Sensible Arrangement, A (Lone Star Brides Book #1)

by Tracie Peterson

  Marty shook her head rather vehemently. “It would shame him. Please don’t mention it.”

  Sheedy nodded in agreement. “A man has his pride. Better not to step on it and cause more bruising than necessary.”

  Chapter 11

  Fulfilling her social duties proved to be more and more exhausting to Marty. The endless visitations, gatherings, and changing of clothes left her feeling that her days were an utter waste of time, filled with pretentious people.

  However, remembering Jake speak of Texas and his desire to one day return there made Marty more determined than ever to establish herself in Denver society. She always tried to receive her guests with the warmest of welcomes and even worked to tame her drawl and emulate the speech of her social peers.

  Jake warned her there would be a great many responsibilities on her part, maintaining a presence at the social functions of the Denver elite. Marty would be expected to be seen at the proper events and reveal a knowledge of and interest in such functions in order to better fit into the social circles required for a woman of her position. Marty wanted to limit her participation, but she reconsidered every time she remembered how much Jake wanted to return to Texas. She vowed to herself that society and its façades would become as well known to her as ranching had once been. She would do her best to ingratiate herself with Denver’s finest and prove to Jake that they belonged right where they were.

  A little over a week after the Valentine’s ball, Marty had attended yet another party celebrating George Washington’s birthday. This one was hosted by the Sheedys and allowed Marty to see the interior of their elegant home. The house was palatial in size and was said to be a blend of Queen Anne and Richardsonian Romanesque architecture—although Marty wasn’t entirely sure what that actually meant. The home had been completed just the year before, however, and was rumored to be one of the grandest in America.

  As she had other events, Marty had endured that party rather than enjoyed it. Marty had found the house and its décor far more interesting than the people visiting it. The food, rich and overly abundant, had been delicious, but not to Marty’s liking. It was only then that she realized just how much she preferred common things.

  She awoke the next morning remembering the party and the unusual offering of multiple desserts. The dishes were lavish and presented in such a manner that they looked far more like pieces of art than dishes to eat. She sighed.

  “I’d much rather have one of Hannah’s good pies than whatever those concoctions were supposed to be.”

  Allowing Alice to guide her through the morning routine, Marty suppressed a yawn and wondered what was on her day’s agenda. Alice was talking about something, but Marty didn’t have any idea what the girl was saying. Already tired, Marty wished she could simply crawl back into bed.

  She felt the same way much later in the day, when Alice helped her change clothes for the fourth time. Marty slipped into a stunning bodice that matched the skirt of green and blue tartan flannel. The simple cut of the skirt allowed her to wear a collapsible bustle, which would make it easy for Marty to spend time at her desk writing letters.

  “I like the way the bodice lays,” she commented as Alice did up the back buttons. The pleating was stitched into place with a rounded yoke trimmed in dark blue braid and a high lace neck.

  “You look very pretty in it, ma’am,” Alice replied. She secured a dark blue sash around Marty’s small waist. “But you look lovely in most everything.”

  Marty could hear the longing in the girl’s voice. “Alice, you are a very attractive woman yourself. That scar on your face does not take away from your sweet nature and spirit. The right man will come along one day and the scar will mean nothing to him.”

  “I pray that might be so,” Alice admitted. She began to rearrange Marty’s hair in a more intricate design. Taking up a curling iron, she carefully arranged some of the blond tresses around the rod. “As the pastor said at church just a few Sundays back, God isn’t in the business of doing things without them having a purpose that will lead to His glory.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Marty generally kept her religious thoughts to herself, but with Alice she felt she could be honest. “I’ve seen plenty of bad that has happened without any glory to God. There’s a lot of suffering in this world. I find God cruel for not stopping it . . . or at best, insensitive to our pain.”

  “I beg to differ,” Alice said, surprising Marty with her bold stand. “There will always be cruel and insensitive people, but those are not qualities that can be assigned to God. The Bible says that God is love. Love is never insensitive or cruel, so therefore I cannot believe God capable of such . . . human attributes.”

