A Sensible Arrangement

by Tracie Peterson

  A shiver went up her spine. She didn’t like the idea of people sneaking around the house. But she also didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She needed to make sure she hadn’t mistaken one of their own workers for this mystery man. Marty made her way down the porch stairs and around to the back of the house, crossing to the stable.

  “Samson?” she called, pausing just inside the doorway.

  “Mr. Samson is fetching supplies for Mrs. Landry,” Obed, the young groomsman, replied. He beamed a broad smile. “Can I help you?” His eyes widened at the sight of the shotgun. “You gonna go huntin’, Miz Wythe?”

  Marty smiled and shook her head. “Have you seen anything of Mr. Lawrence . . . the gardener?”

  “No, ma’am. He ain’t been here today. Leastwise not yet.”

  Marty nodded. It answered her question. She turned to go, but the boy called after her. “You want that I should have Mr. Lawrence come to you when he gets here?”

  “No. That won’t be necessary.”

  “It was good of you to come today, Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Brentwood said, leading her down the hall of the orphanage. “As I mentioned to you when we first met, we have only been open a month and already we have fifty children.”

  “Goodness. I had no idea there were that many orphans in the area,” Marty replied.

  Mr. Brentwood gave her a sympathetic look. “My dear Mrs. Wythe, these are but a handful of those out there. Denver has many orphanages. Some are run by churches, and others like ours are helped by the city or are funded by private individuals. Unfortunately, there are hundreds if not thousands of motherless and fatherless children in Colorado.”

  Marty couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Where do they all come from?”

  “A great many have come to us from the mining towns to the west. Parents left their homes in the East and came to find gold or silver. Unfortunately, most found starvation and death. Rather than see their children die, they leave them with us or one of the other institutions.” He paused at a classroom door.

  “This is where we school grades one through three. Miss Vernon is the teacher here.”

  Marty looked into the classroom and found a dozen or more children. It appeared the tall, willowy Miss Vernon held their attention as she showed them pictures of animals and asked the children to identify them.

  “Then down the hall here, we have Mr. Cabot’s classroom. He handles the fourth through sixth graders.”

  Marty followed him down the hall, noting the extreme cleanliness. From what she’d been told, each of the children helped in the upkeep of the house, as well as learned to handle laundry duties and other skills.

  They paused a moment at Mr. Cabot’s room, and Marty looked in. There were a couple dozen children—mostly boys. Mr. Cabot was directing their attention to a map of the United States. The children looked clean and well groomed, and most appeared content enough.

  “You will do a great service to the teachers by offering the children your services. I know you had only in mind to read to the little ones, but since you are an educated woman, I wonder if you might also be willing to offer some tutoring. Some of our older children could benefit from having someone take a little extra time with them.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” Marty replied. “I want to be useful.”

  “Well, you are an answer to prayer for us. We don’t get a great many volunteers—not like the church-sponsored orphanages that have pastors and priests to request help from the pulpit.” He smiled. “I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but I will admit I’m surprised that a woman of your social standing would even take the time.”

  “Social standings mean very little to me. I am where I am because of my husband’s placement in Denver society. In Texas, I was a simple rancher’s wife. I know, however, what it is to grow up without your parents. My sister and her husband were good to my brother and me, however. We were very loved.”

  “So many of these children will never experience the love of a family. We’re the only family they have, and we do our best to encourage them, but it isn’t the same.”

  He continued their tour. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, they looked in on the boys’ dormitory first. Row after row of iron-framed beds lined the walls.

  “We have more boys than girls at this point.”

  “And do you only have the younger ones—up to grade six, I believe you mentioned?”

  The man shook his head. “We also have some older children. They attend the public school. We believe that will better prepare them for their life ahead. We’re trying to find apprenticeships for them, as well. They very much need to learn job skills in order to support themselves as adults.”

  “And what do most of them desire to do?” Marty inquired.

  The man chuckled. “Well, right now I have a great many would-be cowboys and a few who would like to attend military school. The girls mostly want to be nurses or teachers, wives and mothers, that kind of thing. Although I will admit we have one young lady who desires to be a suffragette.”

  Marty smiled. She thought of all the young men they had employed on the Barnett Ranch. Perhaps in time she could recommend some of these youngsters to Will and Hannah. They often hired boys as young as fifteen. Maybe with a little bit of information on the plight of these children, they would agree to take them on at an even younger age.

  “I must say I’m very impressed with the organization and cleanliness of your orphanage,” Marty told Mr. Brentwood. “I suppose I had in mind a gloomy place where the rats ran free. Forgive me.” She offered him a smile. “I’m glad to be wrong.”

  “There are such places, of course,” the older man replied, directing Marty to the girls’ dormitory. “We strive here to teach the children pride in their surroundings. We do not seek to make it all about work, however. You will note out back we have a very nice play area.”

  He drew Marty’s attention to the window, and she followed him and peered out. There was, just as he said, a nice area for the children to play, complete with swings and a seesaw.

