by Webb, Carole
The next day she planned to seek out the contractor and begin work on the warehouse while she transformed the apartment into her home.
She dined at a café near her hotel then retired early, tired from the rigors of the day, knowing she would rise early in the morning to begin again.
***
The train ride to Washington proved uneventful after the stop over in Kansas City to purchase breeding stock to ship back to Chamberlain where Slim awaited delivery.
Gazing out the window of his Pullman, Cash marveled at the expansive acreage of cornfields throughout Kansas stretching for miles waiting for tilling and seeding when the spring thaw arrived.
Upon his arrival in D.C., Cash checked into the Hotel Monaco as a temporary residence until he could locate permanent housing near the Capitol then proceeded to seek out Senator Wilcox, anxious to begin.
Moving through the tree-lined streets, he stopped the driver when they neared the Washington Monument. The photographs he had seen of the massive structure in the newspapers did not do justice to this monolith backlit by the sun rising into the sky, a fitting tribute to the hero and first President of the United States.
After strolling down the lawn pathway for a closer view, he stood gazing at the structure while thinking of the country’s history and how much had happened since the American Revolution. He felt proud to be a citizen of such a great nation.
After a few moments reflection, they continued to the Capitol—the white colonial style mansion with grand pillars standing around the rotunda flanked with gardens, bounded by a four-foot wall made of flat stones.
An American flag flittered in the slight breeze on a flagpole to the left of the building at full mast.
An aide led him through the hallways to Senator Wilcox’s office where he rose from a dark maroon leather chair behind a carved mahogany desk laden with files, looking natural in his surroundings shelved with dozens of law books and tomes. His arm extended to shake hands with Cash.
“Hello, Senator Rydell. I see you’re ready to get started.”
Cash stood erect, eager to begin, “The sooner the better.”
“I’ll show you your office then take a tour through the building. The sessions begin after luncheon so I’ll take you to a local eatery then introduce you around.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Senator. I will be at the Monaco until I find a permanent residence.” They walked toward the door then into the long corridors lined with closed-door offices on each side of the marble floors.
Cash slowed his stride to allow the Senator to keep pace, his eyes scanning each passageway and window as they embarked on the tour. “I have a few connections. We will find you suitable lodgings close by.”
Forty-nine
With the final additions of brocade draperies and large square pillows complementing the décor, Raeden stood back surveying the finished effect before going in search of a wholesaler interested in carrying her line.
Raeden spent hours carrying her portfolio attempting an audience with various men in the clothing industry, being turned away at every door.
Refusing defeat, she happened on one wholesaler, a Mr. Andrew Jenkins who admitted her into his office, indifferent to her gender and studied her compositions with a trained eye.
With a reputation for hard work and honesty, the man Raeden guessed in his mid-fifties, owned Fleur-de-lis, one of most comprehensive marketing establishments specializing in imported European gowns. If she could convince him to speculate, it would be a perfect arrangement. Since he had all the connections it would take her months to expose, even if they would condescend to dealing with a female.
He expressed an interest and requested samples of a few gowns for his catalog models to wear for photographs.
Dog-tired she caught a cab to the far end of the Fashion District to order textiles from the millers to begin the assembly of samples of the designs suggested by Mr. Jenkins.
She marveled at the choices of fabrics available, imported as well as domestic, barely able to contain her excitement as she ran her hands over the luxurious materials in such abundance.
She would not allow herself to become pessimistic, knowing she could compete with the best. Her designs were more innovating than most she had seen.
Raeden fell into bed wearing only her undergarments, too tired to eat, thankful of her good fortune in finding someone to take a chance and allow her to show what she could do.
s
Fifty
Settled in his comfortably furnished apartment with a view of the Capitol from his bedroom window facing the morning sun, Cash sat at the oak desk in the anteroom studying policies and procedures acquiring methods to introduce a Bill to the Congressional Floor.
He stood to stretch before delving into the Constitution to refresh his knowledge after years away from the university. Two amendments regarding slavery already on the floor made no mention of Indians rights. He had failed to make headway to have something included before they came to a vote and the Women’s Rights movement had been unsuccessful in their fight to be included as well. Prejudice ran high since several Indian Nations broke the terms of their treaties, most unwilling to understand the military or American citizens had taken the first action, leaving the Natives no choice.
Now he would need to start at square one, not leaving much time to amass the information and support necessary to introduce the Bill to the Floor and the thought struck him to include women as well. He had long been accustomed to strong women capable of using firearms to fend off attackers, ride horses astride and make business decisions as well as any man. Why should they not be allowed to vote on policies affecting their lives? The session, due to begin soon left him just enough time to clean up and have breakfast before signing in.
During the noon break, the extent of his endeavor brought him into the network of hallways seeking the assistance of an aide to research further information to allow the Committee on Indian Affairs to review his new Bill.
After instructions to send all past legislation directly to his office, he proceeded to a scheduled appointment with Wilcox with an ulterior agenda. A cocktail party scheduled for the evening, he desired the guest list in order to garner support. Casually entering Wilcox’s oak paneled office, he sauntered across the lavish Persian rug.
