A Sensible Arrangement

by Tracie Peterson

  “And you know nothing about what he’s after?”

  Again Alice shook her head. “He said it was a large envelope with papers, and that it had been sealed by the bank. I know from things my father told me that they only did that on very important dealings. If it was something that needed to go from the bank to the person involved without anyone else seeing the material, it would be sealed.”

  Jake nodded, already familiar with the process. He ran a hand through his hair. The thought of someone coming around with malicious intent caused him to feel more than a little agitation. The very idea that someone would send men to scout out his house and threaten his staff and wife . . . “I’ll speak to the police about this. Perhaps they can help.”

  “They weren’t of any help to my friends,” Alice said bitterly. “I doubt they’d be any more help now.”

  “Well, you didn’t have the backing of people like Morgan and Keystone. I do,” Jake assured her. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I will personally go and speak with Mr. Morgan and find out what was in that envelope your father should have been carrying.”

  Two days later, Jake had his opportunity when Morgan appeared at the bank with an invitation for the Wythes to join the Morgans and others for a celebration.

  “Mrs. Morgan delights in throwing me birthday parties, and she wanted to make certain you and Mrs. Wythe could attend. Now, there aren’t to be any gifts, of course. Just the company of good friends for a nice lawn party.”

  “We’d be honored to attend,” Jake said, having little interest yet knowing that if he accommodated the man he would be more likely to get some reasonable response to his questions. “I wonder, though, before you leave, could I have a word?”

  Mr. Morgan nodded and took a seat. “If this is about your vice-presidency, be assured it is moving ever closer to fruition.”

  Jake moved to close his office door. “No, it’s not about that at all.” He came back to his desk and sat. “As you know, my wife’s maid was the daughter of your former bank manager, Mr. Chesterfield.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know that. Is your wife pestering you again to have the bank offer the girl some form of reparation?”

  “Not at all. Marty understands the situation. Unfortunately, however, we had a bit of an incident the other day. A man came to the house and threatened Miss Chesterfield in order to learn the whereabouts of a packet of papers her father should have been carrying the night of his death.”

  Morgan frowned. “What papers?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “The man didn’t say what he wanted?”

  Jake shook his head. “Only that they were in a bank-sealed envelope. A large envelope. It should have been in the satchel that was in Mr. Chesterfield’s possession, and apparently this man knew that it was missing. I wondered if you might know what was in that envelope that made it worth killing for.”

  For several moments Morgan said nothing. He looked as if he were trying to remember. Finally he shook his head. “I’m really not at liberty to tell you the details.”

  “So you do know what was in it?”

  “I do, but very few others have been told.” He looked at Jake and seemed reluctant to share the information. “We were afraid of making a public scene. We didn’t need negative stories to spread regarding the bank’s security.”

  Jake could understand that, given the problems the economy was already starting to see in 1892. “So might you enlighten me? After all, my family and home seem to be under some threat.”

  “And your maid has no idea of what the man was talking about?” Morgan asked.

  “None. She came to our employ with virtually nothing. If there were an envelope amidst the things she and her father owned, it was either destroyed or lost. All of their things were auctioned off to pay for the funeral and her medical expenses. Now, I’d like to know what this man is after.”

  “I suppose you’re entitled.” Morgan drew a deep breath and laced his fingers together. “It was full of gold certificates—worth a small fortune.”

  Jake startled at this news. “Why in the world was he carrying something as valuable as that?”

  Morgan shrugged. “It was the way we handled it. We put on a fussy show of guarded couriers for those who might think to rob us, while sending the real goods with no escort whatsoever. It worked quite well, and we shipped money, certificates, stocks, and even some jewelry that way. In fact, Chesterfield was the first man we’ve ever lost.”

  “Let me get this straight: You gave Chesterfield an envelope with a fortune in gold certificates to be delivered as if it were nothing more important than business correspondence?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And did he know what he was carrying?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Oh, I mean he would have known there was value to the papers. He always knew that any delivery we entrusted to him was of vital importance. He was paid well, however. As for his knowing the contents . . . well . . . I can’t imagine that he did. I certainly wouldn’t have told him. There was no need.”

  “But gold certificates were included in his satchel that night, and someone knew they were supposed to be there.”

  “I don’t know how they could have.” Morgan shook his head. “There were only a couple of us privy to the information.”

  “Well, somebody talked,” Jake said.

  Marty dreaded opening the letter in her hand. Either Hannah had mailed it before Marty’s missive arrived telling her about Jake and the marriage, or she’d hastily posted it after hearing the news. Either way, Marty wasn’t in any hurry to discover what was within.

  She thought to distract herself with a nice quiet lunch alone, but after studying the thin slices of rare roast beef on her plate, she sighed. “I might as well read it. My mind won’t rest until I do.”

  Pulling the envelope from her pocket, Marty ran her dinner knife under the seal along the top to open it. The missive was short—one page. Marty drew a deep breath and perused the lines.

