by Carol Cox
And that wasn’t likely to happen. It had been hard enough for the Pinkertons to find someone to take on Lavinia’s role. She couldn’t expect another Jessie to appear out of nowhere. And she didn’t dare tell the home office she needed help. She was on probation. If she admitted she couldn’t handle her first assignment, they would have no reason to take her seriously.
She stared at the wig. What would Lavinia say if she truly existed? Ellie closed her eyes and waited for inspiration.
“What if you brought in help without asking them for it?”
Ellie jumped. It was almost as if the older woman had actually spoken. As inspiration went, though, that suggestion was sadly lacking. How was she supposed to find help on her own? It would be too dangerous for her to reveal herself to anyone in Pickford.
But the idea, once formed, wouldn’t leave her alone. It persisted, hovering around her like a buzzing fly. She had become Lavinia easily enough. Why not become Jessie, as well?
Ellie sat bolt upright, feeling as though someone had set off fireworks in her brain. Could it work?
No, of course not. She was mousy Ellie, the one nobody noticed. It was one thing to transform herself into a middle-aged woman men wouldn’t look at twice. Quite another to take on a personality so unlike her own.
Tears stung her eyes. It was a lovely idea, but try to turn herself into a dazzler like Norma . . . ? That would be like making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. It simply couldn’t be done.
But she was an actress, wasn’t she? This was no time to sell herself short. And there was a red wig in the costume hamper. . . .
Before she could talk herself out of it, Ellie bolted across the room and yanked open the lid to the hamper, where she found the red wig folded neatly in tissue paper about halfway down. She pulled it out and gave it a good shake, eyeing the coppery curls touched with glints of gold. Very much like Norma’s hair. With a little touching up, it would be a style and color well suited for catching the attention of any male on the street who had a spark of life in him.
She walked to the mirror and held the red wig up next to her face. Her rising spirits plummeted. The hair was fine, but the features were still Ellie’s. It simply wouldn’t work.
Or would it? She knew more about makeup than most people. Why, without makeup, Magdalena wasn’t nearly as attractive as Norma. Ellie knew full well what the actress had been able to achieve with a few artistic touches.
She looked into the mirror again, studying her features as if they belonged to someone else. The wig’s curls would dangle over her forehead and frame the sides of her face, adding a little life to her expression. With renewed hope, she dug through the makeup kit and pulled out an assortment of cosmetics.
Without Lavinia’s faded skin and fuller cheeks, she would have an entirely different canvas to work on. Longer lashes, maybe. Darker eyebrows, and a little more color on her cheeks and lips. She put her thoughts into action, applying the makeup with deft strokes. She picked up the wig and tweaked the curls into place, then slipped it on over her hair and stepped back to observe the results of her handiwork.
She caught her breath, trying to reconcile her image of herself with the alluring creature who stared back from the mirror. Norma Brooks—no, an even more self-assured version of Norma—stood before her. Ellie tried a tentative smile, and the tinted lips curled into a teasing grin.
“See?” Lavinia’s imaginary voice purred approval. “I knew you could do it.”
Ellie didn’t bother to concoct a reply. Her mind whirled with the possibilities that opened up before her. How would Jessie walk? She crossed the room with dignified steps. No, that wasn’t right. She looked far too prissy. To strike up a conversation with the people she would need to talk to, Jessie couldn’t act like a debutante. She rolled her shoulders to ease her tension and tried a looser walk. Still not quite right.
Ellie scrunched her lips to one side, then grinned. Planting one hand on her hip, she strode back across the room with a deliberate flounce. Almost, but not quite. She tried it again, this time with a little less swing of her hips.
Oh yes. That would do. She sashayed back and forth in front of the mirror, feeling more accustomed to her new character with every step. That ought to garner some interest, all right.
