After dinner, as Erastus led the way to the smoking room, saying Eugenia and his sister would join them in the parlor in half an hour, Chauncey slowed his pace and turned toward Mason.
“I don’t know how much Erastus has told you about Eugenia.”
Though he suspected he knew where this conversation was headed, Mason decided to play along. “He said nothing other than that she’s his daughter. It was Miss Louisa who told me Eugenia would be the photographer on the project.”
“She’s a lovely woman.”
That was an understatement. Eugenia was more than lovely. She was spectacularly beautiful. Mason nodded and said only, “Yes, she is.”
Chauncey straightened his shoulders as if to increase his height. “I don’t want you to get any wrong ideas about her. Erastus has agreed that she will be my bride.”
Mason parsed the other man’s words, noticing that he hadn’t said Eugenia had agreed. From her father’s view, the match made sense. Erastus would have the comfort of knowing that his ranch would eventually be transferred to another cattleman. That was logical, but it felt wrong to Mason. Marriage wasn’t a business merger. It involved—or it should—love and attraction. The problem was he hadn’t seen any sparks between Eugenia and Chauncey. When Chauncey looked at her, his expression was that of a man admiring an expensive possession. As for Eugenia—Mason could be mistaken, but it had seemed as if she avoided looking at Chauncey.
That was not what Mason would have expected from a betrothed couple, and yet what did he know? It was not as if he had any experience with love, not as if he had anything to offer Eugenia.
Mason forced his lips into a tight smile. “It seems congratulations are in order. Congratulations, Chauncey.” Now, if only he meant it.
Chapter Four
Using two different colors of sandstone will make the depot unique,” Eugenia said as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. It was earlier in the morning than she was usually outdoors, and though the calendar claimed that spring was less than a week away, winter’s chill still reigned in Cheyenne. Forgoing breakfast, she and Mason had achieved their goal of reaching the site of the new depot before any of the workers arrived to begin the excavation.
“The UP was wise to include red as well as buff sandstone for their building,” Mason said, gesturing toward the piles of stone that had been delivered over the past few weeks. “The depot will be very different from the capitol.” Located nine blocks north on Hill Street, the territory’s capitol building would be an impressive edifice featuring both a different style and color from the depot.
Eugenia shivered, wishing she’d taken Aunt Louisa’s advice to wear her warmest boots. “Papa won’t admit it to his railroad friends, but he doesn’t really like the Richardsonian Romanesque style the UP chose. He would have preferred more angles and fewer rounded arches. I think he’s wrong, though. The arches appeal to me.”
After slipping her gloves into her reticule, Eugenia focused the camera and took a photograph of the stacks of sandstone waiting to be transformed into what Papa claimed would be the finest building in the territory.
“I agree. It’ll be impressive when it’s completed, almost as impressive as your camera.” Mason watched as she rotated the plate holder at the back of the camera. “I’ve never seen one where the back moved.”
Eugenia couldn’t help smiling at the expensive piece of equipment. “It’s called a Flammang’s Revolving Back Patent Camera,” she told him. “Papa bought it for me once he realized I was serious about photography. I think he liked the impressive name. What I liked was that being able to rotate the plate holder instead of the whole camera makes it much easier to photograph both portraits and landscapes.”
“So this isn’t your first camera?”
Eugenia shook her head. “I knew Papa wouldn’t approve of my taking pictures, but I was intrigued when I saw a Walker Pocket advertised in a magazine, so I sent away for it. It was far simpler than this one—no mahogany or brass on it.” And the seventeen dollar price tag that included the processing equipment as well as the camera itself was a far cry from the hundreds of dollars Papa had spent on the Flammang.
“Your father just wanted you to have the best.”
“Yes.” Giving Eugenia the best had always been Papa’s goal, and according to him, where husbands were concerned, Chauncey was the best. She clenched her teeth andrefused to think about Chauncey.
