Elusive Lovers

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Patsy interrupted Kristin's thoughts by saying, with a sly look, “I heard something from Mrs. Macleod that you ought to know—Mrs. Macleod that brought me from Denver."

  Had Maeve told Patsy the story of Kristin's disgrace?

  "I heard her saying to her daughter, ‘The girl's got to go.’ Her exact words. ‘The girl's got to go.’ She said as how Mr. Fitzpatrick couldn't take his eyes off you."

  "What?"

  "She says you're ruining the marriage, and Miss Augustina's glum all the time."

  Miss Augustina did seem to be getting glummer. Kristin had thought perhaps it was her nature or female troubles.

  "She says as how the marriage won't last another year with you in the house, even if Miss Kat's willing to keep you after the other thing. I don't know what she meant by that. Have you done something else to displease them?"

  "I haven't done anything,” said Kristin despondently.

  "Well, that's what I heard."

  And pleased to hear it too, Kristin thought. Patsy was like Minna, who had always been happy when their parents turned on Kristin. And Maeve reminded her of her parents. Not one of them had stopped to ask where the fault of Kristin's dishonor lay. It was his fault! And now he'd brought more trouble upon her and then gone off to Denver, leaving her to bear the consequences again.

  She'd heard Kat complaining about Jack's departure. Maeve said it was because Jack didn't want to marry Kristin. How would it be if he hadn't left and Maeve had insisted that they marry? What if she and Jack went away somewhere? A place where no one knew them, where Jack could kiss her without bringing everyone's wrath down on her head.

  She thought about that first kiss, and the second one here in the Macleod house and the third on Main Street. He'd had no right to any of them. Still, she felt warm and unsettled when she thought about kisses, especially married kisses. After kisses, there would be babies. Pretty, funny babies like Molly and Liama. Babies who laughed and patted your cheeks. Babies who blew funny bubbles and had curly hair. Babies who dirtied their linen.

  Kristin sighed. She couldn't even work up a good daydream these days. She was thinking of returning to the kiss dream when Miss Kat came into the kitchen and said, “Kristin, I'd like to speak to you. Patsy, you can finish the dishes."

  Kristin saw the flash of anger in Patsy's eyes. Miss Kathleen didn't. They went into the Fitzpatrick parlor beside the dining room and sat down in rockers. What did Miss Kat want? Surely, they weren't going to make her leave tonight. It would be dark in another hour or so.

  Her gloomy thoughts must have shown on her face because Miss Kat said, “Now, Kristin, don't look like that. One way or another, I'll take care of you."

  Kristin swallowed hard. This was a good woman! “Your mother—” she began.

  "Mother means well, but she can be narrow-minded. She and James are thinking of moving to Breckenridge. Did you know that?"

  Kat's face brightened; Kristin's fell. Just what she needed, the elder Mrs. Macleod in Breckenridge telling tales.

  "Well, enough of that. Kristin, I think you'd better tell me the whole story of what happened to you in Chicago."

  Kristin bit her lip. There was no need to hide anything now. Genevieve had not kept her confidence. “I used to go with Genevieve to the railroad station to rescue young women,” Kristin began.

  "Did you? What a fine thing to do! Was your family, as Genevieve said, a wealthy one?"

  "Yes, ma'am,” said Kristin. “At any rate, I'd been out with Genevieve and got home late. My sister was supposed to go out to dinner with her fiance, Jack Cameron."

  "Oh dear. Then it is as Genevieve said?"

  Kristin nodded. “But Minna hadn't bothered to come home. She did that sometimes just to remind him that he should be thankful for her dowry."

  "I was under the impression that he had lots of money."

  "That's true,” said Kristin. “The Camerons are rich bankers. If he hadn't been rich, what would my parents have wanted with him? All they ever think about is money."

  "Money's not to be sneezed at. If we hadn't been short of it, part of our best mine wouldn't be in Jack Cameron's hands. Well, go on with your story."

  "The housekeeper said I had to entertain Mr. Cameron until Minna got home."

  "I see.” Kat frowned and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Still, Kristin, entertaining him doesn't mean that—"

  "She just meant that I should sit with him,” Kristin hastened to add. “And I didn't even want to do that. He's so sophisticated, and he always treated me like a little girl. That being the case, I don't know why he'd want to—” Kristin stopped, flushing.

