Imogene's Ingenuity (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 9)

by Reina Torres

  “Ideas are one thing,” Appleton leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table, “but electing a woman to office would be a great disservice to the person serving the office.”

  Mr. Hampton took his wife’s hand in his. “I’m sure you have a good reason for your opinion, sir.”

  Silas heard the soft tone of warning in Mr. Hampton’s voice, but he had a feeling that Appleton didn’t.

  Sadly, he was right.

  “I mean no disrespect, sir. I have met so many fine women here in Bower, but the thought of putting a woman in the unenviable position of holding office seems to be a cruel punishment rather than an accomplishment.”

  Mr. Laughlin cleared his throat and reached for another slice of bread. “Brings me to mind of a runaway train.”

  Appleton turned in his direction. “What about a train?”

  Shrugging, Mr. Laughlin folded a long torn-off piece of bread into his mouth.

  Silas watched as Appleton’s brow furrowed.

  “And really,” Appleton seemed determined to prove his point, “women don’t have suffrage here in Colorado. I couldn’t see voting for a woman in an election where she can’t vote for herself.”

  Silence reigned after that comment.

  Soon enough, Mr. Laughlin rose from his seat and thanked his hosts for the meal. Others followed on his heels and Silas watched as Appleton tried to catch Imogene’s eye as she helped to clear the table.

  While he didn’t consider the other man a friend, he didn’t want to watch the awkward moment. Standing up, Silas picked up the plate on either side of his and scraped the remains off of each onto a single plate and stacked them up. He was reaching for a fourth when he noticed the scent of cinnamon.

  He turned slightly and saw Mrs. Hampton at his side. “Mrs. Hampton, I’m very thankful that you made room for me tonight.”

  “Always a pleasure, Mr. Hix.” She took hold of the stack of plates and placed them on her own. “In fact, tonight was a singular pleasure,” she explained, “you have a poet’s soul. I know I was impressed with your comments about our valley. Certainly you inspired Miss Wigg with your words. She’s ready to advertise our humble town all over the known world.”

  “Well,” he chanced a look down the table and found the other side of the long table empty, “if I was able to inspire her in the least, I would be honored. When I first visited Bower, I was impressed by the people and the town that had risen up from the valley floor, but it was the natural beauty that surrounded me that won my heart. If I can share the littlest bit of that love with others, I will consider myself grateful.”

  Balancing the stack of plates against her middle, Mrs. Hampton looked at him with open curiosity. “Again, I am surprised.”

  “Dare I ask?” He knew by the spark of humor in her eyes he was likely to regret asking her to clarify her comment.

  Mrs. Hampton shrugged and the plates she held jostled against each other. “In all the time that we have known you, Mr. Hix, I don’t believe you’ve said more than a few score words in conversation. Tonight,” she nodded back at the long table, “you were practically verbose.”

  As she finished her comment, Imogene moved past them into the kitchen. Silas was helpless to do anything other than follow her movement with his eyes, which didn’t help him when he turned back to look at Mrs. Hampton.

  “Were you… perhaps… inspired by this evening?”

  “Inspired,” he murmured, “quite inspired.”

  Mrs. Hampton’s smile changed and became nearly secretive. “Splendid.”

  Chapter 7

  Almost a week later, Silas was up to his eyebrows in work.

  When the bells sounded as the door opened up, he couldn’t hide the smile on his lips. “What is it now, Miss Wigg? Have you found another job for me?”

  “Funny you should ask that.”

  His mood fell like a boulder into a river, instantly and deep. Setting what he hoped was a civil smile on his lips, Silas turned around. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winslet. What is it that you need?”

  “I do not believe that you’re asking me that question.” He looked around the room. “Is this really where she’s been spending her days?”

  Silas followed his distasteful gaze and saw what the other man might. The floor was a little dusty in the corners. Working alone and being as busy as he had recently, certain things had fallen by the wayside.

  Still, he was proud of what he’d built. Proud of his relationship with Miss Wigg. He’d been respectful with her, gentle in his address, kept enough distance between them that no one would find fault.

  Well, that most wouldn’t find fault, but he would bet money that the man standing before him could find fault with a saint.

  “Miss Wigg has visited me here. She has been a good friend to me, helping to find businesses that need printing work done. I am grateful for her help.”

  “And is that enough?”

  There it was again, that censuring tone.

  “Is what enough? I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  The attorney narrowed his gaze at him and shook his head. “It must be wonderful to be so numb to the world around you.” Winslet took another dark look at the room. “You hardly leave this building.” He lifted a hand and waved a condemning gesture toward the corner. “You’re up to all hours at that… press. Besides the odd meals at the Hampton House, do you ever see anyone else on a regular basis?”

  He wanted to say that he’d seen Miss Wigg often enough, but that wouldn’t have been of any help, given the other man’s warning earlier.

  “I prefer to keep to myself and work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “This is a growing town. A respectable community. And people talk. They keep an eye on their neighbors.”

  “Is someone saying something about Miss Wigg?”

