by Pamela Nowak
“I hate to bother you again,” Amelie said. Her voice carried a note of desperation.
Sarah’s heart caught at the sound. “Oh, no bother. I was just finishing up.” She glanced at the lanky man on the other stool. “Ernie’s already elbow deep into the rest of my shift and he’s kicked me out.” She grinned at her coworker as a blush creep across his boney face. “What do you need?”
Amelie stepped further into the office, glanced nervously at Ernie, and sighed.
Sarah set the papers in a wooden box and approached Amelie. The young women’s elegant composure, so evident the night of the play, was gone. Sarah touched Amelie’s arm, uncertain of what she could do. She suspected Amelie had lost her only good friend.
Amelie bit her bottom lip, then said, “I need to buy a dress for Dora. I can’t … will you come?”
“Well, I’m not much good at that sort of thing—”
“Please. The minute I walk into Miss Abernathy’s shop, she’s going to ask questions, and I just can’t …”
“I’ll come.” Sarah offered a cheerful smile and patted Amelie’s arm. “If seeing Dora’s seamstress is too stressful, we’ll just go somewhere else.”
“But Dora’s so tiny, she needs things specially tailored.”
Sarah ushered her out of the office, nodding to Ernie on the way, and out into the gray January day. “Miss Abernathy’s won’t have time to sew something special, anyway, and it won’t matter if the hem’s too long or even if the dress is loose. Daniel will fix it so it looks like it was made just for her.”
“He will?” Amelie’s eyes widened.
Her reaction caught Sarah off guard, and she wondered if undertakers skimped on the services they provided the girls of the Row. She nodded and caught Amelie’s elbow, guiding her toward Sixteenth Street. “Of course he will. Let’s try one of the mercantiles. We can be anonymous.”
Amelie brightened slightly as they made their way through the busy business section. The crowd thinned and Amelie stopped on the boardwalk. “She killed herself.” The statement came out flat, as if just uttering it might make it go away.
Sarah’s eyes pooled. “Oh, Amelie, I’m so sorry.”
Amelie sniffled and resumed walking. “She’s been miserable since the holidays but I never thought she’d take her own life. Lots of us girls get a little depressed this time of year.”
“Was she missing her family?” It sounded weak, and Sarah wished she had said something more substantial.
“She never told me.”
Sarah nodded and searched for a response. “Well, I guess the holidays might have been pretty lonely.”
“They’re rough. Those of us with families get hit hard. Some of us have regrets, some of us get afraid.”
Sarah nodded, weighing the fears she’d only just discovered in herself. She squeezed Amelie’s arm and smiled at her. “I didn’t much realize it before, but I think we’re all afraid.”
“You’re afraid?”
“I am. But don’t you dare tell anyone.”
Amelie offered a weak smile in return.
They approached the front entrance of the new two-story Daniels and Fisher dry goods store and Sarah turned the conversation back to Dora. “Why’d she come here?”
“To Denver?”
“To the business.”
Amelie shrugged. “She never talked about that, either. She was awful closed up about things. Most of us are.” She opened the door and slipped into the building.
Sarah followed. “So why do you stay?” She hoped the question wasn’t too forward and breathed a sigh of relief when Amelie didn’t take offense.
“I’m good at what I do and I have enough business sense to have my own house one day.” She paused. “Dora could have done that. She had a good head on her shoulders and the men loved her. She lit up the room.” She stopped and turned to Sarah. “I’m going to miss her terribly.”
Sarah offered an understanding nod. Once again unsure, she led the way through the store until they found the ready-made dresses. Like Joslin’s, the store had a fair number on display. “Then let’s find something to really set her off. Tell me about her coloring.”
“Fair. The lightest colored hair and porcelain skin.”
Sarah nodded and pointed to a brocade day dress. “Then something regal, a dark blue, perhaps.”
Amelie wrinkled her nose. “Too presumptuous. Dora wasn’t a brocade kind of girl.