“Here come the workers.” Eugenia watched as close to a dozen men arrived and picked up shovels, ready to begin work. There was no fanfare, no special ceremony, simply a small crew of men digging into the ground. While she focused the camera and took several pictures, Mason wandered around the site, striking up conversations with two of the men, somehow managing to not disturb their work while he spoke.
He looked up and caught Eugenia’s eye, beckoning her to come to him. “Would you take a photo of Mr. Hobbs?” he asked. “He’s a day laborer who’s joined the railroad section hands to work here.”
Eugenia was struck by two things: the fact that Mason introduced the man as “Mr. Hobbs” rather than simply “Hobbs,” as her father would have, and that he wanted a photograph of him. Smiling at the man who was perhaps ten years her senior, she adjusted the camera and took his picture. Half an hour later, when she’d taken a photo of a second man and several of the ever-growing hole in the ground that would one day contain the foundation, she and Mason left the site.
“You took a lot of notes,” she said as they made their way back to Ferguson Street.
“Each man had a different story to tell. Take Mr. Hobbs, for example. He has six children and hasn’t been able to get steady work because of the weather, so to him this job is a godsend. Mr. Tarkington is a UP employee. He’s used to hard work but says this will be harder than anything he’s done. He expects higher wages than he’s normally paid.”
Eugenia knew she shouldn’t be surprised at all the information Mason had managed to extract from the workers. Not only was he a skilled interviewer, but his friendly manner disarmed people. “Did the railroad agree?”
Mason shrugged. “That’s the problem. It seems no one actually talked about payment. They just hired the men.” He paused for a moment then added, “I’m glad you were here to photograph them. I want to include at least one of their stories.”
“The workers?” Eugenia didn’t try to hide her surprise.
“Why not? They may not be wealthy like the stockholders your father wants me to interview, but without them, there would be no depot.”
“You’re right.” Eugenia revised her opinion of Mason. He wasn’t simply a talented writer; he was also a compassionate man.
“A strike!” Chauncey’s face was as red as an apple’s skin. “How dare those men go on strike? If this continues, the depot will never be finished.”
Mason made a show of cutting a piece of his pot roast as he debated whether to say anything. Work had started on March 15, but only three days later all eleven men had gone on strike over pay, obviously irritating Chauncey. Deciding to cut the man’s tirade short, Mason said as calmly as he could, “It seems to me the problem could have been avoided if the railroad had discussed wages at the time of hiring.”
Erastus laid down his fork and glared at Mason. “Everyone knows that section hands are paid a dollar fifty a day.”
“But this isn’t the same work section hands normally perform,” Eugenia said, her voice as even as Mason’s had been. “They might be justified in believing they should bepaid more.” Though surprised, Mason couldn’t help but be pleased that Eugenia agreed with him.
Chauncey made no effort to hide his outrage. “Two dollars a day? That’s ridiculous.”
The only thing that was ridiculous was Chauncey’s attitude. He was acting as if the money came from his pockets. “It’s not ridiculous if you have six children to feed and clothe,” Mason said, his voice rising despite his best intentions.
Eugenia turned toward her father. “What
do you think will happen, Papa?”
“The UP won’t back down. They’re already looking for a contractor to manage everything. Probably John Coots out of Kansas City. He’s in charge of the headquarters building in Omaha. Coots brings his own crew so he doesn’t have to hire many locals.” Erastus continued buttering a piece of bread as calmly as if men’s livelihoods weren’t at stake. “You can be sure he won’t hire any of the strikers.”
Eugenia paled. “How will those men and their families live?”
“They should have thought of that before they struck.” Chauncey’s voice rang with satisfaction, as if the thought of families starving were of no account.
Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that nothing would be gained by saying anything more tonight, Mason made a mental note to pay a visit to Ned Hobbs. There must be something he could do to help.
