Pearl couldn’t bear the thought of a supper party. Men would flirt and women would ask questions. Every nerve in her body quivered, but her heart ached for Carrie. Her cousin loved Matt and needed Pearl’s help. If Pearl agreed to the party, she could return a measure of the love she’d received.
“All right.” She smiled at Carrie’s reflection. “We’ll do it.”
Pearl decided to look at the bright side. She’d come to Cheyenne for a fresh start. At the party she’d make friends with Amy and Meg. As for the Hudson brothers, she’d be friendly without being forward. She’d wear her plainest dress and braid her hair tight. She’d be fine…really she would.
Carrie started to unravel Pearl’s braid, but Pearl stopped her with a touch of her hand. “I’ll do it.”
“Let me,” Carrie insisted.
“No.” Pearl had to speak her mind. She didn’t like anyone touching her hair, not even Carrie. “I’ll do it later.”
“Sure.” Carrie sat back on the bed. “We have plans to make.”
Together they planned the menu and set a date for the Saturday after next. With each minute, Pearl grew more anxious. Her only peace came from Carrie’s excitement and the hope that tomorrow she’d be hired as a teacher.
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Miss Oliver.”
Pearl looked up from the bench in the foyer of Miss Marlowe’s School and saw Miss Marlowe herself. Her formal tone fit the mood of the day. So did the woman’s attire. She stood before Pearl in the full regalia of a navy dress loaded with trim. Pearl stood and offered her hand. “Good morning, Miss Marlowe.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, I am.” She put iron in her voice, but her palms were damp inside her gloves.
Miss Marlowe indicated a corridor. “Follow me.”
With their heels clicking in unison, they walked toward a fan of light indicating an open door. As voices filtered from the room, Pearl recalled the past hour. She’d been nervous and hadn’t eaten breakfast. Toby had spat up twice. When she couldn’t manage her hair, Carrie had stepped in and fixed it. Mercifully she hadn’t argued about winding the braid in a tight coronet. Last, she’d helped Pearl into the blue dress and given her a hug.
Bolstered by the gown and Carrie’s kindness, Pearl entered the conference room with a smile. The men stood and greeted her with solemn nods. The woman she surmised to be Lady Eugenia looked bored. When Miss Marlowe took a seat, Pearl did the same. No one would help her with her chair at a business meeting. As she sat, so did the men.
“Introductions are in order.” Miss Marlowe indicated the man on her right. “This is my nephew, Nigel Briggs.”
He nodded but said nothing.
Miss Marlowe turned to the woman. “This is Lady Eugenia, wife of Lord Calvin Anderson.”
According to Carrie, Mrs. Anderson was married to the fourth son of an English nobleman. Carrie and Miss Marlowe hoped to earn her support, but her expression filled Pearl with doubt. Her brows were either permanently arched, or she didn’t like what she’d heard from Miss Marlowe.
“Next we have Mr. Gates.”
The banker, Pearl recalled. He served as chairman. In the event of a tie, he’d break it. Carrie described him as cold-hearted. Pearl hoped she wouldn’t need his vote.
“And last,” Mrs. Marlowe said. “May I present Mr. Kling.”
Pearl recalled Carrie’s hope that he’d respect her honesty. When he nodded at her, she smiled back.
Mustering her courage, she surveyed the faces around the table. “Good morning. I appreciate the opportunity to meet with you.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Miss Marlowe answered. “Now, Miss Oliver, please tell us about your teaching experience.”
Pearl folded her hands in her lap. “I taught Sunday School for four years. I love children and believe they learn best with kindness and discipline.”
Lady Eugenia spoke next. “What of your education?”
“I earned a teaching certificate before leaving Denver.”
“Yes, we know.” Mr. Gates riffled through some papers. “We have your file.”
Lady Eugenia looked unimpressed. “I was inquiring of your formal education, Miss Oliver. Have you attended normal school? Perhaps you’ve studied French and mathematics?”
“No, I haven’t.” Pearl doubted Miss Eugenia would support her. Regardless of Toby, she disapproved of Pearl’s credentials. Even so, Pearl did her best to present her skills. “I attended a private school in Denver where I graduated with honors.”
