by Gina Welborn
Zoe studied his face. “Your photograph did not tell ze whole story of you.”
“My photograph?”
“I saw ze happiness in your eyes, but ze photograph failed to capture your kindness. And I do not mind zat he is helping. Zis is a wonderful zing you have done.”
He grinned. And she grinned, too.
After a long, comfortable moment, he helped her out of the surrey.
The next half hour was taken up with carting luggage up to Zoe’s room on the ladies’ side of the second floor and meeting Mr. and Mrs. Deal and their niece, Janet, the only other female residing in the boardinghouse. The Deals dutifully shared how, for being a frontier town, Helena had theaters, restaurants, hotels, and a variety of shops, which they vowed Zoe was sure to enjoy.
She fingered the key to her room as she listened to the Deals yet watched Mr. Gunderson kneel in front of little Timmy Sundin, the pair speaking too softly for her to overhear.
Mrs. Deal touched Zoe’s arm. “Please, Miss de Fleur, have a seat in the dining room. I’ll bring you some tea and cake.”
Tea would be nice. So would cake. Breakfast had been hours ago. As much as she would also enjoy a nap, her heart’s strongest desire was getting to know Jakob Gunderson. The question of why he had yet to marry lingered in the back of her mind. If he was hiding something, she wanted to find out before her heart grew too attached.
She smiled at the older woman. “Zank you, but Mr. Gunderson is taking me to lunch.” And . . . because he had reservations, maybe supper, too.
Four hours later
The Resale Company
Isaak checked the clock in his office. Two-thirty in the afternoon. Was Jakob back to work? He’d promised to only take the morning. Assuming the train was on time, he’d picked up the woman over four hours ago.
Plenty of time to realize he’d made a terrible mistake and buy the woman a ticket straight back to Denver.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Isaak?” Carline Pope, who was filling in for Emilia McCall while she was on her honeymoon, opened the door to his office without waiting for an invitation to enter. “Mr. O’Leary is here to see you. He says it’s important.”
“Send him in.” Isaak sat straight in the ladder-back chair. What had Jakob done—or, not done—to prod the foreman of the work crew up at The Import Co. into running here for help?
Carline disappeared, and O’Leary took her place in the doorway.
He held his cap in both hands, wringing the brown tweed like it was a piece of laundry. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Gunderson, but the men are ready to hang windows, only we don’t got any.”
“Where’s Jakob?”
O’Leary twisted his cap tighter.
“You haven’t seen him all day, have you?”
“Not since nine this morning, sir. After we had our crew meeting, he said he was gonna meet someone at the train station and then go to lunch.”
Isaak’s jaw muscles tightened. “Did he say where?”
“No, sir, but Moses said he saw him at the Grand Hotel around noon.”
Isaak stood. “I’ll go get him.”
“What do you want me and the men to do in the meantime?”
“Whatever you can so we meet the May 4 grand opening.”
O’Leary’s eyes flitted to the floor.
“Is all construction at a standstill until the windows go in?”
“No, sir. We can still work on the upper floors.”
Isaak’s fingers curled as he imagined wrapping them around his brother’s thick neck. “Do what you can.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” O’Leary didn’t turn to leave.
“Was there something else?”
“Yeah. A lad by the name of Timmy showed up an hour ago. Said your brother hired him to clean up wood shavings and the like. You know anything about that?”
“No, but it sounds like Jakob.” Isaak took his coat off the back of his chair. “Is the boy working hard?”
O’Leary nodded.
At least Jakob had done one good thing today. “Then let him stay on.”
“Very well, sir.” The foreman nodded again, then turned and left the office.
Isaak followed, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat as he hurried to the hat rack and retrieved his black bowler. He walked into the retail portion of The Resale Co. Carline was behind the counter ringing up some books and a pile of tapered candles for Mrs. Snowe. Isaak greeted the woman and chatted with her about her husband’s carpentry designs for The Import Co. while her items were wrapped. He walked her to the door, turned around, and told Carline he’d be back in an hour.
“You’re leaving me?” Panic laced her question.
“You can manage.” He checked his inside coat pocket to be sure his notebook and pencil were inside. “If anything comes up that you aren’t comfortable handling, write it down.”
She twisted her hands in the skirt of her blue calico dress. “What if I suspect someone of giving me counterfeit money?”
Carline and Yancey Palmer were best friends. Yancey’s fiancé, Joseph Hendry, had been killed right after returning from Dawson County, where he was investigating counterfeiting. Everyone knew Hendry was killed by angry brothel owners because his inflammatory articles stirred up sentiment against the red-light district, resulting in raids and more stringent laws against prostitution, but Yancey and Carline connected his death to the counterfeiting. No amount of rational argument could dislodge the association.
“If you suspect something, put a little star or dot by the name when you record their purchase in the ledger. Then put the money in a separate place, and I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
Carline regarded him solemnly.
He smiled. “You’ll be fine. You know what’s on the shelves better than you think you do.”
A bit of wariness faded from her blue eyes. “I’ve shopped here often enough.” She glanced down at the ledger, then back at Isaak. “All right. As long as you aren’t too worried about counterfeit money, I suppose I’ll be fine until you get back.”
