He never thought he would need a companion after Annabelle left, but the dog apparently did. Now Richard admitted he was glad for its presence. Beau had proven to be an excellent hunting dog, with a nose that rivaled that of the more pedigreed bloodhound.
The only cloud on the horizon was the thought of his sister’s wedding. Of course he had no choice but to go. Annabelle was his only kin, and although he disliked sentiment, Richard loved her. It was just that the prospect of mingling with masses of other human beings daunted him.
Miserably, he submitted to duty.
A week before the wedding, his future-brother-in-law, Ben Marlowe, sent a driver and wagon to fetch him, bringing yet more supplies that not long ago had seemed unimaginable luxuries: factory-milled soap, flour, sugar, and a set of brand-new city clothes.
Richard looked at the latter with dismay. His farm clothes were perfectly adequate, although for the first time he noticed holes and frayed hems and missing buttons that had never bothered him before. Reluctantly, he pulled on the new suit. The high, starched collar stifled his breathing, and the shiny leather shoes pinched his feet and creaked when he took a few steps, so he took them off and put on the old, comfortable ones.
The wagon driver, a burly man with graying hair and a sunburned face, looked at him curiously as Richard joined him on the buckboard and Beau jumped in the back, panting.
“How long you been livin’ up here, sonny?” the driver asked.
Richard didn’t trust the red-faced man for no reason except that he didn’t trust any stranger since his parents’ murder. “Not long. A year or two.”
“Strange.” The other man spit out a wad of tobacco. “No one would ever know there was a pass up to this valley, not with those rocks hiding the mouth of the canyon. Yet somehow you and your sister managed to find it.”
Richard shrugged, and to his relief, the driver dropped the topic.
When they arrived at their destination, the man let Richard out at the front of a stone mansion bigger than any of the other big houses on the street, and the wagon rolled away. Richard looked around, feeling lost—without the familiar embrace of the mountains around him.
Without warning, the door flung itself open, and a stranger who resembled Annabelle stood there with gleaming brown hair arranged atop her head in a fancy hairstyle like those of the other women walking down the street, and with her clothes sporting rows of buttons and ruffles everywhere.
Squealing like a little girl, she flew down the steps and threw her arms around Richard’s neck, almost strangling him. “Oh, Richard, Richard! Why didn’t you come earlier? I’ve missed you so much!”
There was no answer to this. He’d been back at his home, where a man belonged. If Annabelle couldn’t understand that, Richard could hardly explain it to her.
She was off talking again like she always used to do, about whatever thoughts crossed her mind. “Ben’s at the office, and that’s Ben’s mother is off at one of her endless society events, but I refused to go, because I was hoping you would come today. It’s so good to see you, Richard! I’ve missed you so much!”
Richard submitted to his sister’s embraces and allowed her to pull him into a parlor where Annabelle caught him up on all her adventures in the city while they drank herbal tea and ate little sandwiches.
As soon as he could manage it, he excused himself and went outside again, unable to be cooped up for a minute longer, even in a house as large as this one. He walked along the broad street, grateful to be outside, although the environment was strange and unfamiliar, until he heard female laughter and looked around to see a group of girls that appeared to be about his own age giggling, their hands covering their mouths and their eyes twinkling as they stared at him.
He looked down at his old clothes and realized what they saw. Maybe he should have put on those clothes Annabelle had sent him after all, or at least combed his hair. Maybe even shaved the jaw that was beginning to sprout a light fuzzy beard.
Face burning, he walked faster. The shortest and prettiest of the girls detached herself from the others and hurried to catch up with him. He tried to outpace her by lengthening his stride, but somehow she managed to reach his side, panting.
“I’m sorry! My friends and I didn’t mean to be rude.” Her bright-blue eyes smiled as she hurried to stay next to him. He kept his gaze straight forward, doing his best to ignore her, but it was difficult since she dogged his heels as closely as Beau. “You’re Annabelle Bergman’s brother, aren’t you? I saw you come out of the house. She told my friends and me that you were coming to visit.”
