All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  Dessa drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know, Nadette. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble. I’m here to help, not make things harder.”

  “But she wants to leave; she just won’t admit it to nobody but me!”

  “Why doesn’t she come here herself, then, if she wants to leave the business? The reason I’m here isn’t any secret, especially to the place down the street. I’ve dropped off my applications there.”

  Nadette threw up her hands. “What kinda help are you gonna be if you don’t follow up on a tip like this? I tell you there’s a girl who wants to leave the business, and you’re standin’ up there with all kinda excuses to do nothin’. You gonna do it, or what?”

  “I’ll see, Nadette. I want to pray about it first.”

  Nadette looked as if she might say something else but instead just nodded and turned away.

  Dessa surveyed the dining room table, where she’d placed lace-edged hankies and little white cards with a verse printed in calligraphy on one side. To the handkerchiefs she’d easily added a small, embroidered teardrop in the corner to match the verse from the Fifty-Sixth Psalm: Put thou my tears into thy bottle.

  “Do you think anyone will come?”

  Jane asked the question innocently enough, but it nonetheless sparked in Dessa the very thing she hoped to dispel in others: insecurity. If the announcements she and Jane had distributed to various brothels around the neighborhood had been received the same way the Pierson House applications had been, the afternoon was doomed to failure.

  Dessa refused to contemplate such thoughts. “Of course they’ll come! We only have to let out the scent of those fresh scones we have baking. We mentioned free refreshments on the flyer. Come, let’s open those windows.”

  Before long the table was complete with teacups and plates, along with napkins Dessa had also embroidered.

  “Everything looks beautiful, Miss Caldwell.”

  Dessa smiled, glancing at her watch necklace. It was exactly two o’clock. This had to work. It must.

  In light of the note Dessa had received earlier today, she could barely deny she was more desperate than ever. Last week she’d invited Mrs. Plumstead to come to today’s inaugural beauty lesson, since she and her husband had been unable to attend the donors’ dinner party. But Mrs. Plumstead’s regrets had come this morning. Was it another scheduling conflict, or was one of Dessa’s biggest donors second-guessing her pledge of support?

  Holding out her hand to Jane, Dessa led the way toward the door. “Let’s wait on the porch, shall we? The banisters on each side of the steps should do for seating, don’t you think?”

  The day was glorious, with endless sunshine and the cool, dry air Denver had become known for. Even the unpaved street out front was free of mud or puddles and the boardwalks along the sides easily navigated. Nothing, absolutely nothing, stood in the way of visitors today.

  They sat in companionable silence for a while, and when the first pair of ladies—of questionable virtue from the cut of their bodices—walked by, Dessa smiled broadly and called a hello.

  But they ignored her and kept walking.

  “I guess they have someplace else to go,” Jane said softly.

  Dessa nodded. She looked down the street again, seeing it was empty. She did hear voices nearby, female voices—a laugh now and then—but not a soul appeared on the boarded walkway.

  A carriage rolled by and even slowed down as it neared Pierson House. Dessa’s heart rate picked up. It was a covered carriage, so she couldn’t easily see who was inside, but when it kept going, it no longer seemed to matter. Dessa saw the brim of a flowered hat and knew a woman was in the carriage. But evidently that lady, too, had someplace else to go.

  She sighed. Oh, Lord, what am I doing wrong?

  Dessa glanced once again down the street. She knew where those voices came from: the porch of the brothel situated so close by. Where someone who called herself Miss Remee might even now consider leaving, if only she found the courage to do so.

  Dessa hadn’t visited her, much as Nadette might have liked. She had indeed prayed about what to do, but received not a trace of peace considering the possibility of getting someone into trouble. As eager as Dessa was to help women, she knew this was the kind of decision that couldn’t be forced . . . or hurried. Not if it was to be a lasting one.

  And yet . . .

  By two thirty Dessa had to admit—to herself and to Jane—that no one would come. She wasn’t sure which shameful emotion she battled more fiercely: anger or embarrassment over her obvious failure. She should stride right down to that nearest bawdy house and demand to know exactly what it would take for them to stop ignoring her.