  Kat, obviously thinking she was too embarrassed to say what had happened, didn't press her. Instead, she exclaimed, “You're quite right. The nasty lecher. If he thought of you as a child, goodness, I must keep him away from my children.” Kristin looked at her in astonishment. “Well, there are men like that, you know,” said Kat.

  "Like what?” asked Kristin.

  Kat shrugged, her expression one of distaste. “Go on with your story."

  "So I went into the library because Lottie insisted. Then he insisted that I have some brandy."

  "And did you?"

  Kristin could see the disapproval in Kat's face and realized that she shouldn't have mentioned the brandy since she knew how much Miss Kat hated drinking. “I didn't like it,” said Kristin. “It burned my throat, but he kept pouring more into my glass while he asked me questions about my work with Genevieve. He seemed so interested.” She remembered sadly how flattered she had been. “And the brandy made me feel—well, not myself at all."

  "I should think,” said Kat.

  "I just talked and talked, whereas before I never said more than ‘good evening’ to him."

  "Liquor does make fools of folk,” said Kat. “You must remember that, Kristin."

  Kristin nodded. “And once I'd told him all about the rescue missions, we got out the family albums, and I told him stories of our childhood. And then he kissed me."

  "Yes, yes,” said Kat. “You don't have to tell me any more. Poor child. It's all the fault of drink and, as my mother would say, evil seducers. But you mustn't worry. You have a fine new life ahead of you. We'll go to Dillon tomorrow."

  "Dillon?” asked Kristin anxiously. Was she to be forced out of town?

  "Yes, my ranch is up near Dillon. We have to find a place to raise the pigs."

  "What pigs?” asked Kristin with a sinking heart.

  "The pigs for the sausage factory, of course. You're about to become the sausage queen of the Western Slope, and I'll only ask one thing in return, except for the repayment of my money, of course."

  "What's that?” asked Kristin.

  "That you never drink again."

  Of course, she wouldn't! Look what had happened to her the last time. But she also didn't want to become a sausage maker. Still, what choice had she? And to think that she'd once wanted to be a princess!

  "What are you going to call your new company?” asked Kat, full of enthusiasm. They were on the train, returning from Dillon.

  "I don't know,” said Kristin gloomily. “You decide.” Kristin couldn't imagine that the company would be a success after such an unseemly beginning. Mr. Landis, who ran Kat's Dillon ranch on shares, had said right off that he didn't want to raise pigs.

  "There's a good profit to be made in pigs,” said Kat.

  "How good a profit?” asked Mrs. Landis.

  Kat had then quoted figures quite knowledgeably, as if she'd been in the pig business all her life. Kristin was amazed. Was Kat making them up? Or had she really assembled all that information in the one day between Maeve Macleod's insistence that Kristin leave the house and the train trip to Dillon?

  A terrible argument had followed between Mr. and Mrs. Landis. “And how are we supposed to git all them pigs into Breckenridge?” shouted Mr. Landis. “You expectin’ me to herd ‘em like cattle?"

  Kristin couldn't help herself; she started to giggl
e at the idea of Mr. Landis on horseback shouting, “Giddyup, pigs,” and herding a group of oinking, grunting “dogies” to Breckenridge. Did one call traveling pigs “dogies” as one did trail-herded cattle? And how many days would the pig drive take? she had wondered, knowing some of the terminology from an exciting book she'd found hidden under the mattress in Baldwin's room.

  "I'm not sure pigs can be herded,” Kat said quite seriously. “I think we'd best send them by train. In the winter I suppose you could slaughter them here."

  "Well, I draw the line at butchering,” said Mrs. Landis.

  "I'm not doin’ it,” said Mr. Landis. “A cow's a creature you can have some feelin's for, but a pig—a pig's just plainly disgustin'."

  Kristin felt the same way but didn't dare say so.

  "Well, if you're so fond of cows,” said Mrs. Landis, red-faced, “then the cow business is yours. You can do the milking from here on. When do the pigs arrive?” she asked Kat, arms folded militantly over a flat bosom.

