Twice a Bride (15 page)

Thursday morning after breakfast, Father and all the sisters gathered in the parlor. From where Kat sat on the sofa, she had a clear view of the game table in the far corner. But this wasn’t a carefree Sunday afternoon in Maine. Nor had they assembled for a family checkers tournament. This wasn’t the spring of ’96. This was autumn, 1898, and much had changed. Not the least of which was that Father now had a young protégée named Cherise. Thankfully, the young girl was in the kitchen with Miss Hattie, Hope, and William, so she and her sisters should be able to speak freely.

A teacup in her hand, Ida crossed her feet under the wing-back chair and smiled at Father. “It’s wonderful to have you here.” Her blue eyes seemed to hold the same concern drying Kat’s throat and holding her questions captive. Who was Cherise? Why was she in his company? What did he plan to do with her? How long did he plan to stay in town?

“Father, why are you traveling with an eight-year-old girl?” Nell sat beside Kat on the sofa, her back straight and her gaze as direct as her question.

Dressed in a herringbone suit, Father sat across from Nell in the Queen Anne chair. He rubbed the now-purple knot on his head. “I worked with Cherise’s father in Paris. Pierre Renard was one of the engineers on my staff.” He reached for his mug on the side table. “Soon after I arrived in Paris, Pierre’s wife succumbed to an illness that had beset her for years.”

“And what of Mr. Renard?” Vivian perched in an armchair on the other side of Ida. “Shouldn’t he bring up his own daughter?”

Father’s shoulders sagged. “He planned to come with me to America, he and Cherise. Then nearly two months ago, a riveted seam on a boiler burst and scalded him.” He glanced at the empty doorway. “Pierre died within the week. We had already booked our passage on the boat.”

Vivian gasped. “I’m sorry, Father.”

Tears clouded Nell’s eyes. “That poor girl.”

Kat shivered at a memory from her own childhood. She was close to Cherise’s age when her mother died, and she couldn’t fathom losing her father too. And all within two years. “It must have been so hard for her to leave the land of her birth, the only home she knew.”

“She cried the first two days on the ship and wouldn’t eat.” Father stared at the braided rug beneath his feet. “While he was bedridden, her father begged me to take care of his daughter. He made me promise I’d bring her to America with me, that I’d make sure she had a family.”

Ida set her cup on the side table. “No one expressed concern when you took Cherise out of her home country?”

Father looked at Ida first, then at each of them. Silver tinted the hair at his
temples. “I gave Cherise the Sinclair surname and traveled with her as I would a daughter of my own.”

But he hadn’t traveled with any of his daughters. He’d sent each of them away to sink or swim on their own.

“Father, I’m sorry for her loss and yours, but some would consider the action you took outside propriety,” Nell said.

Father set his cup on the table a little too abruptly. “And what of leaving an innocent little girl on the steps of an orphanage?”

“Of course, you couldn’t do that.” Nell’s posture softened. “I have many questions. That’s all.”

“We all do.” Kat felt the baby in her womb wiggle, and she rested against the sofa. “Why didn’t you tell us about your friend, about Cherise? You rented two rooms. When we heard that, we assumed Aunt Alma was accompanying you.”

He took a drink of coffee, then met Kat’s gaze. “I know you girls are fond of Mrs. Adams, but I think she talks too much.”

“And you hold everything to your vest.” Vivian shifted on the sofa, her jaw tight. “You hardly told us anything about your new life in Paris.”

Nell tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You could’ve sent us a telegraph from New York.”

Ida tugged the hem on her shirtwaist. “We should be grateful Father’s here, that he and Cherise weren’t seriously injured in the train wreck. Or worse.”

Father rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “It’s all right, Ida. I am indeed a man of few words, and you and your sisters have a lot to be curious about.”

“It’s not just curiosity, Father.” Vivian’s sigh blew the curls on her forehead. “You left home and sent us here without you.” She straightened as if doing so would bolster her courage to continue. “You’re finally here. Of course, we’re all grateful you and Cherise are unharmed. But nothing’s the same, not with us and not with you. I’m sure you have questions about our new lives.”

Kat wished she could reach Vivian’s hand and squeeze it. She understood her baby sister’s frustration. After a two-year absence from them, they’d all expected Father to be more attentive. Instead, he was distracted by a stranger.

“What is a … an older man to do with a child?” Nell asked.

His jaw tight, Father stood and walked to the hearth. “I expected my daughters to be charitable and do the right thing.” He looked at Ida. “I’m hoping one of my daughters will take her in.”

Kat heard what he wasn’t saying. The frown on Ida’s face said she too had heard his expectation. Did he really expect Ida to take Cherise? Was that the duty of the oldest? Or was it assumed because she was childless?

Hattie stifled a yawn as she poured orange juice into a small glass. She hadn’t slept but a couple of hours last night. Cherise had fallen asleep on the sofa in the parlor, and Mr. Sinclair had carried the girl up to the room directly above Hattie’s bedchamber. Cherise had cried out to him, and she’d heard him trying to reassure his charge.

Hattie’s mind wouldn’t let her rest, her thoughts teetering between the poor girl and the man who had, for whatever reason, assumed responsibility for her. She glanced at the child seated at her kitchen table. Long, straight hair framed the eight-year-old’s round face. A face shadowed by sadness. The girl had reluctantly released Mr. Sinclair to let him go to the parlor without her this morning. Except for the short time Cherise had spent in her room before breakfast, she hadn’t let the man out of her sight.