  She shook her head at her own thoughts. Dear Lord, what would Sophie have done? She was so much better at listening to You than I am. . . .

  No sooner had the prayer been uttered than Dessa had an idea. “Come with me, will you, Jane?”

  Dessa marched into the kitchen, where she grabbed the basket she used at the market. After shaking it upside down over the sink to make sure it didn’t have any leafy remnants or crumbs from past purchases, she went to the linen drawer of the built-in cabinet in the corner and took out two of the largest napkins she owned. Each boasted a pretty flower pattern, just the look she wanted.

  First she lined the basket with one of the napkins. Then with the other she wrapped the scones, placing them inside.

  Next she found the ribbon box she stored in a lower cabinet and went into the dining room. She’d painstakingly folded each handkerchief to show off the lace edges, but she could easily tie them with ribbons and fan out the lace for a look every bit as attractive. She could tuck the card with her pretty calligraphy—and a verse that so aptly explained the reason for the embroidered teardrop—inside. After showing Jane how to do it, they had the dozen handkerchiefs finished in no time.

  “We’re going to make a special delivery, gifts to the girls down the street.”

  “You mean we’re going to see . . . soiled doves?”

  “Yes, Jane. That’s exactly the kind of girl Pierson House is available to. If you’d rather not come, that’s all right. I just thought it might help for them to see that I’m not entirely on my own anymore.”

  “Oh no, I’ll come. Poke me if I stare, though. I’ve only ever seen one woman up close who made her living that way.”

  “They’re just like you and me,” Dessa said as she went to the doorway to find her hat and gloves. The unwanted memory of Bennet Pierson came to mind. Well, perhaps a bit more like me than Jane.

  The female voices grew louder as they approached the house three doors down. Three girls sat on wicker chairs on the porch, laughing and talking. Two of them held matching little white dogs on their laps. When Dessa and Jane turned from the boardwalk onto the short cement walkway leading to the porch, both of the dogs yipped and one of the girls stood, putting her dog on her hip.

  “You lost, girls?”

  “We’re neighbors from just down the street,” Dessa said cheerfully, pointing in the direction of Pierson House. “We have too many scones from this morning’s baking and wanted to share them with you.” They looked so skeptical, Dessa added, “As a gift.”

  She held out the basket.

  “What kind of scones?” one of the girls still seated asked.

  “Blueberry. And I have a couple that are plain, with a bit of sugar on top.”

  Dessa glanced at Jane, hoping she might say something, and found the girl was indeed staring, just as she’d feared. Dessa elbowed her.

  “They’re good!” Jane said immediately. “I’ve already had three myself.”

  The dogs still barked, but once Dessa and Jane were on the porch, they stopped. Two of the girls stepped closer as Dessa pushed aside the handkerchiefs to unveil the scones.

  “I don’t eat anything made by someone I don’t know,” said the third girl, still seated. She stared straight ahead, looking at neither the visitors nor her housemates, jus
t petting the dog on her lap.

  The other two girls laughed and reached in to take a scone apiece.

  “That’s how she got here!” one said as she took a bite. “A piece of cake made with opium and she was one of us before morning. Isn’t that right, Min?”

  “I’d be happy to split one with you,” Dessa offered, “and eat half right here in front of you so you’ll know it’s safe. I made them myself.”

  “Ooh, they’re good!” said the one holding the other dog. The animal caught a crumb in midair that fell from the corner of the scone, then looked eagerly for more.

  “You’re from that Pierson House down the street, aren’t you?” the second girl standing asked as she ate her own scone.

  Dessa nodded.

  The girl still seated held her dog closer to her chest. “You’d better leave before Miss Leola sees you here.”

  Dessa offered a smile anyway. “I suppose I am bad for business, but that’s why I’ve come midday. I don’t want to get in the way. I just wanted you to know I’m here. If you ever need a friend, I’m close by. And—” she lifted the basket—“I wanted to bring gifts for the girls. Handkerchiefs.”

