The Man from Shadow Valley

by Regan Forest

  Or had Meredith been taken in by an old gypsy woman who made things up?

  Chances were, if she had heeded Meredith’s original warning, she would not be suffering the pangs already—the awful pangs of having to leave someone she loved.

  11

  IT WAS ONE OF THE MOST important days of her life, a day for celebrating. So why did she feel so sad? Ellen closed her portfolio, carefully tying a red ribbon around the large folder. After all this time, all these hours of saving and working and planning, her last assignment was finished. Underneath her pride of achievement coiled a sick and nagging loneliness.

  She sat at her bedroom window, gazing out at a lazy summer midmorning on Pebble Street, feeling the warmth of the sun on her arms. Two barefoot children were playing with a dog at the end of the street. A cat scrambled through the high, weed-grown grass along the curb and ran into an unpainted shell of a garage. It was like a thousand other summer days of her life, and yet it was like no other.

  The house was so deathly quiet. Below were the flowers of her grandfather’s garden, now carefully tended by Ellen. She sighed. For years she had worked for this day...this reward...this ticket out of Shadow Valley. Now victory was as empty as the house.

  Leaving meant leaving Cody, too. If only he would go with her, but with each day that passed, he became more a part of the town’s very foundation. He was carving a place for himself with innovative ideas for promoting the radio station and Shadow Valley with it. He was here to stay. And she couldn’t stay.

  How many plans she had made at this very window! The view of the street of her childhood would be etched indelibly in her mind. The street was inhabited by a thousand ghosts. The whole town was a haunt of ghosts, as far as she was concerned—ghosts of memories best forgotten.

  She turned, hugging the precious portfolio to her chest, and laid it on the bed where she and Cody had slept together and where she had fallen in love. Love—the mind-altering condition she had tried so hard to avoid.

  It was so tempting to share with Cody the news that her assignments were finished and there were only the final exams to complete, which were easy for her. What would he do if she told him? Take her out to celebrate? Hardly, knowing what it meant. No, this was one celebration she couldn’t share.

  * * *

  AT SIX O’CLOCK IN THE evening Ellen met Cody at the radio station, from where it was only a three-block walk to the hotel. People still stopped Cody on the street to inquire about his recovery. Those same people were becoming accustomed to seeing Ellen at his side, but the staring never ceased, because the Ellen Montrose they now whispered about looked as if she had just stepped from the pages of a high-fashion magazine and she had snagged the town’s handsome newcomer. These were against the rules Shadow Valley lived by. Pebble Street white trash were supposed to know their place. She felt the stares as she and Cody walked in the mild summer breeze.

  He took her hand. “You look stunning, as always.”

  She smiled a thank-you. “I never imagined I would ever wear my design clothes in Shadow Valley.”

  He glanced sideways at a passing couple. “I’m proud of you.” He had been well aware of the stares, even when Ellen wasn’t dressed up. The town had noticed he stopped by the café to walk home with her after work. That was when invitations designed to set him up with certain town socialites had intensified. Being a child of Pebble Street, he knew they were trying to stop him from seeing Ellen. Not just because of who she was, but because of who they thought he was—the best catch in town. He chuckled at the thought.

  Ellen said, “I worry that your association with me will hurt the reputation you’re building. People don’t understand why you mingle with the likes of me.”

  “Ellen, don’t be ridiculous!”

  “It’s true and you know it. It’s why you haven’t let them know where you’re really from.”

  He frowned, slowing almost to a stop. “At first I thought they might remember me, but they didn’t, with my different name. I haven’t tried to hide it, and when the time is right I fully intend to reveal where I was born—when the impact will be the most effective. But that’s not the subject. What we’re talking about is you and me together. Don’t you know, Ellen? I’m proud of the woman I love and I’d shout it to the world!”

  “Why?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

  They had reached the steps of the hotel. Two older women leaving the building gazed curiously at the young couple, she in a chic white pleated dress with tan trim, he in brown slacks and tan sports jacket. Cody smiled and held the door for the women.

