Dejected in Denver

by Cat Cahill

  “I’ve known her quite a while, Ma. We’re friends.”

  Her eyebrows crested further into her blonde hair, which sat in a swooping style. “Friends? Eli, you aren’t taking advantage of this young lady, are you? I raised you—”

  “Ma!” Eli rose quickly, hoping to forestall the red he could feel creeping into his face. He paced to the simple fireplace mantel and pretended to study the clock. “No, I’m not . . . taking advantage.” He forced himself to take a deep breath before turning around. “It’s my job to know everyone in town.”

  “So you’re . . . friends with all the ladies in town?” Ma’s features twisted in confusion.

  “No, not like that. Not . . . friends. What does—” He sighed loudly. He didn’t even know what he was talking about anymore. “I see her regularly at her family’s store. She doesn’t know my feelings. That’s all I’m trying to say.” And he prayed that was enough to satisfy Ma. He took two steps toward the door, indicating he thought it should be enough.

  But of course it wasn’t.

  Ma patted the settee again, indicating he should sit. Eli remained where he was. If he was closer to the door, he could make an easier escape.

  Ma sighed as if he were causing her great pain by standing so far away. “Are you going to tell me about her, at least? This Miss Hill to whom you can’t bring yourself to confess your feelings?”

  Eli gritted his teeth. She made it sound so easy. As if it were a simple thing to tell a woman that he found her pretty and interesting and funny. As if it were so easy to ask her what she thought about him. As if it were child’s play to get permission from her brother to court her.

  All of it made Eli’s stomach twist into knots he didn’t know how to unravel.

  He took another step backwards. “She’s pretty. Beautiful, really, with dark hair.”

  “And?” Ma pressed.

  Eli slid backward again. “She’s witty. And smart. She enjoys reading the newspaper.”

  “That’s . . . different,” Ma said. “The newspaper is full of such dreadful things. I wonder what she sees in it? No mind. Tell me more.”

  Another step backward and Eli’s shoulder hit the doorframe. “She’s here in Denver. I might call on her.”

  That was enough to stun Ma into silence.

  He grabbed hold of the opportunity, spinning on his heel and making for the staircase. “I’m going upstairs to lie down for a bit. Tell Mrs. Gowan not to worry about keeping the stew warm for me.” And before Ma could say a word, Eli was safely up the stairs and behind the door of his old bedroom.

  He sank into the feather bed, grateful for the silence in which to ponder over Ma’s situation with this Mr. Smith. And yet, as he drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t to thoughts of why he’d come to Denver. It was to images of a sweet, raven-haired girl whose face lit up when she saw him.

  Chapter Five

  While Molly had known Uncle John’s work as a banker was lucrative, she hadn’t imagined exactly how well-connected her aunt and uncle were. And while it made sense in hindsight—of course Mama had eagerly agreed she come here to stay with them in her pursuit of marriage—Molly wished she’d anticipated it. She’d have brought more dresses, for one. And perhaps spent more time finding new ways to arrange her hair or practicing looking enticing and yet aloof all at the same time.

  Yet, it didn’t seem any of that was acting to her detriment at this party. Molly wasn’t entirely certain what the gathering was exactly. Aunt Ellen had mentioned a birthday, and yet there were at least fifty people in attendance in this large house just a mere half a mile from her aunt and uncle’s. Aunt Ellen and her friends had taken Molly under their wings, swooping her about the rooms of the house and introducing her to nearly every eligible young man present. Molly had stopped trying to remember names two hours ago.

  And now, here she was, seated on an uncomfortable chair in the drawing room, with the attention of no less than five men arranged around her while the lady of the house played a drawn-out tune on the piano situated at the far end of the room.

  “Perhaps you’d care for a glass of cold tea?” an eager young man with only half a head of hair asked.

  “Oh, no thank you, Mr. . . .” Molly shook her head at the man whose name she’d forgotten.

  “Preston,” the man supplied, his smile slipping a bit. It made Molly feel badly for not remembering, and she tucked the fact away in her head, hoping not to forget again.

