by Maureen Lang
Tobias shifted in his seat, and the sign nearly fell to the floor of the carriage. “Oh, I don’t know. How many would her table sit? Six? Eight? Perhaps ten at the most.”
Something in his uncle’s demeanor made Henry redirect his gaze from the view beyond the carriage. Was it his imagination, or had the always-honest Tobias Ridgeway done something that made him nervous?
“I’m surprised she wants me anywhere near those who willingly emptied their pockets for such a place.”
Tobias smiled, but his eyes darted away too quickly for Henry to be satisfied. “It’ll be good for you to spend time with people who believe in her.” His voice held all the enthusiasm Henry was accustomed to hearing from him, especially when involved in something with which Henry disagreed. “You may come away tonight with an entirely new perspective.”
That Henry doubted, wondering yet again why he’d chosen to accept this particular invitation when he’d easily refused so many in the past.
“You don’t think William will be late, do you?”
Mariadela’s face didn’t offer very convincing assurance. The mercantile closed early on Tuesday evenings, which was why Dessa had chosen tonight for the donors’ dinner. But having known the Whites for the past two years, she’d seen how many times both of them had been held late with work or seeing to the needs or demands of a lingering customer.
Fortunately Mariadela had brought her oldest two daughters to help with last-minute preparations—though Dessa had been working all day and Mariadela had helped most of yesterday, too. If the girls had waited for their father to bring them, there would be no one to offer the punch before dinner or to serve the meal itself. But the sad fact was, having his best two workers away from the shop meant closing time for William might take that much longer.
“Everything will be fine, Dessa,” Mariadela said at last. The table was set, Mariadela’s daughters were in the kitchen donning crisp aprons straight from the mercantile, and every aspect of the meal—from the vermicelli soup to the braised beef to the apricot soufflé—had turned out to perfection. The new stove was everything Dessa had hoped it would be, allowing cooking and baking to be a pleasure.
“I love what you did with the leftover trim paint,” Mariadela said, looking at the stenciled decoration Dessa had added to both the parlor and the dining room. They couldn’t afford the more fashionable wallpaper, so Dessa had improvised by adding a pineapple pattern to one wall in each of the two rooms. That was all she had time for, but she thought it might be enough.
Dessa wanted to be pleased by the compliment, but her thoughts couldn’t be drawn from the evening ahead. Mrs. Naracott had sent a note earlier in the afternoon saying she and her husband would be bringing an extra man—their sturdiest coachman—with them tonight. Their driver would take the carriage to a safer neighborhood to wait for them, but if Dessa agreed, they would leave the coachman to stand guard on the porch so they could eat in complete comfort inside, knowing they were safe. He wouldn’t, of course, be expected to sit at the table, so Dessa was not to worry about food or a place setting.
Even Reverend and Mrs. Sempkins sent a note inquiring if a luncheon might have been a better choice to introduce Pierson House. Was it safe to come to such a neighborhood after dark?
Dessa had reassured them that she’d deliberately scheduled the meal for six rather than eight so they could feel free to leave before the sun had set.
Mr. Ridgeway was likely to notice the temporary guard lingering on the front porch. Hopefully he wouldn’t think she’d spent money that should go to the bank to hire the man on a permanent basis!
She’d extended tonight’s invitation to Mr. Ridgeway’s wife as well, but quickly received a note back that she was up in Cheyenne with her sister. Though Dessa had been disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to meet the woman tonight, it was probably fortunate that Mrs. Ridgeway wasn’t able to come. At least Dessa’s table would be evenly set. One of the new dangers she faced as an unmarried hostess was juggling the number of guests to accommodate a balanced table.
When a knock sounded—fifteen minutes before the invitation prescribed—Dessa’s heart twittered as she hurried through the dining room to answer the door.
But it wasn’t anyone she expected. Instead, she found a boy holding the largest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen.
“Delivery for you, miss.” He shoved the flowers toward her.
“How lovely! But where did they come from?”
“Compliments of Mr. Turk Foster. And with a friendly welcome to the neighborhood.”
Then, before she could hope to find a nickel or even a penny to tip him, he ran off.
“What’s this?” asked Mariadela, removing the apron from around her waist.
“A boy just delivered them. He said they were from someone by the name of Turk Foster.”
Mariadela’s brows shot up with such surprise that the delivery might have been a prickly cactus rather than a colorful array of flowers.
“I’m not sure I’ve heard that name yet,” Dessa said as she walked back to the kitchen. The flowers were too tall for the dining room table, but wouldn’t they look nice in the parlor, to brighten up the table in the corner? She could move the oil lamp to the floor. No need of that tonight, with the old house’s gas lighting in fine working order. “But if he’s from the neighborhood, he must be someone I should get to know.”
“As far as I know, he’s one of the richest gamblers in Denver. Why he should send flowers is beyond me.”
“The boy said they were to welcome me to the neighborhood.” As she spoke, Dessa rescued an empty paint can from the porch. She lined it with a towel to keep any paint residue from the stems, then added water from the faucet and returned to the parlor with the attractive arrangement. There was such an array of upright and cascading flowers that they hid the can altogether.