On the telephone, Wilcox waved Cash inside, motioning him to a matching leather wingback, near enough to the desk for an intimate conversation. Wilcox completed the call. “Cash, you must be very busy. I hear you are stirring up a bit of controversy regarding those Indian friends of yours.”
The sarcastic bend to his voice pricked the hair on the back of Cash’s neck. His composure remained hanging by a thread. “Those Indian friends of mine as you so eloquently stated Senator, happen to be people, people stripped of their God-given rights by greedy land-grabbing tsars and slaughtered along with the buffalo necessary for their survival.”
Wilcox’s mouth dropped, his manner subdued. “Sorry, Cash, I did not intend to slight them.” He changed the subject. “Shall we get on with business? I take it this has to do with the Natives.”
His blood cooled slightly. “I require your support, Dan. I need a co-sponsor and with you on board we will stand a better chance in Committee.”
With both palms on his desktop, Wilcox stood and walked toward Cash. “No problem, I will be glad to help out.”
The tension in his shoulders began to relax. He stood to face the Senator. “Thanks, Dan. You must be on your way out. I don’t mean to detain you but I have one more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Will there be enough guests tonight to make it worth my while?” A thought had also occurred to him, some wives of the Congressmen who cared to listen in might be sympathetic and attempt to convince their husbands to do the right thing.
“Sure enough, more than half of the Body will be there. Look me up when you arrive.”
***
Energized, Cash strode through the
two wide entrance doors into the Stafford Edition of the Library of Congress situated in the basement of the Capitol Building to retrieve more details regarding the amendments on the Session Floor.
His mouth dropped when he saw reams of documents stacked three tiers high under the thirty foot ceiling and boxes of papers littering the floor on each side.
At the far end, two caned Shaker chairs stood under a desk piled with toppling books. My God, this is going to take days!
When darkness settled in over the city, he rushed to his apartments to clean up for the gala after having a stiff drink.
***
The massive reception room boasted a great chandelier suspended in the towering ceiling enveloping the surroundings with luminous rays, the reflection accentuating the gleam off marble floors.
Women’s heads turned when the new Senator from South Dakota clad in a black tuxedo entered the room shaking hands, conversing on his way to the bar.
While working the room nursing a scotch, he ignored wanton stares from a few of the young women and continued on his quest, mingling and conversing aiming to seek corroboration, intent on his mission.
A few expressed interest and fewer pledged their support all requested details of the Bill’s contents. Most, however, proved vehemently against the project. Some justifying their positions referring to the Indians as useless red men, barbarous freaks or inhumane savages. This would be more difficult than he had first imagined.
He planned to hound them during the next days, armed with statistics they could not ignore even if he had to toil day and night to find convincing information.
Sitting at the long eloquently carved bar drinking a double scotch neat, Cash managed a break from the garrulous crowd.
Dressed in a gown of forest green taffeta, Senator Mead’s daughter, Estelle, swept in beside him. Her reflection in the long rectangular mirror behind the bar caught his eye and his brow curved up arrogantly, having heard rumors about her reputation.
The faint scent of lavender rose from her flawless pink skin as she sipped sparkling wine from a leaded crystal flute. As she turned a sideways glance, hazel eyes flecked with amber spoke of desire as she swiveled to face Cash’s right side.
“Good evening, Senator Rydell. You have been so busy tonight, I suppose you have not had the opportunity to ask me to dance.” Sensing an implication of some kind, he turned to face her directly, feeling his male urges begin to rise.
Cash stared down into her eyes while he stood moving closer as she reached out a gloved hand. “Would you care to dance, Miss Mead?” Enchanted, Cash folded her arm across his elbow leading her to the dance floor while his eyes lingered on the cleavage between soft pink mounds.
“You look radiant tonight, Estelle. It has been a while since I have been graced with the company of such a beautiful young woman.” Amusement made him laugh to himself as his eyes roamed down to her waist then up lingering on the multi-carat diamond dangling between immense round breasts then rising to the diamond drops hanging from pixie-like ears outlined by long blonde hair pinned up in an artistic coif.
Grasping her waist, she drew in close while they glided around the smooth dance floor nonchalantly talking of mundane events. Estelle’s seductive golden eyes held Cash’s gaze.
Stepping into the crowd when the dance ended, his arm carelessly draped around her shoulder, the flash of a camera halted their progress. A reporter approached, tablet and pen in hand.
“Senator Rydell, is it true Indians raised you?”
A perfect opportunity to take advantage of press coverage, he removed his arm from Estelle’s bare shoulder, glanced down at the reporter, legs slightly apart. “I wouldn’t go that far. However, I did spend a great deal of time with the Cheyenne.”
The reporter bent his face down while writing. “Is this why you’re in Washington, to fight for their cause?”
