Why Not (A Valentine Matchmaker novella)

by Debra E. Marvin

  “I doubt that. But she does have a point.” He glanced at Amber.

  She froze.

  “Miss Wynott will have to make up her own mind about this idea of designing buildings. If you take her now, she’ll always wonder. I expect she’ll be ready to return home before you know it.” Stone Morrison never broke eye contact with Uncle William.

  Amber held her breath.

  “Miss Colter appreciates her enthusiasm,” he continued, “and keeping Miss Colter happy is also part of my job.”

  “That’s a noble speech, Mr…?”

  “Morrison.”

  “Yes. Very well.” Uncle William sighed wearily. “But there’s more to it. I don’t wish to get into details at this time.”

  “What are you talking about?” Amber insisted, pulling at his arm. “Is mother unwell?”

  He turned to her. “No. It’s railroad business.”

  “Then it hardly concerns me.”

  Uncle William’s shoulders sagged. “I’m afraid it concerns all of us.”

  Mr. Morrison glanced at her and shifted, his hands on his hips. “What is it, sir?”

  “There’s been a threat against the train and hotel, and anyone connected with them.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Amber glanced from her uncle to Stone, then back.

  “That’s all you need to know.” Uncle William shifted his attention to Mr. Morrison. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Nothing specific, no. But discontent is hard to miss.”

  If she mentioned the little things now—the ruined blueprints or the way Mr. Morrison’s belongings had been tossed over the edge—Uncle William would have more reasons to take her home. Mr. Morrison knew more than he’d let on, and she felt his gaze on her.

  “If that’s the case, Miss Wynott, it’s best you go with your uncle.”

  “What’s this?” Uncle William declared. “Someone paying attention?”

  She hated when he crowed like that.

  “Come with me now and pack, then rest before dinner and we’ll leave tomorrow.”

  He never changes. “I’m not going.”

  “Amber. My patience is wearing thin.”

  “Why should I go when everyone else is staying? Will the hotel close? Are you sending the railway men home?”

  “Of course not.”

  Mr. Morrison touched his forehead and left a smear of dirt across it. “Miss Wynott. Your uncle is clearly concerned for your safety. As Miss Colter will be. I’m sure she’ll help you again in the future, at a more convenient time.”

  “I’m of the age now where I can make my own decisions. I’ll thank you both to stop treating me like a child.”

  “Then stop acting like one,” Uncle William returned.

  Every part of her railed at the injustice. Every instinct to stomp her foot would prove him right. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. She rubbed her face and…oh bother. “Let me make this decision Uncle, and if I believe I’m at risk, I’ll come home. But I’m in no more danger than anyone else, nor is my life more precious than theirs.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “I beg to differ. You’re too innocent to understand how men can be blinded by ambition. Even at the risk of their families. There are those ready to destroy our progress.”

  Stone Morrison turned his back. He was of no help.

  Just as quickly her uncle softened. “Your mother would be lost without you. And I…would as well.” His mouth twitched. “You’ll see that she’s safe, Mr. Morrison?”

  The stonemason faced them in surprise. “Me?” He held her gaze, then answered. “Yes. I will.”

  “Very well.” Uncle William tucked his hat tighter. “By the weekend, I’ll expect a telegram giving me the date of your departure, Amber.”

  “Thank you.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek, mindful that somewhere under his crust hid the man who’d always doted on her. The man who’d taught her all about bluster.

  William Wynott strode back toward the automobile without a second glance.

  ~

  At least that was over.

  Stone kicked a pebble. For crying out loud. Why had he agreed to such a thing?

  Because William Wynott was as authoritarian as Father, and Stone didn’t like bullies.

  Miss Curious held her own in the encounter and waved as her uncle left. Stone didn’t bother.

  He should have stayed out of it. Taking responsibility for her would be as easy as training a mule.