  The idea bothered Silas deeply.

  And given the look on Mr. Winslet’s face, he had an idea that the other man knew he cared.

  “Not yet,” he continued on quickly, “at least not that I’ve heard, but if this continues,” Appleton gestured at Silas and the empty space beside him, “no doubt that you’ll harm her reputation with this… relationship of yours and-”

  “Don’t-” Silas couldn’t stop himself, he was suddenly toe-to-toe with the other man, his chin pointing at the smaller man’s nose. “Don’t threaten her. Miss Wigg doesn’t deserve your accusations.”

  “Miss Wigg doesn’t deserve to be locked away in this room, either. If you continue to insinuate yourself into her life, she’s likely to be linked to you in the most distasteful of ways.”

  “Leave.” Silas’ hands were fists at his sides and his heart was pounding against his ribs. “Leave now.”

  “Did I cut too close to the bone?”

  Winslet looked all too happy and Silas felt his anger grow hotter.

  “I asked you to leave, Mr. Winslet. If you refuse, then I shall have to throw you out of my business and then,” he swallowed and leaned down into the other man’s face, “then, people will talk and you will be the topic of discussion when they learn that you are trying to ruin the reputation of a good woman.”

  They were at an impasse.

  Toe-to-toe they stood there. Winslet’s breath on Silas’ neck, the difference in height making the printer all too happy at that moment. And Silas was able to see that there was a thinning patch on the top of the other man’s head.

  “I asked you to leave and I will say it again. Leave. Now.”

  He could almost see the wheels turning in the other man’s head.

  “I’ll leave.” He took a step back but kept his gaze directed at Silas. “Just think about what you’re doing. You don’t have the time or room,” he gestured at the small second floor living space above their heads, “for a wife, let alone a family. Keep that in mind.”

  Silas didn’t move. He watched the attorney turn on his heel and stride out the front door and into the darkening afternoon.

  H
e found his own mood mirrored in the light of day.

  The door opened up under her hand and she stepped inside. “Goodness,” she smiled as she worked on her gloves, struggling to remove the second, “it’s snowing outside.”

  “Snowing?” She heard his half-mumbled tone as he bent over the printer, setting a new chase in place. “Hmm… snowing.”

  Imogene laughed and managed to free her fingers from the second glove. “You know,” she tucked the gloves into her coat pocket and moved closer, “you could raise the press higher on blocks.”

  “Hmm?” He laid the level on the top of the chase and nodded. “Sure, sure…”

  Imogene laughed and started to work on the buttons down the front of her coat. “And then an elephant walked through town.”

  “Mmmhmm, elephant.” He set a piece of paper into the frame to do a test. “Interesting”

  She paused as her fingers reached the button at her waist. “It was, but that was before I roped a wild horse and swung up on his back. He ran away with me and I would have plunged into the river if it hadn’t been for the pine tree that loomed up before me.” She shrugged the coat off of her shoulders and laid it over a stack of books. “I reached out and grabbed the nearest branch and hung there, screaming at the top of my lungs until half the town came to my rescue.”

  Imogene let the sound of her voice fade in the room and watched as Silas inked the chase for the test print.

  It was fun to watch him work. He knew what he was doing. His movements, efficient. He had his supplies neat and tidy and ready at hand.

  And he could get so absorbed in his work. Just like that very moment. He listened, but he couldn’t really hear.

  It would come up in his mind later when he was able to tear himself away from the machine.

  She smiled at the back of his head and sighed. “I’ll just check the desk.”

  “Mmmhmm,” he was giving the chase one last look, “the desk.”

  Imogene left the coat where it was and crossed the room. There were two new orders laid on the desk, held down under weights so the air that entered in with each new person through the front door would not fling the paper around the room.

  Smiling, Imogene saw that her customary chair was still in the place that she had left it.

  Picking up the first order, she saw that it was a new letterhead for the Haverhill Mining Company. Turning on the chair she looked at Silas, hunched over the test print of the new job. His eyes were focused on the paper, taking in each line, each tiny little mark. He was hardworking and dedicated to his future.

  Truly, a man to admire.

  She sighed, silently, unwilling to startle him and break his concentration.

  Lifting up the next desk weight, she picked up the paper and read through the text.

  “What is this?”

  Startling herself, Imogene tried to cover her mouth, but the damage had been done. When she looked across the room she saw Silas looking back at her.

  “Sorry,” she dropped her hand down a little, “I was trying to be quiet, but then I saw this,” she raised the paper up in her hand and wiggled it a little so the page quivered in the air.

  She saw a myriad of emotions cross his features. “I was hoping to speak to you before you read that.”

  “Why?” Again, she winced at the way she blurted out her thoughts. “Sorry.”

  He set aside his work and crossed over to the desk, coming to a stop beside her. “Why are you sorry? As far as things are going, it feels like the desk is yours.”

  At her indrawn breath his smile broadened.

  “Only you would be excited to be drafted into work, Miss Wigg.”