  The girl who’d first addressed them laughed. “You’re sure trying hard, I’ll grant you that, Miss Pierson.”

  “Oh, I’m not Miss Pierson. My name is Dessa Caldwell, and I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “We saw that sign about beauty lessons. What kind of beauty lessons?”

  “To talk about how God made all of us in our own wonderful way. He thinks we’re all beautiful.”

  “Yeah, sure, he’s a man, then,” said the girl who didn’t hold a dog, though she’d saved a bit of her scone and tossed it to the one at her side. Then she reached for the basket, looping it over her arm and taking out one of the handkerchiefs. Untying it, the card flew free and she bent to retrieve it. “What’s this about tears?”

  Dessa smiled again. “It goes with the little teardrop on the handkerchief. I like remembering that God must think even our tears are beautiful, if He cares enough to keep track of them—in a bottle for each of us. I suppose He thinks anything can be beautiful if it brings us closer to Him.”

  “You’d better take your gifts and your scones and go back home, Miss Pierson—or Miss Caldwell,” said the girl still seated. “Before somebody you don’t want noticing you notices you.”

  “Miss Leola?”

  “Did someone call me?”

  The new voice from the door was rich and commanding, curious and intimidating all at the same time. Dessa looked to see the woman who was obviously the madam of the house. She was splendidly dressed in a golden gown, cut low to amply reveal the charms she encouraged men to buy, pinched tight at the waist and pleated to the floor.

  She came out to the porch, taking the basket one of the girls had accepted and handing it back to Dessa. “We have all the food we need, Miss Caldwell. And more.” Her cool smile grazed Dessa first, then Jane. Her smile did not quite reach her eyes. “So allow me to return your generous offer. Should either of you be in need of help, we’re also here night and day.”

  “I know you,” Jane said slowly. “You came to the factory a few times with that other lady, to talk to girls on our way home. You even offered me a job once.”

  Miss Leola looked Jane over, brows rising. “Did I now?” Her voice, so smooth and cultured, felt almost like a caress. “Well, the offer still stands. We enjoy a generous and robust market, with all the pretty dresses and money you could ever want.”

  Jane averted her gaze, looking down at the ground.

  “Miss Leola,” Dessa said, knowing if she cowered now she’d have failed again, “I don’t want to hurt your business. I just want your girls to know if they ever need someplace to go, they can come to Pierson House. Wouldn’t that be better than some of the ways the girls leave the business?”

  “I assure you my girls are all quite happy here.” Miss Leola put one hand on Dessa’s shoulder and the other on Jane’s, encouraging them to turn. Jane did so, but Dessa tried not to comply.

  “Can I at least leave the handkerchiefs for you? And the scones?”

  “As I said, we have more than we need here. Good day, ladies.”

  Then Dessa knew she had to go; there was nothing more she could say.

  Feeling once again a failure, Dessa led the way home. Visiting the house had been an idea inspired by God, she was sure of it, but she must have done something wrong.

  Back in the kitchen, where she emptied the basket, she was glad for the moment that Jane was quiet. Perhaps she felt the failure too.

  Would Dessa ever be of any help to those in this neighborhood?

  She put the handkerchiefs in a pile and went to find a plate for the scones. Watching Jane straighten the handkerchiefs neatly, Dessa wondered how the embroidered hankies would ever be used if the girls for whom they were meant refused to accept them.

  She sank to the nearest chair, another prayer on her lips.

  “Oh!” Jane’s voice was pleasantly surprised.

  Dessa looked at her.

  “One’s missing. We brought all twelve, didn’t we?”

  Dessa nodded, leaning forward to make her own count. Finding only eleven, she let her gaze happily meet Jane’s.

  It was a start.

  16

  HENRY WALKED BRISKLY through the bank following his early morning constitutional out at City Park. He nearly smiled at Mr. Sprott as he passed the clerk on his way into the office.