  Intent on avoiding her, he entered the grand, airy interior of Hermit’s Rest and the room he used when too tired to go back to the hotel. It wasn’t much but it had a bed and a fireplace and would someday be home to the caretaker. Stone still carried the thick envelope. As Miss Wynott likely needed time to collect her dignity, he’d have time to open his mail.

  She was quite determined—he’d give her that.

  He escaped further by settling on the outside bench where he often ate his meals. With a clean slice from his knife, four or five letters spilled out onto his lap. Social invitations, by the careful lettering. Spring weddings, no doubt. A bank statement from Morrison Financial. Nothing more from his mother, but one from his lawyer.

  Stone’s old address had been crossed out, Return to Sender had been stamped alongside, and an In Care Of added as a secondary attempt to reach him via the Fred Harvey Company Headquarters.

  January Twentieth 1914

  Ulysses,

  It is my unfortunate duty to advise you of your father’s ill health. The doctors believe he has suffered apoplexy and he may not recover. Please contact my office immediately so we may discuss preparations for the future of the bank and estate. In your absence, I assure you I’ve done my best to be of support to your family.

  Maxwell Ryan Grant, Esq.

  “Mr. Morrison? Are you in here?”

  Stone was powerless to move or speak.

  “Stone?”

  Her steps echoed across the flagstones, and, if the raucous clatter of metal was any indication, took her right into the large set of iron pokers by the fireplace.

  “Oh bother.”

  Her choice of expletives found its way through his fog. He glanced again at the note and Grant’s spidery handwriting before rising to meet her.

  Her face softened when she saw him. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  He shrugged off her apology.

  “I wanted to thank you for speaking up for me.”

  He stared, swallowing again to moisten his dry mouth yet confused by her sincerity. “What are you talking about?”

  “With my uncle. Suggesting I stay.”

  “Oh.” He passed by her to return inside.

  “You surprised me,” she told him, following him through the door.

  Stone sat hard on a bench, focusing on the long rectangles of light tilting across the floor from the second story windows as if seeing them for the first time.

  What was going on at home? Did they assume he didn’t know or that he didn’t care? How was Mother handling it?

  He’d managed to put such a gulf between himself and Father…

  “Are you unwell, Mr. Morrison?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I won’t pry, but I’ll listen if you need to talk. Obviously you’re not yourself. Let me make you a cup of tea.”

  “If you’d like.”

  Father had been slowing down, but…not this. Stone rubbed his forehead. His success here would prove he’d been right.

  As if that would’ve improved their relationship.

  He didn’t know how long he’d sat there when her movement brought him around. He reached for the cup of tea at his side. It was cold. Her attentions were given completely over to the horizon.

  He drained the cup anyway. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve had bad news, then?” she asked.

  Something about her made him want to explain and let her compassion fall over him, but he wouldn’t. “So your family is not supportive of your decision to come here?”<
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  She worked her hands nervously. “There’s no sense pretending. You saw how my uncle feels about it. Father would be just as controlling if he was still alive.”

  “My…father.” His chest tightened again.

  “Uncle William is protective of me.”

  The words surfaced. “I don’t know if he’s alive.” Stone dropped his head to his hands. “That envelope.”

  Then she was at his side, her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I’m so very sorry. What happened?”

  She studied him with so much concern it unnerved him.

  “Oh, you poor man.”

  He shifted, deflecting her hand and her undeserved pity. “Don’t be concerned. I’m fine.”

  “How can you be? No, it’s just the shock. Maybe you want to begin to pack. I’m a firm believer that industry keeps us going at times like these.” Even standing still, she buzzed with energy.

  “I won’t be leaving. Not right away,” he explained. “Two weeks at least.”

  “You’re not thinking straight. Of course you’ll go. And today.”

  He stood watching her pace. “There’s things you don’t understand.”

  She stopped briefly, then moved past him with a “No, I guess not,” disappearing around the corner.

  He didn’t need to hear her opinion right now anyway.