  "Day after tomorrow,” said Kat, and they'd left with Mr. Landis shouting at Mrs. Landis, and Mrs. Landis maintaining a dignified, stubborn silence.

  "She'll bring him around,” Kat had assured Kristin during the buggy ride back to Dillon. “He didn't want the butter machine either, but it's been a great money-maker."

  And now here they were on the train, having already arranged to buy and ship the pigs, some to be delivered to the Landises for breeding and raising, some to be delivered to Kristin for butchering and sausage making.

  "You must see Chris Kaiser and arrange for outright sale of some of the meat."

  Kristin didn't want to do that and couldn't imagine asking a virtual stranger to take pig parts off her hands. “Miss Kat, are you sure this won't cost too much money? After all, you didn't have enough to keep the mine to yourselves, so how are you—"

  "Now, now,” Kat had said. “Don't you give it a thought. I have friends in banking."

  Not Jack Cameron; he was gone. Kristin looked out the window and noticed that they were getting close to Breckenridge. She felt that stepping off the train would commit her for the rest of her life to being a spinster sausage maker. What a fate for a girl who had once dreamed of being a princess and then a famous artist.

  "Traube's Colorado Sausage!"

  "What?” Kristin turned to look at her benefactor.

  "The company. We'll call it Traube's Colorado Sausage. Because when you really get going, you can sell in Denver. If I hadn't thought of that possibility, we'd call it Traube's Western Slope Sausage."

  Chapter Eight

  From the porch steps, they could hear the raised voices inside. Instead of opening the door, Kat stopped dead, her face pale.

  "What is it?” asked Kristin.

  "Ingrid's back.” Kat took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  An ominous tableau greeted their eyes—Augustina on the verge of tears; Sean, pale and stunned; Connor frowning; and Maeve shouting angrily, “You've no place in this house any longer. You gave up your right to come here years ago.” The person to whom these remarks were addressed was a woman, very tall, very blond and, if Kristin was any judge, very ill. She was flushed and unsteady on her feet, but no one offered her a chair. The whole company stood in the corridor room that joined the two houses.

  "My goodness, Ingrid, is it you?” Kat's voice faltered on the question.

  The woman turned and tried to focus on Kat Macleod. “This is my house,” she said, words all slurred as if she were talking around a mouthful of oatmeal. “I only left because of you."

  Kat went pale at that accusation.

  "I always loved him.” Ingrid swayed and righted herself. “I didn't want to leave, but you said I was a bad mother. Had to go while I had the chance ... ‘cause I knew he'd die ... an’ then you'd have all the money ... an’ my children ... an’ I'd be out in the street."

  "Ingrid, I never said—"

  "Hardly ever spoke to me.” Ingrid swayed again and caught her balance on a small table. The cloth slipped, and the lamp teetered.

  Kristin rushed over and grabbed it.

  "Who are you?” asked Ingrid, then shook her head like a puppy shaking off water. “Oh, don’ tell me. Some Chicago girl. An’ now they say, she"—Ingrid pointed a trembling hand at Augustina—"they say she's his wife."

  In rescuing the lamp, Kristin had come close to the woman, who reeked of brandy, bringing back the evening with Jack as clearly as if Kristin were there, as clearly as if he were kissing her again as she lay against the sofa arm.

  "I'm his wife,” said the stranger, Ingrid. “We were married ... legal ... front of a judge. So this is my house, an’ you're jus’ his whore."

  Augustina burst into tears. Sean wavered helplessly between the two women who claimed him. “I divorced you, Ingrid,” he confessed.

  "Divorced me?” She looked confused. “How could you divorce me if I din know about it?"

  "I divorced you for desertion."

  "I din desert you. I jus'...jus'—"

  To Kristin it looked as if Ingrid couldn't remember what she had meant to say.

  "—jus’ in Aspen,” she finished, stumbling over the “s.” “Been in Aspen all along ... thinkin’ you were dead ... tryin’ to live decent, so I could tell her"—she turned accusing eyes on Kat—"tell her ... I had a right to my children."

  "Oh, lord,” said Kat, looking appalled.

  Maeve said, “Don't tell us about living a virtuous life. You left town with a gambler—"

  "Hadda get away, an’ you woun let me have any money—” She looked again at Kat. “All these years ... I been supportin’ myself ... thinkin’ when I got money—"

  "Supporting yourself how?” demanded Maeve.