  “There is a movement,” he told her, “that has been encouraging schools and public facilities such as city parks to provide a variety of equipment to encourage physical activities. Fresh air is good for one’s health.”

  Marty again thought of ranch life. Ninety percent of her day had been spent outdoors during the warm months. She couldn’t imagine growing up in a city and having only limited sessions of outdoor play.

  She finished the tour and returned home more determined than ever to do what she could to better the lives of the orphans. It grieved her to imagine thousands of children without the love of a mother and father. Perhaps she would consider adoption one day.

  Later that afternoon, Marty picked up her letter and read the lines she’d penned. She hoped that Hannah wouldn’t overreact to her confession.

  “It’s silly. There’s nothing wrong with the choices I’ve made. Jake’s a good man.” She looked over the final lines of the letter.

  I have delayed far too long in finishing this letter. I wanted to share some news with you, however, and I hope you won’t think me silly. I know this will come as a shock, but I have remarried. I have married a wonderful man, a Colorado banker named Jacob Wythe. Jake is a fine, upstanding man who has shown me great affection and consideration. He has generously provided an opulent home for me and has gifted me with more than you could imagine. We attend a wonderful church every Sunday.

  She smiled to herself. That alone would entice Hannah to think twice before reprimanding.

  I do hope you will be delighted for me and not angry. I didn’t mean to be so covert. Well, I suppose I did, but not for the purpose of hurting anyone. Please be happy for me, because I’m happy.

  Love, Marty

  “Would you like me to post your letter for you?” Alice asked.

  Marty turned, surprised to find the young woman there. The blond-haired girl smiled. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “Only a bit.
And, yes, I suppose you can go ahead and post this letter.”

  “Did you tell your sister . . . about . . . Mr. Wythe?” Alice asked.

  This time Marty didn’t chide her for the personal question. “Yes.”

  “Do you think she’ll be angry about your marriage?”

  “I honestly don’t know what Hannah will think or feel. She’s always been very protective of me, but I know she would want me to be happy.”

  “And are you happy?”

  Alice was the only one with whom Marty had shared the truth about her arrangement with Jake. As her personal maid, Alice was already well aware that the couple never shared the same bedroom.

  “I’m content,” Marty finally added. At least that much was true. “I prefer it here to Texas, and I find it’s better for me to pretend there is no Texas and no family living there worrying after me.”

  Alice shook her head. “Pretending doesn’t make it so.”

  Marty gave a heavy sigh. “No, but it does give me a little peace of mind. Very little, I’ll admit, but enough for now. Hopefully Hannah and Will can accept my choices and will forgive me for my secrecy. Then there will be nothing more to worry about.”

  She met Alice’s doubtful expression and knew the young woman didn’t believe a word.

  Jake put aside the newspaper and turned his attention back to the ledgers he’d been working on. It seemed that the missing money he’d been tracking had been returned very nearly in full. He frowned. How could this be happening under his nose?

  Arnold came in with a stack of papers. “These letters will need your signature before they can go out.”

  “What are they?”

  “Mostly notifications. The usual. Mortgage payments that are behind, loans that have been in arrears. We’re calling in the notes on most.”

  “Foreclosing on the mortgages?” Jake asked. “Who arranged that?”

  “Mr. Morgan himself. He brought this list in when you were at the Denver Club. You can review it to make sure there are no mistakes.”

  Jake nodded and took the papers. Looking through them, he frowned. Most of the notices were to homeowners who were behind on their mortgage payments. The addresses listed revealed homes from modest to lower income areas, suggesting the common man and his family.

  “How can we foreclose on these people?” Jake asked aloud. He glanced up to find Arnold giving him a confused look. He shook his head and placed the papers on the desk. “I suppose the bank must have its money, but it seems heartless to put families out on the street.”

  “Indeed,” Arnold agreed. “However, Mr. Morgan seemed to think it important for the health of his banks.”

  “I suppose.” Jake drew a deep breath and blew it out. “Seems mighty unneighborly,” he drawled.

  This didn’t sit right—but neither did the direction of his own life, especially in these uncertain times. Mr. Morgan was constantly speaking to him about promotion and an increased salary. He liked the way Jake handled himself and the bank and had even commented that he would like to put Jake in a position to oversee all of the branches. It sounded quite daunting to a man who longed only to be back in the saddle.

  Arnold turned to go. “Please close the door on your way out,” Jake called after him. The younger man did as instructed, leaving Jake to the quiet of his office.

  “I’m not where I want to be,” he whispered and glanced upward. His first love, Deborah Vandermark, would have told him he should pray on the matter. It had been a long time, however, since Jake had done any real talking to the Lord. He touched the scar on his right hand. He’d cut it while working for Deborah’s family. She had been training to become a physician and had sewed it up for him. Whenever he saw the scar, he thought of her kindness to him and her faith. She was a strong woman of God. . . . How different from Marty, who obviously struggled when it came to the Almighty. He smiled. Hadn’t he had his own issues? He couldn’t fault Marty for feeling untrusting when he had some of the same problems.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to mention a few things to you, Lord.” Jake got up and walked to the window. He couldn’t help but wonder what Marty would think if she knew that he was beginning to wish for more in their marriage. More in his life.