  When they were seated at the table, with the wine list, he asked, “What do you mean, Why?”

  It took a few seconds for Ellen to remember their conversation. She paused. “I mean, why would you be proud?”

  He blurted out, “I’m with the most elegant woman in town! They see that and can’t deal with it.”

  This brought a breathless smile to her lips. “Am I really?”

  He reached across the table for her hand. “Are you kidding? You have a mirror. You can see your reflection—and I see the effect of it everywhere you go.”

  She watched the waiter pour their wine, then raised her glass to meet Cody’s. After a long pause, she said, “Thank you for the compliments. I’m an end product of a lot of hard work.”

  “Class is born,” he said. “You might have added a finishing touch or two to make up for early circumstances beyond your control—and I don’t mind telling you I’m in awe of your talents. You’ve studied hard, perfected your speech, created beautiful clothes, but you didn’t create your mystique. You are it.” Uninvited, his vision of a dinner party in the Whitfield mansion assaulted his mind...and the frightened eyes of an elegant woman who looked so much like Ellen. They were not Ellen’s eyes. With profound uneasiness, he forced away the eerie picture, hating mysteries he couldn’t understand.

  When she held the stemmed glass, Ellen noticed her own hand trembling. Her ego wasn’t used to such extravagant strokes. This man who sat across from her with the candlelight shining in his blue eyes—there could never be another man like him; never, in all the earth. There could never be another voice like his or a smile like his or a love like the love he offered her....

  But what could she give him? A wife who had been a waitress at a truck stop? That’s what she was and would always be in Shadow Valley. It was all so useless. To break this chain of frustrated thoughts, she set her napkin on the table. “Would you excuse me while I find the ladies’ room?”

  The women’s lounge was mirror-lined and papered in pink-and-silver stripes and bathed in pink light. Ellen was seated on a velvet-cushioned chair powdering her nose when a woman sat down beside her. The reflection in the mirror was smiling, and familiar—Doreen Engleson, wife of Shadow Valley’s mayor.

  Ellen returned her smile. Who would ever have dreamed she would be sitting beside Mrs. Engleson in an elegant ladies’ room?

  “Your outfit is stunning,” the mayor’s wife said.

  “Thank you.” Ellen continued to powder her nose.

  “Truly stunning. I saw you here before in a black polka-dot outfit that people have been talking about ever since.” Doreen Engleson looked both ways to make sure no one else was in the room before she leaned in closer, turning from the mirror to meet Ellen’s eyes. “You must shop in Denver. Would it be rude of me to ask what boutiques you’ve found?”

  “I don’t shop in Denver,” Ellen replied.

  “Really? Where, then? Oh, my dear, how indelicate of me to ask but I’m just dying to know.” The diamonds on her fingers sparkled when she extended a hand. “We haven’t met, but I know you are Ellen Montrose. I am Doreen Engleson.”

  To her surprise, Ellen liked the woman. She saw no disdain whatever in her eyes, only unbridled curiosity. She accepted the jeweled hand and said simply, “I made the dress I’m wearing.”

  Doreen reeled. “What? But how is that possible?”

  “It’s my own desi
gn, Mrs. Engleson. I’m a designer.”

  The woman’s hand flew to her throat. “Ellen! You designed these magnificent outfits? My dear, I am a very fashion-conscious individual and I recognize high style when I see it. And on you I see it! You’re not having me on, are you? You truly did create this?”

  “From scratch.”

  “But how?”

  Ellen smiled. “I told you. I’m a designer, a graduate of Galleau School of Design, which originated in Paris, with studios in New York.” It was the first time she had said it aloud.

  This seemed too much for the mayor’s wife. Her eyes glazed and she began to sputter, “But you...you work....” The sentence floated in the air between them.

  “Yes, I work at the truck stop,” Ellen finished. “It’s how I paid for my school.”

  “Amazing! Utterly amazing. Such talent right under our very noses. And no one knows.” She glanced toward the door. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Ellen, would you make a dress for me? The fall festival grand ball is coming up next October and I have been beside myself trying to find the right thing to wear. Oh, would you? It would be our secret. I’ll pay you three hundred dollars, not counting the fabric.”

