Lariats, Letters, and Lace

by Agnes Alexander

  When Dale smiled and nodded that she was right, Irene realized that was what she’d wanted. She wanted to see his smile—and know she was the reason.

  ****

  Platte River City

  January 17, 1892

  Dear Linda,

  I am amazed that only twenty-three days have passed since we said goodbye the day after Christmas, and I boarded a train to begin a new life out here in the West. So much has happened in these three weeks. I don’t know where to begin. Perhaps I’ll begin by saying never in my life have I worked so hard, yet enjoyed myself more. I feel a good ten years younger, and dare I say I think I even look a few years younger. This clean air, the wide-open prairie with a sky that goes on forever, and the company of good-hearted people who laugh at every turn has positively given me a new view of my life.

  I should also tell you that Denver may not be my destination any longer. Circumstances have opened my eyes to other possibilities. I am considering staying on here. Not necessarily with the Forbes family, although they have invited me to live with them, and I have agreed—temporarily, mind you—on the condition that I pay my own way, so to speak, by helping in the family’s sewing shop.

  Irene paused in her Sunday evening letter-writing to her sister, nibbling idly on the end of the pen as she organized her thoughts. Adjusting her bifocal spectacles, she continued.

  I arrived in a snowstorm that turned into a two-day blizzard. My furniture went on without me. My Lord, Linda, I have never experienced the horrendous winds or the amount of snow of a prairie blizzard…

  Irene’s thoughts flowed faster than her fingers could put them on paper, and she wrote until her hand ached. Putting down the pen, she massaged her cramped fingers as she skimmed over what she’d written. She told Linda of cleaning every nook, cranny, and crevice of Dale’s house, telling her that even though she’d cleaned houses after floods, tornadoes, and deaths, she had never approached a house with the care she had with Dale’s. Then she took up an entire piece of stationery explaining the complications in the aftermath of the storm, which included two feet of snow on the flat, drifts over the top of the barn, temperatures that didn’t reach freezing for ten days straight, and the impossibility of traveling by any method for nearly two weeks. School didn’t resume as scheduled.

  Then what the locals call a Chinook wind hurled down from the leeward slope of the Rocky Mountains ninety miles to the west bringing its snow-melting warm air, which turned streets, roads, and yards to sloppy mud within hours so rapid was the melting. Once people were mobile again, neighbors checked on neighbors. The nice young man from the depot stopped by to report my sewing machine and furniture were safely in storage at Denver’s Union Station.

  These people take neighborliness seriously.

  Irene wrote on about her satisfaction of working from daylight to dark helping sew the dresses for an upcoming wedding and for the Valentine’s Day dance, both of which were eagerly anticipated events. She told of spending the long evenings by the cozy warmth of the heating stove in the living room playing Dominoes or Chinese checkers or reading to the girls.

  But mostly, she wrote of Dale—his appearance, his dedication to the family businesses, his devotion to his granddaughters, his kind nature, and how much she admired his intellect, which she’d come to enjoy and respect from the hours they’d spent talking about every topic imaginable.

  From the letter the girls sent and going through every inch of his house when I cleaned out the snow, I now feel as if I’ve known Dale for years. One can’t discover telltale details of the life he shared with his late wife without inferring something of his personality, his likes and dislikes, his tastes in reading material, and the sentimental keepsakes he’s tucked away.

  One afternoon not long after his house was returned to a livable state, I watched him leave the leather shop and go to his house. He still wore his leather apron as if he’d forgotten something and was hurrying to retrieve it and get right back to work. The next day, around the same time, he returned to his house, this time carrying a bag of tools. This stay was longer. On the third day, smoke rose from the chimney of the parlor stove, and he didn’t show until chore time.

  That evening, he excused himself from joining the after-supper activities and stayed at his house until bedtime. For two more nights, he’d repeated these evening visits, which brought him to just last evening when he spent the entire night there. However, he was at the kitchen table this morning drinking coffee with me when the girls came downstairs for breakfast.

  I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer, but there was a softer, rested and contented look about him. I suspect he’d reacquainted himself with memories of his late wife and found places for them in his head and in his heart, and I wonder if he’s come to terms with why he moved out. Perhaps he’s even contemplating whether or not he can return there permanently. It is ironic that what at first was considered a tragedy with the damaged roof and all the snow inside, this has possibly turned out to be a blessing. Life has a way of doing that, and I am always amazed when it happens.

  The hour is late, so I will bring this letter to a close with an amusing story that occurred at church this morning.

  The blizzard brought the town to a standstill for more than a week—no school, no church, and few visitors. I explain this so you understand I hadn’t had the opportunity to meet people, but rumors were apparently gathering nonetheless regarding the reason I’d arrived in town.

  Without belaboring the details, at the beginning of the service, the minister welcomed me with an innocent comment that he was told I was a relative of the young Misses Clara Jean and Lydia Driscoll, but due to the storm, I’d been unable to reach their house so the Forbes had taken me in.

  Before I, or anyone else, could respond, little Beryl blurted, “She’s not their kin. She came here to be our new grandma as soon as she marries Grandpa Dale. We ordered her from a bride catalog.”

