by Annie Boone
“I feel like a different person,” she mused. “I have to confess I wasn't keen to try these cosmetics Fiona, yet I look like myself, just enhanced a bit. And you look splendid,” Abby complimented her friend, taking in the maroon gown and raven ringlets accenting Fiona's gray eyes and creamy skin.
“Thank you! And that's what so many women fail to realize,” Fiona bustled about, finishing her own toilet, “only a little is needed for a most gratifying effect. I am so happy you like the look, Abby. Now tell me, are your nerves aflutter yet?”
“They have been since I agreed to this foolishness months ago,” Abby conceded. “But I am ready to meet Mr. Barrett tomorrow. I have the strangest sense that I know him, only not knowing what he looks like is very irksome. I hate to admit that, but it is the truth.”
“Come on then,” Fiona said, holding out her arm, “the time has arrived for dinner, it is almost six of the clock and I am starved. If we get there a little early we’ll be able to sit at one of the best tables in the dining hall. I believe I saw that the menu tonight includes Wyoming Elk Stew with soda bread and sopapillas with honey and cream for dessert. I’ve never had sopapillas before and I’m anxious to try them.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Abby agreed, as they made their way down the grand staircase. “I feel quite decadent dining in restaurants like this. It is so strange to eat food I haven't prepared myself.”
They were seated with their backs against the wall, the large expanse of the hotel dining hall quickly filling up with dinner guests. After ordering coffee, they sipped slowly, scrutinizing each new arrival. Remarking on the different fashions, some gowns still high bustled, others of the simplest design. We all look like brightly colored birds, Abby idly thought.
She was about to share her thoughts with Fiona when out of the corner of her eye she spotted the handsome sheriff from that afternoon walk in the door. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.
Wearing the blue denim trousers becoming so popular in the West, along with a yoked long sleeved blue cotton shirt, black vest, and a lightweight brown duster, he cut an impressive figure. Certainly he was the most impressive looking man in the room.
He seemed to be looking for an empty seat in the busy and full dining room. Fiona took the liberty of waving him over to their table. Abby hissed angrily, “What in the world are you doing? Have you lost your mind? We don't even know him.”
“Quit being a Nervous Nelly,” Fiona hissed back with a very large smile on her face. “There's nowhere for him to sit and he looks quite hungry. I'm just doing what the Good Book says, being neighborly.”
“Hmmph,” Abby groused, clearly sending the message to Fiona that she doubted her good intentions.
The lawman approached their table and took off his Stetson as he got closer. “Howdy ladies, mighty nice of you to invite me over. I can't stay long, I'm waiting for a friend,” he rumbled, shyly turning his hat in his hands.
“Nonsense,” Fiona said brightly, boldly plucking his hat from his hand and placing it on the table. “Your friend can sit with us too. We have plenty of room here. Oww!” she trailed off, as Abby kicked her in the shin under the table. “Surely,” she finished, looking Abigail dead in the eyes, “he could sit with us until his party arrives then, Abigail.”
Blowing out a puff of exasperated air she thought how typical this was of Fiona. They didn't know this fellow from Adam. And she had yet to meet Mr. Barrett. What would he say if he saw her dining with another man? Worse, what if the two men compared notes and Mr. Barrett realized through someone else that she was using a false name?
But she allowed, this man is probably tired and hungry after a troublesome day. Fiona seems to like him so she hoped Mr. Barrett would understand if it came to that.
“Please, do sit,” Abby allowed, gesturing to a seat. “I didn't mean to act inhospitable. It's just I am newly engaged and don't wish to give offense to my husband to be by my actions. I am Abigail Witherspoon and this is my lifelong friend, Fiona Dearing.”
“Well, I'll be,” the handsome sheriff exclaimed. “Congratulations on your upcoming weddin’. I'm fixin’ to get married, too. Only, my lady is comin’ up on the coach from Kansas City. We started off writin’ to each other.” He grinned, showing teeth that were startlingly white against his sun bronzed skin.
“How intriguing,” replied Fiona.
“I felt right like an idiot at first, but my friend, Walter Scroggins, met his wife through the mail order catalog. She's a wonderful Christian lady from Atlanta. And I'm happy to say the Good Lord has blessed me too. Rosalie Collins will soon be here,” he beamed.
He was about to continue his story but he stopped abruptly as Abigail choked on a sip of her coffee. He began slapping her on the back, hovering over her to make sure she wasn’t going to pass out. She felt like she was going to pass out indeed, but it wasn’t because she choked on a sip of coffee. She felt she couldn't breathe.
A million thoughts ran through Abigail’s mind. Surely she had misheard. This poorly spoken, rustic man couldn't be her Graham Barrett. A man that wrestled degenerates on the street was not her ideal suitor. Where was the eloquence, the grace of the man she felt she knew from his heart felt letters? Not this boy rudely smacking her on the back who was more suited to Fiona's tastes than her own.
One glance at Fiona's stricken face confirmed her thoughts. Holding up both hands she was able to push him away and regain her composure.