  Ellen didn’t know whether she should feel honored or insulted. Inside warnings leapt up to remind her she tended to be too sensitive. Luckily, the few swallows of wine had relaxed her, and Doreen’s manner, up to now, did not offend. By her own admission, Mrs. Engleson knew high fashion but it didn’t sound like it, to hear her now.

  Thoughtfully, she responded, “I’m afraid it’s out of the question. I’ll be leaving soon for New York.”

  The woman seemed almost desperate. “Oh, please, Ellen, it would mean so much to me. When are you leaving? The affair is still some months away. I could make it five hundred.”

  This was a lot of money for one dress, and for Ellen. New York was expensive and there was no guarantee of how soon she could find work. It was tempting. But it was hard to shake off the niggling feeling of being exploited. The autumn ball was the big social event of the year in the county, with every socialite trying to outshine every other.

  Ellen smiled. She heard a voice that sounded like her own talking as if from a distance and then growing stronger. “We’re not talking about a dress, but a gown. My designer gowns start at a thousand dollars, not including fabric. I must choose the material myself because it is an integral part of the design.” Take it if you recognize a bargain, she thought. Or leave it if you don’t.

  Doreen Engleson’s eyes were sparkling in the over-the-mirror lights. Her voice was soft. “For a custom-designed gown, that’s reasonable. Yes, fine. Do we have a deal, then?”

  Ellen nodded, trying to keep from revealing her momentous excitement. A thousand dollars! It was true, her designs could compete with those worth that and more. But she wouldn’t have dreamed of this!

  “Could we keep this a secret?” Doreen asked. “I want to surprise everyone.” A wicked giggle turned into laughter. “I want to knock them dead is what I mean, of course.” She fumbled with her white leather clutch bag. “Now, my dear, I really don’t know where you’ve been hiding, and I can’t risk your changing your mind. I’ll give you five hundred now and five hundred on delivery, plus, of course, the cost of the material—if that’s satisfactory.”

  Ellen tried to keep her voice even. She had never held a check for that much money in her life. “We’ll need to do two fittings. I’ll do them at your home.”

  Mrs. Engleson didn’t look up from her diligent check-writing. “Excellent. I appreciate that.”

  Ellen rose, inspecting her hair in the mirror.

  The woman handed her the check. “Remarkable,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Your designs are remarkable. And you wear them like a trained model.”

  “I have trained,” Ellen said, smiling softly. A hundred nights in front of my mirror with a book on my head. Ten thousand strides across my bedroom floor and down the stairs. A thousand pirouettes for graceful turning. Copying heroines in movies. Oh yes, I’ve trained. Nonchalantly, as if it were something she had done many times, Ellen slid the check into her elegant envelope handbag—a purse made from a yard-sale hand-embroidered heavy lace tablecloth that she had offered twenty-five cents for because it was “too stained to use.”

  “Can we meet tomorrow?” Mrs. Engleson asked. “Could you stop by midmorning and we’ll discuss gowns over a cup of tea?”

  “I could come by around ten.” A guest for tea at the mayor’s house. This business of being a graduate designer was everything she had imagined—even more.

  A part of Ellen wondered how Doreen Engleson secretly felt about inviting a Pebble Street resident to her home. It was a first in Shadow Valley, certainly. Well, it was a service kind of thing, after all. The tea was just for politeness. She had something Mrs. Engleson wanted. The fun part was how far the woman was prepared to go to get it.

  Cody rose when she returned to the table, just the way she had seen well-bred men do in Hollywood films. He, too, has observed and practiced, she thought. He knew about wine and social graces and he had learned proper speech, too. Well, of course, the speech—he was a radio announcer. Her admiration showed in her smile. It was odd that she hadn’t realized until this moment how very much alike they were. Cody had been as determined to shed the stigma of his past as she.

  “Why the funny look?” he asked.

