An Agent for Marianne

by Christine Sterling

  He could see families washing their clothes in the river water and hanging them up on makeshift lines that ran between the tents.

  Archie was glad he only brought one small bag and he didn’t want to leave it unattended, so he carried it from the edge of the water towards the spot where the Pinkerton office once stood.

  As he moved up the hill towards the center of town the smell of charred wood assaulted his senses. He couldn’t imagine the chaos that must have ensued during the past week.

  He walked past the buildings that were burnt to the ground. He walked by women holding children and crying as they looked at rubble where houses once stood. He walked past businesses that were partially burned, where men stood outside the door holding Henry repeating rifles.

  Archie recognized the men as Pinkerton detectives. They must be there to prevent any looting while the businesses were being rebuilt.

  He nodded to the men, and they returned the greeting with a wave, as he continued up the long stretch towards the center of town.

  He wasn’t even sure he had arrived at the right location until he saw her. The street was unrecognizable. The second floor of the office was completely gone, as was the dormitory next to it.

  When he received word of the fire, he knew he had to come to Chicago to find her. He needed to know she was alright. That she was alive.

  Marianne was sweeping, a futile effort, but she stood there with a look of determination on her face.

  His heart heaved a sigh of relief. She was safe and uninjured. From this distance he could see tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Archie couldn’t recall ever seeing her cry. She didn’t even cry when they finally found the man that killed her brother.

  She must have sensed him, as she stopped sweeping long enough to look around. When she spied him, she leaned the broom against a safe that survived the fire. He could see her bottom lip trembling as she approached him.

  “Archie! What are you doing here?”

  Archie stood there for a moment, drinking her in. Her face was covered in soot where she wiped her hand against her cheeks. Her auburn hair was hidden, covered in the dust from the fire.

  She wore an ivory shirtwaist, which had streaks of black dirt, as well as a blue skirt. Archie recognized it as one of her favorites. It was ruined. The hem of the skirt was coated in at least six inches of dirt and soot.

  Marianne was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even though she had only been gone for a few weeks, he realized how much she had become a part of his life. Of him.

  He reached out and took her in his arms, enveloping her in a hug. He tried not to wince, imagining the soot that was being transferred to his clean clothes.

  He felt lost without her. But he wouldn’t tell her that. She was an employee; a subordinate. For as long as they worked together, she could never be anything more than that.

  “Marianne.” He let out the breath burning in his chest. “I’m so glad you are safe.”

  Marianne pulled back and looked at him. “Why are you here, Archie?”

  “I wanted to make sure that you were alright after the fire.”

  “I would have sent a telegram, except...” she waved her hand around what was left of the Pinkerton Headquarters.

  A young man interrupted them. Marianne moved away, putting a respectable distance between them. “I’m leaving for the bank, Annie.”

  Marianne nodded. “Is Werner going with you?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll be back to help as soon as my shift there is over.”

  “Thank you, Stuart.” The young detective left, and Marianne turned her attention back to him. “We are guarding the banks until they can rebuild. It has taken every single agent for this job.”

  “Annie?” Archie lifted his eyebrow. “I’ve never heard you go by Annie.”

  “I lost a hand in poker, so the name stuck.”

  “Poker? You’ve been gone less than two months. Your name is changed, agents are reporting to you, and you are playing poker?”

  “They report to Allan or Robert. I’m just here, at the office right now. My name hasn’t changed. I’m still Marianne.” She released a soft sigh. “They are simply kidding around with me. Werner, one of the newer agents needed to learn to play so he could …” Marianne put her hand on her hip. “Wait. You didn’t come out here to find out about poker or my nickname. Why are you here, Archibald?”

  “You need to come home.”

  Marianne blinked several times. “I need to come home?” She repeated it very slowly as if trying to make sense of his words.

  Archie nodded. “Yes. The office needs you. I’m afraid if you don’t there may be an uprising.” He stepped forward, causing the soot to rise in the air.

  “They are overgrown boys, Archie. What did you expect?” Marianne gave a little snicker. Archie could tell how tired she was – she couldn’t even muster a real laugh.

  “When did you last sleep, Mo Chrìdh?”

  Marianne rubbed her eye. More soot transferred. “I haven’t slept since the fire.”

  “Seven nights?”

  Marianne gave a little shrug. “No one has slept.”

  “You need to rest.”

  Marianne gave a sharp bark. “Ha! Isn’t the Pinkerton’s motto we never sleep?”

  “You aren’t a Pinkerton, Marianne.”

  She looked at Archie with tears welling up in her eyes again. “That hurt, Archibald.”

  Archie gave a groan. “That wasn’t my intent. I meant to say you aren’t an agent. The same rules don’t apply to you.”

  “I’ve been living with agents for the past seven years. I know the dedication that these men have to their jobs. To this office.” She waved her hand around the room. “Or what is left of it.” She poked her finger in Archie’s chest. “It is the same devotion I have to the men that work for the agency. If they don’t sleep, I don’t sleep. Simple as that.”