  “Work is what I want.” She struggled to keep her smile in place. “I understand why you can’t have me here all the time- I mean I shouldn’t even be in here for as long as I am now, but…”

  “So far, there isn’t a lot in this part of town,” he conceded. “When the restaurant opens, that will likely change.”

  She let out a sigh. “So, I have a few months left of hiding myself away in here and setting type for you.”

  He set his hands on his hips and nodded. “And even though I can’t hire you… publicly,” he lifted his gaze to her face, and she knew he was watching her expression closely. “I can’t continue to accept your help without compensating you somehow. I can pay you what I’d planned to pay an assistant, I just-”

  Something moved outside the window and he looked up, his brow furrowed with worry.

  Imogene saw the change in him and felt a deep sadness. That she made him worry hurt her deep inside. It wasn’t something she had intended to do, but it had happened none the less.

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to me,” she explained. “I didn’t offer to help to make you feel bad about it or obligated.” The paper in her hand crinkled a little at the added pressure. “The last thing I want to do is hurt our friendship.”

  He turned to look at her with such a speed and swiftness that she nearly fell back. “Our what?”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. Felt her heart stutter in her chest as her hands went numb. “Our friendship.” She managed to repeat the words even with the dark cloud of dread over her. “Aren’t we friends?”

  “Friends.” He repeated the word slowly and lifted a hand to cover the back of his neck. “A woman as a friend.”

  The concept seemed to stagger him.

  In a way it had the same effect on her.

  Until she’d said the words, she hadn’t consciously thought them.

  In her life, men had been teachers.

  Men had been helpers.

  Employees at the school.

  And in the last few months, men had been someone to marry.

  All of her friends had been women. First, her sisters and now she had a group of friends here in Bower.

  A man as a friend almost seemed like a foreign language to her, and yet that was the truest name she could give their interactions and her feelings for Silas Hix.

  “I admit,” his words began slowly, as if he was walking up a long steep hill and was searching for purchase with his feet, “that there are women who I am friendly with. Mrs. Hampton and Mrs. Clement are both fine women who I respect and admire, but if someone asked if they were my friends I would probably demure and stumble over what to say in response.”

  Imogene felt as if she were holding her breath as he looked over at her as she sat at the desk. She worried that the harsh winter wind had mussed her hair or put a stain of odd coloring on her cheeks.

  “I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”

  She looked at him, wondering at the warning. “How so?”

  “I fixate on things,” he explained, “especially work.”

  Imogene looked up at him. “I would too if I had your job.” She felt a twinge of humor in her tone and hoped he would see it for what it was.

  “I still plan to pay you for your work.”

  “I won’t try to stop you… too much.” She felt a weight lifting off of her shoulders. “Will that mean that you might confide in me from time to time?”

  “Confide?” He was confused… again.

  Setting down the papers in her hand, Imogene smoothed her hand over them to ease the wrinkles.

  “This? What is this?”

  “That?” He moved another step closer, coming up to her side at the desk. Placing his palm flat on the surface he looked over the words.

  Imogene flickered her gaze from the paper and then back up to his eyes and down again, wondering if she could tell exactly where his attention was on the paper just by watching him.

  “It’s something I wrote the other night after supper.” She hoped that was a touch of pride she heard in his words. It spoke of confidence and Silas deserved to have that in his life. “When I spoke to you about this town.”

  “Spoke,” she paused, “to me?”

  A smile turned up the corners of his mouth nearly into a grin. “There were other people
there,” he admitted, “but I find it important to tell you that the description of my feelings… my observations were for you. I wanted you to share the way I felt, if only for that moment.”

  She could barely breathe, let alone find the words to tell him that she had indeed, shared his feelings. Or at least that his words had affected her greatly. That his words from the other night had repeated themselves over and over in her head until she felt as if she could recite them like the poetry they were.

  But those words, even in her head, sounded dangerously more than friendship.

  “And these words?” She forced herself to speak. “What is this for?”

  She looked up as he focused his gaze on the paper, his expression easing from the tight strain of nerves to an easy smile.

  “This is, I believe, what you were looking for. An endorsement of our town in both its natural beauty and the opportunities that it offers. I’ve probably written too much in the way of a single page of information, but I think it might be a good draft in need of an editor with a sharp eye and a creative soul.” He turned just a little, leaning his hip on the desk as he looked down at her. “Will you help me again?”

  Imogene wanted to stand up and wrap her arms around him for a hug, but that, even as a friend, would be too dangerous of a physical expression, so she held herself back and answered him with a simple nod and a word. “Yes.”

  As he went back to his work at the press, Imogene opened a drawer in the desk and retrieved a pencil. Tucking the heels of her boots on a low rung of her chair she braced her elbows on the surface and began to read.

  And as she was drawn deeper and deeper into the work, finding herself engaged in the descriptions that he had created, she lost track of the world around her.

  And the world outside the walls.

  Silas was in the same predicament, focused on his work.

  As they continued on, neither had any idea that the world, just outside their little office had turned winter white and was quickly disappearing into drifts of snow.

  Chapter 8