  “I’ve brought you a slice of cake. It’s quite delicious—strawberry! My family’s company imported the strawberries from California.” A handsome man with a spray of freckles across his nose handed her a delicate china plate with a slice of pink cake topped with berries.

  Molly smiled at him, wracking her brain for his name. “Thank you, Mr. . . . Carter?”

  He bestowed her with a dazzling grin and she congratulated herself on her memory.

  “I’ll fetch you some lemonade,” a Mr. Emerson offered. He was gone before she could say yes or no.

  The cake was delicious, she decided as she tried a bite. It was almost too perfect to be real. In fact, everything about this house and this entire night was like something out of a dream. The homeowners had family money in steel, her aunt had told her on the short carriage ride to the party. And, Molly surmised once she’d arrived, they hadn’t restrained themselves one bit in spending that money. Opulent was the best word she could think of to describe this house. There was nothing like it in Cañon City. A wide, winding staircase, numerous paintings, various pieces of gilt-edged porcelain and china, glittering chandeliers—Molly was certain her mouth hung open the moment she’d walked in the door.

  And then there was the party itself. Aunt Ellen had introduced her as the sister of a prominent businessman in Cañon City. If by “prominent,” she meant that everyone in town knew Jasper, Molly supposed that was correct. And if by “businessman” she meant Jasper owned a business, that was correct too. However, she suspected these people assumed Jasper owned a home like this and lived as they did. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  But even as Molly struggled to remember names, the attention was awfully flattering. She’d wanted for nothing the entire time she was here. But at the same time, it was somewhat overwhelming. She could have laughed at the girl on the train who’d wished for two men to vie for her attention. She’d never imagined five. Or was it six? She could hardly keep track.

  Did well-off unmarried ladies who lived here have this happen all the time? Molly wasn’t bad looking, but she also wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room. She was smart enough to know she fell solidly in the middle when it came to a pretty face. Maybe it was only because Molly was someone new? It had to be. Well, that and they all thought she came from money.

  Mr. Emerson handed her a cold glass of lemonade—with ice! She couldn’t imagine how they kept it frozen. Molly peered around Mr. Emerson’s eager face and caught Aunt Ellen’s eye. Her aunt gave her a secretive smile, and Molly knew she’d been obscure with Molly’s background on purpose. She should appreciate her aunt’s discretion. After all, wasn’t this what she wanted?

  If only they weren’t so . . . suffocating. The moment Molly finished the last bite of her cake, Mr. Preston (she wouldn’t forget the poor man’s name now) whisked it away and a Mr. Browning asked if she’d like another slice.

  Molly declined, and yet another slice appeared in her hand from yet another man whose name she couldn’t remember.

  “She said she didn’t care for more cake,” Mr. Preston sputtered at the man who’d placed the plate in her hand. A third man—Molly couldn’t see who it was—retrieved the plate and took it away.

  “Perhaps she didn’t care for you to get it for her,” the other man replied.

  “Perhaps you ought to go look after your mother. She’s appearing less than entertained by Aaronson. You know he’s recently widowed?”

  The man who’d brought the cake whipped around, and, seemingly having spotted his mother in the cr
owd of guests, dashed away as the men around Molly laughed.

  The laughing settled into an uneasy silence as they returned their attention to her, and Molly wondered what they expected. Was she supposed to be witty? Or bashful? Or flirtatious? It was an uncomfortable feeling she’d never experienced before. She’d hardly ever been shy or at a loss for words around men or women alike, but this wasn’t a situation she’d ever truly imagined.

  “I . . . I believe I need some air. I feel a bit faint.” It wasn’t true, despite the fact she’d laced her corset a smidgen tighter than usual. But she did need fresh air—and perhaps a moment or two without feeling as if she were on a stage. She waved her hand at her face to emphasize her point and the men jumped into action.

  Before Molly knew what was happening, Mr. Emerson had scooped her up, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and was carrying her through the crowd. All eyes were on her as the other men pressed people away.

  Molly squeezed her eyes shut as her face went warmer than the sun on a hot summer’s day. This was the last thing she wanted to happen. Now everyone was staring at her. She could only imagine the gossip. They’d likely think her of weak constitution—if they didn’t assume she played the part for more attention.