  Archie grabbed her hand. The feeling was electric. He burned every time he touched her – and Archie did not like playing with fire. He dropped her hand as quickly as he grabbed it.

  “Are you going to come back? Or do I have to drag you kicking back to Denver?”

  Marianne opened her mouth to say something but thought against it. She turned on her heel and went to retrieve the broom. She started sweeping the soot again.

  “You said the office needed me,” she said.

  Archie nodded.

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Marianne.”

  “This… this office needs me. They’ve lost everything. Denver is doing quite well. You have Pearl and Jacqueline. I know a few of the Chicago agents have gone out there.”

  “But…”

  “I can’t play this game anymore, Archie. I need to know, do you need me?”

  Archie was flummoxed. There was rarely a time he was speechless. He felt his mouth open and close. He had always imagined whisking her into his arms, but now that he had an opportunity to tell her what was on his heart, words failed him.

  He could see the disappointment flash across her delicate features. “I have my answer,” she said softly. Archie noticed her hand slip into her pocket for a moment and then return to holding tightly on the broom handle. “You need to go. Go back to Denver, Archie. There is nothing for you here.”

  Archie noticed a few of the agents had congregated around the pile of rubble. He could see the disdain on their faces.

  One agent came over and placed his arm around Marianne’s waist in an overly familiar way. Archie saw red. How dare that agent touch Marianne so intimately?

  He wanted to rip the man’s arm away from her and pummel him to the ground.

  “Are you alright, Annie?” he asked.

  “Yes, Connor,” she replied softly, patting his hand around her arm. “I’m fine. Mr. Gordon here was just leaving.”

  “Gordon?” the man’s eyebrows raised. “The Mr. Gordon?” He placed emphasis on the word the. “Why you
are practically famous here.” The agent stuck out his hand. “Connor Boyle.”

  Archie hesitated, but took the agent’s hand. “Archibald Gordon.” Archie sized up the man that appeared so protective of Marianne.

  It was apparent that this young agent had feelings for Marianne. He knew he couldn’t compete with someone her own age. She would be better suited to find someone to marry, instead of being stuck with a crotchety old man. Marianne was right. He was an eejit. An idiot.

  He could tell the young man had real affection for Archie’s secretary. He gave the young agent a curt nod. “I need to get back to Denver. Promise me ye’ll take care of me girl, there.”

  “That’s a promise, sir. We are all very protective of her.”

  “I can tell.” Archie looked over Connor’s shoulder. He could see Marianne swipe at her cheek. Her tears leaving tracks in the soot.

  As he walked away, he could hear the agents whispering to Marianne. He turned around to steal one last look as he felt his heart being torn from his chest.

  “Yes, lass,” he whispered as he turned to head back to the temporary train station. “I need ye more than I even realized.”

  Chapter 4

  January 1872

  Marianne closed the door to her room and looked at the looped script on the envelope.

  Marianne Chapman

  The Pinkertons

  Chicago

  Penelope. She finally had a letter from her sister. The last time she had news was in the fall, shortly after she and Angus were married.

  She quickly pulled out the sheets and gave them a cursory glance. She noticed part of it was in Penny’s elegant penmanship. The other part was in a series of printed words that if anyone were to read it, they wouldn’t know what it meant without a cipher.

  She and Penny had their own language. Marmee said they would communicate in such a way that no one else knew what they were talking about. It had been that way since just after they were born, she said.

  The letter was filled with mundane happenings: married life, life on the ranch, information about Marmee and Father; gossip about the brothers. Penny signed the letter with much flourish – spelling out her new name: Penelope Hightower.

  Marianne was so happy her sister found love. Even though she and Angus had differences of opinions as they were working together Penny had come to desperately love the gruff agent.

  She was pleased it worked out for them. Not so pleased that here she was, Marianne Chapman, nearing twenty-six years old and pining for a man who would never return her affections.

  Maybe it was time to let it go. Give up.

  After all it was a new year, and that should mean new beginnings.

  Marianne stood and paced as she read the rest of the letter, deciphering the words as she read.

  My dearest sister,

  I’m writing so that naught, but you, can read this. First, let me assure you that all is well. Alice is recovering, but she doesn’t talk about what occurred. Instead, she spends her day looking out the window and scribbling in a journal that she keeps under lock and key.

  The boys don’t ever let her out of their sight if she does venture from her room. I’ve never seen her look so timid, or fierce at the same time. She cowers when someone tries to comfort her, but then her yells can rival that of cattle being branded.

  Have you thought about coming home? I think your presence would be a great comfort to her, and Marmee.

  Angus will be heading back to Denver next month for a short period of time. I’m unsure if I will go with him or stay at the ranch. The boys are adding horses to the ranch and there will be quite a bit of activity as spring approaches.

  Have you heard from Mr. Gordon? I can understand why you have been smitten with him all these years. I think he knows more than you give him credit for, dear sister.

  If not Great Plains, then perhaps you need to go to Denver and resolve all that occurred? If you do, let me know when and I will come to give you the support you need through this trying time.

