He went on to tell them about the wagons they’d have to drive, the game they’d have to catch for food, and the hazards and accidents that could result in broken bones or death. Grace and the other women listened enraptured.
“You could be struck by lightning, drown in a river crossing, or die from snakebite. We may run into farmers who won’t want us crossing their land. Renegades who’ll think you’re ripe for kidnapping. And then there’s the weather. We’re going to try and reach Kansas before the height of the heat, but there’ll be days when we’ll bake, and days when we’ll have to drive the wagons through bone-chilling rain. If you don’t think you can handle what may be ahead, it’s best you leave now, because we’re not choosing anyone who can’t pull her own weight.”
A few women squeezed out of the pews and headed for the door.
While Jackson went on to discuss some of the skills the women would need to learn, Grace found herself impressed by his speech and manner. He was proving himself to be more than a rude, arrogant man who tumbled women into their beds. In talking about the dangers ahead, he hadn’t pulled any punches, and Grace appreciated that. He’d been a bit harsh in some respects, but everyone, including her, needed to hear the truth. She didn’t want any complaining about the conditions once they got under way.
Thinking maybe Jackson Blake wasn’t such a bad choice after all, Grace did a quick head count. There’d been seventy-five women at the beginning of the meeting. Sixty-seven remained.
When Jackson gave the floor back to Grace, she asked for questions.
One young woman stood. “Will we get a chance to see what these men look like before we go to Kansas?”
Grace nodded, “I have their portraits. They’ll be shown to the final candidates.”
Grace pointed next to a woman wearing a sparrow-brown dress and gloves who asked, “What about women who already have children?”
Grace told the truth. “Unfortunately, most of the men have requested women without children. Personally, I believe that’s terribly short-sighted, and if I ever do this sort of thing again, I’ll insist this attitude not prevail, but for this trip I have to follow their wishes. I’m sorry,” she finished softly.
The woman stood. After gathering her things she departed quietly. Ten more women stood, disappointment saddening their faces. Their dignified exits made Grace’s heart ache. She glanced over at Jackson and saw a solemnity reflected in the planes of his face as well.
The exit of the mothers seemed to cast a pall on the proceedings, taking the gaiety out of the atmosphere, so after a few more questions and answers, Grace brought the gathering to a close.
“Ladies, it’s getting late. Why don’t we save the rest of the questions for next time. I urge you to take Mr. Blake’s words to heart and honestly ask yourselves if you really have the fortitude necessary to make this journey. In the meantime, I will be going over your papers. On Monday, there’ll be a list of names posted at my bank of the chosen candidates. Thank you all for coming.”
The remaining fifty-six women left silently. Grace wondered if any would return. She looked back to find Blake watching her. “What?” she asked quietly. She picked up her valise and began straightening the pile of questionnaires she’d hastily stuffed into it earlier. The pain of having to watch those women leave the church still pulled at her heart.
“Maybe next time you can take only mothers and children.”
Grace paused and looked his way. She hadn’t expected sympathy from him.
“You look surprised,” he responded.
“I am. A lot of men wouldn’t care two oars about the feelings of those women.”
“And you thought I was one of those men.” He stated it as a fact, not a question.
She confessed truthfully, “We didn’t exactly mesh on our first meeting, Mr. Blake.”
“I’ll give you that. But don’t judge until you know.”
Feeling properly chastised, Grace replied emotionlessly, “And will you do the same?”
He nodded. “I will.”
Their gazes were locked, and for a moment, Grace found herself wanting to know the man behind the dark, penetrating eyes. Surprising herself with that thought, she hastily looked away, then busied herself with gathering up her things.
She’d forgotten all about the aunts until she glanced up and saw them standing a few feet away, watching her and Blake intently.
Blake seemed to have noticed them for the first time, too. “Evening, ladies.”
Dahlia smiled. “Good evening. My name is Dahlia Kingsley, and this is my sister, Tulip Mays. We’re Grace’s great-aunts. Are we interrupting?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Miss Atwood and I were just about done. Pleased to meet you.”
