Twice a Bride (6 page)

One artist from the Dakotas submitted a caricature. Trenton chuckled. It was doubtful that an impressionist image was what Mollie Kathleen Gortner had in mind for her mining-office wall. A third applicant talked about his portraits as sculptures. Another form not conducive to wall displays. The last two packages contained true portrait paintings. Mr. Davis of Denver planned to relocate to Cripple Creek to be closer to his mother, a mine widow. The man’s credentials were impressive and his work above average.

But Mrs. Peterson’s painting was exquisite. She’d captured emotion in her subject’s face. Trenton pulled her application from the bottom of the stack and removed the sample she’d provided. She’d read love on her husband’s face and captured it in the glint of his eyes, the shaded curve of his mouth, and the slight tilt of his head toward the portrait painter.

Trenton blew out a long breath, then slid Mr. Peterson’s image back into the butcher-paper packaging and added it to the stack on the table. He sat back in the chair and lifted his cup to his mouth.

He’d made his decision.

Willow finished writing the paperwork for the sale of an icebox, then glanced at the mismatched couple. The woman was at least four inches taller than the man. “All I need now is payment.” She pointed to the total.

Two weeks ago she’d sent her application to the Photography Studio. The photographer had no doubt chosen someone else for the job by now. Just as well. Ida needed her.

The woman pulled money from her coin purse and counted it out to Willow.

“Thank you, again, for your patronage, Mrs. Johnstone. Otis will see that your icebox is delivered on Monday afternoon to the address you’ve provided.”

On their way out the door, the couple dodged Miss Hattie and a large, flat package. Perhaps the phantom photographer had finally returned her portrait. Willow locked the cash in the desk drawer.

Miss Hattie set the paper-wrapped package on the desk and glanced at the door. “Business is good?”

“It is. I just sold them a top-of-the-line icebox.”

“I’m sure Ida will be quite pleased with the job you’ve done.”

If she ever returned to work. Sinking into the chair, Willow ran her finger over the wrapping of the package.

“It came this morning,” Miss Hattie said. “I was headed into town for my women’s Bible study and decided to bring it by.”

Willow pulled scissors from the drawer and cut the string. “It’s the portrait I sent with my job application.”

“I thought it might be important.”

“When I hadn’t heard anything, I thought I’d have to hunt it down.” Willow pressed the paper open and stared at the face on the canvas, remembering.

Her landlady sighed and sank into the chair across from her. “Sam?”

Willow nodded while swallowing a bitter bite of grief, then lifted the portrait to give Hattie a better look. “He had the best smile.”

Hattie leaned forward. “Warm.” She met Willow’s gaze. “With a spark of mischief, I see.”

Willow giggled. Perhaps she’d done a better job of capturing his personality than she’d given herself credit for. “Yes. He could be quite mischievous. My mother lost her voice many a time, scolding him and Tucker for teasing me with all manner of bugs and critters.”

“Before he noticed you were more than his best friend’s sister, I presume.”

“Mostly.” Willow’s cheeks warmed in the memories. She pulled the wrapping paper over the top of the portrait and leaned it against the wall. In the
process, an envelope slid onto the wood floor. Probably a letter of polite decline. She retrieved the sealed envelope and reached for the letter opener, then unfolded the stationery and skimmed the brief message.

“Your work is the best I’ve seen.”
Her lips began to quiver.

Miss Hattie straightened in her chair. “He offered you the job, didn’t he?”

“Mr. Van Der Veer wants to meet with me first, but it does sound like he intends to hire me.” Willow handed the letter to her friend.

Hattie leaned back in the chair. “When?”

“Late this afternoon.”

This job could give her a new path in life. But Ida still needed her. Willow looked around the icebox store.

“I had tea with Nell and Vivian this morning,” Hattie said softly. “Neither one of them has seen Ida out yet.”

Willow was about to ask Miss Hattie what she should do when a dapper gentleman sauntered into the showroom. She looked at the wall clock. Precisely eleven. Her considerations and her response to Mr. Van Der Veer would have to wait. She still had a full day of work ahead of her.

“Mr. Davenport?”

“Yes. Mrs. Peterson, I presume?”

When Willow walked out from behind the desk, Miss Hattie touched her arm. “I’ll leave you to your business, dear.”

It wasn’t her business, but Willow nodded anyway. “Thank you.”

While Miss Hattie walked to the door, Willow joined the hotel owner at a row of iceboxes on the left side of the showroom.

“This is one of the three iceboxes I spoke of on the telephone yesterday.”

Nearly an hour later, Mr. Davenport had looked at every one of the twenty iceboxes on display—small and large, plain and fancy, least expensive to the most costly. She pointed out each feature, from the construction to the ice block size that would fit in each one and approximately how long it would last, depending upon the quality of insulation in the icebox. Her voice was spent
and so was her patience. Right now, all she wanted was a tall, cold glass of lemonade and a shady tree to sit under with a canvas and a palette of paint. But she’d settle for sending the man on his way to think on his decision.

“I’ll take ten of the large Emenees and five of the smaller oak White Clads.”

Willow gulped. Sweat beaded on her palms. She’d only sold one icebox at a time until now. Ida didn’t keep that many iceboxes in stock. She probably had a special form for such a large order tucked away somewhere. “I’ll need to order them. You said ten of the larger ones and five of the smaller ones.”

He traced his thin mustache. “That’s correct.”