Eugenia stared at her reflection in the mirror as she secured her hat. It had been more than two weeks since the workers had gone on strike. As Chauncey had predicted, work had stopped, leaving her and Mason nothing to document. Instead they’d wandered through the city together, ostensibly to give Mason a better idea of the town where the depot would reside. In reality, Eugenia suspected he was looking for ways to help Mr. Hobbs and the others. She doubted that Papa, such a staunch supporter of the UP that he would tolerate no negative comments about it, would approve, so she told him nothing of her suppositions. But she couldn’t help being pleased when Mason mentioned that Mr. Hobbs was now delivering lumber.
Drawing on her gloves, Eugenia headed downstairs. It was time for Chauncey to arrive.
“You’re looking particularly lovely today,” he said as he entered the house.
Eugenia forced a smile. It was mean spirited of her to notice that he said the same thing every time he saw her. Chauncey couldn’t help it that he wasn’t a man of words like Mason.
“Thank you, Chauncey. I’m looking forward to our afternoon together.” While it wasn’t exactly true, feigning enthusiasm was the least she could do. After all, she had promised herself that she would give him a fair chance to prove he could be the right husband for her. “I always enjoy tea at the Mitchell-Hathaway bakery.” That was no lie.
As he held her coat for her, Chauncey said, “I brought my carriage, but I wondered if you’d prefer to walk. The sun is warm for early April.”
“That would be pleasant.” Eugenia tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they set off. As Chauncey had said, it was a lovely early spring day. While it was too soon for Eugenia’s lilac buds to open, the weather was warm and sunny.
“I’m glad you agreed. This will give us extra time together before I leave.”
“You’re leaving?” Eugenia felt ashamed of the way her heart soared at the prospect. “Where are you going?”
Chauncey preened like one of the sage grouse Eugenia had seen on the prairie. “Your father has been approached by several meat packers in the East and asked me to negotiate the contracts.”
“That will be good experience for you.”
“I’m looking forward to it, but I’ll miss you. I’ll be gone close to a month.” Chauncey frowned. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted this time with you.”
A month! Knowing it was wrong to feel so relieved that she would not see Chauncey for so long, Eugenia made an extra effort to be polite. She and Chauncey spoke of ordinary things until they reached the bakery. When they entered, Eugenia sniffed appreciatively and smiled as the proprietor approached her. “Oh, Esther, something smells delicious.”
Eugenia looked around the front room of the bakery. As was typical for this time of day, Esther’s husband, Jeremy, stood in the far corner, a brush and palette in his hands as he painted a portrait.
“The dried apple pie is just out of the oven. I also have gingerbread and a nutmeg oat cake.” Esther showed Eugenia and Chauncey to a table. “Which would you prefer?”
“You may have whatever you want, my dear.” Chauncey reached across the table and patted Eugenia’s hand. “Have all three if you like.”
“I couldn’t eat that much, but they all sound and smell wonderful.”
Esther tipped her head to one side, considering. “Why don’t I cut small pieces of each?”
“Perfect.” When the proprietor left to prepare their plates, Eugenia smiled at Chauncey. “Esther’s kindness is one of the reasons I enjoy coming here. She makes every visit feel special.”
“She’s a good baker—I’ll grant you that—and a fine-looking woman for someone her age. What I don’t understand is why she married a cripple.” Chauncey pointed toward Jeremy. “Surely she could find someone better.”
Eugenia couldn’t hide her shock. It was true that Jeremy walked with a limp, the result of having lost a foot during the war, but that was no reason to condemn him. “Jeremy’s a fine man and a talented artist,” she said, her voice rising with anger. “Papa agreed that he would commission one of Jeremy’s Christmas star portraits for my first Christmas as a bride.”
The special Christmas ornament that had brought Esther and Jeremy together had become famous in Cheyenne, with a number of women wanting to adopt Esther’s family tradition of having the bride and groom’s portrait encased in a star-shaped frame. From the day Esther had shown Eugenia her star, Eugenia had dreamt of her own.