  Marty considered the younger woman’s words. There was a time when she had accepted such thoughts herself. “So you believe God had you attacked and injured for His glory, and it wasn’t an act of cruelty?”

  Alice arranged a curl and pinned it in place before responding. “I don’t think God had me attacked at all. I think the men who attacked me didn’t much care what God wanted.”

  “But God could have prevented the entire situation.”

  “He could have,” Alice agreed. “He could have done any number of things. And while I believe God did allow this to happen to me, I don’t think it was His desire. I don’t think He took any delight in the occurrence.”

  “Then why didn’t He intervene to stop it? The Bible talks about how Jesus and the Spirit both intercede for us. Why not intercede to prevent an evil man from harming an innocent one?”

  “Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and not receive evil?” Alice countered.

  Marty studied Alice in the mirror. The younger woman seemed quite content in her beliefs and not at all shaken by Marty’s questioning. “Isn’t that Job?”

  Alice nodded and continued to pin another curl. “It is Job. Second chapter, tenth verse. Job is suffering, and his wife wants him to curse God and die. That’s how he answers her. To my way of thinking, evil will always be with us because of the sin of Adam. The world is not a perfect place.”

  “So your injury was just one of those things that happened because the world isn’t perfect? Doesn’t that alleviate God’s responsibility in the matter?”

  “And what would God’s responsibility have been?” she asked.

  “To keep you from harm. To save you.”

  “But He did save me, Mrs. Wythe. I very nearly died from loss of blood and then an infection.”

  Marty shook her head, causing Alice to jab a hairpin against her head. “Oh my. I apologize, ma’am.”

  “No, it was my own fault. I moved.”

  Alice gave a brief nod before her face lit up in a smile. “I suppose you could say that it was my fault or my father’s for putting me in a position of danger. God didn’t force us to go out that dark night. In fact, my father had commented that it wasn’t a wise idea. However, he wanted to take care of business that evening. I decided to accompany him, even though he had suggested it would be better for me to remain home. So who is at fault?”

  Marty was glad that the girl had gotten comfortable enough to debate such matters. “But my point is that if God truly is love, He would intervene and keep such bad things from happening to the innocent.”

  “Why?”

  Marty turned and looked up at Alice. “Why? You ask why God should keep the innocent from harm?”

  “Yes. He didn’t keep Jesus from harm, and Jesus was completely innocent. He was beaten and spat upon and crucified. Does that mean God didn’t love Him? Jesus is a part of God—how could He not love himself?”

  Marty frowned as she considered the young woman’s words. “You don’t think that God . . . well . . . that He should keep the innocent from harm?”

  Alice shrugged and moved toward the dressing room window. “If you are suggesting that God somehow owes it to us, then no. I think God has given us a great many blessings beyond what we deserve and yet has withheld a great deal of the punishme
nt we do deserve.” Her words resonated with conviction, something Marty had not yet witnessed in Alice.

  The young woman tied back the drapes one at a time. Marty thought her quite delicate in appearance, yet there was a fierceness in the younger woman that she couldn’t help but admire—even if Marty couldn’t agree with her spiritual reasoning.

  “And what about your mother and brother?”

  Alice said nothing, simply stared out the window as if contemplating the question. Marty continued. “Do you believe it fair for a child to lose her mother and brother, as you did?”

  “There’s someone out there.” Alice jumped back from the window. “A man. He’s sneaking around. I saw him cross from the stable to the yard.”

  Marty got up and walked to the window. “Where?”

  “I’m not sure where he’s gone, but he was there just a little bit ago.”

  It was clear Alice was upset, but Marty couldn’t help but wonder if it was just her way of changing the subject so she wouldn’t have to answer the question. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I’m certain he was there.”

  “Did you recognize him? Perhaps it was just Brighton or Samson.”

