by Annie Boone
“Now sit, Abigail,” Fiona instructed. She busily prepared water for tea on the stove in the kitchen. “Read this while I get a tray of goodies together. It is most interesting and I think you might be intrigued.”
Abigail saw the heavy cream colored paper with the small precise pen strokes and felt curious despite her instinct to ignore the letter. Who is this Graham Barrett she wondered. She noted how different his hand was from Frank's loops and flourishes. Sinking into remembrances of all the times she assisted Frank in spelling and composition of the articles he wrote for the Times. She so missed his companionship. Seeing that it appeared to be a suitor writing to Fiona she shook off the past, determined to offer her support to her friend who had done so much for her the past few months.
“Why is this stranger writing to you,” she asked, as Fiona placed a tray of Abby’s favorite apple tarts, along with the teapot, cups, and saucers, on the freshly scrubbed table.
“He is actually writing to us,” Fiona corrected, her gray eyes shining with mischief. She then prepared Abby's tea with fresh cream and two sugar cubes, just the way she liked it. Abby smiled and then looked at her friend with a confused expression.
“You see, Abby, it occurred to me recently that between the both of us we have only had two beaus. It also occurred to me that together we make the most idyllic woman, though not one with much experience of courting rituals. And not to be boastful,” she continued, clearly boasting, “I believe I can assist you with your beauty habits, just a smidgen,” she allowed. Then noting the suspicious look on Abby's face, she quickly added “And you can help me better myself with the written word. I think it will be good for both of us. Together we will write as one woman. What do you think?” she finished hopefully.
“That sounds all well and good,” Abigail allowed, “but what of this man, Mr. Barrett. From his correspondence, he seems kind and hopeful, what about his feelings? What about his hopes and dreams of a wife?”
Fiona laughed, “He is the luckiest of all, for he gets to converse with the both of us. Remember that together we are perfect so he will be cared for and entertained through our letters to him. And when the time comes, we will let him down easily, as the saying goes. This will be a good way for us to practice until we are ready to try our hands with real gentlemen.”
“Fiona, he is a real gentleman, looking for a real wife. I don't want to harm anyone,” Abby said fretfully, noticing for the first time she still wore her nightgown and slippers. As an aside, Abby realized she needed to start taking better care of herself.
“Trust me, we will send a few more letters. Then we can tell him we have moved on to become governesses,” Fiona promised as Abby giggled for the first time in ages. Then she got up to change her clothing.
As she combed her hair and smoothed her skirt, she realized that she had to make changes in her life. The saying was that life is for the living. It was true, but very difficult to embrace in her new life without Frank.
What would Frank think about this scheme of Fiona’s, Abby thought. He would probably laugh at first, but he would approve. Getting to know someone through letters would be comfortable to him. He had made a very stable living writing and Abby had learned to love writing from him. It made sense to her that he would be happy if writing could inadvertently pull her from the deep depression she had been experiencing since his death.
“Dear Lord,” Abigail prayed quietly, “I trust You to help me make the right decision about this letter writing. I don’t want to hurt anyone – especially someone who has written to us in good faith. I do need something to pull me from this dark hole. If Graham Barrett is that something, please let this happen. Amen.”
Chapter Four
Two months later, Abigail was still conversing with Graham Barrett. Fiona only added her thoughts occasionally now. Her interest in the project she had started had waned considerably. She had also lost interest in the man himself.
Letters from Mr. Barrett had started to arrive more often over the past month. The tone of the letters had become increasingly familiar and intimate. He shared details of his life along with his hopes and dreams.
“Fiona Dearing!” Abby Witherspoon bellowed. “Come here this very instant. We have a big problem.”
Fiona flew into the parlor, looking around in alarm. She found Abby sitting on the blue damask sofa, clutching a thick sheaf of letters. In one hand she also held what appeared to be a ticket of some kind. Abigail looked quite dismayed.
“My goodness! What is the matter? Abby, are you sick?” she demanded, feeling her friend's brow.
Abby swatted Fiona’s hand away and blew out a heavy sigh. “He wants us to come to Cheyenne, Wyoming, on the stage coach,” she hissed. “He wants to marry Rosalie Collins, only she doesn’t really exist, does she? What are we to do? This is terrible!”
“We’ll do just what we planned, my dear. We will regretfully decline because circumstances beyond our control prevent such a meeting,” Fiona laughed. She turned around and looked at Abby to make sure she agreed with the plan. At the look on her friend’s face she realized that she had become invested in the letter writing.
Abby got up and walked to the window. Her back was to Fiona but her reflection told Fiona all she needed to know. Her shoulders were slumped in sorrowful defeat and her eyes were clouded with woe. Fiona couldn’t bear to see her friend feeling so low again. Writing to Mr. Barrett had been the thing that had brought Abby back to life. That couldn’t be ignored.
She knew that they needed to go to Wyoming. Abby needed to meet Graham Barrett in person. Maybe not to actually marry this man, but she needed to at least see him. Fiona was certain there was no way she would go by herself. There was no way Fiona would let her go alone.