“You know Annabelle?” Richard stopped and stared at the girl.
The girl stopped too. “Oh, yes, everyone in Salem does. The Marlowes are one of the best-known families in town. Everyone is talking about the wedding. We’ve been to several parties together, and Annabelle told me—” The blonde girl stopped, and her cheeks turned pink. “Well, ever since she told us that you would be coming to the wedding, I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
Without warning, she took his hand, and he had to prevent himself from jerking it away. The touch of her fingers caused strange tingling sensations to run up and down his arm. Noting his distressed reaction, she let go.
“Oops, I’m being too forward, aren’t I? My mother always tells me so. I’ll try to behave better next time we meet.” She smiled up at him and ran back toward her friends, golden ringlets bouncing under her straw hat.
He stared after her, confused and perturbed at the unfamiliar emotions pulsing through him.
Back at the mansion, the plump servant girl, Gretchen, took Beau from him and tied up the dog behind the house. For the next few days, Richard was forced to eat endless meals of strange, overly rich foods and listen to conversations about politics and social events that poured over his head. People expected him to discuss things he didn’t care about, and they seemed to think him odd when he didn’t.
Torture, Richard thought. Town life was torture. Loud, fast-paced, and everything he hated. With all his heart, he hoped that Annabelle would change her mind about marrying this Ben Marlowe, who had turned their lives upside down, and come back to the mountains, where things could return to the way they were before.
Then he thought of the blonde girl, and realized she hadn’t even told him her name.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Annabelle
Salem
Fall, 1866
Two months later, Ben informed his mother that in the spring, after the wedding, he and Annabelle planned to move out of the mansion and into their own quarters.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Across the table, Annabelle saw her future mother-in-law’s mouth take on a stubborn line. “There’s not another house in Salem half as fine as this. I’ve already starting preparing the south wing for you, at considerable expense, mind you.”
“Nevertheless, the rooms over the store will be sufficient for our needs. Jeremy has agreed to make things ready.”
Lavinia’s flashing eyes contrasted with the image of the poised, unflappable woman the older woman took so much trouble to maintain. “You would abandon me to live alone in this big, rattletrap house?”
“You just said this ‘rattletrap’ house is the finest in Salem. Besides, the servants will keep you company, Mother—not to mention all your dozens of friends who come over for luncheons and parties.” Ben remained calm. “In any case, I have no intention of starting married life under your wing. If I am to stay and run the business, you must agree to that concession. Until the wedding, I’ll be living above the store by myself. That will silence any gossiping tongues about Annabelle and me living under the same roof. I know how those society ladies are.”
“After the wedding, we shall come over and visit you often, Mrs. Marlowe,” Annabelle put in quickly. “I promise you will never be abandoned.”
Lavinia huffed, but eventually admitted defeat. Annabelle felt a jab of pride that she had managed yet again to keep peace between mother and son, although arguments
like this often threatened to break out. The store was already prospering under Ben’s hand. He had more of a head for business than he liked to admit, and perhaps Lavinia had exaggerated her financial problems, as well. At least, Annabelle thought, everything seemed to be working out.
A steady stream of customers went in and out of the store, which thanks to Ben’s management now carried “useful” things, as well as a few luxuries. Business was good enough that Ben was even having another store constructed on the other side of town. Perhaps someday there would be a chain of Marlowe Emporiums up and down the coast, even as far as California.
Annabelle privately realized that her initial impression of Lavinia as a sweet, misunderstood woman had been wrong, but she refused to admit it out loud. Under her future mother-in-law’s pretense of female fragility lay an impenetrable bedrock of iron will. Although Annabelle did not regret asking Ben to give up his travel plans in order to stay in Salem and help his mother, she understood better his reluctance to do so.