“I’m certain you will.” He put on his hat and walked into the sunshine.
He held himself to a steady pace while walking the five blocks to the Grand Hotel. Despite how irritated he was with his brother, he managed to greet people with a smile and chat with them. A few white clouds hovered above, the kind in which he and Jakob used to find shapes. They’d lie in the grass and point to the various clouds, trying to outdo each other by coming up with more and more outlandish likenesses. Isaak stopped and put a hand up to hold his hat in place while picking out a sideways pear and a soup pot with a whiff of steam escaping the top. Funny how it only took a second for him to find the shapes even after years of not playing the cloud game—one he didn’t have time to play anymore. Unfortunate, but a fact of life.
He dropped his hand and started walking again. At Jackson and Sixth, the sight of Hale’s law office reminded Isaak that he needed to reschedule their dinner at the Montana Club, but he didn’t have enough time to stop now. The Grand Hotel was the next building, and he could see his brother through the window. Half curtains blocked his lunch companion except for a tall brown hat trimmed with feathers.
How could a woman who was desperate enough to become a mail-order bride afford such a stylish hat?
Isaak yanked his attention away from the window and schooled his features before nodding at the man holding the door open for him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gunderson.”
“Afternoon, Abe. How’s the family?”
“Can’t complain, sir. Can’t complain.”
Isaak dug a dollar coin from his pocket and tipped the man. With six mouths to feed, he needed it. “Give your lovely wife my best.”
“I will, Mr. Gunderson.” Abe touched the brim of his red cap and opened the door an inch wider.
Isaak stepped into the hotel lobby. He crossed to the restaurant and told the maître d’hôtel he wasn’t there to eat but
to talk to his brother, looking to where Jakob sat for emphasis.
Jakob was laughing at something, his face filled with . . . what? More than the polite disinterest Isaak expected—no, hoped—to see.
Confound it all, his brother was taken with the woman! Her dark blue dress, with a gold-and-brown-stripe underskirt was made of silk. A potted tree hid her figure, but as best Isaak could tell, she was slender. None of which fit his mental picture of a distressed or otherwise unacceptable female who would be hopeless enough to become a mail-order bride. She turned her head toward the window, and Jakob stared at her with a silly grin on his face.
Jakob looked up, his expression melting into irritation when he saw Isaak.
Isaak answered Jakob’s scowl with one of his own.
Jakob shook his head and looked pointedly at his companion.
Isaak jerked his head toward the lobby.
Another shake of Jakob’s head.
Knowing Jakob wouldn’t want his precious mail-order bride to overhear their upcoming conversation, Isaak stepped through the archway separating the lobby from the dining area.
Jakob jolted to his feet and appeared to excuse himself from the table. His entire demeanor turned sour as soon as he was out of his companion’s view.
Isaak stepped back, squared his shoulders, and braced for their confrontation.
Chapter Five
Zoe waited until Mr. Gunderson was beyond the table before turning her head just enough to watch him stroll toward the potted plants framing the arched entrance that led to the restaurant lobby.
Goodness, the man was impressive!
Mr. Gunderson’s laughter reminded her of Papa’s—deep-chested and ending in a snort. When she spoke, his gaze never veered from hers, his lips curving in a you-fascinate-me smile. She considered mimicking his smile. She wanted to, but she had never been good with flirting. This man she wished to flirt with. And yet her mind had thought of nothing coquettish.
She was clearly more like Papa than Maman.
Zoe sighed.
She turned back to the table, her gaze catching on the coffee cup next to Mr. Gunderson’s half-eaten chocolate cake. Coffee with breakfast she understood. But during a dinner meal? Mrs. Gilfoyle-Crane had insisted upon coffee after the solids had been removed from the table because she favored the way the bitter brew paired with sweets. Zoe agreed. She also knew coffee was a less costly alternative to liquor or wine for aiding digestion.
For someone who drank four cups of coffee with his meal—if this was normal behavior for him and not merely nerves—Mr. Gunderson should have sallow skin in addition to intestinal issues; his tanned complexion could disguise sallowness. It was no wonder he had to leave the meal in search of a washroom.
Poor man.
Embarrassed for him, Zoe focused on her dessert, which, upon her first bite, was as disappointing as the main dish. The flavor of the chicken fricassee would have been improved if the chef had added some thin-sliced, cold-boiled ham during the stewing. She picked up her spoon, uncertain whether she wanted another bite. The crème brûlée was too eggy. The pâtissier should have layered in another half cup of whipping crème. A pity, for the brûlée was perfect.
She tapped her spoon against the toasted sugar, cracking off another piece. Her spoon hovered over the ramekin. If she slid the spoon under the sugar, she could avoid the lackluster custard. She ought to eat it; Mr. Gunderson was paying for the meal. She should. Especially because she had managed to endure only half the main dish.
To her relief, at that moment Mr. Gunderson slid back into his seat, grinning. “It’s an unseasonably warm day. Let’s go for a walk. It’ll be fun.”
“Zis is true, but what about ze surrey?”
“I’ll fetch it later.”