Both aunts smiled at him as Tulip exclaimed, “Well, we’re certainly glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blake.”
Grace’s aunts were as unpredictable as they were unconventional, so in order to keep them from saying or asking lord knew what, she jumped into the conversation. “As you see, I’ve decided to hire Mr. Blake to be the wagon master.”
“We heard,” Dahlia said, gazing appreciatively up at the tall, handsome Texan.
The smiling Tulip hadn’t taken her eyes off Blake since their introduction. She replied, “We certainly did. Mr. Blake, why don’t you come and have supper with us tomorrow evening? I’m sure you and Grace have much to talk about, and you can do it over a meal. What do you think, Dahl?”
“I think that’s a marvelous suggestion,” her sister declared.
Grace noted that no one had asked her how she felt about sitting across the dining room table from Blake. “Aunts, I’m afraid I’ll be working late tomorrow night. I have some—”
Tulip waved her off. “Grace, dear, you’ve been running around trying to get this wagon train under way for weeks. We can eat, get to know Mr. Blake a bit better, and then the two of you can retire to the study to work. How’s that sound, Dahl?”
“Sounds perfect,” Dahlia replied agreeably. “What do you think, Mr. Blake?”
Grace dearly hoped he’d decline.
“Sounds fine,” he answered. His eyes unreadable, he turned to Grace. “What about you, Miss Atwood?”
She was certain he’d accepted just to vex her. “It seems I have no choice,” she stated evenly, while glowering pointedly at her aunts. However, they weren’t paying her a bit of attention; they were too busy staring up at the Texan.
“How about seven?” Grace asked him.
“Seven it is,” he told her.
After being given the address and directions to the house, he told the aunts, “Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He then turned to Grace. “How about I pick up that contract, then?”
“That would be fine.”
He nodded her way and headed for the church door.
After he disappeared, the aunts were still staring at the door. Tulip waxed wistfully, “Now, Dahl, that was a good-looking young man. Did you see those shoulders?”
Dahlia nodded. “Sure did. I wonder if his father is still living? Maybe we’ll be lucky and learn he’s a widower.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” her sister reasoned.
Grace dropped down into the nearest pew and put her head in her hands.
Grace’s afternoon meeting with caterer Otis Hooper and his solicitor about his bank loan did not go well. For weeks now he’d been trying to bully her into lowering the interest. Today, he’d demanded to speak with a male bank representative because he didn’t believe Grace knew what she was doing. Holding onto her temper, Grace firmly pointed out that she was the bank’s president and lending officer, and that Hooper would deal with her or no one at all. The confrontation became so heated, Hooper threatened to take his substantial accounts elsewhere, but Grace didn’t back down. She knew that there were few White banks willing to do business with Blacks, and those that did charged a far higher lending rate, so calling his bluff, Grace walked over to her office door and ope
ned it wide.
Hooper sat there a moment as if his glare alone would make her change her mind, but when it didn’t, he and his man picked up their papers and stormed out.
Later, after their departure, Lionel Rowe stuck his head around her office door. “How’re you doing?”
A dejected Grace looked up. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Could you hear all the yelling?”
“Clearly, but I’m very proud of you. Your father Elliot would be, too. You didn’t buckle.”
“But he’s threatened to take his accounts elsewhere.”
“Don’t worry about that. He always threatened Elliot, too. He’s simply testing you.”
“Do you think so?”
Lionel nodded his graying head. “He’ll be back in a couple of days, ready to sign anything you want. He may be bull-headed, but he’s not stupid. You’ll see.”
But Grace wasn’t so sure. All the way home in the hired hack, her worry about having driven away one of the bank’s wealthiest depositors warred with her anger over his insulting attitude. How in the world were women to succeed if they were expected to pick up their skirts and run every time a man bellowed?