“You know, Abby, I just reconsidered, we shall go to Wyoming, after all. Of course, we will! And you will be Rosalie, after all I hardly know him.” Fiona smiled brightly and gestured to the letters in Abby's lap. “It seems he has written you a small book so you know plenty about him. Am I right in thinking there is mutual affection?”
Abigail gave a startled laugh, “I believe you are. I have developed feelings for him. Isn’t that odd?”
“It’s not odd in the least,” replied Fiona. “I believe this sort of thing is happening all the time these days. It’s the new way of courting.”
Abby smiled crookedly and then frowned. “I fear it’s too soon. What will people think? It’s not proper to go meet a new man so soon after the death of my husband.”
Fiona gave a knowing nod. “I understand the concern, but I don’t think it’s too soon at all. Frank would want you to be happy. You’re the only one who can decide when the time is right. And who cares what the busy bodies in this town think?”
Abby reached a loving hand to Fiona’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re right as usual, Fiona. We shall have to ask Sheriff Cummings to mind the house while we’re away. Oh, and I need to procure another ticket. We only have the one,” said Abby thoughtfully.
“I will ask the sheriff when I go into town to buy my ticket. You do remember the money Trevor Booker so kindly, if unknowingly, gave to me? Believe it or not, I still have most of it. I suppose you thought I spent it all on new dresses,” Fiona explained. “So, I can easily afford a ticket to Wyoming.”
Abby nodded slowly, thinking back on the sorrows of that day when they were enjoying the new dresses and the story of how Fiona came to have them. The pain of losing Frank so suddenly came back to her in a rush. The feeling was an emotional jab that brought fresh guilt to her. She had finally dared to hope again. She was trying to live again and she felt a stab of regret that almost caused her to fall back to their original plan.
She said a quick prayer and reminded herself that Frank would want her to be happy again. He wouldn’t want her to stop living because he was no longer with her. So, she clapped her hands together and began to get excited about the upcoming trip across the country.
“That sounds wonderful, Fi!”
she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you still have some of that money and it’s so sweet that you’re willing to spend some of it for this trip.”
“Of course,” said Fiona. “The money will be a good cushion for our travel. Certainly we’ll need food and certain comforts along the way. Many thanks to that scoundrel, Trevor Booker. I wonder how marriage to a saloon girl suits him?”
“Do you really care about the state of his marriage, Fiona?”
“Not really,” Fiona laughed. She got her valise and headed for the front door. “I haven’t missed him at all. I’ll be back shortly and we can start getting packed.”
Chapter Five
The coach to Cheyenne was packed to the brim with passengers and Abigail felt tempted to ride on top with the hangers-on. It had been Fiona's idea to leave a week sooner than planned, with the intention of taking Graham Barrett by surprise. She proposed they would have more of a chance of meeting the real man that way. Not just a carefully constructed image of the man. Abby felt bad about being untruthful to Graham but admitted Fiona's plan had merit.
For the whole length of the six hundred mile journey two distinct aromas had been battling for their attention. The rose water favored by Mrs. Bartholomew and the heavy lavender scent of Mrs. Harvey took turns as the dominant fragrance inside the coach. The two women looked at each other and rolled their eyes at the headache inducing dueling colognes. Rolling up the leather hangings for fresh air admitted great clouds of choking dust while leaving them down was equally as unpleasant.
“I’m not sure how much more of these strong perfumes I can take,” remarked Abigail.
They were stopped for a mid-day meal and had separated themselves from the flowery perfume wearing passengers for a short respite. The women would take every moment allowed at the stop before boarding the coach for the departure. Fresh air was a premium that they wanted to get as much of as possible.
“Well, maybe you’re just a little on edge about the upcoming meeting with Mr. Barrett,” replied Fiona. “Is it possible the annoyances on the trip are more intense because you’re nervous?”
Abigail smiled wryly and nodded. “Yes, I imagine this is probably at least part of it. He is occupying my thoughts more and more. But honestly, Fiona, those women should be more respectful of others. They both stink!”
Fiona laughed loudly and agreed enthusiastically.
“Don’t you wonder just a little what he will look like?” Abigail asked. The subject of his appearance had not come up until now. “I know looks aren’t the most important thing, but I am curious. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s normal, silly girl,” Fiona chuckled.
“I do wish we had exchanged photographs. Then I’d know what to expect. I guess in our situation, though, it wouldn’t have been proper to send a photograph. We didn’t have one of Rosalie available. I hope this deceit doesn't backfire on us,” Abby rambled.
“I’m certain that he will be attractive to you, Abigail. And he sounds like a wonderful man which is the most important thing, after all. Since you’ll become Rosalie for a short time, I know it will work out beautifully,” soothed Fiona.
“More than anything, I’m worried that he won’t find me appealing. I don’t have that roses and cream complexion that’s in fashion now.”