“Please, please. I am fine. I thank you for your care,” she said, as firmly as possible. Her mind spun with plans on how to deal with this catastrophe. Possibly it would be best for Fiona to assume the role of Rosalie. Certainly nothing needed to be said until they had spoken at length. And though her heart was sinking in her chest she wanted to do right by her friend.
“How embarrassing,” Abby laughed weakly. “Please excuse me, I was over eager. The coffee here is quite good.”
“Not to worry, ma'am,” he replied graciously, “that happens to us all from time to time, just goes down wrong.” He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, suddenly snapping them. “Shoot, I ain't even told y’all my name. I'm Graham Barrett. Got a spread with three hundred head of cattle over near Crystal Lake, a couple hours ride from here. Just call me Graham, though, we don't stand on too much formality in these parts so I don’t need to hear no ‘mister’ or anything. It don’t make sense to be fussy about things like that.”
“How right you are,” Fiona said smoothly, recovering from her shock. “When we first arrived in Kansas City from Pittsburgh, it took some time getting used to the different personalities. Everyone back home is much more restricted and formal. I find this western society refreshing to tell you the truth.”
Abigail knew the cat was out of the bag the moment Fiona said Pittsburgh. Rosalie had told Graham how hard the transition from the lush green hills of home was to the flat starkness of the prairie. A homesickness she had never shared with anyone before, not wanting to taint the journey for her friend or her husband. She saw Graham's forehead scrunch up, the clear green eyes darken until he no longer looked like a mischievous boy. An angry man emerged.
“What's the game, ladies,” he growled lowly. “Do you go around finding suckers to rob? Is that it? Gain his confidence until he offers marriage, then cheat him out of all you can. What I really want to know is which one of you is Rosalie Collins. I've heard about female swindlers before but hoped never to see it here in Wyoming.”
Abigail winced, not sure how things had gotten so ugly. Also conscious that the angrier he became the more Graham enunciated each word, snapping them out precisely, the words impacting against her skin like bullets. Seeing Fiona's questioning look she decided to tell all, better to be honest from here on, as the damage was done.
“I am Rosalie Collins,” she confessed contritely. “We are not swindlers. Everything I told you in my letters is true. It’s just that some of the events happened to me, and some to Fiona.”
Graham looked intently
at the woman seated in front of him. The smooth, rounded cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment. Or was it annoyance at being caught? Her deep, dark blue eyes with unfathomable feeling hidden inside. Rich, golden, glowing skin complemented by hair that wasn’t quite blond and not quite brown. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined. All those nights when he slowly pictured her face, heard her laughter in his mind. He wanted to hold her and at the same time he wanted to shake her. How could he ever trust her? This woman he had thought he knew when so many lies had passed over those soft sweet lips.
Abigail felt herself wilt under his harsh gaze. She felt terrible about the lies they had told. Actually, the lies weren’t that offensive, she rationalized. Only the name Rosalie Collins was a lie. Everything she had written was the truth.
Suddenly he knew what to do. His father had wisely taught him to never make decisions in anger. And he would heed that sage advice. So for now, at least, he would keep these two women close to him. He would find out if there was anything worth saving in this debacle.
“Both of you will come to my ranch. It’s called the Singing River. There we will sort this out. Be ready in the morning by seven. Enjoy your meal ladies, I have lost my appetite.” With that, Graham Barrett pushed back his chair and stood to leave. He picked up his Stetson and placed it firmly on his head. “Don't make me come looking for you.”
He directed his stare at Fiona, whose quick wit had deserted her. With great solemnity, he turned and scrutinized Abigail. Then he stalked away while the two friends began to cry.
“What do we do now?” Fiona wailed. “I have never had anyone speak to me so harshly. What we did wasn't wrong, it was only meant to help you.”
Abby wrapped her arms around her most cherished friend. “Don’t worry. It will work out in the wash, just as it is meant to. After we explain the whole story and our reasons he will soon accept our apologies. Now let’s eat. I fear tomorrow will be a very vexing day and we are going to need our strength.”
Chapter Seven
The ride to the Singing River Ranch did not get off to a good start. Graham provided only clipped directions for the two women to ride in the back with their baggage. Abby rode on the wagonette beside Fiona, while the two vaqueros, the Spanish cowboys coming back to the ranch from visiting family, sat propped against each other, sound asleep. Graham guided the four-wheeled buggy alone. Abigail had found this an odd arrangement, the employer working while the employees slept. However no one else commented on it so she held her tongue, lest she offend him again.
Fiona muttered to Abby, “We are going to bounce apart in this overgrown claptrap. The roads are deplorable.” They could talk freely since the cowboys were sleeping and the noise of the wagon wheels was so loud that there was no way Mr. Barrett would overhear them. Abby was still careful since she was loathe to cause more problems.
“Look at the ruts in this road,” Fiona pointed out. “I can’t imagine what kind of torrential rain must have caused these washouts. Lord help us if we get stuck in such a downpour!”
“But Fiona, see how lush the surroundings are,” Abby encouraged. “The rains have given us the flowers in the meadows. Blue, red, pink, such a happy splash of color in this land of dry brown grasses. It’s simply beautiful!”
Fiona didn’t respond, but gave her a sideways glance of irritation.