She glanced back at the gray wig, wondering if her actions suited a relative of respectable Lavinia. For that matter, what would Steven Pierce think about Lavinia’s niece? Would an upright man like him be pleased or appalled? The thought sobered her. She didn’t dare drive him away—he was her link to the miners. But circumspect behavior wouldn’t help her connect with many of the other men in town.
She gazed into the mirror again and tilted her head. Maybe she would have to be something of a chameleon, playing a bit of a flirt with men like Bascomb and his ilk while maintaining a more proper front around Steven.
Ellie sighed. It was going to be quite the balancing act.
She imagined Lavinia whispering encouragement. “That it will, my dear. But playing dual roles is nothing new. Magdalena did it in Twelfth Night, remember? You’re more than capable of carrying it off. You’ll see.”
Was she? Ellie flopped back on the bed, knocking the red wig askew. Pulling it off, she flung it to one side. What was she thinking? Magdalena had gotten rave reviews for her portrayal of Viola and Cesario, but that was with Ellie’s able assistance in costuming and makeup changes backstage . . . not to mention Shakespeare’s script, crafted to give her time to make those changes.
Was she crazy to even think of attempting such a thing? That might be the more pertinent question. Trying to decide which character to play and switching between them quickly would be enough to drive anybody over the edge.
Ellie looked over at the dressing table where “Lavinia” stood and buried her face in her hands. She had been carrying on a conversation with a gray wig. Maybe it was already too late to be worrying about her sanity.
10
Ellie tugged her collar into place and tucked an errant strand of brown hair beneath the gray wig, wishing she could put her nerves in order as easily. Would the jet-trimmed basque bodice with its knife-pleated skirt be suitable for Lavinia’s first visit to church? It had been years since she’d attended a Sunday morning service, but she assured herself that Steven’s assessment of Lavinia as a God-fearing, churchgoing woman was perfectly in character. Besides, it would give her an additional opportunity to meet people in the community. She took one more look in the mirror, checking every detail of her appearance.
A knock sounded at her front door. Ready or not, that was her cue. Slipping into Lavinia’s character as smoothly as she had donned the woman’s clothes, Ellie opened the door to Steven, resplendent in a black frock coat, white shirt, and string tie. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.
A frown appeared between his eyebrows, and he reached out to cup her elbow with his hand. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly.” Ellie turned to gather up her reticule from a nearby table, hoping the maneuver would mask her emotions and give her a chance to get her breathing under control. There was no arguing the fact that the man was disconcertingly handsome. All the more reason to keep her wits about her.
“A momentary dizziness. That’s all. I’m fine now.” The first part of her statement was true enough. She hoped the latter part would prove to be true, as well.
He smiled and extended his arm. “In that case, let’s be on our way.”
Ellie braced herself and rested her fingers in the crook of his arm. Her eyes widened in surprise when she felt a strange tingle. She glanced up, wondering if Steven felt it, too. In contrast to her heightened awareness, he seemed remarkably unaffected.
She fought down a sense of disappointment as they strolled together down Second Street, then turned left on Douglas. What a ninny she was. Lavinia was old enough to be his mother. One could hardly expect him to show her anything other than gentlemanly respect.
“I hope you’ll enjoy the
service. Pastor Blaylock is a fine preacher, but I’m sure you’ll find his style a bit more rustic than what you were accustomed to in Chicago.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely.” When Steven threw her a quizzical glance, she added, “Inspiring, I mean.” She needed to change the subject before he asked about sermons she had heard recently.
Now was as good a time as any to begin laying the groundwork for Jessie’s arrival. Before they crossed Fourth Street, Steven halted to let an ore wagon drawn by a team of twenty mules go by. While the heavy wagon rumbled past, Ellie drew a deep breath. “I had some good news. My niece will be arriving soon.”
“Your niece?” Steven’s surprise was evident in his voice.
“Yes. We traveled west together, but she decided to stop off and visit some friends who have a ranch south of here.” Ellie shook her head. “Poor child.”