  "Not what you think,” muttered Ingrid defensively.

  Kristin put an arm around her waist and helped her to a chair because she looked as if she were about to fall.

  "No one said she was welcome to sit,” snapped Maeve. “I told you you should get the German out of the house, Kathleen. Get both of them out. They've no place among decent folk."

  "I'm decen',” said Ingrid. “I nearly starved bein’ decen'. Soon as I got ‘nough money, I came."

  "Well, you're four years too late,” declared Maeve. “Be off with you. Augustina is Sean's wife now."

  "'S not right,” mumbled Ingrid. “We married, an’ marriage is forever. This is my house. I should ... I should..."

  "Can I come in yet, Mama?” asked Bridget. “Oh, my goodness, are you Kristin's sister?” The child was staring from Ingrid to Kristin.

  Then Kristin understood why the adult Macleods and Fitzpatricks treated her so strangely. Why Sean stared at her. Because she looked like the wife he'd put aside. At least in coloring. Ingrid had the same blue eyes and hair so blond it was almost white.

  "Bridget, leave the room,” said Connor, who until then had been silent.

  "I don't want to, and you're not my mama or papa, so I don't have to."

  "If you're not out of this room before I count to three, you'll get the spanking of your life, young lady,” said Connor. “One, two—"

  Bridget's eyes rounded as if no one had ever threatened her before, and she scampered off.

  Then Connor turned to Ingrid. “Ingrid, you can't stay here."

  "'S my house,” Ingrid insisted. “'S my piano. If you make me leave, I'll take my piano with me.” There were tears in her eyes. “An’ where's my red velvet furniture? I want my furniture. An’ my husband. An’ my babies. At leas’ you can let me see my babies."

  "Never in this world,” said Maeve.

  Connor gave her a hard look, but she persisted. “You should go straight back where you came from.” Maeve's statement was punctuated by Augustina's quiet sobs. Sean was no longer staring at Kristin as he used to; now he was staring at Ingrid.

  "How could you?” Ingrid asked him. “You tole me you'd come back to me."

  "Obviously you didn't believe it,” said Sean.

  "I'll
take her to a hotel,” said Connor. “Come along, Ingrid,” and he all but lifted her out of the chair. Ingrid was weeping. “Hitch up the buggy, Sean,” Connor ordered. “She's in no condition to walk. I'm surprised she managed to get here from the railroad station."

  "I'll take care of her,” said Sean.

  "No, you won't,” said Maeve.

  Sean turned on her. “Maeve, I want you to stay out of this.” But Sean did go for the horses, and Connor led a stumbling Ingrid away, still mumbling about her house, her piano, her red velvet furniture, and her babies.

  Kristin thought it the saddest thing she'd ever witnessed, even sadder than the night her own father had ordered her out. How could people treat one another so badly?

  "Kristin, I need to talk to you,” said Kat.

  Having ejected one blond woman from the house, were they about to banish another? Kristin wondered.

  "You heard everything that was said?"

  Kristin nodded.

  "'Tis a terrible situation. We never thought to see her again after she ran away, and now Connor tells me that she's ill and needs looking after."

  "It's the brandy, don't you think?” asked Kristin. “I recognized the smell. It nearly made me retch."

  "It did make her retch,” said Kat. “She must have been drinking all the way from Aspen."

  "And for years before that."

  Kat nodded. “Poor woman. I suppose she was terribly afraid to come here. We didn't treat her very kindly in the old days.” Kat looked troubled. “I shall wonder for the rest of my life how much I am to blame in this. She spoke so rarely when we were sharing a house that I never knew what to make of her.” Kat sighed. “Still, something must be done on her behalf. There are folks who have given up drinking. Maybe we can help her to do it."

  "You're going to take her in?"

  "Here, you mean? We can't do that. Poor Augustina's distraught, and who can blame her? She now thinks she's not legally married, although the priest married her in the church. She thinks Liama's illegitimate."

  Kristin nodded. Augustina's situation was as bad as her own. Worse. Augustina had a child. Kristin, still looking for signs of impending motherhood, hadn't noticed any in herself.