  My dear sister,

  How wonderful for you to have found love again. I’m surprised that you worried I would think badly of your choice. I’ve long hoped that you could find another man to love. You are much too young to be a widow. Perhaps now you will have a family of your own and know the happiness of motherhood, as well.

  Please know that William and I are praying for you and that we are so very happy for you and Jake. You have made him sound like such a wonderful man, and I look forward to the day we can meet face-to-face. William said we could use a banker in the family.

  I know that you never planned to remarry after Thomas, but now that you have, I pray you will be happy. I was delighted to read that you are attending church once again, and I pray, too, that this new adventure in life will allow you to once again draw close to God.

  Faithfully yours,

  Hannah

  Marty let out the breath she’d been holding. Hannah didn’t mind, didn’t protest the matter in the least. It was a surprise—her sister had carefully tried to manage Marty’s choices for most of her life. The announcement of her traveling to Colorado had completely upset that tradition, and Marty had been certain her news would cause Hannah a fit of apoplexy.

  “Thank goodness that’s done with.” Marty folded the letter and put it back in her pocket.

  She tried to think of what she should do next. She wanted to get the ranch matter settled and figured the best thing to do would be to write immediately to her sister and suggest that Will have the papers drawn up for her to deed the place back to him. Of course, Marty was married now and had no way of knowing if she’d need her husband’s permission to conduct business. Laws were often funny about that, and married women didn’t have the same rights that widowed women did. Perhaps she should seek the advice of a lawyer.

  “But how do I go about that without Jake knowing what I’m doing?”

  Jake noticed Marty’s good mood that evening. She seemed more carefree and lighthearted than he
’d ever known her to be. He had no idea what had caused the change, but he was glad for it. He thought back to his conversation with Mr. Morgan and wondered if he should spoil her happiness with the details of what he’d learned. Deciding against it for the time being, Jake chose instead to enjoy a quiet evening reading while Marty worked on some project of her own.

  The clock chimed the hour, and Jake yawned. He stole a glance at his wife, who’d been quietly sewing. With her head bent over the garment, she looked completely content. Marty loved keeping busy, and he understood that.

  She seemed to sense his gaze and looked up. Smiling, she rolled her shoulders. “I suppose it’s time for bed. I tend to get caught up in what I’m doing.”

  “What exactly are you doing?”

  “Making a pinafore. It’s for one of the orphans. I wanted to do something more for them, and I figured I could sew as well as the next woman.”

  “Probably better, given your new circle of friends.” He watched her carefully tuck the sewing back into a basket by the chair. “You truly enjoy working with the orphans, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Marty replied. “They are so . . . well . . . they seem to thrive on my affection and attention. God knows they don’t get much. The workers do their best, but it isn’t the same as having a family.”

  “No, I’m sure it isn’t.”

  “Speaking of family, I had a very nice letter from my sister.” Marty reached into her pocket and handed it over to him. “I finally told her about us.”

  “You did?” Jake opened the letter and scanned the lines. He felt his chest tighten at the comment about Marty becoming a mother. The idea of having children with Marty had started to consume his thoughts more often than he liked to admit.

  “She says you made me sound like a wonderful man,” Jake commented, concluding the letter. “Whatever did you say to cause that kind of response?”

  Marty gave a light laugh and got to her feet. Jake quickly followed suit. He handed her back the letter and waited for her to respond. For a very long moment all they did was gaze into each other’s eyes, however. Jake longed to take her in his arms, but he forced himself to stand completely still.

  Finally Marty replied. “I told her you were good to me—that you were generous and kind. I told her that I was happy and wanted her to be happy for me.”

  “And are you happy, Marty?” He was barely able to voice the words.

  She smiled, and it warmed his heart in a way he’d never known. Neither Josephine nor Deborah had made him feel this way.

  “Of course I’m happy. Especially now that my sister knows about our marriage and approves.”

  “Her approval was that important?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose it was. Family has always been important to me. I guess I didn’t make it seem that way, running off as I did without letting them know. I just wanted to make my own choices and be responsible for my life.”

  Her gaze held his. Jake wanted so much to tell her how he felt—how she had changed his mind about love. How he longed to alter their arrangement and start anew with a real marriage.

  “I want to make you happy, Marty. I guess I want your approval, as well,” he finally managed to whisper.

  She surprised him by reaching up to touch his cheek. “You are an amazing man, Jake, and you do have my approval. I think together . . . we can be very happy.”

  He put his hand over hers. “I think so, too.”

  Chapter 19

  Marty finished making her second pinafore when Brighton appeared with a large box. “This just arrived for you, madam,” he announced.

  “Goodness, what is it?”

  “I do not know.” He placed the box on a small table. “Would you like me to open it?”

  Putting her sewing aside, Marty nodded. “Please.” She got to her feet and joined him.

  Brighton opened the box, revealing a dozen red roses. The fragrance wafted through the air, and Marty inhaled the sweet aroma. She hadn’t been given roses since long before Thomas’s death.

  “They’re beautiful,” she murmured, gently touching one of the blossoms.