  She leaned in close, whispering, “I’ve just made a thousand dollars, Cody! A thousand dollars! Mrs. Engleson asked me to make a gown for her.”

  His eyes widened in amazement. “One dress? A thousand dollars?”

  She suppressed a giggle. “I can’t believe I had the nerve to ask that. But I knew if she wanted a high-style gown made especially for her, she couldn’t do it anywhere else for that. I also saw how much the mayor’s wife wants to outdo everybody else. She jumped at the opportunity.” Ellen’s hand rose suddenly to her mouth. “Oh, dear! I promised Mrs. Engleson this would be a secret and already I’ve broken my promise. You mustn’t tell anyone, Cody.”

  “A secret?”

  “Yes. And I take pride in being a woman of my word. Promise me you won’t mention this to anyone.”

  “I’m amazed.” He grinned. “So that’s what took you so long in the ladies’ room.”

  “An interesting place, the ladies’ room. Where else would I find myself elbow-to-elbow with the town’s first lady? She said very complimentary things about my clothes.”

  He raised his wineglass. “Here’s to your talent, Ellen. To your many talents.”

  His eyes were beguiling, hinting of passion they had known and passion they had not yet even explored. She flushed, finding herself getting lost in the magic of his aura and feeling the butterflies again.

  “You didn’t promise,” she said weakly.

  “What?”

  “Not to tell.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, sure.”

  Her smile was seductive; she knew it and couldn’t change it. “We’ll drink to your talents, too, Cody. I’m beginning to think we are two splendid people.”

  “Superb people.” Opening the menu, he glanced up with mischief in his eyes. “Now. Let’s see if the chef has come up with any appetizer worthy of our exotic tastes.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Ellen was in her room filling out an order form for fabric from a prestigious firm in Chicago when a messenger came to the door. The boy presented a note from Mrs. Skyler, wife of the town’s senior doctor, asking to meet with her about designing a gown.

  How could this have happened? Mrs. Engleson surely wouldn’t tell; the doctor’s wife was one of her fashion rivals. And no one else knew except Cody.

  Could there have been an eavesdropper somewhere at the restaurant? The waiter? It hardly seemed possible because she had been very careful about keeping her voice down. Who, then? How?

  News of Mrs. Engleson’s gown had spread across the social set of Shadow Valley in a matter of hours. By even
ing there was a third request—a telephone call to the café from the wife of the owner of Harlow’s Hardware, Inc.

  The mayor’s wife was going to have a fit. Ellen would have to reassure Mrs. Engleson that she hadn’t betrayed her trust and promise to guard the personal design of the dress with her life.

  Nevertheless, worry over the gossip leak was assuaged by the thrill of what was happening. Three thousand dollars in less than twenty-four hours! Before she checked out that night, Ellen gave notice at the café, promising to work part-time until a replacement was hired. Her boss was not surprised; he had always known that when her grandfather died, Ellen would not stay in Shadow Valley.

  Cody was attending a town meeting that night and couldn’t meet her after work. It was just as well, because Ellen had things to do. Working until far past midnight, she moved some bedroom furniture downstairs to make room upstairs for another cutting table. It was a wonderful opportunity to make money before leaving, even though she had money saved. The house was up for sale, but no one was likely to buy it. She would sell what furnishings she could and abandon the rest. The dresses she had already contracted for would take several weeks, especially with having to work on such an old machine. This was a delay her original plans had not called for.

  Was it really the money? Or was it the chance to work as an honest-to-God professional designer whose talents were sought after? Or was her eagerness to have this work an excuse to be a little longer with Cody?

  * * *

  “WHY DON’T YOU STAY?” he asked, when she told him about the calls and the orders. “Stay and go into business here.”

  “Here?” She just looked at him sadly.

  They were sitting in swings in the park, drinking lemonade purchased from a stand at the entrance.

  “Yeah, here. Obviously you have something everybody wants.”

  “Not as an ongoing thing, Cody. There aren’t enough women here who would pay such high prices for their clothes on a continuing basis. Right now there’s a big competition. The interest will peter out.”