  She had to angle her neck just so in order not to be banged against the wall as Mr. Emerson valiantly carried her to a small, empty sitting room in the rear of the house. He laid her on a settee as her entourage surrounded her. Aunt Ellen fluttered through, a hand to her lips when she spied Molly.

  Aunt Ellen sat on the edge of the settee and placed the back of her gloved hand against Molly’s forehead. “Are you feeling poorly?”

  Molly swallowed. She didn’t want to lie to her aunt, but she craved a few moments away from all of these men. “I should be fine. Perhaps if I just closed my eyes for a moment?”

  Aunt Ellen studied her face, and seemingly satisfied, rose and said, “Of course. Gentlemen, could we give my niece some room? I’m certain she’ll return to the festivities shortly.” She pressed the men out of the room one-by-one, until Molly was blissfully alone.

  She sighed as she leaned back. The chatter and music from the front of the house echoed down the hallway. What in the world was wrong with her? She had what she’d been wanting for so long now. Not a one of those men looked at her like a sister. None of them spoke to her as if she were a friend from their school days. In fact, they eyed her as if she were someone desirable. A woman worthy of courting. They’d even pushed each other aside to be closer to her.

  So why wasn’t she happy?

  Mr. Carter was quite handsome, and Mr. Browning was awfully funny. Even poor Mr. Preston was endearing—she imagined his future wife would mean the world to him. And they were all, she imagined, fairly wealthy.

  And yet none of them held her attention. In the back of her mind, she compared Mr. Emerson’s bright blue eyes to the soulful hazel of Eli Jennings’s. And while Mr. Browning made her laugh, it wasn’t as thorough as the way she’d laughed at the stories Eli had shared with her on the journey to Denver.

  Molly leaned her head back on the settee, likely mussing the hair Aunt Ellen’s personal maid had spent the better part of an hour on. What was she doing? Since when had Eli Jennings become the measure of everything a man should be? Eli—the man she’d thought for a handful of days might have feelings for her. But he didn’t. And it was silly to think otherwise, when he’d had months to act on them and hadn’t.

  No, he was just like the others back home. She was a friendly face—he’d said just as much to her only two days ago when they arrived. She’d do well to remember that.

  Molly sat for a few more moments, resolving to give these men a fair chance. She’d come here to meet a beau, after all.

  And yet as she returned to the party, she wondered what Eli would think of all of this. What would he say about the California strawberries, the grand piano, the gilded stemware—and the men who crowded around her as if she were European royalty?

  Chapter Six

  Four days had gotten Eli drawers of his father’s papers, one quick chat with a police officer, a handful of names, and approximately six hundred nudges from his mother to call on Molly.

  And so here he was, standing outside her aunt and uncle’s fine home on 14th Street, at eleven o’clock. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it opened for him, revealing a staid-looking man in a plain black suit. Eli swallowed, feeling suddenly far out of place. Molly hadn’t mentioned that her relatives lived in a house this large, or that they apparently employed a butler. He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat. “I’m Eli Jennings, here to call on Miss Hill.”

  “She is expecting you.” The man pulled the door open fully and Eli stepped into a roomy entryway. He glanced about as the man took his coat and hat. He was glad he’d left his guns behind at Ma’s; he couldn’t imagine the look this man might give him if he’d walked into this house with them on.

  As the butler led him into a comfortable-looking parlor, Eli took in his surroundings. Nothing about this house, aside from its size and location, said the Blanchets were moneyed. In fact, it felt like his mother’s house—warm and welcoming. A fire burned in the fireplace, a handmade quilt dressed the simple settee, and two inviting chairs were arranged at a conversational angle. One of them contained a gray striped cat, curled into a ball and fast asleep. Eli smiled. This was the sort of room a man could feel at home in.

  A throat cleared behind him, and Eli turned to see the butler with Molly beside him. “May I present Miss Hill?” the man said formally, as if Eli and Molly had never met. “Shall I ask Rosa to bring you refreshments?”