Mariadela huffed behind Dessa. “Pierson House isn’t exactly a rival for Mr. Foster’s dance hall. I don’t understand why he would single you out with flowers. I’m sure he doesn’t welcome other businesses here on any regular basis. Why would he?”
“No matter,” Dessa said lightly. “Perhaps he was used of God and doesn’t even know it. Our dinner party needed something like this to make it special.”
A knock at the door sounded again and there was no time for Dessa to consider the reason behind the delivery. Perhaps God really did have something to do with it! The sentiment inspired exactly enough confidence for her to greet her first guests with a welcoming smile.
The door and windows to the two-story brick home were all open as Henry’s carriage pulled up. From his seat he could see straight into the parlor and spotted a number of people standing and holding beverages.
Dissatisfaction formed in his chest. It seemed an entirely busier place than the way it appeared in the middle of the day. Henry wasn’t at all sure he liked the transformation.
But then, how else was it to look when a party—even a respectable dinner party—was to be held?
Surprisingly, Uncle Tobias let himself out of the carriage first. He seemed in somewhat of a hurry as he nearly bounded up the few stairs, past a man lingering on the small cement porch. A closer look revealed the man on the porch to be a servant of some kind, by the polish of his boots and the bow he offered. Had Miss Caldwell been able to hire protection for the evening? But why, when for the first time she had ample company to keep her safe? Surely she didn’t want to present to her guests the truth about the dangers of this neighborhood.
Nothing made sense when it came to this woman.
Miss Caldwell herself greeted Tobias at the door, a look of pleasure and welcome making an already lovely face that much lovelier. For a moment Henry wished the expression wouldn’t end when she looked at him, but he prepared himself for the inevitable.
Her frown appeared, as expected. What he didn’t expect was the surprise that accompanied it, tinged slightly by what looked almost like horror. Had his behavior at their luncheon s
o thoroughly revealed how little he believed in this mission of hers?
If so, he should turn around right now.
“Mr. Hawkins.” Her voice was more welcoming than her initial expression had been, so he had to give her credit for a speedy recovery. “How very nice to see you again.”
Henry tipped his head her way as he removed his hat. A moment later she took the hat from him, along with his walking stick and Tobias’s accessories. Glancing around the room, he saw an older couple he recognized as the Naracotts. They were on his investors’ dinner guest list every year as influential participants in the financial world, and they attended faithfully. The Clarks, who banked with him, were present too. A glance past both of the men to their wives revealed surprise similar to Miss Caldwell’s.
“Well, Hawkins!” said Homer Naracott. “We didn’t think we’d see you here tonight.”
Leland Clark approached as well, offering a raised brow and a laugh. “I’ve often wondered what it would take to get you to accept a social invitation. Evidently the secret is for the request to come from a lovely and available young woman.”
Henry had little patience for their fun. Just as another man approached, someone Henry did not know, he excused himself to follow after Miss Caldwell. Little did he care that such an action only reinforced their banter. He may host two parties every year, but even so he’d never overpracticed social niceties. He wasn’t about to start now.
“What are we going to do?” Dessa fretted to Mariadela, who was seeing to last-minute details of the meal.
Her friend was frowning but hardly appeared as rattled as Dessa felt. Mariadela had the presence of mind to perfectly slice—with a very sharp knife—the bread they would serve with the meal.
“Not to worry, dear,” said Mariadela. “We’ll just add another plate when William arrives, as if he’s the unexpected addition. No one will be the wiser that we didn’t expect Mr. Hawkins.”
“Then I suppose we should start the meal right away,” Dessa said. “Before William arrives. Is everything ready?”
She would have turned to the oven to see for herself, but a shadow at the kitchen threshold caught her attention, the very object of her distress. How long had he been standing there?
“Mr. Hawkins,” she greeted him again, approaching to lead him out of the kitchen. “If you’d like some punch before we sit down to dinner, Mrs. White’s daughters are serving in the—”
He was already shaking his head and appeared in no mind to follow her direction to leave. “You didn’t expect me tonight, did you?”
“Why, we had every hope . . .” The polite lie died on her lips as she saw one of his brows skeptically rise.
Mariadela came between them with a basket of sliced bread in her hands. “Mr. Hawkins, even I know you never attend parties. If that isn’t enough, it was clear from the day you came here that Tobias Ridgeway approved the loan, not you. Can you blame her if she didn’t send you an invitation?”
Mr. Hawkins crossed his arms, looking between the two women. “I want to be perfectly clear. Not only did you not expect me, but you never even extended an invitation to me?”
Evidently Mariadela felt as Dessa did; silence was confirmation enough.
If Dessa had not expected him, even less did she expect a sudden burst of his laughter. Yet he issued a deep, hearty bellow, one that seemed to have been trapped inside him for quite some time and had just now found a way to emerge.
Dessa exchanged a glance with Mariadela, who looked equally confused.
Before long Mr. Hawkins leaned against the doorframe, laughter fading, arms still crossed. Then he stood taller, unfolding his arms, and gave them a brief bow. He was back to the formal banker so quickly Dessa might have doubted he’d departed from his typical image, even for that brief moment of mirth.