Mr. Briggs pursed his lips. “My aunt tells me you’ll be teaching our youngest girls.” He shot an annoyed look at Lady Eugenia. “I don’t imagine they’ll be learning French.”
Pearl hoped she’d found a friend. She made eye contact with Mr. Briggs, but he looked annoyed by the entire proceeding. Instead of giving her a supportive nod, he scowled as if she’d ruined his day.
Mr. Gates gave Mr. Briggs a sour look, then turned to Pearl. “As you know, Miss Oliver, our teachers must have impeccable reputations.”
She raised her chin. “Of course.”
“You’ve provided three letters of reference. They speak well of you.”
She said nothing.
“You’re not married. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you have a son.” Mr. Gates raised his brows. “That implies poor judgment at best.”
Pearl nearly shot to her feet and walked out. They’d been told of the circumstances surrounding Toby’s conception. How dare he act as if she were a tart! She’d fought Franklin Dean, but he’d been stronger and cruel. Why couldn’t Mr. Gates see how vulnerable she’d been? Why did people doubt her integrity?
Lady Eugenia cleared her throat. “How old is your son?”
She said “son” as if Toby were a mongrel. She wanted to shout with indignation, but a show of temper would sabotage her dreams. Fighting to stay calm, she answered the question. “Toby is three months old.”
Lady Eugenia sniffed. “I presume he’s nursing. How do you expect to care for him?”
“The school has a lunch hour,” she said carefully. “I’ll make a quick trip home. We have a wonderful housekeeper, and my father lives with us.”
The woman looked down her nose. “I see.”
Pearl doubted it. Lady Eugenia had money and servants, not to mention a husband. She didn’t have to worry about feeding her children or keeping them warm, but Pearl worried all the time. She desperately needed an income. She had to make this wealthy woman understand. “May I be blunt, Lady Eugenia?”
“I suppose.”
“If my son gets sick, he’ll need a doctor and medicine. Medicine costs money. So does food and clothing. I’m his sole support. Not only would teaching allow me to meet that obligation with honor, it’s a worthy occupation.” She took a breath. “I’m hardworking and responsible. You won’t regret hiring me.”
Nigel Briggs grimaced. “Your situation is…complicated.”
“And dubious,” Lady Eugenia added.
Pearl saw the position slipping through her fingers. No way would she surrender without a fight. With her head high, she addressed Mr. Gates. “May I speak frankly, sir?”
“Of course.”
She scanned the faces around the table, gauging the expressions without guile. “It’s true my son was born out of wedlock. As you know, I was attacked and a child resulted. I love my son very much. I also believe in the Ten Commandments. Among them is ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness.’ I could have pretended to be a widow. No one in this room would have known any better. But I will not…willingly…break God’s commands.”
Lady Eugenia frowned.
Miss Marlowe beamed a smile.
Mr. Briggs scratched notes with a pencil. Did she have his support or not? Pearl couldn’t tell.
Mr. Gates, an experienced negotiator, blanked his expression. She wondered how many desperate men he’d turned down for loans.
Last she observed Mr. Kling. Behind his spectacl
es she saw a sheen of admiration. He’d squared his shoulders and looked approving of her stand for the truth. He held her gaze until she blinked, then he looked at Mr. Gates. “May I address the trustees?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Kling folded his hands on top of the table. “Miss Oliver’s circumstances are indeed troublesome. Above all, we must protect our girls from moral turpitude. Even the appearance of improper behavior can’t be tolerated. Young minds are impressionable.”
Pearl’s heart turned to stone.
“Yet,” he continued. “We must recognize a sad truth. We live in a sinful world. Miss Oliver is a victim of the vileness we hope to end by raising principled young ladies, who in turn will raise principled sons and daughters. I appreciate her truthfulness today. No matter how we vote, Miss Oliver deserves our respect.”
Pearl’s heart swelled with gratitude. Carrie had been right. He shared her values.