  Taking it to God in prayer was something his mother had always encouraged. He knew a Christian was supposed to pray, read his Bible, live a life pleasing to God. Jake knew, too, that he’d been focused only on survival—doing whatever it took to get one step closer to Texas.

  Marty had been an important part of that, but the more time they spent together, the less inclined she seemed to be toward the idea of returning. He wasn’t entirely sure why she held Texas a grudge. Maybe it had to do with the death of her first husband. She had loved him a great deal; that much was evident. No one had ever loved Jake that way, and it made him just a little bit jealous.

  Pray about it.

  The words seemed to burn deep into his heart.

  “I wanna go home, Lord,” he finally prayed. “I wanna go back to Texas.”

  Chapter 17

  “The Morgans do love to entertain,” Marty declared as they made their way home in the carriage. “And how interesting to have a May Day party complete with a Maypole. I have to admit I’ve never seen the dance involved, but it was quite lovely with all those ribbons.”

  Jake nodded but said very little. He seemed glum and restless, and Marty couldn’t help but wonder what had been said or done to bring about such a mood.

  “Did you have a bad time?” she dared to question.

  He looked at her from across the carriage, but the dim street lighting did little to reveal his expression. Who was this man she’d married, and why couldn’t she better understand him?

  “I didn’t have either a bad or good time,” he answered her. “It was just one more party—one more meaningless day.” The weariness in his voice rang clear.

  Marty tried not to panic at his comment. Lately Jake was given to speaking more and more of his longing for Texas and the ranch life that he loved. “There are days here when I just want to pack up and walk away. I’m tired of bank ledgers and businessmen more concerned with their vast wealth than the condition of the people around them. I want more than this, but . . .”

  He fell silent for a few moments, and then started in again. “You know how I feel about owning my own spread one day.”

  “I do,” Marty said, keeping her tone neutral. She deeply feared what he might say next.

  “I was speaking with Dennis Sheedy tonight. You’ll remember he used to ranch a great deal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he advised against any ranching or farming venture at this point. He said the markets weren’t good for either. He said it would be a waste of time and money, and I would soon find myself in the same position my father was a few years ago.”

  Marty’s heart skipped a beat. God bless you, Mr. Sheedy. She remained silent, hoping that Jake would tell her he was giving up on his dreams.

  “I reminded him that folks will always need to eat, but he said there was already a glut of ranches and farms and that with the economy as it is, there have been a great many foreclosures, as well. I thought that would make it more reasonable for me to be able to buy in. After all, the places will sell dirt cheap.”

  “But you would be benefiting from another’s loss. That doesn’t seem like something you’d be comfortable with.”

  “I wouldn’t like it, but better that someone continue the dream—don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Marty said, though she had her own opinion about such dreams. “I do know that ranching is a dangerous business. There are things there that can take your life in a moment’s notice.”

  “And there aren’t here?”

  She shrugged. “It’s hardly the same. On the ranch a man can die from his horse taking a misstep or crossing the path of a rattler.”

  “And that can’t happen here—to a banker?” He sounded irritated. “You weren’t that far
away from Denver when your stage was attacked. Someone’s been creeping around the house, probably looking to steal us blind. There’s always something or someone looking to do evil.”

  Marty knew she needed to rein back her negativity toward ranching. Perhaps changing the subject would help. “Oh, let’s not dwell on the sad and bad. I very nearly forgot to tell you about my experience at the orphanage today. I was able to spend some time helping the little ones with their reading. It reminded me of how Hannah used to teach us when we were little.” She paused and noticed Jake was lost in thought.

  “There are a great many children in this city who have no one. Did you realize that? There are a dozen or more orphanages and all of them full,” she rambled.

  Jake, however, remained silent the entire journey home. She worried that her comments had left him overly discouraged.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I’m sorry if I sounded unfeeling in regard to your dreams,” she said as they approached the house. Marty turned to find they were only inches from each other. The glow of the porch light made it easy to see the sadness in his eyes.

  “I truly don’t wish to see you hurt. I don’t want to lose another husband the way I lost Thomas.”

  Jake’s head cocked slightly. “Sounds as though you’ve come to care about me.”

  Marty trembled—grateful that Jake wasn’t holding on to her arm or he might have felt it and wondered why. “Of course I care about you. We’ve been together now for more than three months. I’ve come to enjoy your company and thought you felt likewise.”

  “I do,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “Then surely you can understand why I don’t want to see you hurt. I want to have you around for a good long time. I want to enjoy our life together.”

  “And you’re content with this and nothing more?”

  Marty hesitated, not sure of his meaning. They were so very close, and for just a heartbeat, Marty thought Jake might kiss her. Worse still, she wanted him to. When she said nothing, however, Jake apparently took this as a dismissal.