic entanglements, but they’d agreed that friendship was good. So why was Vivian so uncomfortable around him today? Had she changed her mind? He cleared this throat, hoping to dislodge those thoughts. “You mentioned having sketched the clothing of the two bandits on the train.”

“I did. That’s why you’re here?” Her shoulders relaxed.

“Yes, we’d like to take a look at them, if you don’t mind.”

She glanced toward the stairs. “I’ll bring them down and meet you in the parlor.”

“I’ll have a cup of tea for you when you come down, dear.” Miss Hattie spun toward the kitchen while Vivian climbed the stairs, her head held high.

Carter felt a tug on his arm and looked down into the leathery face of the old miner. “Shall we do as the lady says, deputy?”

Ignoring the gleam in Boney’s eye, Carter nodded and led the way back into the parlor.

They’d just walked to a round table in the corner when Vivian sauntered into the room, carrying a sketch pad. She’d removed her stylish hat and gloves. “I don’t know how helpful these will be.”

He didn’t either, but it was good to see her again. On business. “You heard about the miner who was killed in his cabin the day I saw you in Victor? ”

“Yes, Miss Hattie told me the awful news.”

“Boney saw two men leaving Mac’s cabin the afternoon the young miner was killed.”

“You think they’re the same men who robbed the train?” She set the sketch pad on the table and seated herself.

“We have reason to, yes.” Carter sat on one side of her, Boney on the other.

She began flipping past page after page of sketches of children’s clothing. “Uh, I was playing with costume ideas for my niece.” The pink coloring returned to her cheeks.

She wanted children. That was nothing that should cause a young woman embarrassment. At one time, he’d fancied himself a family man … a father.

Carter nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. He needed to put any and all thoughts of a future with this woman to rest. Regardless of what his mother would or wouldn’t have done had she known his father wouldn’t survive, he couldn’t ask a woman to step into that kind of uncertainty.

“Here they are.” Vivian opened the pad to a page full of sketches of men’s outerwear.

She pointed to a single-breasted overcoat with a wide collar and big buttons. “This is the coat the tall one wore.” She moved her finger. “And his hat. I only had a quick look at his boots, but I think these are close.”

Boney peered over his coffee mug. “Didn’t get a look at the boots, but same kind of coat and hat I saw that day at Mac’s.”

Carter guessed that if he ever saw that coat or hat, even those boots, he’d recognize every crease and smudge. Vivian’s talents would be wasted anywhere here in town. Tomorrow morning, he’d call Etta Ondersma himself and put in a good word for her. “Your attention to detail is amazing, Vivian.”

Her brown eyes seemed to reflect his own mixed feelings. “Thank you.” Quickly shifting her attention back to the sketches, she flipped to the next set of drawings. “This is what the shorter man wore.”

Most of the items didn’t come as a surprise to him. She and Boney had described them pretty clearly, but neither had mentioned seeing a belt buckle. She’d sketched one in the bottom right corner.

“You saw his belt buckle?” he asked.

She nodded, focused on the drawing. “When he tripped and spun around to glare at me, his coat caught on the seat in front of me.”

“A racehorse with the word
Derby
below it?” As in Kentucky Derby, perhaps?

“Yes. The buckle was silver. This is a crude likeness, to be sure.”

“A lot better than crude, miss.” Boney smoothed his beard. “Why, those fancy cameras they have nowadays wouldn’t capture as much detail as you did.”

“Thank you, Mr. Boney. I enjoy drawing clothes. But I usually sketch fashion designs for women, not the fashion faux pas of scoundrels.”

The miner laughed, and so did Carter. Miss Sinclair was anything but predictable.

“Deputy, this one’s talented, humorous,
and
an eye-catcher.” A sly grin parted the whiskers on Boney’s face. “If I was you, I’d snatch her up right quick.”

Vivian gasped, her coloring deepening to a rosy red.

Heat rushed up Carter’s neck and burned his ears. Shifting in the chair, he looked down at the sketch. But the old rascal was right; if he knew what was good for him, he’d take Vivian’s hand and not let go.

Q
uit squirming like you’re sitting in a bed of mad ants.” Opal hooked her fingers under Vivian’s chin. “If you don’t hold still, you’ll end up with stripes up into your hair.”

Vivian sat in a well-appointed bedroom, wearing a silk chemise. A velvet black ribbon adorned her neck and two silk violets sat atop the dark wig on her head like a table decoration. She gripped the sides of the chair to still herself and looked up into Opal’s painted face. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job, but wearing this stuff … being here is normal for you.”

Opal raised a thick eyebrow. “I wasn’t born doing what I do.”

“My face feels like I got sloppy with the maple syrup.” Vivian folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult. I know there’s a lot here that I’ll have to get used to.”