Miss Marlowe broke the silence. “Your candor is admirable, Miss Oliver. I want to express my support for giving you the position.”
“Thank you.”
Lady Eugenia stifled a yawn, a sure sign of disregard. Mr. Briggs said nothing, but his aunt had influence over him. Counting Miss Marlowe, Mr. Briggs and Mr. Kling, Pearl had three votes. Hope welled in her chest.
Mr. Gates cleared his throat. “You’re excused, Miss Oliver. We’ll discuss your application and take a vote.”
She stood. “When might I hear?”
“We’ll vote now,” he said. “Wait in the foyer.”
Pearl left the room, closed the door and returned to the bench she’d occupied before the interview. With her hands in her lap, she stared at the painting on the opposite wall. It was a landscape depicting mountains and a herd of sheep. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. Her heart took comfort in the familiar psalm, but her mind relived the past ten minutes. Mr. Gates had told her to stay for the answer. Was that good or bad? A long wait meant intense discussion among the board members, maybe a split decision. A short one would signal—
“Miss Oliver?”
She saw Miss Marlowe and stood. “Yes?”
The woman gripped her hands. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
Pearl went numb.
“The vote was two to three. I can’t tell you how the others voted, but you know how I feel.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“The decision is positively foolish…” Miss Marlowe rambled on, but Pearl didn’t hear the words. How would she support her son? She couldn’t impose on Carrie forever. Her cousin had championed her. Would the board hold it against her? Hot tears filled her eyes. “I have to go,” she mumbled.
Hoisting her skirts, she ran out the door and down a dirt path. As the chill of autumn slapped her face, the sun beat on her back. The tears in her eyes acted like a veil, blurring her surroundings into a white haze. Almost running, she cut across a field of dry grass. Carrie’s house was two blocks away, but Pearl couldn’t go home until she composed herself. If her father saw her, he’d be upset. With her neck bent, she turned down an unfamiliar street and paced down the boardwalk.
She didn’t see the man approaching from the opposite direction. She didn’t see his boots or his badge. She didn’t see anything at all until she plowed into a broad chest and looked into a pair of familiar green eyes.
Chapter Seven
Matt clasped Pearl’s arms to steady her. As his fingers tightened on her sleeves, a trembling shot to his elbows. She dipped her chin to hide her face, but he’d already seen the sheen of tears. If she’d been Sarah, he’d have pulled her against his chest, held her and rocked her. The thought rocked him. He had no business comforting this woman, but neither could he bring himself to step back. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I am,” she insisted with a wave of her hand. “Everything’s fine. Really, it is.”
Except her voice had a wobble, and she’d lowered her chin another notch. The angle gave him a view of the top of her hat, the same one she’d worn to Carrie’s house. No ribbons graced the brim. He couldn’t see her blue eyes, but damp trails marked her cheeks.
Like most men, he found a woman’s tears unnerving. He knew how to deal with anger, even violence. As a lawman, he handled fights every day. As a husband, he’d dealt with Bettina. When he’d left the Rangers, she’d pouted. When pouting didn’t make him stay, she’d shouted at him. You care more about the Rangers than you do about me! Matt wasn’t proud of himself, but he’d shouted back. The woman with him now wasn’t pouting or yelling. Her tears came from a deeper place. As a lawman, he had a duty to protect her. All business, he lifted his hands from her shoulders. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I need to get home.”
“To the hotel?”
“No, to Carrie’s house.” Her voice cracked.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“No!” Her chin jerked up, revealing the stubborn set of her mouth. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.”
He wanted to respect her feelings, but she was heading toward Ferguson Street. Soon she’d attract attention she didn’t want. He knew that for a fact, because she looked lovely in the blue dress that no longer had mud stains at the knees. If he didn’t mind his manners, he’d be whistling “Dixie” again. He decided on a compromise. “I’ll walk you as far as Dryer Street.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“It is,” he insisted. “You’re headed for a bad part of town.”
“Please,” she murmured. “Just go.”
Matt put tenderness in his voice…and strength. “You know I can’t do that. How about I buy you coffee?”