Sarah glanced around and spied a pair of frilly organdy concoctions. “Maybe a pastel to accent her delicacy?”
Amelie fingered the breezy material. “What would you choose?”
“Me?” Sarah shook her head. “Oh, I’m mostly a brown-work-skirt kind of girl.”
“Why? You have gorgeous hair, and those eyes.”
She shrugged. “Telegraphers don’t need fancy frocks.”
“Every woman needs pretty dresses.” Amelie turned back to the racks and stared at the variety, perplexed.
“Did she have a favorite color?”
Amelie’s eyes misted. “She liked strawberry red.”
“Strawberry?” Sarah wandered to a group of frivolous looking walking costumes. “Like that shade?” She eyed the striped concoction of red satin and black velvet. It was at once both elegant and gaudy.
“That’s perfect.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. If there was one thing Dora was not afraid of, it was fashion.” Amelie stepped forward and caught the attention of a sales clerk, then arranged for the purchase.
Sarah hung back as the clerk placed the stylish dress into a box and realized she would have been afraid of the dress, of being fashionable, just as she was afraid of being herself. Daniel knew, knew so much more about her than she wanted to admit.
She was only hiding from herself, and they both knew it.
* * * * *
After the funeral, Daniel returned to work. He gave the horses a final pat, checked their oats, and turned to leave the musty barn. An unexpected satisfaction filled him. Though Dora’s burial had been quiet and sparsely attended, most of her gentlemen friends having paid their respects at the visitation, it had been dignified. He passed the shining hearse, glad he’d polished it up proper, and exited into the cold mid-winter air.
Sarah had been right about the girls from the Row. She understood so much that he didn’t. He crunched across the snow toward his shop and shifted through the tangle of Sarah-thoughts that somehow never left his head anymore. He’d let things stew long enough. The apology he’d offered yesterday had been a start, but he knew it wasn’t enough. He’d assumed the worst and hadn’t so much as acknowledged her success with the play until yesterday. She hadn’t even told him about passing her primary operator test—he’d read it in this morning’s newspaper.
His gut clenched. He should have shared it with her.
He opened the shop door and entered, the warmth of the small Franklin stove surrounding him. Shedding his coat, he glanced around at the tidy counters and frowned. He pulled a few bottles from their assigned places on the cupboard shelf and set them at random on the counter, then sighed. It only made him miss her more.
She belonged in his life, a cool breeze after years of stagnant, proper inactivity. All he had to do was open the window and let her in, before she blew right on past.
“Damn,” he muttered, and sank into his desk chair.
Anyway he looked at it, it added up the same. He was smitten with Sarah and it was past time for him to get off the fence he’d been sitting on and declare his intentions.
He just wished he knew where to start.
He’d never really courted Mary. A faithful member of his father’s congregation and daughter of a theology professor, she’d always just been there. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever socializing with anyone else.
Heck, he didn’t even know how to court a woman.
He knitted his brow and scanned the bookshelf over his desk for Thomas Hill’s guidebook. Hill’s Ma
nual of Social and Business Forms would have an example or two of a well-written letter. He’d just copy one and use that.
And Sarah will shake her finger at me the minute she reads it.
He shook his head and leaned back in the chair, chagrined. He might as well forget about sending any letters. His mind scrambled, exploring other obvious options. Flowers were out; it was January for God’s sake, and poetry would turn out as bad as any letter he might try to craft. Besides, he didn’t even know if Sarah liked poems.
His Sarah liked beer and sausage, letters to the editor, and telegrams. She liked Joslin’s candy and suffrage meetings and dinner parties. His chest pounded with the memory of the dinner they’d shared at Libby Byers’s house, Sarah’s soft lips closing around ripe strawberries, her tongue catching a stray bit of powdered sugar.
The image etched itself into his mind and he smiled, then stood and reached for his coat.
He had arrangements to make.
* * * * *
Sarah watched the last remaining passengers, a young mother and two mischievous toddlers, board the train. They’d left behind breadcrumbs, bits of candy cane, and a soiled hanky. Sarah smiled and began to sweep the litter into a dustpan.