He was gazing at her with an unnerving intensity. The sun streaming through the restaurant windows brightened the heavenly blue of his eyes.
Zoe laid down her spoon. “I would enjoy a walk.” She considered asking, Where to? but how much more fun it was to be surprised.
While Mr. Gunderson paid the bill, Zoe sought out the washroom. He was waiting for her in the hotel lobby, holding the bouquet of roses, her leather gloves, and her winter cloak. He draped the cloak over her shoulders, then gave her a moment to pull on her gloves before handing her the bouquet.
She had not felt so treasured since Papa passed away. But this was different. Jakob Gunderson was not her father.
A voice cleared.
She turned to the sound.
The doorman held open the door. “Hey, Jakob, would you tell my brother to come by here after work?”
Mr. Gunderson patted the side of the man’s shoulder. “Will do, Abe. Give your wife my love.”
The doorman chuckled. “And give her a reason to regret marrying me? Not on your life.” He looked at Zoe. “Ma’am, we appreciate you visiting the finest hotel in Helena. We hope you’ll come back again soon.”
“Zank you.” And then she stepped outside.
Mr. Gunderson motioned to the right. “This way.”
A pair of horse-drawn wagons drove past. Several men on horses rode by, too.
Zoe partially listened as Mr. Gunderson acknowledged fellow pedestrians and talked about the businesses they passed. How pleasant not to be the one required to carry the conversation. She also enjoyed sensing how much he loved this town and the people in it. Yet he was still unmarried. Why? The question had nagged at her during the drive from the boardinghouse and throughout the meal. It still nagged.
As they passed another business, which had old barrels filled with soil on either side of the entrance, Zoe brushed her fingers over the green shoots peeking through the rich brown dirt. In another month, flowers and greenery would brighten this main thoroughfare through town.
While buildings lined both sides of the street, to the north-west, white-topped, rugged mountains peppered the view.
The largest—Mount Helena.
Of all the letters and references Mrs. Archer had read to Zoe, the one from the reverend had been the most descriptive of God’s created majesty surrounding Helena. She had been wary of his narrative. She now agreed with the words he had chosen. Nothing obstructed the vast blue skyline. On Manhattan Island, the best view of the sky came when standing on the Crane house rooftop, Papa’s favorite place to watch the sunrise. Yet even there, the sky was partially obstructed by the taller buildings blocks away.
A streetcar bell sounded as it stopped at the upcoming intersection. Zoe smiled with optimism about creating a future here as she watched passengers climb off before others climbed on, including a mother with her three identically dressed, stair-step little girls.
“In the next few years,” Mr. Gunderson boasted, “the streetcar line will extend beyond this one line direct to the train depot. There will be tracks through neighborhoods.”
Zoe looked up at Mr. Gunderson and listened as he spoke. She had never expected to feel such an instant compatibility with a stranger.
He enjoyed hiking in the mountains. She did, too. He enjoyed sunsets. She did, too. He enjoyed helping those less fortunate, attending worship services, and spending time with friends and family. She did, too! Her favorite story was of how his stepfather had agreed to raise twin babies as his own, even though they would bear their real father’s last name. A lot could be understood about a man in how he spoke about his parents. Jakob Gunderson clearly treasured his.
By the time they reached the intersection, the streetcar had moved on. They crossed the street, the sound of hammers against wood growing louder as they walked.
“Here it is!” Mr. Gunderson said. “The Import Company.”
They stood there, looking at a grand three-story, red-brick building with stone accents under the window frames and around the double-doored entrance. Zoe admired how THE IMPORT COMPANY had been carved into stone over the third-floor windows in between the brickwork.
When a person was looking for a business—
She gasped. “Oh!
Zis is your building. You wrote about it in your second letter.”
He smiled with pride, as if presenting her with his greatest treasure.
“I like it,” she said. “When will ze construction finish?”
“We’ve had an unexpected delay on the windowpanes, so they won’t go in until next week. The interior work will be finished by the middle of April. That leaves us two weeks to arrange displays and price the goods before the May 4 grand opening.”
Six arched window openings on each of the second and third floors. Two wide ones on the ground level. She leaned to the right and counted the side window openings. Eight . . . no, ten.
“Is your papa’s other business in a building zis grand?”
“No. The Resale Company could fit inside this one’s first floor,” he said in a curious voice, as if he had never realized the difference in the buildings’ sizes. “The plan is to rent the second floor as office space.”
“And ze third floor?”
“Storage.”
When he said no more, she looked up at him. “That whole floor only for storage?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting in his throat. “There’s also an apartment for me and my future family.” He motioned to the building. “Shall we?”
“Certainly.”
Five minutes later, they stood in the center of what would be The Import Company. Sunshine streamed through the window openings and cast elongated rectangles on the unstained floorboards. Hammering sounded on the upper floors.
Zoe eyed the handful of different tin tiles adhered to the ceiling. She favored the one on the far left with the fleur-de-lis.
Mr. Gunderson touched her arm, and she met his gaze. “Stay here. I need to check on today’s progress, and I don’t want you on our makeshift staircase.”
“I am content to admire ze view.”