  A horse whinnied as the Babbitt Mercantile wagon and Dutch come into view. Was it that late already? Barley was with him, and waved. Stone walked outside, relieved to hand off responsibility for Miss Wynott. No doubt the gal could do with a friendly face.

  “Fancy meeting you out here,” Barley hollered.

  “Is there trouble?” Miss Wynott frowned. “Aren’t you early?”

  The two bewhiskered men glanced at each other. “Maybe so.”

  “My uncle sent you out here, didn’t he?” she asked, hands on hips.

  Dutch’s wiry brows peaked as he glanced at his crony.

  Her mouth tightened into a harsh line.

  “Got a message for you, too, Stone.” Dutch waved him over. “Mr. Eliot wants you up at the hotel for a breakfast meeting with Mr. Wynott.”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Miss Wynott supplied.

  Both men stared at her. Heck. Stone was staring at her too.

  “Mr. Morrison has had bad news, and will be leaving town.”

  She jumped right in to make decisions for him, but he’d lost interest in arguing the point, and caught Dutch’s eye. “I’ll be there.”

  She shook her head as she gathered her things.

  Stone whistled. Teddy bounded around the building, stopping at Stone’s side. He scratched the rough of her neck and ears, but Teddy danced away, circling Miss Wynott as she returned with her parasol and leather satchel. Dutch helped her up onto the seat and Teddy popped up, placing her front paws and snout next to Miss Wynott’s feet, desperate for a pat on the head. It worked.

  “What happened, son?” whispered Barley.

  “My father’s had an apoplexy,” Stone replied, keeping his voice low. “Weeks ago now.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “And you’re sure you’ll be fine here by yourself?” asked Miss Wynott.

  “What do you think?”

  The hurt in her eyes and the drop of her shoulders said his words had come too quickly, too defensively. But he’d had enough of her interference.

  Dutch flicked the reins. Miss Wynott grabbed the bench to steady herself. Stone raised his hand to stop them but the words stalled in his throat as the wagon made a wide circle and headed east. Teddy yawned a doggy yawn, and Stone reached down to scratch her ears.

  Miss Wynott turned to stare at him over her shoulder.

  With good reason. She had the right to wonder what kind of man he was.

  She touched Dutch’s arm. The wagon stopped, and she climbed down. His feet were in motion, despite the ache in his chest.

  She stopped in front of him. “I think you’ll regret not going home, and worse, I think you know it.”

  He studied this paragon of knowledge but kept his thoughts to himself. “Thanks for the advice.” The gal had some nerve.

  At the touch of her hand on his arm, he found himself back in those gentle brown eyes.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Morrison. I’m speaking as a friend.”

  He nodded. He knew that too.

  Chapter Six

  Mortar—a mixture of elements used as a bonding agent

  “I got a question for you, Miss Wynott.”

  Barley’s words brought her out of her reverie. Stone Morrison would think her quite out of her rights, but it was done now. How could he be so stubborn when his family needed him?

  “What is it?” she answered.

  “I’m thinking about writing an article for the newspaper down in Williams. Lot of folks around here get it. Late, usually, but they’ll read it.”

  “What’s it about?” She’d like to read it herself. Dutch gave her a wry grin.

  Behind her Barley cleared his throat. “How folks have let their pride get in the way of common sense.”

  “Amen,” Dutch added.

  Like Stone Morrison for one. “So how may I help?”

  “Well, can you tell me what you think of this title? Have we all forgotten those lessons learned at grandma’s knee?”

  “Sounds good. A little long though. It needs to be short and catchy.”

  “Well, how do you spell humility?”

  She knew this one, all right. Too well. Stone’s mule-headed ways were too close to home.

  ~

  Amber opened her eyes to the shadows distorting the ceiling medallion in her El Tovar suite. By the color of the sky, she’d fallen asleep and left herself little time to wash up, and even less time to do anything but a simple chignon for her unruly hair. With a rushed toilette, and a quick change to her favorite pleated blouse she might make dinner with Uncle William at seven.