“We’ll find someone else to paint ours,” Chauncey told her. “I don’t want to pose for a cripple. It would make me uncomfortable.”
What made Eugenia uncomfortable was realizing that Jeremy had overheard the conversation. She bit her lip to keep from criticizing Chauncey, but try though she might, when she imagined her Christmas star ornament, she could not picture Chauncey’s face next to hers.
Chapter Five
We’re finally making progress.”
Eugenia laughed at Mason’s obvious enthusiasm. “If you can call taking a building apart progress.” The existing depot building housed an express office on the east side, a ticket office and women’s waiting room on the west. Today the western half was being moved a few hundred yards and placed on the opposite end of the neighboring hotel to make room for the new depot. “It’s not very exciting to photograph.”
“Are you still thinking about what people will say a hundred years from now?” The twinkle in his eye told Eugenia that Mason found her preoccupation with the future amusing.
“You know I am.”
When she’d been sorting through the contents of two old trunks in the attic, Eugenia had found a household management book that must have belonged to one of her ancestors. In addition to a few recipes, it included hints on how to make candles dripless, reminders to bring in pails of water when a freeze was expected, and suggestions on how to sweeten the smell of the privy. What would the author think if she could have seen Eugenia’s home with its electric lights and indoor plumbing? And if that much had changed since the eighteenth century, what wonders would the twentieth bring?
“I hope someone finds our book in 1986 and sees what life was like here.”
“I’d like that, too, but I don’t imagine your father would be pleased to hear you call it our book.”
Eugenia chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Then I won’t tell him.” Just as she hadn’t told him how laughter had become an important part of her life since Chauncey had left Cheyenne or how her heart raced each time she was with Mason. She most definitely had not told Papa that she’d begun to dream of a future where Mason was more than simply the man writing stories to accompany her photos.
The smile Mason gave her made Eugenia wonder if he’d read her thoughts. Surely he hadn’t! But when he spoke, his question was innocuous. “Are you taking your camera to the party tonight?”
Last Sunday had been Easter, and to celebrate the end of Lent’s solemnity, Papa and the other cattle barons had decided to host a party at the Cheyenne Club tonight. Eugenia was expected to attend such events, and since Papa wanted Mason to learn more about his colleagues, he’d received an invita
tion.
“I wanted to, but Papa says that would not be seemly. His friends don’t all approve of my involvement in the book, so tonight I’m supposed to be nothing more than Erastus Bell’s daughter.”
“And the most beautiful woman at the dance.”
As a blush stained her face, Eugenia ducked her head. Never before had Mason said anything like that. Oh, he’d been friendly, and she’d seen admiration in his eyes when he’d looked at her photographs, but this was the first time he’d paid her a personal compliment. It felt good, so very good, to realize that unlike Chauncey’s flattery, Mason’s words were sincere. Eugenia’s skin tingled with pleasure, and warmth spread through her veins at the thought that Mason regarded her as a woman, not simply his partner.
The pleasure she’d felt over Mason’s compliment lingered all day, and she took special pains with her toilette as she prepared for the party. Even Aunt Louisa, who considered events like tonight’s dinner and dance a waste of money, told her she looked exceptionally pretty. Now, as she descended the stairs, Eugenia saw Papa and Mason standing at the foot, looking up at her.
“I told you Eugenia would be the belle of the ball,” Papa said, his face wreathed in a proud smile. “Mark my words, Mason. You’ll have to fight the other young bucks to get a dance with her.”
Eugenia caught her breath at the prospect of being held in Mason’s arms. She hadn’t been certain Papa would approve. In the past he’d insisted Eugenia dance only with men he considered potential suitors. Perhaps he was being more lenient now that he’d given Chauncey permission to court her. Whatever the reason, Eugenia would not squander the opportunity.
She extended the heavy cardboard booklet that Aunt Louisa had pinned to her gown. “My dance card is empty, Mr. Farling.”
The Rails to Love Romance Collection Page 9