Goodness, whenever had she begun to think of soiled hankies and crumbs as worthy of a smile?
Dumping the garbage into a waste-tin, she set the broom aside and made her way to the office. With Jim gone, there had been a mad rush, taking telegrams and selling tickets at the same time. Now that it was over and the passengers were loaded up and on their way, the depot had turned silent. She dreaded the quiet times the most.
She sat down on her stool, her thoughts drifting to Dora’s burial and Daniel’s solid presence. He’d offered only polite conversation to her since their brief discussion yesterday, but he’d smiled from the other side of the grave this morning, his gaze capturing her own and holding it.
And if she hadn’t been a fool, it might have been his arms enfolding her instead. She wished she knew what thoughts had lain hidden in the intensity of those hazel eyes.
She picked up a pile of telegrams, folded them with care, then stuffed them into envelopes and labeled them. The youngster Jim had hired for afternoon deliveries would arrive soon, and she hating to keep him waiting. Besides, work took her mind off Daniel.
Out in the lobby, the main door squeaked open and Sarah made a note to have Ernie fetch out the oilcan when he came in. She stood and peered out the ticket window.
A lad of sixteen or so stomped his feet on the worn buffalo hide that served as a floor rug. He glanced around the office and shifted his wool cap back on his head. His dark hair scraped the collar of his plaid jacket. The kid spotted her and crossed the lobby. “You Miss Donovan?” he asked.
“I am. What can I do for you?”
“Got a package for you.” He extended a small paper-wrapped box and set it on the counter. “Sign here.”
Sarah eyed the package, bristling with curiosity, and placed her signature on the form. It was from Joslin’s Dry Goods. She fished into her skirt pocket for a couple of pennies, tipped the boy, and waited until he crossed the lobby and shut the door behind him. Then she set the package on the counter and stared at it.
She didn’t recall anyone ever sending her a package before. Warm pleasure crept through her, as satisfying as any public acclaim she’d ever received.
Careful not to tear the wrapping, she slit the paper open and pulled it away. A hinged cigar box beckoned her to open its lid. She savored the suspense for a moment, then lifted the cover. Inside, layers of tissue paper waited. Sarah smiled, stretching out the anticipation, and reached into the box.
Beneath the layers of tissue lay a perfect white chocolate rose. A small paper note lay beneath it, filled with Daniel’s strong lettering. Roses in January are not easy to find. Please accept this one, along with my heart, and join me for dinner.
Delighted champagne giggles rose in Sarah’s throat.
She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was blank.
She lifted the rose from its resting place, careful not to break it, and shuffled through the tissue. Finding nothing else there, she turned to the box itself and searched it for another note, then rummaged through the outer wrappings.
God in Heaven, of course she’d join him for dinner. She just needed to know when and where.
She sat down on her stool and shook her head. Giddy with excitement, she tried to sort everything out. This was like opening just one present at Christmas and having to wait for the rest. A sense of excitement filled her at Daniel’s calculated whimsy.
… accept this one, along with my heart …
Her skin prickled, and she swore she could feel her heart pumping. From Daniel, the simple words meant more than a whole volume of love letters. She shivered.
The clatter of the telegraph key shattered the moment, calling her back to work. Her reluctant mind deciphered the assorted dots and dashes and she translated them into letters. The wire quieted and she set about translating the letters into words, humming to herself as she did so.
From Mr. Daniel Petterman to Miss Sarah Donovan STOP
Sarah’s breath caught and her hand stilled. This time, she knew her heart was beating with abandon. She hurriedly translated the remaining letters.
Friday evening at seven at the Grand Central STOP I promise to leave all ghosts behind STOP
* * * * *
Once the five o’clock rush was over, Frank set his official envelope to the Kansas Pacific Railroad on the counter and sneered at Sarah’s stool. The packet contained copies of the allegations, a description of the evidence and his pledge to send it upon request. The forged note had already been mailed.