  “No.” Then Alice’s demeanor seemed to change abruptly. She shrugged and went back to the dressing table to straighten up. “Oh, you’re probably right. Maybe it was just Mr. Brighton. He probably took something out to Samson.”

  Just then Mrs. Landry appeared. “Mrs. Wythe, I have the menus for the rest of this week for you to go over if you have the time.”

  Marty gave a quick glance toward Alice, who was now humming to herself and setting the vanity to rights. “I suppose it’s as good a time as any,” Marty said, turning to the housekeeper. “Shall we go to my sitting room?”

  Mrs. Landry nodded and held out a large piece of paper. “Feel free to make any changes you wish. You asked me to prepare a menu much like those we’d had in the past, prior to your arrival. This is a typical arrangement.”

  Marty made her way back to the bedroom sitting area, studying the menu as she went. A wide variety of foods were listed, and while it was nowhere near the opulent affair of which she’d partaken at luncheons and suppers offered by society’s finest, she found it appealing.

  “I see my husband enjoys steak and ham.”

  “He does. He’s not much for fish recipes.”

  Marty smiled. “Neither am I. My brother and brother-in-law were both quite fond of fishing and eating their catches, but I can’t say I agreed. I’m glad Jake feels the same way.”

  “You will also note that he isn’t much for desserts. However, I’m certain that if you wish to indulge in one each evening, Mr. Wythe would be amenable. He told me that he intended for you to adjust the menu in whatever manner would please you most.”

  Marty shook her head, amazed to have yet another thing in common with her husband. “I’ve not been one for them, either. Not that I don’t enjoy a sweet now and then, but I hardly find it necessary at each meal.” She continued to read the menu. “You haven’t listed anything for Friday’s supper.” She looked to Mrs. Landry for explanation.

  “That is the night Mr. Wythe plans to entertain Mr. Morgan and Mr. Keystone. I thought perhaps you would like to plan something special.”

  “He said nothing to me about this.” Marty tried not to feel offended by her husband’s omission. “Perhaps we should seek his advice.”

  “Oh, that wouldn’t be proper. I can help you with some choices based on previous occasions, however. Mr. Morgan is fond of pork roast with a heavy sweet sauce. He also enjoys small roasted potatoes in dill, as well as asparagus in hollandaise sauce.”

  “I see. And will he desire a dessert?” Marty’s tone was rather sarcastic. She wasn’t sure why the subject matter put her at odds with her housekeeper, but it did.

  “He does enjoy chocolate torte. Mrs. Standish has a delicious recipe, and I’m sure she will be happy to create it for the occasion. Other than that, I would suggest a cream of spinach soup and perhaps some fruit and cheese for those who would rather not partake of the torte.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” Marty said, handing the paper back to Mrs. Landry.

  The woman nodded and took her leave. Marty cast her gaze toward the writing desk. She still hadn’t written to Hannah since arriving in Denver. She knew her sister would be most frantic for news, but she wasn’t yet ready to tell her about the marriage. With a sigh, Marty made her way to the desk and took a seat.

  “I’ll simply tell her about the wonderful time I’m having in Colorado,” she decided. Taking pen in hand, Marty consoled herself with the assurance that she needn’t tell the entire truth. It seemed a reasonable compromise.

  Alice Chesterfield pushed aside her fears and tried her best to focus on preparing for bed. The day had been long, and she had spent a good deal of time that evening reading a book given her by Mrs. Landry on how to be a proper lady’s maid. Mrs. Landry told her that because Mrs. Wythe so desired Alice in the position, Mrs. Landry felt it important to educate her in her duties.

  Gratitude didn’t begin to explain Alice’s feelings toward the older housekeeper. Mrs. Landry didn’t hold it against Alice that she lacked training. Instead, she worked to teach the girl what was needed. Alice appreciated her kindness more than she could say. The employment company had been cruel in their assessment of her, chiding her for coming to them without any experience or references. Alice had tried to explain that up until a few months ago, she and her father had lived quite comfortably on their own. They’d even had a cook. The agency didn’t believe her or else didn’t care. Instead they had turned her away, suggesting that she get some type of experience working before returning.