His inquiring look told her he’d taken the bait. Ellie went on as they crossed the street, outlining the story she’d concocted the night before. “She’s had a hard time. The poor dear worked as a secretary for a wealthy woman in Chicago and made the mistake of falling in love with her employer’s son. When his mother found out, she whisked him off on a grand tour of Europe to prevent him from making an unequal match.”
She marveled at the ease with which the words rolled off her tongue. She had already decided to keep the story of Jessie’s delayed arrival as close as possible to what she had already told the telegrapher. It would be far easier to stick to one account rather than having to keep track of multiple versions. And she could now appreciate Magdalena’s insistence on drawing from her own experiences to round out a character. It was all too easy to relate to being thrown over by an employer who suddenly decamped to the Continent.
Sympathy shone in Steven’s eyes. “I’m sorry. That must have been very hard for her.”
“She was utterly distraught. I thought a complete change of scenery would do her good, so I invited her to come along.” She lowered her voice in a confidential tone. “I’ve tried to help her see that life is still worth living. I hope you’ll extend the same courtesy to her that you have to me.”
“Of course. I think it’s admirable of you to be so sensitive to her feelings. When will she be arriving?”
As soon as I’ve had time to perfect her costume and makeup. Aloud, Ellie said, “I’m not certain of the day. Her friends are traveling to San Diego soon, and they plan to bring her to me on their way.”
Steven nodded as if making a mental note. “I’ll do what I can to make her feel welcome.” He stopped and gestured at a building on their left. “Here we are.”
Ellie looked up at the unassuming board-and-batten structure on the corner of Douglas and Fourth Street and took in a quick breath. God, I know I’m here under false pretenses. Please don’t let the roof come caving in on me.
The pungent smell of fresh-cut lumber assailed Ellie’s nostrils when they entered the cozy sanctuary. Rows of wooden benches flanked both sides of the center aisle, nearly half of them already filled. Ellie reminded herself to keep from staring. She never would have anticipated such a turnout on a Sunday morning, when she would have expected many of the townspeople to still be in bed, nursing the aftereffects of Saturday night carousing.
People looked up and smiled as Steven escorted her down the aisle to a bench near the front. Several greeted him by name, casting curious looks at his companion. Ellie smiled in return, pleased to recognize several faces. She spotted Althea Baldwin in the third row from the back, and Irene Peabody sat beside her husband on the very front row.
“Mornin’, ma’am.” Amos Crawford gave one of his gap-toothed smiles when she walked past.
Ellie nodded, trying her best to comport herself as Lavinia would, never allowing herself to forget she was onstage. How would Lavinia, a woman accustomed to attending church on a weekly basis, behave? For the first time, outright panic threatened to seize her, and she struggled to tamp it down. She couldn’t afford to lose her concentration and make a mistake.
Steven nodded at a bench on their right, and Ellie slid along to the middle, thankful for the chance to sit down and compose her thoughts. She busied herself smoothing her skirts and settling into place.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Amos rise from his seat two rows back and start forward as if to join them. Before he reached the aisle, the opening notes of a prelude poured forth from a pump organ at the right-hand side of the pulpit, and he sat back down. Ellie assumed an attentive expression and clasped her hands in her lap, grateful to have an excuse not to have to carry on a conversation with the garrulous telegrapher.
While the music played, she took the opportunity to scan the people in the rows ahead of her and across the aisle. After a quick survey, Ellie turned her attention to the front of the sanctuary and studied the man sitting in the chair to the left of the pulpit, attired in clothes similar to Steven’s. She assumed he was the minister, although he looked far younger than she’d expected.
As the organ prelude finished, a gangly man rose from the first pew and took his place in the front of the room. “Please stand and join me in singing ‘We’re Marching to Zion.’ ” He nodded to the organist, who played an introduction with gusto as the congregation got to their feet. Ellie looked for a hymnal, but there didn’t appear to be any at hand.