“Very well then, Mr. Davenport. If you’ll join me at the desk, I’ll prepare the paperwork necessary for your order.” If she could find the paperwork.

Seated behind the desk, Willow opened the top drawer and flipped through the various folders. Completed order forms. Catalogs of iceboxes. A listing of ice customers. No blank order forms. She pulled open the second drawer.

The businessman sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, cracking his knuckles. “Mrs. Peterson?”

Willow moistened her lips and looked up.

The knuckle cracking ceased. He leaned forward. “Is there a problem?”

Her smile was no doubt thin but the best she had to offer at the moment. She wiped her damp hands on her linsey-woolsey skirt. “I’m filling in for the woman who normally works here. I’ve never processed this big an order before.”

He arched his thick eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t call it a problem, but I do need to find the proper form. Then I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Mr. Davenport glanced at the wall clock.

If she didn’t act fast, she was going to lose the sale. “Let me telephone Mrs. Raines.” Willow lifted the earpiece and gave the crank a spin.

The operator answered.

“Yes, please connect me with Ida Raines.” Willow listened to several buzzes. Her pulse raced. She’d been able to pretend to be a businesswoman for two weeks, but the shoe didn’t fit, and right now she felt the squeeze clear up into her throat.

The operator sighed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Peterson, but I’m unable to reach Mrs. Raines. You’ll have to try again later.”

Later would be too late. “Thank you.”

She should be glad Ida finally felt good enough to get out, but why now?

She was hanging up the earpiece when she heard the bell on the door and glanced up to see her sister-in-law enter the showroom. “Ida!” She stood, and so did Mr. Davenport.

Ida apparently recognized her desperation and took long strides toward them.

Her customer tugged on the hem of his suit coat. “Are you the woman who normally works here?”

“I am.” Ida shifted her attention to Willow. “Is there a problem?”

Willow stepped out from behind the desk. “This is Mr. Davenport. He’d like to order ten Emenees and five White Clads.”

Ida smiled. “And you’ve not handled any large orders.”

“Exactly.”

“Well then, I’d say my timing is spot on.” Ida extended her hand to the customer. “I’m Mrs. Raines, and I’d be happy to help you with your order.” She seated herself behind the desk and slid her reticule into the bottom drawer. She pulled a file folder out of another drawer.

Thank You, Lord, for Ida’s improvement. And for the timing
.

Ida belonged behind a desk. Willow didn’t. But did Ida know that? Was she back to work for good, or had her visit been a fluke?

Willow pulled a chair beside Ida and watched a true businesswoman at work. Facts, details, and numbers seemed to roll off Ida’s tongue so easily.

When her sister-in-law had completed the order form and taken the
deposit, she stood and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for your business, Mr. Davenport. Willow will telephone you when she has a delivery date for you.”

Willow cringed. There was her answer. Ida wasn’t back to work. And, even worse, she expected Willow to carry on here for her. At least long enough to secure a delivery date.

When the man stepped outside, Ida pulled the cashbox out of the second drawer and looked at Willow. “You’ve been working here for two weeks, and without any payment. That’s no way to treat such good help.” She counted out thirty dollars and handed it to Willow. “Is that enough for ten days’ work?”

“It’s very generous. Thank you.” Willow had heard miners made three dollars a day for many more hours’ work on a very dangerous job. This may not be a good time to mention the photographer’s advertisement or the letter she’d received today, but …

Ida pulled her reticule out of the desk drawer and stood as if she intended to leave.

Willow stood too and stuffed the bills into her seam pocket.

“I appreciate your help, Willow.”

“You’re welcome.” Willow smoothed the ruffle at her neckline and met her sister-in-law’s gaze. “When you came in today, I thought perhaps you were ready to return to work.”

“Hattie came by the house.”

“She went to see you after she’d been here?”

“Yes.”

That was why Ida showed up when she did. “We’re concerned about you.”

Ida’s lips quivered, and she pressed her hand to her chin. “I’m not ready.”

Willow watched Ida go until the tears blurred her vision. Just when she was finally ready to leave the birdcage and fly again, Ida slammed the door shut.

V
ivian walked up Bennett Avenue toward the Cripple Creek Police Department and the man she loved. She’d thought it would be fun to rest the tin plate she carried on the shelf of her swollen belly but decided against it. As active as her son was in the womb, the dish was sure to end up on the ground. Instead, she held Carter’s dinner out in front of her, away from her overactive kicker. A cloth sack of goodies for Ida, her second stop, hung from her arm.

Approaching the corner, she slowed her steps and tugged her shawl tight. Not that long ago, she fairly hopped from the boardwalk to the dirt-packed road. But the baby she carried had sorely altered her balance. She was about to step down when she heard her name.

“Vivian? Mrs. Alwyn?”

Oh, but she loved the sound of her new surname. Vivian looked toward the familiar voice. Her friend waved, her smile warm. She stood nearly as tall as the street sign.

“Opal! Good to see you.”

Opal stared at Vivian’s expanded middle. “Has it been that long since I came to the house for tea?”

Vivian gave in to her whim and rested the plate on top of her belly. “A month.”

Opal raised a thick brow. “You’ve grown that much in a month?” Her
whistle drew scowls from a shopkeeper with a broom and a beak-nosed woman with a baby on her hip. Supposedly, ladies weren’t given to whistling. Or had Opal’s previous profession earned their disdain?

Vivian shifted her weight to the other leg. “If the baby keeps growing at this rate, I’ll be as big as Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse. I already feel as wide as a freight wagon.”