Abby was coming to the conclusion that she was seeing the bright side of everything for one reason. After a restless night spent reading each letter over again, she confirmed to herself what she already knew. She was in love with the man of the letters. The man in the flesh she wasn't so sure about, though.
Dear Lord, Abby prayed, I ask for guidance. I know I put myself in a difficult spot, and I ask forgiveness for my dishonesty. If this man is the one for me, then I trust You to remove the barriers. However, Lord if Fiona is better suited for Graham then give me the courage to step away. Amen.
As Abby’s silent prayer came to a close, the wagon stopped bouncing and came to a sudden stop. The women looked around to see what had caused the halt in progress and were shocked to see that they had arrived at their destination. More than that, they were shocked at what they saw before them.
The Singing River Ranch was breathtaking. The sprawling log cabin seemed like an extension of the land around it, large windows open to allow the cooling winds to circulate. Flowers and shrubs graced the lawn, all lovingly tended by Graham's mother.
Abby knew the story of his family and traits of each one through his letters. His mother, father, and younger brother all lived here until his parent's home in Cheyenne was finished. The thought of facing all those angry people made Abby grab Fiona's hand and squeeze tightly.
The two sat in the wagon and didn’t move. They weren’t sure what they were expected to do. Graham had not shared any instruction about what would happen after they reached the ranch. So they waited as they saw him jump down and go into the house.
“I’m nervous. Where did he go? Why didn’t he take us with him?” Abby asked, not really expecting a response from Fiona.
“I hope he doesn’t make us sleep in the barn or something barbaric like that. I would have been quite happy to stay at the hotel. This house is nice, but it won’t mean a thing to me if I don’t get to stay inside it,” groused Fiona.
After a few moments, Graham suddenly reappeared and held out his hand to Abby. She couldn't look him in the eye and that made her feel like a coward. She hated that feeling. Then she felt a soft touch on her face, as Graham tilted her head back. Looking into her eyes he said quietly, “No one knows about this deception but the three of us. To spare us all the mocking we would endure if it became known, I tell you now do not discuss this with anyone else.”
Fiona and Abigail nodded their agreement. Abby spoke the question she had been saving since they had embarked on the trip that morning. “When will we be allowed to tell you the truth of these matters? Sincerely we did not intend to deceive you.”
“Over the course of the next few days I will be spending time with each of you. Alone. Then we will talk honestly of what has transpired. Nothing unseemly,” he hurriedly added, seeing the scowl on Abby's face.
Given his more formal clothing, black waistcoat, and trousers, he almost seemed a different person. His speech was proper and there was no hint of the bumpkin sheriff they had witnessed in Cheyenne. Abigail mulled this over, as she spoke her agreement. Something else was definitely amiss. Was there some deceit he was involved in that he had not shared?
After he confirmed understanding from both women about how they would sort out the issue, he led them toward the house. Abby and Fiona walked side by side behind Graham and each was lost in her own thoughts.
Walking down the path of worn river stones to the house Fiona could no longer deny the feelings Graham roused in her. He was wickedly handsome, well off, and just the sort of fellow she liked. A little rough around the edges, but that side only showed sometimes. She reflected back on his demeanor during the day and decided that he was definitely the man she should set her cap for.
She vowed to speak to Abigail right away for she, too, was Rosalie Collins, after all. This whole thing had been her idea to start with. The best thing to do was let Graham feel like he was making his own decisions while she subtly guided him to choose her. Abby wouldn’t be able to argue if Graham himself was the one who made the decision.
Of course she would need to hurry up and read all of the letters. She must be adequately informed to properly formulate her best approach. And besides, Abigail had already been married. It was her turn now. Yes, it was!
***
Meeting Graham Barrett’s parents took a bushel of courage, it turned out. They were both stiff, aloof, and obviously unwilling for this match to take place. Both women stood primly side by side as they were introduced to the heads of the Barrett family.
Graham made the introductions brief. They also turned out to be quite vague. “This is my mother, Tallulah Barrett,” he sa
id in a neutral voice as he gestured toward the only other female in the room. She nodded her head at the younger women.
Graham then stretched his hand to the other man and said in the same voice, “And this is my father, Daniel Barrett.” Mr. Barrett nodded curtly toward Abby and Fiona.
“And these lovely women are Rosalie Collins and her traveling companion.” He gestured in the general direction of Abby and Fiona without making it clear which one was the long awaited Rosalie.
Tallulah Barrett wore her costly jewelry like armor. Rings, bracelets, and necklaces all creating a barrier so no one could get too close. She was still radiant in her late forties, soft white skin barely wrinkled, the same green eyes as her son, and almost as tall as Abby, at five foot four.
Daniel Barrett was a gentleman through and through, impeccably attired with crisply pressed trousers, matching gray waistcoat, and a vest. The set of his squared jaw showed clearly what he thought of these tawdry affairs, but he was coldly polite as he asked probing questions about their families. Since he was a practicing barrister he was most adept at teasing truths out of reluctant witnesses, and Abby made sure not to reveal too much. Fiona followed Abigail’s lead and shared very little when questions were directed her way.