  “There is a card, madam.” Brighton reached in and pulled it from among the flowers. He handed it to Marty.

  Marty opened the card. To my wife. Thank you for the trust you’ve placed in me. You make my life so much better. Affectionately, your husband.

  The sentiment surprised and disturbed Marty. Already uncertain and confused by her own feelings for Jake, she didn’t need this to further complicate matters.

  But it’s not such a complication if he feels the same way, is it? Should I be afraid of falling in love with a man who clearly feels something for me?

  “Would you like me to have Mrs. Landry arrange them in a vase?” Brighton asked.

  Marty nodded. “Yes, please do.”

  “Very good, madam.” He took up the box, leaving Marty with the note.

  In the hallway he apparently ran into Mrs. Landry, because Marty could hear the two begin to pick at each other.

  Mrs. Landry commented in a rather loud voice, “I know very well how to arrange flowers, you ninny. Don’t be trying to tell me how to do my job.”

  Marty looked down at the card again and frowned. Why was this happening now? And why did it bother her as much as it did? Surely she should feel a sense of relief that the man she’d married was a good match—that they both enjoyed each other’s company and had found some semblance of happiness in the aftermath of losing their prior mates.

  So why do I feel so uncomfortable?

  Marty tucked the card into her sewing box and moved back to her work. She tried to calm her mind, telling herself it was a kind gesture, nothing more. But there had been moments of tenderness lately that stirred her heart. . . .

  Jake had made it clear in his letters prior to their marriage that he didn’t want a romance. Had he changed his mind? Had she changed hers?

  Marty had to admit the aching in her heart was evidence that something was afoot. She had thought herself incapable of loving again—Thomas had been the love of her life. Wouldn’t it be a betrayal to his memory if she were to give her heart to another?

  Folding the pinafore carefully, Marty tried to reason through her feelings. Thomas was dead. There was no one who could bring him back. Thomas himself would have been the first one to tell her to be happy—to find something in life she could enjoy and live for. He would have wanted her to remarry and have children.

  “I saw the flowers,” Alice said, entering the small sitting room. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Jake . . . Mr. Wythe sent them,” Marty replied.

  Alice looked at her for a moment. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem troubled. I just wondered, given your . . . arrangement . . . if it made matters difficult for you.”

  Marty shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing, to tell you the truth.” She put the pinafore into her sewing basket and frowned. “I never figured to have these feelings again, and now that I do, I have to say they’re making me most uncomfortable.”

  “What feelings are those?” Alice asked in her innocent way.

  Marty met her maid’s gaze. The girl was young enough to have been Marty’s daughter. Her blond hair even resembled Marty’s own thick tresses. For reasons Marty couldn’t even begin to put into words, Alice touched a special place in her heart.

  “I suppose . . . love,” Marty finally answered. “I’d hardened my heart against it until I came here. Then I found myself moved by you and your plight, touched by the orphans and theirs, and . . .”

  “And you’re falling in love with your husband?” Alice dared to ask.

  Marty wasn’t yet ready to admit that idea aloud. “I don’t know.”

  Alice smiled. “I think you do, and that’s the problem. You just don’t know how to face the truth.”

  Marty heard male voices coming from the hallway and glanced at the clock. It was only half past
two. Had Alice’s tormenter returned? She looked to Alice, who seemed to wonder the same thing—if the look on her face was any indication.

  “Don’t worry,” Marty said. “You’re safe.”

  Jake marched into the room with an expression of grave concern. “There’s been an unexpected board meeting called at the bank this afternoon, and I’ve been asked to attend. I expect it will run well into the evening, and I wanted to let you know.”

  “What’s wrong?” Marty questioned. The tone of his voice and his countenance were most severe.

  “The president has called for an emergency session of Congress. He hopes to repeal the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. It won’t bode well for anyone, but especially not this state. We rely heavily on silver holding its value, and this will change everything.”

  “Is it really that bad?” Just last week she’d dined at one of Denver’s finest homes, and the wealth there flowed like an undammed river.

  He stopped in front of Marty. “It is. Colorado is responsible for over 60 percent of this country’s silver. It’s not right that the president should imagine silver is the culprit for all our financial woes, but apparently he does. This is only going to make matters worse, the way I see it.”

  Marty longed to offer him comfort. “I’ll wait up to talk with you. Perhaps once you know more about it, things won’t seem so bad.”

  “It’ll probably be late. You might as well go to bed.”

  “I don’t mind waiting,” she said softly. “I’m sure it will be important for our future.”

  He nodded. “I’m afraid it’s going to completely alter the future of a great many folks.”

  Marty had never heard him sound so grave. She knew at one time she would have encouraged solace with prayer. A sparking in her heart told her she should again suggest such recourse, but bitterness quickly snuffed out the ember. Why ask God for help? If He cared, wouldn’t He have already offered His protection?

  Another thought came to mind. “Should I send someone with a meal for you and the others?”

  Jake smiled. “I doubt anyone else has thought of that.”