Frank smiled to himself. He’d done a pretty fine job on the note. He hadn’t even needed to find a forger. He’d done it all himself, real careful like. Yessir, she couldn’t ruin him anymore. He’d played his hand first this time, and she was in for one mighty big surprise. Just to be on the safe side, he’d copied down the information about the telegram that Petterman had sent setting up the tryst in the hotel. Leave it to Sarah to record it in the logbook. Frank reckoned it was nothing but bragging on her part.
Lavinia had favored him with such a smile when he told her about Petterman. She’d clasped his hands and told him he was wonderful. Frank guessed it was about as close as she’d ever come to professing her love for him, genteel lady that she was.
Yep, he had all his ducks in a row, now.
Sarah Donovan would be out from under his skin, he’d get his promotion back, and tomorrow night, he intended to ask Lavinia for her hand in marriage.
Once he finished the favor she’d asked of him, he had no doubt she’d be his.
Hadn’t she said as much when she cooed at him and touched his cheek? All he had to do was make sure their fellow boarder Harry Bowers heard all about Petterman’s mushy telegram. He wasn’t sure he understood why Lavinia wanted Bowers to know, but she’d asked special. It was an easy enough thing to do, but it seemed to mean so much to Lavinia.
Yessir, it wouldn’t be long, now.
Chapter Nineteen
Daniel sat at a secluded corner table in the Grand Central dining room and tugged at his tie, nervous as a schoolboy. The starched white tablecloth was crisp and elegant, the silver gleaming, and the chef had assured a memorable meal. He sighed and motioned the waiter, then requested a brandy.
For a brief moment, he worried she might not show up, but he knew she would never have telegraphed her acceptance if she didn’t mean to come.
The waiter returned with a snifter of amber liquid and set it on the table. Daniel lifted it, sipped heartily, and settled his thoughts on the night ahead.
The soft tinkle of Sarah’s laughter floated through the room, drawing Daniel’s attention to the lobby entrance. The maitre d’ slid her wrap off her shoulders. She stood in the golden glow of the gaslight. Her lush blond hair was piled high on her head, with a falling mass of delicate
curls.
Daniel’s mouth lifted into a smile.
She wore a new dress, a concoction of burgundy hues. The skirt draped in simple folds across the front of her hips and its square neck revealed a hint of cleavage above a form-fitting bodice. The effect, suggesting a corset, took his breath away.
There wasn’t an ounce of practicality about the gown.
Sarah’s gaze drifted across the room, lighting on Daniel.
He stood, widening his smile with deliberate slowness.
She mirrored the action, briefly, then broke into a full-fledged grin. She moved through the room, male gazes lingering on her as she passed.
Warmth filled Daniel, an unexpected satisfaction in the reaction she’d stirred. His loins tightened and he shifted his stance.
Good God, she’s beautiful.
She neared the table, the waiter holding her chair until she was seated.
Daniel waited until the waiter had eased Sarah’s chair forward then sat himself.
Sarah’s violet eyes were full of fiery sparkle. She took a deep breath, her breasts rising against the snug fit of her dress, then exhaled. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Daniel fought to keep from staring at her bared skin. Instead, he caught her gaze and gave her a languid half smile. “You’re entirely welcome.”
She laughed, her curls bobbing slightly, then sobered. “I didn’t think you’d give me another chance.” She paused and a slight pink blush crept across her cheeks. “I’m glad you did.”
“I’m glad you came. As judgmental as I was, I didn’t know if you’d give me another chance.”
Daniel watched her lips rise into a soft expression of absolution and knew they’d both crossed the first hurdle of the evening. “The play was incredible,” he said. “I regret not telling you that night. I wish I had.”
“Thank you, but it was the children who did well, not I.”
Daniel shook his head. “The script was well chosen and well written. The cast was perfect and you pulled a marvelous performance from those kids. I learned a lot.” He stared at her, waiting for her to deny it.
“Then we both did well, didn’t we?”