Her throat tightened. It was one thing to sit and appear to pay rapt attention to all the goings-on, but she’d never dreamed she might need to know the songs by heart, as Lavinia surely would. What was she going to do?
The music leader launched into the first verse, waving his arms like a bandleader marking time. All around her, voices joined in singing about a beautiful city of God. Ellie glanced up at Steven, who sang along in a masculine baritone. He looked down at her and smiled. Ellie beamed back at him, trying to read his lips and form the words as he sang them.
She floundered through the first verse and then the second. By the time the third verse ended, with Ellie finally joining the rest of the group in a rousing “Amen,” she was ready to run for the door.
The music leader, seemingly buoyed by the congregation’s vigorous rendition of the first hymn, announced the second with even more enthusiasm. Ellie groaned inwardly when the organist struck up the introduction to “Beulah Land” in a lively tempo. She would never be able to bluff her way through this one. She coughed slightly, then pressed her fingers to her throat and gave Steven an apologetic shrug. Singing, she decided, would not be Lavinia’s forte.
The singing finally ended, much to Ellie’s relief, and the minister rose to take his place behind the pulpit. Knowing she couldn’t expect much in such a backwater town, she sat up straight in an effort to make sure she didn’t doze off. To her surprise, however, Pastor Blaylock turned out to be an engaging speaker, not talking down to his listeners but sharing what was on his heart as though speaking to a roomful of friends.
“My text today is from Proverbs chapter six.” He lifted a well-worn leather volume in his left hand and began to read: “ ‘These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood . . .’ ”
Ellie brightened. If these were things God hated, she must be in better standing with Him than she’d thought. After all, she had never shed innocent blood, and she prided herself on being a truthful person, even when it was to her own disadvantage. More than once she had drawn Magdalena’s ire by giving a too-honest opinion of the way she delivered her lines. She turned her attention back to the minister in time to hear him read the last verse of the passage.
“ ‘. . . a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.’ ”
Ellie nodded vigorously. She couldn’t agree more. Feeling more at ease with each passing moment, she settled into her seat and used the sermon time to stealthily scan the congregation, as she supposed any newcomer to the church might do.
Keeping half her attention on the preacher’s
comments, she shifted her gaze and examined each face within her range of vision for any sign of shiftiness or guilt. Every person in the sanctuary seemed focused on Pastor Blaylock’s discourse on the importance of integrity in the life of a Christian.
Fiddlesticks! She should have known none of these people could be suspects. Would anyone so unethical spend Sunday morning in a church service?
What about you? An inner voice prodded at her. Aren’t you using it as a cover yourself?
Hmm. The voice had a point. What better way to avert suspicion than to appear upright and guileless? Ellie tucked that thought away for future consideration.
Pastor Blaylock ended his oration with a fervent prayer that God would “move each one of us to examine our own hearts as the psalmist did, asking you, dear Lord, to see if there be any wicked way in us, to shine your light into the darkness of our innermost beings and root out any evil there. And let us give ourselves to you, as the boy in John six gave his loaves and fishes for your use. Let us repent of anything that displeases you and live lives worthy of your calling before we stand before your judgment seat.”
A ripple of discomfort trickled its way down Ellie’s spine. If only he had left out that last part. The sermon had been far different than the fiery bombast she had expected. Instead, the minister had portrayed God more as a loving father than a disapproving judge. Then he had to go and spoil it all by bringing in the notion of a final judgment. Too bad—she had rather enjoyed his message up to that point.
Ellie gathered up her reticule and stood when Steven and the others did. She moved down the aisle at his side, stopping when he did to greet people and appreciating the fact that he never failed to introduce her to each person he spoke to. Now she had an opening to speak to any of them should she encounter them on the street. If for no other reason than that, she could count her morning well spent.
Pastor Blaylock stood at the back of the sanctuary, shaking hands with each departing parishioner. His face lit up when Ellie approached. “Ah, it’s always nice to welcome a new visitor to the house of the Lord.”