Violet

by Greenwood, Leigh

  "Did you offer him more money?"

  "More money and a private car from Chicago to Denver, but he still wouldn't come."

  "Then I don't see how I--"

  "But he knows you. You said he was a friend of your father. Surely he'll do more for you than for a stranger."

  Violet didn't feel confident that old loyalties would move Dr. Ulmstead where money hadn't.

  "He's agreed to be near a telegraph at eight o'clock tonight. I want you to go with me and talk to him."

  "I don't know how to use a telegraph," Violet said.

  "You don't have to know. I have my own operator."

  "I can't leave the girls. Miss Settle--"

  "One of the teachers is going to stay with the girls until you get back."

  Violet felt swept away by the tide of Madison's urgency.

  "All right," she said. "If you think I can help."

  "Good. I'll be back for you at seven thirty."

  "Where will we be going?"

  "To Jeff's office. We'll use the bank's telegraph."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jeff looked the same as she remembered. She hadn't forgotten a single detail. He seemed stiffer, more reserved than usual. There was another man present who looked so much like Madison it was uncanny.

  "I'm George Randolph," the man said, introducing himself, "the father of the terrible twins."

  Violet had never seen Jeff with George or Madison. She knew he stood in awe of his oldest brother. She had also gathered that Madison was a dynamic, somewhat abrasive character. Jeff pretended to be tough, but she knew he wasn't. She wondered if this could account for the feeling he had withdrawn within himself. Could that be his way of trying to feel equal to his brothers?

  Despite the confusion and excitement of the moment, Violet couldn't help but compare Jeff's office with the attic he had occupied for five days. The difference made her cringe. She was surrounded by mahogany, leather, and polished brass. There was even a telephone on the wall. This was the office of a man who controlled millions from Chicago to San Francisco. She had been brought here by a man who casually spoke of private railway cars ready to travel a thousand miles at any moment. And the third man oversaw an empire comprised of at least three cattle ranches in three different states.

  She felt more out of place than in the Windsor Hotel.

  "Who's going to operate the telegraph?" Violet asked. There was no one in the room but the three brothers.

  "I am," Jeff said. "Don't look so surprised." A faint smile eased the downward curve of his mouth. "I don't like anybody knowing what I'm sending."

  "Is the doctor at the telegraph?" Madison asked.

  "Yes," Jeff replied. "I just received confirmation."

  "Then write your first message, Miss Goodwin."

  Violet had dreaded this moment. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to go about convincing a man to do something he'd already decided not to do. She didn't know how to do it with Jeff and Madison looking over her shoulder. An aura of coiled intensity centered around them so strong it interfered with her thinking. She found herself drawn to George because he seemed to be the only calming influence in the room.

  "How does this work?" she asked.

  "You write the message on a piece of paper, and I send it," Jeff explained. "Then we wait for his answer. Once we have that, you write your reply, and we start all over again."

  Violet racked her brain, her thoughts disturbed by the three men waiting in silence. She was certain Madison had already used every logical argument. That left Fern's medical condition. But Madison was going to follow the conversation, and she didn't want to worry him any more than necessary.

  Dear Dr. Ulmstead,

  Please come, if only as a favor to me. None of the local doctors can help Mrs. Randolph, and I fear for her health and the safety of the baby.

  "I've already told him that," Madison said, clearly unhappy with her message. "Can't you think of something else?"

  "Let's see what he says," George said while Jeff started a nerve-racking tapping at the telegraph key. "She can't threaten him."

  Violet felt sorry for Madison, knowing his wife was dangerously ill, believing there was someone who could bring her safely through the pregnancy, but unable to use his money or his forceful personality to save her.

  Would love to help, but schedule full. Chicago next week. Then back to Boston to raise money for clinic. Couldn't possibly come for three to six months. Do you still have Indians loose on the plains?

  Violet felt a cold chill descend over her as she read the reply. Dr. Ulmstead didn't seem the least bit interested in coming to Denver, and she couldn't think of anything to make him change his mind.

  "That crazy fool!" Madison exploded. "He's afraid he'll be scalped. Doesn't he know Colorado's been a state for four years? Maybe he thinks the Indians mine the gold and silver, cut the timber, and grow the cattle we ship back east to feed those fat, lazy Bostonians."

  Violet's gaze flew to Madison. He sounded so much like his brother she wondered if all the Randolphs scorned Yankees.

  "He's probably more curious than anything," George said. "Most Easterners are. You should hear what Jeff said the people in Virginia asked him the last time he was there."

  "I don't give a damn about Virginia. Just one lily-livered Boston doctor," Madison shouted.

  While Madison vented his rage at George, Violet handed Jeff a brief message. His gaze flew to hers when he read it. His eyebrows rose in a question. Violet nodded her head. Jeff tossed the message in the fire before beginning to send it.

  You must come. She will die if you don't. Do it as a favor to me in memory of your friendships with my father.

  "What did she say?" Madison asked.

  Shaking his head, Jeff kept sending.