“The truth is I haven’t found anything so funny in years. Do you know how many social invitations I’ve ignored since setting up business here in Denver?”
Dessa shook her head.
“Nor do I, actually. Countless. Tonight I accept an invitation, only to learn one wasn’t even issued. I find that funny. Don’t you?”
Now it was Dessa’s turn to fold her arms. While she thought him even more handsome when he smiled, she wasn’t at all sure she should be amused. What was she to say to the others? How could they possibly add another plate to an already-crowded table when William arrived and not have it seem the social mistake that it was?
Another question emerged above her concerns. “Why did you accept this invitation, then—if one had come?” Perhaps embarrassing her before her biggest donors was something else that might amuse him.
“That’s a very good question,” he said softly. “Would you rather I left?”
“No, of course not.” Her answer was hasty, but she was surprised to realize it was every bit as sincere as it was swift. If he stayed, perhaps he could see for himself the confidence her donors had in her.
“But if my count is correct, there are three couples—six people—in your parlor right now. Mr. and Mrs. White bring that total to eight. Including yourself, Miss Caldwell, along with my uncle, if I stay there will be eleven required to sit at a table that will barely seat ten. I’m afraid my one venture out to a society party has created more trouble than it’s worth.”
“There is only one solution,” Mariadela said, and Dessa turned her attention to her gratefully, since she hadn’t a clue what to do. “I’ll stay in the kitchen. No one has seen me yet anyway, just my girls who are helping out. Everyone will think I never intended to sit.”
“But what about William? You would have him sit at the table without you? And what of your gown? You look dressed to attend a party, not to serve at one.”
“Nothing an apron won’t hide. We’ll easily explain he could never be trusted to help serve a dish, so we had to put him at the table or he’d have gone hungry.”
Dessa wanted to hug her. “Oh, Mariadela!”
But Mr. Hawkins was shaking his head. “It hardly seems fair to you if I take your place, Mrs. White. I can easily leave through the back door and be forgotten in a moment.”
Mariadela laughed now, with pure amusement. “Not since they’ve seen you. I’m sure your arrival made an impression.”
Without further discussion, Dessa led the way back to the parlor, where she announced dinner would be served just as soon as their final guest arrived. No sooner had she spoken than William entered with an apology for keeping hungry people from a meal.
Henry folded the napkin beside his plate. One thing the meal reminded him of: if Miss Caldwell hoped to draw people to this place through her cooking, she was well equipped to do so. He’d had a second helping of that apricot soufflé, after he thought he couldn’t eat another bite.
He could barely believe what he felt inside as he looked around the dining room. Here, at this table filled with people from whom he’d so long hidden himself, he found a sense of community. Something that was sadly absent at the obligatory dinner parties he held.
Even as it was surprisingly pleasant to be reminded of such a feeling, he wondered what any of them would say if they knew the truth about him. Not only that he hadn’t a bit of their belief in Miss Caldwell’s mission, but the truth of his past. He may not have hurt anyone all those years ago, but his crime certainly hadn’t been victimless. He’d stolen money he had no right to take. How would any of them feel if he’d stolen from them?
He wondered yet again if there was some connection between those bothersome notes he’d received and his crime. Asking around to see if other businessmen had been targeted, perhaps by a church trying a new method of attracting members, had led nowhere. Without revealing the existence of the notes, there seemed no way to investigate in any depth.
He needed, once again, to leave all that behind him. It was impossible that anyone should know what he’d done so long ago. Impossible.
Besides, Henry could console himself with the knowledge that five years ago he’d made
an anonymous repayment to both Wells Fargo and the mine from which he’d taken the money. The banking portion of his business had succeeded by then, as he’d always been sure that it would. Repaying the illegal loan had suspended some of the guilt he’d carried.
Still, Henry had denied himself any life apart from his work because of that secret. Even after restitution, he realized secrets never really died. Those notes proved it, whether or not the two were connected. Secrets only hibernated. If the truth came out, his bank would fail and Henry knew it.
Anyway, he was so set in his private ways that he didn’t want to change anymore. Not even for what he’d found at this table. It was too late.
“Yes, I noticed the man outside on the porch,” William White was saying. He sipped his coffee. “I thought you’d been able to hire someone.”
“As grateful as I am for Mrs. Naracott’s coachman tonight,” Miss Caldwell said with a gracious smile at the other woman, “I’ve been safe on my own. Except . . .” Her gaze landed briefly on Henry. “I did have a man well into his cups come visiting here in the middle of the night once, but he was easily directed to the porch, and after that I was more careful about locking the doors at night.”
“Goodness!” said the reverend’s wife, Mrs. Sempkins. “I’m sure I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Likely leaving him alone would have been enough,” Miss Caldwell said. “He was well past all sensibility or harm. I’m really fine here. In any case, I own nothing anyone would want to steal. Except for the wonderful new stove that cooked this meal.” To Henry’s surprise, she smiled at him, and he found himself unable to do anything but offer a small one in return. “And that would be rather hard to get out of the door, if I can judge by its delivery.”
He’d have wondered if she were trying to coax a reaction from him, but her face lacked all malice. So he let himself enjoy the private jest between them as others complimented her use of that kitchen stove.