  Needless to say, I’ve never heard a congregation go so silent so quickly. We all had a good laugh. And Dale straightened out the misunderstanding with such care not to hurt my feelings or embarrass me further. He is a good man, a kind man, and I admire him a great deal. Must go. Write soon.

  With love and kind regards,

  Irene

  She prepared the letter for mailing, turned down the lamp wick, and settled herself under her bed covers. There was another letter she needed to write, but not tonight. In a few days, once she worked through what she wanted to say and the best way to say it, she’d write it. Denver could wait a little longer.

  ****

  “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Where did the time go?” Irene mused on a contented sigh from where she rested after dancing five straight songs with Dale.

  Dale walked up with two cups of punch. “Sorry. What was that you said?”

  Irene shook her head. “Nothing of importance. I was talking to myself.” She accepted the cup he offered, pulled her skirts aside, and took a sip as he sat beside her. “Wasn’t it a beautiful sunset wedding? I’ve never seen such a lovely bride. And the evening…” She sighed again. “Dinner. Dancing. It’s been many, many years since I’ve danced. This is such a pleasant get-together, and I’m enjoying myself immensely.” She placed her hand upon his forearm. “Thank you for inviting me to attend with you.”

  “My pleasure. I’m glad you accepted.”

  He patted her hand. Then, as if it were the most natural thing to do, he closed his fingers around hers with a sidelong glance to see her reaction. Sipping from his cup in as nonchalant of a manner as he could muster, he pretended interest in the activity going on around them. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flush rise up her neck, as she worked to keep her own smile under control, which bolstered his courage to keep his hand over hers.

  “People would probably consider us too old for this sort of hand-holding silliness,” Dale commented without looking at her.

  Irene followed his example and kept her attention focused on the dancing couples, but she
responded to his touch with a gentle turn of her hand and light squeeze until her fingers were entwined with his.

  “Silly or not, I think the way I feel right now could be described as giddy as a school girl, although I never actually experienced that before. Somehow I missed out on, or life simply passed over, that stage in my growing up years.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  “As I meant it to be.”

  The bride and groom waltzed by, and Dale said, “People are still talking about the dresses you and Ginny made for the wedding. Just wait and see. It won’t be long before word gets out and orders for wedding dresses will come in from hundreds of miles. You two will be so busy in the bridal business, we’ll have to hire extra help.”

  Irene asked, “Are you suggesting I should stay here?”

  “Well… I… That is to say… I didn’t mean to imply—” He broke off on an embarrassed chuckle. How did that slip out? He studied his spit-polished boots for a few seconds. Who was he kidding? Every day she’d stayed was also one day closer to the day she’d leave, and he didn’t like the empty feeling he had when he thought of her going away. Ben’s advice from last summer came to him. You’re not getting any younger. Why put it off?

  Why indeed? With a gulping swallow of punch he wished was spiked, he pushed past his uneasiness of receiving a response he didn’t want to hear. “Would it be so bad to make a new home in Platte River City?” He swiveled in his chair to face her.

  She turned away, and he regretted putting her on the spot.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  She waved off his apology, but didn’t look at him. “Not at all. What you said surprised me, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  It was another moment before she turned to him. “It’s been on my mind to send a letter to the man in Denver.”

  “Oh? What would you tell him?”

  “That I’m no longer interested in his offer.”

  Dale finished off his glass of punch to keep from grinning ear to ear like a fourteen-year-old sitting with a girl for the first time at a box social. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What are you interested in?”

  “I’m interested in—”

  “I’m looking for Irene Maxon.” A man’s booming voice halted all conversation. “I’m told I would find her here.” His tone was bereft of friendliness.

  Irene’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, my Lord.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes.

  “What does he want?” Dale shifted his gaze from the stranger to Irene.

  “Unfortunately…me.”

  ****

  “I’m here.” Irene stood, and Dale came to his feet with her.

  There was no mistaking the stranger’s identity. He looked just like the photograph he’d sent, only bigger. His beefy frame filled the doorway side-to-side and top to bottom. His tailor-made suit suggested success and affluence, and he sported a Derby perched at a cocky angle with the front brim low over a bushy eyebrow. Irene couldn’t take her eyes off him as he proceeded across the room toward her with bold strides of too much confidence.

  “Who are you, and what is your business with Mrs. Maxon?” Dale asked as he stepped forward to meet the man, which put him in front of Irene as a shield of sorts.

  Although she appreciated Dale’s gesture, she couldn’t have him fighting her battles, if battle this turned out to be.

  “Calvin Schuller.” The man brandished an envelope. “She signed an agreement to work in my factory, and she’s overdue in starting. I’m here to collect her.”

  His high-handed attitude was more than she could take. Stepping around Dale, she voiced her protest. “I beg your pardon. I agreed to arrive in Denver in the early part of the year at which time we would discuss more permanent arrangements before anything further was settled.”

  The man made a wild wave with his envelope. “Sitting around at a party doesn’t look to me like you intend to fulfill your obligations.”

  “I am not obligated to you—”

  “I’m entitled to compensation for the lost revenue these past several weeks of the work you agreed to produce, but didn’t.”