  "I asked him to come as a favor to me," Violet said.

  "You did that already."

  "I didn't think it would hurt to try again."

  A message came in.

  "Are you sure?"

  Violet nodded. Jeff sent the one word reply.

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing," Jeff said.

  The line was quiet for a long time. Jeff sat behind his desk, waiting to transcribe the message when it came. George stood by the fire, his calm gaze on Madison who paced the room with increasing impatience. Violet waited. She felt like an interloper in the drama that swirled around her but which really didn't include her. She was helpless to avoid the tragedy that loomed ahead.

  Maybe she shouldn't have said anything about Dr. Ulmstead. Maybe it was wrong to give the family false hope. Maybe she should have encouraged them to take Fern to Boston despite the risks.

  But it was too late for that now. Their only hope was to convince Dr. Ulmstead to come to Denver.

  The telegraphs came alive. The tension in the room was awful. Jeff handed Madison the message.

  Sorry, clinic more important. Can save many women that way.

  "Damn him to hell!" Madison thundered. "He'll come if I have to go to Boston and drag him all the way myself."

  While Madison thundered out his anger and frustration to George, Violet quickly read the message then wrote out a fresh response.

  How much money do you need?

  The answer came back almost immediately.

  $30,000.

  "We may be able to convince him to come after all," Violet said to Madison.

  "How?"

  "He's trying to raise money for a clinic. He needs $30,000. If you could manage to raise that much money, or at least a good portion of it, I think--"

  Madison turned to Jeff. "Tell him I'll give him ten thousand cash the minute he sees my wife. I'll give him an extra thousand dollars for every day less than thirty it takes him to get here. I'll have a private car waiting in Chicago."

  It took Jeff a while to send the message. The quiet in the room deepened. But it was better than the tension that filled the room when the telegraph key began its rhythmic dance. All four
of them knew this was the last chance. After this, there would be no appeal.

  Jeff didn't write anything down this time. He just listened. Violet found herself afraid to breath, afraid to move, afraid anything she did might prejudice the outcome.

  Then the key fell silent. As they waited to see if there would be any more to the message, the tension in the room grew even more strained.

  "Dr. Ulmstead says he will come," Jeff announced. "He'll set details after he reaches Chicago."

  Madison gave a whoop, pulled Violet out of the chair, gave her a resounding kiss on the mouth, and headed for the door. "I've got to tell Fern," he shouted without looking back.

  "I'd better go with him," George said to Jeff.

  "I'll see Miss Goodwin back to the school," Jeff replied.

  George advanced toward Violet. He took her hands in his. "I don't know what it was you said that changed the doctor's mind. I suppose it's best it remain between you and Jeff, but the family owes you a great debt. I doubt we will be able to repay it, but we'll try."

  "There's no need. I didn't--"

  Violet broke off, startled. George had kissed her on the cheek.

  "Rose said you were very generous. She was right. Have Jeff bring you around sometime. I would like to get to know you."

  Violet watched open-mouthed as George left the room.

  "You didn't say you thought she'd die just to make the doctor come?" Jeff asked.

  She shook her head. "I saw a woman suffering like that once before."

  "What happened?"

  "She insisted upon having her baby at home like she'd always done."

  "Did she die?"

  Violet nodded her head.

  Jeff remained in his chair, staring into space. Violet didn't know whether to speak, remain silent, sit still, or leave the room. She felt her presence was an imposition.

  Yet she didn't want to leave. As much as being able to help Madison, she had looked forward to seeing Jeff again. She hadn't had a chance to do more than compose messages. She wanted to know how he was doing, if he had forgotten her.

  He looked drained, like the last half hour had taken all the energy out of him. He also looked worried. She wanted to say something comforting, to share the moment with him, but she didn't feel she had the right to intrude.

  "I'm sorry. Do you need to get back to the school right away?" he asked.

  "No. I could wait a few minutes if you need."

  "Do you mind walking?"

  Violet didn't look forward to that. It wasn't very far -- six short blocks and two long ones -- but it was cold outside. At least there was no snow or ice on the ground yet. "No, I don't mind."

  "Of course, you do. It's freezing outside."

  "I brought my coat and gloves."

  Violet felt like kicking herself. Here she was acting like one of those brainless women who would endanger their health to spend five minutes with a handsome man. And this handsome man was very likely to say something rude and hurtful before they left the building.

  They were silent as they put on their coats, while she waited for Jeff to lock up, as they went down the steps into the street.

  Fifteenth Street was quiet. City Hall across the street was dark, closed, everybody gone home, but the streets shimmered in the light of gas lamps placed on both sides of the street. The sound of their heels on the sidewalk echoed down the empty corridor.

  Sounds of music and raised voices could be heard coming from saloons on other streets, around corners, even out of doors on the ground floor of the Palace Theater back toward Cherry Creek, but they had the sidewalk to themselves. It was cold, but Violet was still warm from being inside. She pulled her collar up around her neck and dug her hands deep inside her pockets.

  "Have you ever been sorry for something you've said?" Jeff suddenly asked.