Now, up in her bedroom, looking through her wardrobe for something to wear to dinner, she had yet another trial to face: Jackson Blake. Upon her arrival home, the aunts had ordered her to change out of the brown walking suit she’d worn to work, and to put on something a bit more suitable for hostessing before Blake arrived. Grace’s arguments that she didn’t need to dress for dinner in order to entertain him fell on deaf ears. Tulip informed her that no well-raised woman greeted guests dressed in her work clothes, be she washerwoman, seamstress, or bank owner. Of course Dahlia had agreed wholeheartedly, so a disgruntled Grace had trudged up to her bedroom like a sullen adolescent to change clothes.
The bath she’d taken after coming upstairs had helped to melt away the day’s tension, leaving her less wound up and angry, but as Grace continued to search through her dresses, she dearly wished her aunts had spent last evening with their new beaus, the Henderson twins instead of coming to her meeting at the church. Had they done so, they’d’ve never met Blake, and none of this would be necessary.
Grace finally made a decision and slipped the choice on. She then studied herself in the large standing mirror. The dress, made of grosgrain silk, was charcoal gray and had a line of tiny jet buttons up the front of the close-fitting high-collared bodice. It had long sleeves edged delicately with lace and an upswept skirt. The dress was one of her best, and as she adjusted the fall of the skirt, she approved of her reflection. The black Fedora slippers on her feet were made of the finest Curaçao leather and sported a hand-beaded coxcomb bow across the slightly pointed toe. The little Louis XV heel raised her height by an inch or two. For tonight, she’d abandoned her pulled-back no-nonsense hairstyle in favor of a more femininely curled upsweep, and she let trail two soft curls down her temples. She looked fashionable and self-assured, and vowed that the handsome Jackson Blake would hold no power over her tonight. They’d eat, they’d talk, and that would be that.
Grace leaned closer to the mirror to apply a touch of rouge to her brown cheeks and a dab of paint to her lips. What was it about him that made her feel so at odds with herself? She reasoned that it might be because most of the men in her circle were docile, mannerly gentlemen who didn’t dare step on a woman’s tender sensibilities, but Blake didn’t seem to be cut from that cloth. She still couldn’t believe how he’d marched into the church last night and declared himself the wagon master without saying a word to her about it beforehand. He was going to be trouble—handsome trouble, but trouble just the same.
Grace took one last look at herself and headed toward her bedroom door. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear her aunts were playing matchmaker, but she was certain they knew she’d sworn off men. The liaison with Garth had proven to be a terrible mistake, and Grace never made the same mistake twice. Blake’s visit was nothing more than a business meeting. There would be no murmuring kisses, no tumbles on the bed, and no broad, distracting ebony shoulders. She didn’t want or need a man in her life. Not now—not ever.
While the aunts saw to the final food preparations, Grace set the table. The aunts had insisted upon using the best china and silver. Grace thought they were going a bit overboard for such a simple affair, but she knew better than to say anything, and so set the table according to their wishes.
When Grace finished, she stepped back and viewed her handiwork. Overboard or not, it was a beautifully set table. A crystal vase of multicolored spring flowers centered the white cloth and the sparkling place settings, adding an elegant touch.
She turned as her aunts entered the dining room. Tulip held a tray of sliced ham and Dahlia followed, carrying a bowl of her famous potato salad.
“Beautiful table, Grace,” a smiling Tulip said, then set the tray down.
“The flowers are lovely, too,” Dahlia echoed. “Vanessa taught you well, my dear.”
Vanessa had been Grace’s mother, and flowers had been one of Vanessa Atwood’s passions. From spring to late fall, Vanessa deemed no table setting complete unless it contained a vase of blooms from her gardens. After Vanessa’s death, Grace continued the practice because it seemed to keep her mother’s spirit close by.
Grace turned her thoughts away from the melancholy memories the flowers evoked and directed her attention to her aunts. They were dressed for entertaining. Tulip had on blue silk and her sister had chosen a dark green. They’d both had glorious heads of lush red hair in their youth, a legacy passed down from an Irish slaveowner, but now, in the twilight of their years, silver had replaced the vivid coloring. Grace asked a question that she’d been wanting an answer to since Blake’s visit to her office. “May I ask why you’ve taken such a shine to Blake?”