She pressed her hand to her mouth, but a sob escaped between her fingers. What had he done to make her cry? Confused, he searched the street behind her. His gaze shifted to the path that led to Miss Marlowe’s School. The pieces of the puzzle slammed together. “You had the interview today.”
She took a hankie from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Obviously I didn’t get the job.”
Matt saw red. “Those fools—”
“It’s over.” She lowered the square of linen. “There’s no use crying about it.”
He admired her fortitude. Bettina would have moped for weeks. “I guess my letter didn’t do much good.”
“Oh, it did!” Her gaze rose to his face. “At the very least, it made me feel better.”
“I’m glad. Now let me walk you home.”
She grimaced. “I don’t want my father to see me like this.”
“We’ll walk slow.” He had no business sounding pleased, but he didn’t mind escorting Pearl in the least. Aside from adding another good deed to his account, he enjoyed her company.
Worry whipped across her face, but then her eyes brightened as if she’d had a pleasing thought. Maybe walking with him wasn’t so bad. Matt let his eyes twinkle. “How about it?”
“That would be nice,” she answered. “If we walk slow, Carrie will be home for lunch. I’m sure she’d fix you something.”
Matt didn’t see what Carrie had to do with anything, but he liked the idea of walking slow with Pearl. He motioned for her to pass, then fell into step at her side. He preferred silence to chatter, but he sensed she needed to talk. If he’d misread her, fine. She could tell him to hush. “What was the vote?”
“Two to three.”
He considered the five trustees. “I figure Miss Marlowe voted yes. Who else?”
“The vote was secret, but I think it was Mr. Kling.”
“Jasper?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “You’re surprised.”
“I know Jasper. You’re mistaken.”
“I’m sure of it.” Her voice held authority. “Other than Miss Marlowe, he was the only trustee to speak kindly.”
Matt couldn’t believe his ears. Jasper had wanted a girl arrested for besmirching a hairbrush. He’d never give an unwed mother a c
hance to teach little girls. No matter what Jasper had said, Matt felt certain he’d voted against her. As he’d learned from Dan, Jasper Kling did one thing in public and another in private. The thought of Pearl trusting him put Matt on full alert. He wasn’t in a position to enlighten her about Jasper’s bad habits, but neither could he leave her thinking the man was her friend. He also wanted to know what Jasper had said during the interview. Considering the G.O.’s possible turn to violence, any comments by Jasper could be revealing.
They were across the street from Madame Fontaine’s bakery. Instead of going to Carrie’s house, Matt steered Pearl in to the brightly decorated café. “I’m buying you a piece of pie.”
“But—”
“We have to talk,” he said. “It’s business.”
She hesitated but allowed him to guide her into the café. Knowing she didn’t want attention, and not wanting it himself, he led her to a table in the back. As he pulled out her chair, she arranged her skirt and sat. Matt dropped down across from her, then wished he’d taken a table by the window. The corner felt dark and intimate. It was too isolated for the two of them, yet he needed privacy for what he had to say.
She raised her chin. “What’s this about?”
“Jasper Kling.”
Her mouth tensed. “I don’t gossip.”
She had doubtlessly been the victim of wagging tongues in Denver. He could imagine the speculation. The preacher’s daughter! Can you imagine? Who do you think is the father? Matt had no time for gossiping fools who judged others but didn’t see themselves. In his line of work, people shamed themselves every day, just as he’d shamed himself in Virginia. Regardless of his personal failings or maybe because of them, he had to caution Pearl.
Madame Fontaine came to take their order. “Good morning, Deputy.” She smiled at Pearl. “And to you, mademoiselle.”
As Matt looked up, Madame Fontaine winked at him. “I see you’ve brought another darling girl this morning. Where is your Sarah?”
“In school.”
“Ah…” She raised a brow. “So you and the mademoiselle have this lovely day to yourselves.”
Pearl blushed to the roots of her hair. Matt didn’t like Madame Fontaine’s easy words, but it was the way of the French. Rather than correct her wrong impression, he asked Pearl if she’d like cherry pie. Still blushing, she answered primly. “Yes, please.”
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