Fiona frowned dramatically. “How many times have we discussed this? I have repeatedly assured you that milk white skin does not automatically make a woman attractive. Frank thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Take strength from that memory. And also believe me that I know what I speak of.”
Abby smiled weakly and nodded. “You’re right, Fi. Thank you for reminding me. I’m still nervous, though. I can’t help myself.”
“Come along, Abigail,” Fiona said a bit frostily. “I hear them calling. It’s time to get back on the coach.”
***
As they finally rolled into Cheyenne the girls peered out the open windows of the coach. They had been able to lift the window coverings as they got closer to the town. The dust had settled after a rain and that made it possible to enjoy some much needed fresh air.
Abby and Fiona marveled at the little city. Though much smaller than Kansas City, there were many saloons, along with some general stores and stables. The whole place looked raw in a sense, with ramshackle homes and businesses thrown up around more reputable, solid-looking structures. Much of what they saw looked temporary.
There was an air of growth and danger, men in fur, railroad hands, and whiskered cowboys hurrying along importantly. Abigail was quite taken by the bustle, feeling the excitement of new possibilities. She was much relieved, however, when the coach came to stop in front of a stately hotel. The large green awnings over the windows of the hotel promised relief from the dry heat of the last days of summer. The mountains in the distance gave assurance of an early fall with cooler weather, but that time had not yet arrived in Cheyenne.
“I’m thrilled that we won’t have to hire a driver to bring our trunks over from the depot to the hotel,” said Fiona as they stepped out on to the wooden planked sidewalk in front of the hotel.
“Yes. I expected there to be a coach station. I imagine they’ve not yet built one. This hotel will be a very nice place for us to rest and recharge,” replied Abigail. “I sincerely hope there won’t be a problem getting rooms.”
“Oh, I hope not. Let’s hurry, then.” They stepped over to the coach on the side of the street to talk to the porters.
As they made arrangements for their trunks to be carried into the hotel, Abigail noticed a lawman standing across the street. The tin star pinned to his white cotton shirt gleamed in the sun. He looked to be well over six feet tall even though he wasn’t standing up straight at that moment. He was leaning on a hitching post in front of the Pure Gold Saloon.
He was conversing with a disheveled man who appeared to be trying to untie a horse that wasn’t his. There was a sudden scuffle, as the man swung his fist trying for the lawman's nose. The lawman behaved almost like a gentleman and calmly stepped back, neatly avoiding the blow while twisting the man's arm behind him.
“Dang it,” Abby heard the lawman say. Everyone around, even the porters with the trunks, turned to witness the tussle. “Now I gotta take you in. If you can't hold your liquor better than this, Clarence, I'm gonna tell Jim at the Pure Gold to quit sellin’ it to you. And that ain't your horse!”
He began to march the man right past Abby and Fiona. Abigail stepped back to allow them room and found herself off balance, having stumbled on a rut in the street. She threw her hands out to grab Fiona and instead found herself in the arms of the handsome lawman. Abby saw wide green eyes, hickory colored hair under a tan cowboy hat and a strong, square jaw.
“Whoa, ma'am, I got you. Sorry about the ruckus over there at the Pure Gold,” she heard him say. But before she could reply, he had set her upright and turned her loose. He was off quickly catching up with the troublesome Clarence, and marching him off to jail.
Abby caught her breath as she shook her skirts out, while Fiona leaned close enough to whisper, “My, oh my. What a handsome man! Let’s hope Mr. Barrett is of equal caliber. Why,” and she poked Abby's arm, “that could be him for all we know.”
“Hush,” Abigail laughed. “You know that I find other traits to be more important than looks. Though he was quite a handsome man, wasn’t he? And anyway, Graham is a rancher, not a sheriff. His spread is near the town of Crystal Lake, so small the coach doesn't stop there. He would have no reason to be in Cheyenne.” Realizing she was prattling, Abby stopped talking abruptly.
“I believe that's the tenth time you've told me that,” Fiona said teasingly, as they walked into the cool dimness of the hotel's lobby, “but I know you wouldn't take it amiss if our suitor turns out to be so interesting looking.”
“Fine,” Abby conceded, “that won't be a bother at all, but he is already attractive to me from our correspondence. He is so eloquent with his words, like a poet. Anyt
hing else is needless. Now let's see to our room. I am in need of some washing up before this dust becomes a part of my skin.”
Chapter Six
“Well,” Fiona began, as she finished pinning Abby's dark golden blond hair, “I do believe this is my favorite look yet, of the score we have tried. Truly I am gifted.” She laughed subtly at her compliment to herself and gently rubbed a small amount of rouge on Abby's cheeks. Next she added just a bit of pink lip salve to show off her pearly white teeth.
Abigail saw a stranger in the looking glass. A woman with golden hair caught up in a sophisticated twist stared back at her. The delicate purple ribbons woven through the twisted tresses were the perfect complement to the style. She wore the lilac dress from Fiona's bounty of goods, along with a simple underskirt of palest yellow.