  Always, Penny

  She didn’t want to dignify Penny’s letter with a response, but Marianne knew if she didn’t write back, her sister would continue to push until she got the response she wanted.

  She appreciated her sister writing her thoughts in a cipher. It contained two very touchy subjects – the abduction of her sister Alice and Marianne’s feelings for her employer. It would never do if anyone at the agency accidently came across the letter.

  She folded the letter and returned the sheets to the envelope, before slipping it underneath her pillow. She adjusted the pillow once more and smoothed the chenille bedspread, pressing the loops of yarn as flat as she could.

  She looked around the room that served as her temporary bedroom. Once the dormitory was rebuilt, she would move back there with the rest of the agents.

  She remembered the first night she stayed here. It was the night Archie came to town. He must have said something to Allan or Robert, because an hour later she was given orders to stop working and taken directly to this house where a hot bath, a warm meal and a soft bed were waiting for her.

  She remembered sitting in the bathtub sobbing until the water grew cold. Then she ate a meal of cold chicken, pickles and cheese before collapsing into the bed and sleeping for nearly two days.

  When she woke, she felt better than she had in days. Werner had been standing watch, making sure she was undisturbed.

  “Orders of Mr. Gordon, ma’am,” he told her.

  She appreciated that Archie took care of her, but she knew it was just because she was his assistant for so long.

  She looked at her skirt, rubbing her fingers against the soft fabric. She had managed to salvage one outfit when she escaped the dreadful fire. That gave her the clothes she was wearing when the fire broke out, the second outfit and the few items she managed to grab before being pulled from the house and down to safety near the river.

  A brand-new wardrobe had been delivered to the house after she woke up. Marianne was grateful for the new clothes. She thought the agency was being very generous with everyone, until she found out that the other agents were given a stipend to buy some necessities and she had everything delivered. She didn’t understand the discrepancy.

  The Agency rented a potato farm about a mile outside of town and were moving there until a new office could be built. The men complained about the smell, but to Marianne it was comforting. It almost reminded her of home. After all, she was raised on a beef cattle ranch.

  There were four houses on the property – a large home, which Marianne shared with several other female agents. The men slept in a separate house on the property and the offices were moved into a caretaker’s cottage.

  Given the distance from town, the agents needed to adjust to being transported back and forth to the train stations, where previously it was a simple two block walk.

  The first month, when Marianne tallied up the expenses spent on hackneys, she was mortified. She had a talk with Robert Pinkerton, who was being groomed to take over operations once Allan retired. That is, if he retired.

  Robert agreed that her plan made financial and practical sense and Marianne purchased a buggy and hired a driver whose sole position was to transport folks to and from the station.

  She proved herself indispensable to the Chicago office from that moment on. It certainly was different than the Denver office. There was more money flowing in and out of the office and the agents were on either side of the spectrum. Those with very gruff exteriors and slightly harsh personalities, or those that were polished and young enough where experience hadn’t distorted them.

  She thought of Connor.

  The young Irishman that was making his way through the agency. He was respected by the other agents and had a plan for his future. They had dinner together several times, but never alone. He had hinted that he would like to be more than acquaintances.

  Marianne sighed. She didn’t think she could allow anyone to court her if she wa
s still dealing with these feelings about Archie. It had been nearly a year since the first couples were married in the Denver office. Everyone laughed; said Archie had gone mad. Everyone but Marianne.

  Marianne thought it was a genius idea. It ensured that she wouldn’t be looking after the bachelor agents any longer than necessary. So far, there had been over forty agents that had been married and stayed married after their cases were solved.

  Only a few had left the agency to build lives with their wives; and even the wildest of bachelors had calmed down once they married.

  Marriage. Marriage. Marriage. It permeated in every crack of the Denver office. It was on everyone’s mind. That is, except for Archibald Gordon.

  Marianne let out a sigh and gave her pillow a pat. She would write to Penny once she thought about what she wanted to say.

  Needing to return to the temporary office, she grabbed her wrap and headed down to the covered walkaway that connected the main house with the caretaker’s house. At least it was covered, and she wouldn’t have to walk through the slush and dirt.

  Chicago was miserable in the winter. Denver was cold, but it wasn’t Chicago cold. Even the short jaunt from the house to the office required Marianne to bundle up more than she was used to.

  In a matter of minutes, her hands would be freezing without the fur lined gloves that were sent as part of her wardrobe replacement. It wasn’t so much the temperature … it was the wind. She pitied the folks that were still living in the large canvas tents by the river. She hoped that their homes would be rebuilt as quickly as possible.

  She let herself into the office. The house’s furnishings, apart from the chairs, were pushed aside to make way for long worktables. Every space was utilized.

  Agents were gathered in small groups conferring on their cases. Marianne removed her wrap and scarf and hung them on pegs by the door. She walked over to the fire in the large stone fireplace and held her hands out to the flames.

  “Here,” Connor said, holding out a cup as he walked over to her. “I brought you a cup of coffee. You look frozen.”