In spite of this, Annabelle still believed that his primary duty was taking care of filial obligations. She knew from experience that nothing was more important than family. Until she could coax Richard out of the mountains, she went up to visit him every few weeks so he wouldn’t be totally alone.
Busy helping Lavinia with preparations for the elaborate wedding, which her future mother-in-law insisted would be the social event of the year, Annabelle was surprised one afternoon by the misery on Ben’s features when she went to visit him in the office behind the store. His eyes brightened when he saw her, and he pushed away the stack of ledgers as if glad of the interruption. “Well, hello!”
Annabelle ran her hand along the massive mahogany desk with its polished brass pulls. “This looks too fine to have been manufactured in Oregon. Did your father bring it out here with him?”
Ben leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, smiling faintly. “Mother had it shipped around the horn, thinking someday he’d use it in the governor’s office. It once belonged to her own father.”
Annabelle remembered that Ben was sitting behind that massive desk, rather than standing on the deck of a steamboat to the Orient, only because she had asked him to. Even the clothes he was wearing were because she wanted him to look “civilized.” In a moment of self-revelation, Annabelle wondered if she had become like Lavinia Marlowe, certain that she was always right and everyone else was wrong.
The office was warm and stuffy, and Ben had taken off his coat, loosened his cravat, and rolled up his sleeves. Invoices and order forms covered in tiny print littered the desk, while maps of shipping routes papered the walls. Oak cabinets burst with paper files. Suddenly, she sensed how much Ben hated it all. He must feel like a trapped animal, she thought, yet he had willingly walked into this cage just because she had asked him to.
“Teach me.” Annabelle impulsively perched on the edge of the desk and picked up a ledger.
His eyebrows glided upward. “Teach you what?”
She motioned to the stacks of papers, the account books, the files. “How to run a business.”
Ben shook his head as if she were being ridiculous. “Women don’t need to know such things.”
“Why not?” Annabelle bristled. “My father taught me algebra and geometry before I was twelve, and I can speak English, French, and German fluently. During winters in the cabin, I read every one of my father’s university textbooks. I’ll bet I can do anything you can.”
Looking surprised, Ben set down his pen. “I suppose you’re right. My father always said it’s just a matter of selling what customers want to buy. If a piece of merchandise sits on the shelf for too long—say, over a month—well, lower the price or don’t order it again. If the item sells out too quickly, order a larger amount the next time.”
She was intrigued. “What else?”
He motioned to the ledger in her hand. “It’s important to keep careful accounts and pay attention to what your competitors are doing. Fortunately, once the transcontinental railroad is finished, supplies will become much cheaper and easier to keep in stock.”
She studied the ledger, with its neat columns of numbers. “So this where you keep track of sales and purchases?”
Ben nodded. “As I said, it’s necessary to keep careful records, so—” He stopped. “Why do you want to know all this, Annabelle? It’s dull as dirt.”
“Dull?” she said, looking up with wide eyes. “It’s fascinating!”
He stared at her for a long moment in apparent disbelief, while Annabelle met his gaze. Like her brother Richard, she had always had a head for numbers, and she itched to try her hand at balancing the ledger. It would give her something more interesting to do than being measured for her wedding dress.
“Let me try my hand at running the store for a few days,” she said impulsively. “You can watch and tell me if I’m making mistakes. With me helping, you’ll have more time to do whatever you’d like, and I won’t have to make conversation with the society ladies.”
Ben studied her a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “All right.” A smile creased his cheeks. “But I’ll wager that after two hours of paperwork, you’ll be running off to join the society ladies.”
She laughed and leaned over to kiss him, a kiss that lingered. “You looked worried when I came in,” Annabelle said when they drew apart. “Is anything wrong? Besides being bored, I mean?”
The grim expression she’d noticed earlier returned. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve noticed that some of our inventory missing.”
She caught the implication. “You mean someone is stealing from the store?”
“It appears so. And it’s not Jeremy either. I’d trust him with my life.”