Opal held a fluffy brush over the can of face powder the way an artist would hold a brush to a palette of paints. “You have nothing to worry about. Miss Pearl treats us all real good, and so do her clients.” A satisfied smile graced her light brown face. “The way I have you looking, you’re sure to be a favorite hostess in no time.” Leaning forward, Opal brushed ochre on Vivian’s cheeks, then set the brush on Vivian’s table and stood. “I wish I had your high cheekbones.”

“And I wish I had your height.”

Being here with Opal was almost like sisters playing grownup. But that was Vivian’s private life, and this was to be her other life for a time. As long as she kept the two separate, everything would be fine.

Vivian peeked in the mirror. Her face was at least a shade lighter, almost white, and her lips several shades darker, a blood red. Long brown curls draped her bare shoulders. No one would recognize her like this. Looking at herself now,
she
couldn’t even say who she was for sure.

Two bedrooms. Two dressing tables. Two mirrors. Two lives.

Violet.

“It won’t take you long to get used to things around here. Pretty much the same day to day.”

Opal pulled a sapphire blue Sunday dress from the wardrobe and helped Vivian into it. Buttoned and cinched, Vivian wrapped a silky cream-colored shawl below her shoulders, and then chose an embroidered lace fan from the shelf.

“You ready to go downstairs?” Opal asked.

As ready as she’d ever be. Vivian nodded and followed her new friend to the door. At this point in her life, all she knew was one foot in front of the other, so down the stairs she went.

Opal had given her a tour of the Homestead yesterday. The game room, the music room, and even the modern kitchen, complete with a full staff. Vivian paused at the doorway into the game room and drew a fortifying breath. Cigar smoke hovered over one of the green leather-topped tables where three men sat playing cards. One of the many things she’d have to grow accustomed to at the Homestead House.

Opal sashayed into the room, right up to the table. She made it
look so easy. The men paused their game, and the tall beauty conversed with them as if they were lifelong friends. Opal was acting, that was all … playing a character.

Vivian squared her shoulders. She could do that.

Miss Pearl stood in front of the liquor cabinet, her arm draped on the herringbone-patterned shoulder of a man much shorter than she. She turned and met Vivian’s gaze.

After whispering a few words to her companion, Miss Pearl swept her pink brocade skirt forward with a gloved hand and glided to the center of the room. “Gentlemen.” She held her other hand out to Vivian.

Vivian’s cue to make her entrance. Another deep breath. Miss Pearl gave her a gentle nod, and lifting her shoulders, Vivian entered the room. Smiling, she kept her steps measured and slow, her head held high, and the fan poised near her neck—just as Opal had taught her.

Then she saw that the man at the liquor cabinet had turned around. His balding head was fringed with gray hair. He’d bought an icebox from her sister, and according to Mrs. Hartley, he was a major stockholder in the telephone company. Despite her many undergarments, a shiver shot up Vivian’s spine. This man knew her family.

Just play your character, Vivian. Violet doesn’t have a history with Harry Updike
. Suddenly she was thankful for the gooey mess on her face and the tight wig on her head.

Miss Pearl glanced from Vivian to Mr. Updike, then to the three men seated at the table. “I’d like to introduce the newest addition to our family here.” She smiled at Vivian with the pride of a mother introducing her newborn child. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Violet.”

All three of the men at the table greeted her with a nod, but the youngest stood. “Miss Violet.”

“Gentlemen.” Vivian tilted her head slightly and smiled. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“Yes ma’am.” The curly-headed blonde didn’t look much older than Ida, in his early twenties perhaps. “And I’m enjoying the view.”

Vivian’s neck and face warmed, and she fluttered her fan. “Thank you kindly.” She quickly shifted her attention to the other men. Acting, that was all. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” She waved her gloved hand toward the cards. “I won’t keep you from your game.”

When they returned their attention to the cards, she looked up at Miss Pearl. Her newest boss winked at her with a look of pure satisfaction.

Vivian was doing her job and doing it well. Fanning herself, smiling, and being friendly seemed easy enough. And since that was primarily all she had to do as hostess, that was all she’d think about.

“Gentlemen, Violet and Opal will serve your lunch this afternoon. Enjoy.” Miss Pearl laid her hand on the arm of the banker in the oversized suit and sashayed out of the room.

Vivian joined Opal at the ornately carved walnut bar against the far wall, where her friend poured drinks from a cut-glass decanter, and whispered. “How did I do?”

“Fine. No, much better than fine.” Smiling like a teacher proud of her student, Opal poured another drink. “I tripped on my own toes my first day here and landed in a man’s lap.”

Giggling to hide her mortification at the mere thought, Vivian pulled a tray out of the buffet and reached for a glass.

“Unfortunately, he wasn’t my client.” Opal added a drink to the
tray. “Took me weeks to convince his girl that I wasn’t trying to take her business. Just clumsy.”

“That’s terrible. I’d say things are going well for me then.”

“So far, so good.”

Then why did she feel so bad?