  If I’d had proper employment in which to gain experience, I wouldn’t have needed to seek an agency’s help in securing a position.

  She carefully hung up the black dress that was her regular uniform. She had a variety of white aprons to protect the body of the dress, and that way she didn’t need to wash the garment more than once a week. The Wythes had very generously provided two uniforms for her use, as well as three other dresses. One was a beautiful striped yellow gown for Sundays and the other two were for her time off from work. But Alice doubted she would be using them anytime soon. She had no desire to leave the house. Especially now.

  She cast a furtive glance at the window and shivered in the flannel nightgown she’d just put on. She’d seen a man out there earlier in the day. She knew he’d been there, and she knew that it wasn’t Brighton or Samson.

  Worried that her past was once again catching up with her, Alice dropped to her knees beside the bed and began to pray.

  “Father in heaven, please deliver me from wicked men who seek to harm me. Deliver me from sin and from the temptation to do wrong. Please bolster my heart that I might not fear.” She paused and gazed heavenward. “And please let my father know how much I miss him.” She started to end her prayer and sighed. “My mother and brother, too. Amen.”

  She slid beneath the covers, grateful for the warming pan Mrs. Landry had suggested she use. The added warmth helped ease her weary body, and in doing so, Alice was able to put aside her fears and worries.

  Sleep overcame her, but Alice’s dreams soon turned to nightmares, as they often did. She remembered in detail the events of the night that took her father’s life. . . .

  She could feel the dampness around her. It had been rainy that night, and cold. Father had been so determined to make his delivery.

  “It’s critical that I get these papers to the right people. I don’t want them to remain in the house overnight,” he had told her. “Why don’t you stay here at home? It isn’t safe to venture out so late.”

  Father was nervous, but he always seemed so when working for the bank. She often wished he didn’t have such an important job, for she knew it placed him in harm’s way. She had begged him to leave it, but the money had been too good.

  “One of these days we’ll move away
from Denver,” he said as they walked. “We’ll go somewhere warm. Somewhere special. A place where you can find yourself a good husband, and perhaps I’ll even find a new . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, and Alice wondered if he might have been thinking of remarriage.

  Father was never one to speak about such things. He wouldn’t even discuss Alice’s mother and the good memories . . . but why should he? He and Alice felt the same sense of betrayal.

  The hair on her neck bristled at the sight of three men stepping out of the shadows to block their way. The largest one demanded Father’s satchel.

  “It contains nothing but papers,” her father declared. “Now be gone with you.”

  “Give me the satchel, old man.” The stranger moved closer, and Alice’s father stepped to one side—away from Alice.

  “You can look for yourself.” He opened the case. “It’s just paper.”

  “I don’t care what it is. Hand it over.”

  “No.” Her father was adamant.

  Alice started to move away, thinking she might run for help. Her father’s assaulter motioned to his companions, however, and they took hold of her. One man pulled her against him and held her in an iron-like grip, while the other pulled a large knife.

  The man who faced her father smiled. It was a heartless and terrifying smile. “I think you’d better do what I say. Otherwise the boys might be inclined to persuade you.”

  “Don’t hurt her!”

  The man with the knife grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. The knife cut into her flesh without warning.

  “Too late, old man. How much I cut her, however, will depend on you.”

  Alice was too stunned at first to even feel the pain. That moment, however, was short-lived and she cried out. Her father charged at the man in front of him, but the larger brute was able to easily push him aside.

  “Here, take it. Take the satchel, but leave my girl alone,” Father pleaded.

  Her attacker breathed heavily against her face. He smelled of tobacco. “I skinned me a rabbit with this knife earlier today, and now I’m skinnin’ me a little gal.”