  Molly glanced at Eli, who shook his head. “No, thank you. Please, Eli, sit. Uncle John is at the bank, and Aunt Ellen will be down shortly.”

  The butler lingered a half-moment longer, eyeing Eli as if he didn’t quite trust him before finally disappearing from the room. Eli took the chair unoccupied by the cat, while Molly settled herself on the settee, carefully arranging a yellow-and-white-striped dress that made him think of a summer’s day by the Arkansas River back home. The thought warmed him, and when Molly glanced up and caught his expression with her soft brown eyes, Eli pulled at his collar again, wishing it weren’t so tight.

  “Is the fire too much? Should I ask to have it extinguished?” she asked.

  “No, it’s fine. It was the walk,” Eli said quickly. “After the horsecar ride, that is. I had to walk a small distance.” He searched for something to change the subject. “How are you finding Denver?”

  Molly’s smile lit up the room more than the fire burning nearby. “It’s wonderful! I never could have imagined how big it is. I’ve seen the horse railroad from the carriage. It’s magnificent, the horses pulling along the trolley on the tracks like that. Can you imagine if Cañon City grew large enough to need such a thing? And how many people there are! We attended a gathering the other evening for a birthday, and it was more like a . . . I don’t know. There were far more people there than for any other birthday celebration I’ve ever attended. And the house! Eli, you should have seen this house. It was magnificent. There is nothing like it in Cañon City. It even made the McClure Hotel look small and unimpressive.”

  Her enthusiasm bubbled like the river during the spring melt, and it was impossible not to smile along with her. “Your aunt and uncle’s home is very fine itself.”

  “It is, but not to the extent of the house we visited.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if she were telling him a secret. “Their silverware wasn’t silver. It was gold! Can you imagine?”

  “I cannot.” Her awe made him bite his lip to keep from smiling too much.

  “Tell me, what have you been doing these past few days?” Molly asked, her hands clasped.

  Eli sat back in the comfortable chair. “Helping my mother.”

  “Oh? Has she put you to work?”

  “Not in so many words.” He paused. It might help to unburden himself of the
debt dilemma. Perhaps if he spoke of it aloud to someone who knew neither his father nor his mother, some of the confusion might lift. “My father ran a lumberyard while he was alive. It did fine—not as impressive as, well . . .” He glanced about the room. “Anyhow, a couple of months ago, a man came to visit my mother.” He told Molly what he’d learned from Ma.

  “Do you think he was telling the truth?” Molly asked, her eyebrows knitted in concern.

  “I don’t know,” Eli said. “I suspect he wasn’t, but I don’t know for certain. Not yet. I’ve gone through some of my father’s papers, spoken with the city police, and gathered the names of a few men with whom he did business. I’m hoping to find a way to meet these men in the coming days. But I’ve turned up no evidence of any debts and no dealings with anyone named Smith. I suspect Smith isn’t the man’s real name. This evening—”

  “Oh, there you are!” Molly’s aunt swooped into the room, a friendly smile on her face and her hands reaching for Eli’s the moment he stood. “I am so happy you came to call on our Molly. Visiting a new place is wonderful, but it’s always comforting to see a friend from home. How marvelous to see you again, Mr. Jennings.”

  “He’s a deputy, Auntie,” Molly said as her aunt scooped up the cat and took its place in the other chair.

  “Oh, yes! I’d forgotten. A man of the law. That must be very exciting!” Mrs. Blanchet said as she settled the cat into her lap. “Molly told me all about how you rescued a dear friend of hers from a terrible outlaw.”

  A rush of heat flooded Eli from head to toe. Molly had been speaking to her aunt about him. “Well, I don’t know that I—”

  “Now, don’t be humble about it. It’s quite impressive.” Mrs. Blanchet barely took a breath before turning to Molly. “That’s a lovely color on you, my dear. Don’t you think so, Mr.—I’m sorry, Deputy?”

  Eli was certain his face was the same shade as the red flowers that sat in a vase on the table to the left of his chair. And if he’d observed correctly, Molly’s face was pinker than it had been also. “You don’t have to call me that. I hold no local—”