  "Frequently," Violet answered. "I don't always think before I speak. Even when I do, I sometimes say the wrong thing."

  "I never think," Jeff said as though the words were something he wanted to cast away in anger. "Or if I do, I only think of what I can say to hurt people the most."

  "You're blunt, even rude at times, but I don't think you try to hurt people."

  "I have. I did everything I could to make George send Rose away. After he married her, I tried to force him to choose between her and me."

  Violet thought of the woman she'd met only briefly. It was hard to imagine anyone not admiring her. "I thought everybody loved Rose."

  "I couldn't forget her father had been an officer in the Union Army. All these years I've held it against her, like a sword at her throat."

  "How could anything that happened tonight--"

  "I've been just as bad about Fern," Jeff said. "I've never let her forget her father was a Jayhawk or that she used to wear pants and still cusses."

  Now she understood. "You're feeling guilty."

  His scowl deepened. "When you said she would die, everything was suddenly different. She's been a good wife to Madison. Certainly nobody else could dissolve his black tempers like she can. She's stayed pregnant with his sons even though she must have been afraid from the first something like this could happen. She controls them just as firmly as she used to control her cows. She makes sure they have everything they need to be happy, but she draws a line and keeps their toes firmly to it. If she dies, she'll take a lot of good with her. And I never told her. She still thinks I hate her."

  "Did you ever hate her?"

  "No." Jeff stopped, clearly disturbed by his discovery. "I used to think I did, but it wasn't Fern. It was everything else."

  "Then you ought to tell her. I'm sure she'd be glad to hear it."

  "She won't believe me. None of them will."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I never say anything nice to anybody. I've been mean and cruel my whole life."

  "Surely not all the time."

  "Ever since I can remember."

  "You must have felt differently once."

  He stopped, a far-off look in his eyes. "Once, before the war, when I was sixteen, when I thought the world would always be the same, when I thought I would always be the same."

  "What happened?"

  "We got kicked out of Virginia. Then my father forced me to volunteer. I lost my arm, spent two years as a prisoner of war, saw Virginia destroyed. After that I came to Texas to find both parents dead and my survival dependent on a dirty ranch and filthy cows I hated."

  "But you and your family have done marvelously well."

  "But I'm not like that sixteen-year-old kid any more. I'm somebody totally different. Somebody I don't like very much."

  He started forward walking rapidly. Violet followed with lagging steps. She should have seen that before now. No man lashed out at the world like Jeff did who wasn't more angry at himself. But she realized it wasn't something she could change. This rage had been a part of him for a long time. Only he could alter it.

  But she felt certain he could. All traces of that sixteen-year-old hadn't been erased. Some of him still lingered. Essie Brown had seen it. So could others. Violet had a feeling he was trying to work his way to the surface even now. Otherwise Jeff wouldn't be so upset over things he'd said and done years ago.

  He stopped and turned. She hurried to catch up with him. The cold had penetrated her coat, and it was hard to keep her teeth from chattering. As they left the business district and reached more open streets of the residential district, an icy wind whistled down off the mountains. In the distance, their snow capped peaks glistened in the moonlight. As they turned into Champa, she pulled her coat more tightly around her and thought wistfully of the cheery warmth of Jeff's office.

  "I shouldn't have made you walk," he said when she reached him. "You're cold."

  "It's not far now."

  He removed a glove and put his hand to her cheek. "You're freezing. As usual I never thought of anybody but myself." He took off his overcoat and put it around her shoulders.

  "You'll catch your death
of cold." But it was a feeble protest. The coat felt marvelously warm. She thought she might survive until she reached the school.

  "The memory of all the things I've said will keep me warm."

  He really didn't seem to be aware of the cold. The battle going on inside him consumed all of his concentration.

  "You have to tell her."

  "Tell who what?"

  She wondered where his thoughts had strayed. "Fern. What you just told me."

  Jeff laughed. It was a harsh sound. "You don't know about my pride. I think I'd choke on the words."

  "If you don't, you'll drown in regret. If you're going to be dead either way, some good ought to come of it."

  Jeff turned to give her a penetrating stare. "Painfully honest, aren't you?"

  "You can't be the only one indulging in melodrama."

  His expression altered completely in a flash. "You think all this is melodrama, that I made it up to gain sympathy?"

  Instinct caused her to loop her arm in his. She would never have done it if she had been thinking. It seemed to shock him as well. "Come on. You'll freeze without your coat, and I'll be the one feeling guilty."

  He wouldn't move.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said melodrama, but it's foolish to think you can't say what you feel. If you feel it strongly enough, you'll have to say it."

  He reluctantly fell into step alongside her. "What do you think I ought to say?"

  "I have no idea. You could start with what you said to me."

  "I don't want her to think I'm saying it because I'm afraid she's going to die."

  "Then maybe you can find an opportunity to compliment her on the things she's done well -- made her husband happy, given him four fine sons, run a good household -- I don't know. If you really want to say something, you'll find the right words."