  “That’s absurd. You can’t pre-collect on anticipated revenue from work that hasn’t been done.” Irene noticed that the room was church-quiet, and people were gathering in a semi-circle.

  Schuller continued. “In addition, I sent money for your train fare. I paid to have your furniture shipped. I even sent extra money for incidentals you might need along the way. I’ve been waiting since the middle of December for you to get to Denver. That’s two months gone by.” His voice took on an accusatory tone. “You might have gotten away with running out on me if your furniture hadn’t been delivered to my house a few days ago. It took some doing, but I found out you’ve been here for six weeks. Six weeks! Not only do you owe me for what I’ve already paid out, I’m prepared to sue for breach of contract. Unless you favor a law suit, you’ll pack your belongings, and we’ll catch the next train to Denver. You’re contracted to me for the next six months.”

  Irene retorted, “I am not your indentured servant.”

  Schuller’s face blazed red, and before he could speak, Dale intervened.

  “Irene. Is this true? Did you sign an agreement of this nature?”

  “Not a formal document, no.”

  “But you did sign something?”

  She made a condescending wave toward the envelope in Schuller’s hand. “If you consider written correspondence to work out the particulars of a trial courtship, and his promise of providing me with private quarters in his house, room and board, and wages for working in his business, then, yes, I have signed a document.”

  Schuller sneered, smug in his nodding. “I know about the law. That’s a binding contract.”

  “How much?” Dale asked.

  “How much for what?” Schuller dragged his gaze from gloating at Irene to level a scowl upon Dale.

  “How much does she owe you? Exactly.”

  Schuller glanced around. “Well… I—I don’t have an exact amount.”

  “I thought as much.” Dale nodded, realizing Schuller was a libertine who had honed his swindling skills to a fine edge. “This is not the first woman you’ve used this tactic with, is it?”

  “What do you mean, tactic? I’m entitled to what’s rightfully—”

  Dale set his shoulders, his disgust with Schuller growing stronger by the second. “I think you intimidate women into submitting to your demands with your bullish mouth and threats of legal action. The women are so desperate to get away from you that they’re willing to exchange their possessions and wages earned, which I suspect you withhold with the promise of a one-time payment at the end of their contracted term. You sell what they leave behind and pocket their unpaid wages.”

  A guttural, scoffing noise rose from deep in Schuller’s throat as he shot wary glances left and right, his expression betraying his confidence of a few minutes ago. “Conjecture. You’ve got no proof.”

  “Nor do I need any. If money was all you wanted from Mrs. Maxon, you’d have arrived knowing to the penny how much she owed. It’s obvious you have no intention of letting her reclaim her furniture and sewing machine.” Dale turned his back on Schuller, and moved Irene a few steps farther from him. “I suggest you trade them as repayment for what he fronted you.”

  “But it’s all I have. I need the sewing machine to support myself. Yes, I have a little money saved, but I’ll need it to live on until I have a reliable income. I can’t continue living for free with your family. I’ll have rent and food to pay for… I can’t afford to buy another sewing machine.”

  “Irene, I’ll buy you any sewing machine you want—as a wedding present.”

  “Wedding?” Irene sucked in a little gasp. “Dale… I had no idea. You’ve given no indications—”

  Dale dismissed the twittering comments flitting through the onlookers. Any other time, he’d have been
too embarrassed to carry on like he was in front of so many people. “I’ve been thinking about this since that first night when you couldn’t sleep, and we sat up drinking tea and talking into the night. Looking back, I knew then I wanted to marry you.”

  “Now just a damn minute!” Schuller moved in on them, dropped a big hand on Dale’s shoulder, and swung him around.

  Dale side-stepped out of Schuller’s grip and held a cautioning arm out to keep Irene behind him.

  “I responded in good faith to her advertisement for a husband. I didn’t come all this way to settle for a few pieces of furniture and a sewing machine.”

  “You’ll settle for that and like it.” Despite his calm exterior, Dale was slow-simmering mad inside. “My attorney, Liam Mederi, will explain it to you.” Dale slanted a glance toward the young man watching from the edge of the crowd.

  Liam walked to Dale and stood beside him. He handed Schuller his card. “Sundays are not legal days for business in this town. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to pursue action regarding breach of contract.”

  Schuller gave the card a cursory read, snorted his disdain, and tossed it to the floor. “Don’t think you can threaten me with your fancy talk. We’ll settle this now.”

  “Any discussion of settlement will come through my attorney. As Irene’s husband, I will assume all of her debts.”

  “That’s all well and good, but you’d better believe me when I say I’ll get what’s coming to me. You can have her back after I’m good and done with her and that won’t happen until she works off the six-months she owes me.”

  “Have her back?” Dale bristled; his back went board straight. “Your insinuation is unacceptable. Apologize to Mrs. Maxon.”

  Chortling, Schuller crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Apologize? I don’t apologize to women, especially women who advertise themselves for sale to men. It’s my God-given right to show them their place—”

  Dale’s fist stopped the big man’s words, sending him reeling backward, though he stayed on his feet. Dale moved in, ready to drag Schuller out the door and finish what he’d begun outside. “I said apologize.”