“It isn’t often such a handsome man graces our table,” Tulip replied.
“And if he’s a bounder, we need to know from the outset so you can hire someone else,” Dahlia added practically.
Grace thought that made sense, but still had a feeling the aunts were up to something else entirely. “So you’re not matchmaking?”
Dahlia laughed. “Of course not. This is strictly a get-acquainted dinner. Isn’t it, Tulip?”
“Dahl’s right. Strictly business.”
They both looked quite innocent, but the sound of the door chime prevented Grace from interrogating them further.
Tulip exclaimed, “Oh, he’s here. Grace, dear, you go to the door. Dahl and I will finish bringing out the food.”
They headed back to the kitchen.
When Grace opened the door, the sight of him standing there so tall and handsome with his wide-brimmed hat in his hand made her heart skip a beat. Once again, he was dressed like a man of the West. Beneath his long black coat she could see a gray shirt, a pair of black trousers, and a beautiful black leather vest detailed with silver. His dark face looked freshly shaven, and the devilish beard and mustache had been trimmed. His handsomeness exuded a manly power that commanded a woman’s attention. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
He nodded, saying, “Evening, Miss Atwood.”
Forcing herself to look away lest she drown in his eyes, she stepped aside so he could enter the house. “Were the directions helpful?”
“Very. I had no problems.”
“Good. Hand me your coat and hat.”
She hung them on the peg near the door. “My aunts are waiting. This way, please.”
Jackson followed her, feasting his eyes on the soft sway of her walk. She looked fine in the gray dress, mighty fine, he thought to himself. The curled upswept hair made her seem more like a woman and less like the bossy banker he’d been treated to so far. He cast an eye around the surroundings. The modest house with its paintings and good furniture seemed like a natural setting for Grace. She’d impressed him as a cultured, well-to-do woman, and her home reflected that.
After welcoming pleasantries were shared with the aunts,
everyone went into the dining room. Blake helped the aunts with their chairs and his gentlemanly manners earned him a smile from them both.
A seated Tulip looked over at Grace and directed, “Grace, dear, why don’t you sit there, and Mr. Blake can sit beside you.”
Grace would’ve preferred to sit on the far end of the table, but moved to the chair Tulip indicated.
As she pulled out her chair, Blake came up behind her, enveloping her in his body’s heat and the faint spicy scent of his cologne. “Let me help you with that.”
Once again finding herself lost in the eddy of his gaze, Grace shook herself free and replied, “Thank you.”
As he sat down beside her, Grace swore she’d cut off both of her hands if they didn’t stop shaking.
Dahlia took her linen napkin from the table and spread it across her lap, saying “Now, isn’t this nice?”
Grace smiled politely.
Tulip said grace, and afterward, everyone helped themselves to the aunts’ fare. Tonight’s menu consisted of succulent slices of spiced ham, potato salad, and steaming fragrant mustards. Dahlia’s dinner rolls were light as clouds and as always seemed to melt in Grace’s mouth. Savoring that first bite, Grace sighed pleasurably, but didn’t realize she’d made the sound aloud until Blake looked her way.
Jackson wondered if she remembered giving that same throaty sigh the night he’d kissed her. Probably not, he answered himself, and if she did, she certainly wouldn’t want to be reminded.
Thinking the look he’d given her was one of censure because of the sounds of pleasure she’d just made, Grace apologized. “I know ladies aren’t supposed to make noises at the table, but Dahlia makes the best rolls I’ve ever tasted.”
His eyes were lit with humor. “I understand. They are good.”
Dahlia buttered a roll and said, “When Grace was ten, she could eat a dozen of my rolls in one sitting.”
“Never gained a pound,” Tulip added, as she forked up a portion of her sister’s potato salad.
Before any more of her history could be revealed, Grace turned the conversation to safer realms. “How long ago did you leave Texas, Mr. Blake?”
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