“Zeke!” Annabelle thought of the burly hired hand. He had plenty of access to the store supplies, and although Zeke was always polite to the point of obsequiousness, she had never shaken her instinctive dislike of the man. His sunburned face was prematurely lined, and his thinning hair was shot through with gray, as if he had lived a hard life that had aged him beyond his years.
Ben nodded. “I have no proof, but I suspect he is reselling the merchandise for liquor. I’ve been smelling whisky on his breath. I’ll keep an eye on the fellow and see if I can catch him in the act.”
“Be careful.” Annabelle wrinkled her forehead. “I’ve never liked that man. He reminds me of someone who …Never mind, there’s always been something about him that rubs me wrong.”
“That may be, but I’m sure he’s harmless. Jeremy says he’s the strongest hired man he’s ever had, and he never misses a day of work. Don’t worry,” Ben repeated, leaning over to kiss her again. “If it turns out that Zeke’s the culprit, I’ll have a harsh word with him.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ben
Salem
Spring, 1867
Seated at his grandfather’s mahogany desk, Ben filled the money bag with the week’s takings while Annabelle sat nearby, jotting figures into the ledger. Hefting the bag, he noted with some surprise that the mercantile was reaping in far more profits than he’d expected. The just-opened second store on the other side of Salem should prove equally profitable. Someday, who knew? They might even open a third in Portland. Perhaps his father’s dream of a string of Marlowe Emporiums up and down the Pacific Coast may yet come true.
Since he’d started keeping a strict eye on the merchandise, Ben was glad to see the rash of petty thefts had dried up. If Zeke had been the guilty party, it was evident the fellow had learned his lesson. The main reason for his good mood, however, was that in just one week, he and Annabelle would finally be married.
If it was up to him, they’d have married last fall, but of course his mother insisted on doing everything “properly.” As usual, Annabelle had taken his mother’s side. His fiancée always tried to keep the brittle peace between him and his mother, and by now, rather than resenting it, he found himself admiring her skill at doing so.
To his surpris
e, Ben found that he was glad Annabelle had talked him into coming to Salem. Yes, the old wanderlust lingered deep in his bones, and he suspected it always would, but he was even more eager to start life with Anabelle. The sacrifice was well worth making. He looked over at her bent head, and his heart quickened at the shine of sunlight from the window burnishing her thick, brown hair. It took effort not to sweep her into his arms.
Maybe he could talk Annabelle into taking a celebratory trip with him once the new store was up and running, to the Sandwich Islands or into the Bitterroot Mountains to meet his Nez Perce friends. Why not? They deserved a honeymoon, and Annabelle would be as satisfactory a traveling partner as his old friend Chance McInnes used to be. She was no coddled city woman. She’d managed in the wilderness quite well, and now that she’d been exposed to what she liked to call “civilization,” perhaps she’d enjoy experiencing adventure together.
The thought excited him, and he hoped it would not be too hard to pry her away from Salem. Annabelle was quickly becoming one of the most sought-after and prominent citizens of the state capital, not just because of his mother’s efforts but because of her attractiveness and pleasant personality. No one but his mother seemed to think it was beneath his fiancée to help out at the store.
Ben counted the last banknote and carefully knotted the drawstring on the canvas bag. He had learned that a man could get by perfectly well without a single coin in his pocket, but the truth was that he’d found a certain satisfaction in contributing to the store’s success as well. That was something else Annabelle had taught him.
“I’ll take the money bag to the bank,” he told her. “If the store hadn’t been so busy this week, I could have done it sooner.”
She looked up, pushing a wave of shining hair off her forehead and smiling at him in the way that always made his heart skip a beat. “It’s getting late, Ben. Don’t you think it could wait until tomorrow?”
“I want to get there before the bank closes. You know that it’s dangerous to keep this much cash on hand.” He kissed her and pushed his way out the door.
Chance's Bluff Page 26