  She followed the empty hallway, rushed around the ladies lounge that overlooked the rotunda, and descended to the ground floor where the quiet buzz of conversation suggested most guests congregated in the dining room.

  “Miss Wynott?” The young clerk at the registration desk hailed her.

  Amber headed that way. “Yes, what is it?”

  “A letter for you.”

  Wonderful news, not that she had time to read a letter from her mother right now. “Thank you.” Only it wasn’t mother’s handwriting. She tore the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet inside.

  Go home before you git hurt.

  She examined the envelope again. No postmark. “Excuse me. Robert, is it?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Did you see who brought this?”

  “It came with the mail. You might ask over at the post office.”

  “Thank you.” But it would do no good. She strolled over to the big corner fireplace, read the letter again before tossing it in. The paper curled and blackened, burning the shock of its nasty words with it.

  It was nothing; nothing she’d worry about. Nothing more than someone’s grudge against the railway and her last name. No real threat.

  She headed to the dining room, waiting until she saw her uncle waving her over. Yet three gentleman stood. Three silhouettes against the last of the sunset, and one as grand as the landscape. She recognized the El Tovar manager, Mr. Eliot, and—her hand grabbed the back of the nearest dining chair…

  And a well-dressed, jaw-droppingly-handsome gentleman with a remarkable likeness to her favorite stone mason.

  “Come along, Amber,” Uncle William said, taking a glance at his pocket watch.

  As she waited for her chair to be pulled back, she silently thanked Mother and Nanny for the decades of training.

  Mr. Eliot obliged. “I trust you’ve met Mr. Morrison?” he queried, once she’d sat.

  Amber took a sip of water—at the risk of choking on it. “Yes. Of course. At the Hermit work site.” Worry pulsed in her throat with every beat of her heart
. Maybe she shouldn’t have burned the note, neither did she care to carry it with her. No, it was best destroyed. “I’ve been out each day that I’ve been here.”

  Uncle William placed a warning hand on her wrist as if she should know better than to advertise her wild ways.

  “I did hear that, yes,” agree Mr. Eliot. “I must say it’s nice to have Mr. Morrison back at the hotel.”

  Amber took in Mr. Morrison’s perfectly starched and snow-white cuffs and collar, and wondered why someone droned on about the dish of the day. “I thought you…”

  “I have a room here, as well,” he replied. “I do prefer a real bed after all.”

  Her skin warmed at the memory of plopping herself down on his cot. She took another sip of water and dragged her attention to the man at her right. “Mr. Eliot. The food has been delicious.”

  “We strive to make El Tovar the premier hotel for the Harvey Company.”

  But she was back to Stone. “Mr. Morrison, have you changed your mind about—” she stopped short as his eyes met hers, green and sharp with admonition—“about when you might have time to visit home?”

  “St. Louis isn’t it?” the manager added, leaning back in his chair. “If I recall our conversation. I’ve heard that Morrison Financial is now considered the biggest bank in Missouri. Your father must be proud.”

  Amber’s water glass clanked against the bread plate, splashing as she set it down hard on the table.

  “I’m sure he is,” Stone replied, “although he’s had some health problems.” Stone reached for his napkin. “What’s the latest news out of Washington?”

  While his deft change of subject worked on the men, Amber struggled to listen politely. The conversation moved on to the mood of Wall Street. Railroad expansion. The Federal Bank. When the entrée arrived, she realized that, between receiving that awful note and the surprise of seeing the gentleman seated across from her, she couldn’t remember a word they’d said.

  Yes, the uprisings in Mexico City were important, but why hadn’t Stone Morrison told her who he was?

  Uncle William chatted with him like he was, well, like he was…an equal. How had she not noticed? Here in the dining room, amid fine linens and china, Mr. Morrison was unlike the stone mason she’d first met. Not just a matter of a finely tailored suit and impeccable manners. He no longer looked upon her like she was a nuisance.