  So when Tobias called to him, obviously having waited to spot him, Henry turned without a trace of annoyance, although he was still somewhat peeved at the older man. Henry had learned his aunt Etta’s train hadn’t been expected until Saturday, a full day after Tobias had sent Henry on that fool’s mission last week to hang the sign at Miss Caldwell’s. Tobias claimed to have gotten his days mixed up.

  “I’ve had a talk with Etta and your Mrs. Giovannini,” Tobias said, “and we’ve all decided your summer dinner event should come a bit later this year. Instead of one month from today, we think it should be held five weeks from Sunday.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because we’ve just gotten word the Verandah is having another of those disgusting masquerades, and much as we hate to believe any of our investors would attend such a thing, the truth is they do. Foster’s party would be held on the same night as your dinner, unless we change.”

  Whatever good cheer Henry had enjoyed a moment ago dissolved at the news. Foster again. Those masquerades ought to be outlawed now that Denver was so far on its way to becoming one of the nation’s premier cities. But Henry knew that was a useless hope. He’d heard New York City itself had similar parties, or worse. Hosted by no less than brothel madams.

  Not that Foster was much of a cut above that.

  But why should Henry change his date to accommodate Foster’s party? It would serve any of his nearly two dozen investors right to be suspected of attending a socially unacceptable alternative. Anyone not showing up to Henry’s event would be left open to the worst doubt, which should make attendance to his dinner all the more desirable—at least for the sake of one’s reputation.

  Yet as tempted as he was to insist, Henry had little desire to expose anyone else’s sins. He had enough of his own to keep hidden.

  “Fine, then,” he said, turning back to his office. Gone was any desire to smile, replaced by the more familiar urge to scowl.

  “Oh, and Henry,” Tobias said, following him to his office door. While Henry hung his hat and removed his gloves, Tobias stood at the threshold. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the invitations printed individually with the names of your guests, in anticipation of your agreement. And I’ve added one more name to the list.”

  Going to his desk, Henry spared a glance but did not prompt his uncle for a name. He already had a guess of his own.

  “I’m eager for Etta to meet Miss Caldwell,” Tobias said, “and what better opportunity than this?”

&nbs
p; Suspicion confirmed, Henry sat in his chair to attend to his work. Tobias took his silence as agreement, as he so often did, then left his office.

  As Henry studied the ledger in front of him, he couldn’t help but notice that the addition of Miss Caldwell’s name to the guest list had restored his former good mood.

  “Where did you learn to do all this, Miss Caldwell?” Jane asked while sitting at the dining-turned-sewing table. “You can cook and sew, and I’ve never seen a neater bed than the one you make.”

  “I was a maid from the time I was seven until I started working with Miss Pierson. That’s how I met her, as a maid in her parents’ house.”

  “Oh. I thought . . .” She averted her gaze, a crimson tint rising to her cheeks.

  Dessa smiled. “Did you think I might be a reformed soiled dove?”

  Jane shrugged. “I guess I did wonder why you want to help them so much.”

  Dessa hesitated a moment. She mustn’t be so afraid to reveal her past, especially with the clients who might come to reside with her. At least . . . some of that past. “Because, but for the grace of God, I might have become one of them.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “But you just said—”

  “I said I wasn’t one, and I wasn’t. Weren’t you tempted, even for a moment, when Miss Leola offered all those gowns and money?”

  Jane tended to her sewing again. “Maybe I was. But I don’t think you could’ve been. You’ve told me more than once that everything in this house belongs to God, as if it doesn’t matter whether you own any of it or not.”

  Dessa wasn’t sure how much to reveal, particularly to someone as young and inexperienced as Jane. She was used to keeping at least one secret, and with Jane it didn’t seem necessary to talk about all the twists and turns that clouded Dessa’s past. It wasn’t necessary, was it, to explain that Sophie’s own brother had been the catalyst that prompted Sophie to choose Dessa as her partner in the work she’d dedicated herself to?