Hope’s giggle drew Hattie’s attention to the two wooden highchairs. William pulled his hair up like wings. Thankfully, those two were content for now, entertaining each other.

Hattie set the glass on the table in front of Cherise. The little girl hadn’t eaten much at breakfast but did agree to a second glass of juice.

Cherise gazed up at her.
“Merci, Madame.”

“
Je vous en prie, ma chère
 … you’re welcome, dear.” Camille would be amused to know Hattie was using the French she’d taught her on the trail. Hattie didn’t know this child’s story, except that she’d traveled across the world with a man who wasn’t her father. And without her mother. “I’m Miss Hattie.” She pointed to herself.

Cherise took a sip of juice, then looked up at her. “Miss Hattie?”

“Yes, dear.”

“You have mother?”

“I did.” Hattie glanced out the window. “But she died.” Something she had in common with far too many folks.

Cherise gripped her glass with both hands as if it might escape her. “Mine too. And Papa.” Her bottom lip quivered.

Her heart aching, Hattie patted the girl’s head. “You poor dear.” However did a man Mr. Sinclair’s age expect to care for this child? He’d raised a family and had daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren to get to know.

More than a little curious about the conversation taking place in her parlor, Hattie glanced toward the kitchen door. Each of the Sinclair sisters had a story to tell her father, a new life to share with him. They needed their father.

And Cherise needed a mother.

The kettle rumbled. As Hattie walked to the stove, her thoughts rumbled too.

What if she’d found herself in the same situation as Mr. Sinclair? Would she be able to raise an orphaned child?

It made more sense than a single man trying to do it.

W
illow breathed in the cool morning air as she walked down the hill on Fourth Street. She glanced at the two envelopes tucked against her side. Today she’d meet Mrs. Gortner, her first client. But not before she stopped at the post office and then at the Photography Studio for a word with Mr. Van Der Veer.

“Good day, Mrs. Peterson.” One of Miss Hattie’s neighbors waved from her wagon.

Smiling, Willow returned the wave. “And a pleasant day to you, Mrs. Eger.”

Willow liked the way the small town familiarity merged with the economic benefits and social opportunities of a large city. Yes, Cripple Creek was starting to feel like home. She considered Miss Hattie a friend, and she liked living close enough to Tucker and Ida for more frequent visits.

To the east, a sunbeam defied the clouds overhead and cut across the hills above the Midland Terminal depot. Autumn would soon chase away any lingering days of summer.

At the corner, Willow stepped onto the boardwalk. Bennett Avenue teemed with life in all shapes and sizes. Two-legged and four-legged. Businessmen on foot. Cowboys on horses. Even a boy walking a bleating goat.

An older couple dressed to the nines and engaged in lively conversation strolled toward Willow. The woman looked up and stopped. She smiled. “Pardon me, Miss. Might you know where we could find the Raines icebox store?”

Willow smiled. The town may be growing by leaps and bounds, but the world was small. She directed the couple to the showroom and bid them a good day. With the post office in sight, Willow crossed the street, thankful Ida had returned to work and would be the one regaling the couple with the features and benefits of the various appliances.

After mailing a letter to her mother, Willow proceeded up Bennett Avenue to First Street. She’d just turned the corner when Tucker stepped out of the Photography Studio, his fancy felt hat in hand.

Why would her brother visit her place of employment? He would have no cause, except to seek her out. Had something happened to Ida? to Mother? Her heart began to race, and her steps quickened.

He met her gaze. Smiling, he didn’t seem the least bit distressed. “Hello, sis.”

“Tucker.” She glanced at the studio door behind him. “Is everything all right? Why are you here?”

“Everything and everyone’s fine, as far as I know.” He set his hat on his head. “I was just paying your employer a friendly visit to welcome him to town and to invite him to church.”

“Is that all?”

“I am a pastor, you know.”

“Mr. Van Der Veer has been in town for at least two months, and you waited until after he’d hired me to pay him a
friendly visit
?”

“Yes, well, I did happen to mention my sister was a businesswoman and that I understood she now worked for him.”

“I’m not helpless.”

A shadow crossed Tucker’s face. “Seemed like a nice enough fellow. Talented too. I saw the photographs he took at the train wreck yesterday.”

“Mr. Van Der Veer is allowing me the opportunity to prove myself as a painter. I think it will be a good partnership, and the timing of his family’s move to Cripple Creek couldn’t have been any better.”

A grin made her brother’s brown eyes shine. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Your boss is a single man.”

Her face warmed. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t speak of your business.”

“Except to let him know I have a brother who thinks he has to watch out for me.”

Tucker looked back at the studio door. “Guess I best let you get to work. See you at supper tonight.”

She sighed. “I’m not sure I should come. Ida’s father, your father-in-law, is new to town and … it’s a family dinner.”

He arched his eyebrows. “I’m part of Ida’s family, and you’re part of mine. Big sister, that makes you family too.”

“But with the train wreck and Cherise, things are complicated.”

“All families are complicated.”

His matter-of-fact tone made her giggle.

“Besides, Ida knew about the complications before she invited you to supper.”

She had. Hopefully, by tonight Mr. Sinclair will have answered his daughters’ questions about the little girl he’d brought to America and eased their concerns. “All right. I’ll be there.”

Her brother touched the brim of his hat and strolled away, leaving her alone to face the man she’d happily assumed was married. But this was the nineteenth century, not the dark ages. Single women had every right to intermingle in society.