Intent on making a public plea for support he began his speech. “Yes, they’re being slaughtered and starved off land belonging to them by rights and whoever is left are herded like cattle onto reservations hundreds of miles from their homeland and treated like dogs.” Holding back the urge to hurl into a tirade, he inhaled a deep breath relaxing the muscles constricting his jaw. “I would say they could use a bit of help, wouldn’t you?”
“Does this mean...?” Distracted by Senator Desjardins, head of budget planning, the reporter spun chasing a new lead.
A shrug raised Cash’s shoulders while he turned back to Estelle, gazing into her hazel eyes. “How about another drink?” He would like nothing better than to have a soft eager body to relieve the stress from the day.
A wicked gleam flashed in her bright eyes as she spoke in a provocative tone. “A drink sounds lovely. My apartment is the perfect place to share a cocktail.” Her manner left no room for misinterpretation as he grasped her elbow and walked her across the crowded room.
With no second thought, he retrieved her cloak and escorted her to a carriage waiting outside.
When they reached her house, Cash jumped from the carriage and looked up at Estelle. “Do you want to go home or return to the party? I’m going back to my place … alone.”
Fifty-one
The meeting with Jenkins proved beneficial. He thought her designs had the flare and originality to compete with overseas markets and minus the cost of importation, they could cover an extensive base of customers. His business acumen impressed Raeden as she dutifully filed information away in her mind for future reference.
With the assistance of Sally, a local professional seamstress with remarkable talent, they completed the trial contract then began assembly on other designs until late each evening.
Leaving for the day, Raeden glanced back at the white rectangular sign written in blue cursive, Designs by Raeden, over the door. This will be a success. I can feel it.
She had made friends with Jenny Maxwell, a catalogue model working with Jenkins, beautiful and petite with bright red hair, they had Sunday brunch together most weekends and rode in the park. Raeden liked having a friend to visit with in her spare time.
It seemed no matter what she did, she still felt lonely. The nights were especially difficult.
A carriage approached and Jenny jumped down waiving tickets in one hand the other holding down her hat with red curls escaping. She ran to Raeden. Her words beamed with excitement as she spoke, almost breathless. “I have the tickets to Enthusiasm at the New Park Theatre. We go tomorrow night.”
Elated by the chance to get out on the town, she moved in close to Jenny. “We’ll have a great time, Jen. I will make reservations at Delmonico’s for dinner afterward. Come inside, I have something to show you.” She had assembled a new gown for Jenny for just such an occasion.
They hurried into the shop where Raeden held out a black gown trimmed in midnight blue silk to bring out the color of Jenny’s hair. She held it up pulling the skirt to one side to allow the fullness to fan out and show the escallop along the hem adorned with jet crystals in each notch. A sable trimmed hood on the matching blue cape fell down to the shoulders in elegant folds. “This is for you to wear tomorrow night. Free advertisement.”
Jenny’s ample smile flashed straight white teeth and Raeden knew the extra work worth it just to see the delight sparkle in her friend’s sorrel eyes. “It’s fabulous, Rae. I will be the envy of every lady there.”
After they visited for a few moments, they both left to dress for the evening out.
***
Dressed for the theatre in a rust-colored gown with a train layered in alabaster voile she noticed her breasts felt tender and looked fuller when she tied her corset. She hoped it the onset of her cycle and the lateness due to stress and fatigue.
It seemed all eyes turned as Raeden and Jenny entered the New Park Theatre clad in their Designs by Raeden. They made a point to linger as long as possible before taking their seats.
By intermission, the performance had been more than she had hoped for and they went together for refr
eshments to show off their gowns. A young woman approached Raeden with her escort. “You’re wearing such a lovely gown. May I ask the name of the designer?”
Raeden casually reached into her bag and handed her a card.
“Designs by Raeden, I knew it had to be French. Is he out of Paris?”
Raeden beamed. “The line will be available in New York at some upscale clothiers. If you are interested ask at Bird of Paradise or Collette’s.”
“Thank you, I will check tomorrow.” She strolled back to a group. All the other ladies passed the card between them smiling and chattering while one man, she guessed to be a husband, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling shaking his head.
A good-looking man with dark hair and a mustache, debonair and dressed like a dandy, strolled to Raeden. “Excuse me for being so bold. I am Mitchell Maxwell and I noticed you had no escort. I brought you refreshment.” He handed her some champagne. Why am I so frightened?
Raeden held the glass but did not drink, trying to remain relaxed and keeping silent while he stared. Just then, intermission ended. When she turned to leave, he reached for her elbow to walk her inside.
As the strange hand touched her, she jumped away nearly screaming. “Don’t touch me, I’m a married woman.” Dropping the glass, she bolted to her seat, gasping for breath. Dabbing her cold damp brow, she collected herself so Jenny would not notice when she walked back to her seat. It disturbed her, she became so alarmed at the slight touch of a stranger, realizing he meant her no harm. Would it always be like this? How could she function and conduct business in a man’s world if she could not bear the nearness of men she did not know? Once again remembering the nightmare, she shuttered and attempted to regain control.