A Novel Idea

by Melissa Bowersock

  Chapter 1

  I SUPPOSE my room in the New York brownstone hasn’t changed much since 1845, at least it didn’t in the years I spent there. Before my mother and I were bought back from the wilderness, it was only a guest room and not subject to much change, just maintenance. But in 1866, it seemed to me very static and hypnotically boring. The ivory carpets, china blue drapes, luxurious bed and French furniture were all imposing to me, blocking out my view and locking in my senses. I was rapidly beginning to hate it all.

  That particular spring had about it a crispness and a newness that seemed to act as a catalyst on my boredom, making it almost unbearable. Since my graduation from Mrs. Pettit’s Finishing School, I had little to occupy my time so I paced or stared out my window. Grandpere and Grandmere had hoped my graduation and subsequent coming out would convert me to the ways of New York society. I’m sure they were disappointed that it hadn’t. But I did not belong there and the sense of disorder I felt at being there was growing.

  It was not simply my own feelings. My grandparents sensed my anxiety and had anxieties of their own. When they entertained, I did not make small talk. I answered when spoken to, befitting a lady from Mrs. Pettit’s school, but I found no use for the chitchat that flowed so freely around me. It upset Grandmere terribly that I could not deign to compliment or flatter any of her guests as she seemed so prone to do. My French blood had not blessed me with a gift for false flattery. I imagine many of the older women thought me a cold child with little empathy or gratitude, but I cared very little what they thought.

  Men reacted strangely to me. My grandfather’s wealth was well known, so I was duly inspected by the proper suitors, usually at parties or other large affairs. At those times I felt more like a brood mare up for auction rather than a young woman hoping for love. Grandmere was careful to sweep my black hair high up on my head and apply makeup artfully to tone down the bronze hue of my skin, my heritage from my Cheyenne father. She could do nothing about my high cheekbones or ebony eyes, except hope no one took close notice. Few men did. There weren’t many who called on me a second time, most of them unnerved by my cool and steady gaze. Some would look closer―even uncomfortably close to my way of thinking―but none ever suggested I was anything but French. Most of them, I found, were as boring as my rooms upstairs, so I did not encourage them.

  My grandparents insisted I play a role in these encounters and from the age of thirteen I was schooled in it. The story was that my mother had impulsively wed a cavalry officer and had chosen to remain in the wilderness. When we appeared in New York, the explanation was that the officer―my father, supposedly―had died, and my mother had brought her only child back to civilization. I was never very good at answering questions about my false past—the Cheyenne prized honestly highly so lying was anathema to me—but I let it be told and I nodded when it was repeated back to me, afraid I would see that look of fear and distrust in people’s eyes if they knew the truth. I frequently saw that look in my grandparents’ eyes.

  While my mother had lovingly encouraged me to adopt the white man’s ways—her ways—so that I could find my place among them, her death left me alone with my grandparents, whose reasons for wanting me to adapt were quite different. They were goaded less by concern for my happiness and more by a fear of scandal or—horror of horrors—the fear that I might someday revert to my savage past. With so much oppressive emotion heaped upon me, I became isolated and withdrawn, self-conscious and analytical. I studied the white ways and adhered to them whenever I was in the company of others, but always held myself apart. I was a misfit, and I felt more of a misfit every passing day.

  “Catherine,” Grandmere said with a light knock on my door. “Don’t forget Mr. Slater is coming to dinner tonight.”

  “No, Grandmere, I won’t,” I answered. She knew I would not open my door unless asked and I knew she no longer expected me to do so.

  “Why don’t you wear your blue taffeta? That looks so nice on you.”

  “Yes, Grandmere.”

  The inevitable pause came as she searched for a new way to phrase her words. Ultimately they were said, although with more hopelessness lately.

  “Catherine, do try to be gracious, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Grandmere.”

  Gracious. Such a civilized way of asking me to act normal. It was only a ritual for her to ask because we both knew I would not be gracious, I would not be what she considered normal, and yet still she asked. I turned to my wardrobe and began to dress for dinner.

  I often wondered if Grandmere preferred taffeta because of the rustle it made. When she wore it, anyone could hear her all about the house, upstairs or down. I, however, had retained a habit of walking silently, one foot in front of the other, and even taffeta could not betray my movements. Mrs. Pettit had done all in her power to correct this horrible fault, had vowed that she would do so or have a nervous breakdown trying. She came dangerously close to having the breakdown and I still walk silently. I never cared to rustle like wheat in the wind and I suppose taffeta was the only remedy Grandmere could think of.

  Feeling like a belled cat, I went downstairs to dinner. At exactly seven o’clock I stood in the doorway and waited for my three companions to realize I was there.

  This time it was Grandpere who noticed first, and he gulped in surprise to see me where I had not been a moment before. Grandmere was equally surprised and threw her head up, one hand clutching dramatically at her throat. Mr. Slater started, then immediately smiled. While my grandparents caught their breath he held my chair for me.

  Had we not had company I would have been asked to be a little more “noisesome” by Grandpere. I’d have consented with downcast eyes and the game would go on. Since Mr. Slater was present I was saved that much at least. Dinner hadn’t even been served and I had already been “ungracious.”

  I ate quietly, listening halfheartedly to the table conversation. Grandpere and Mr. Slater discussed the business of trading and the wagon trains as they always did. Mr. Slater came for dinner twice each year, once in late summer on his arrival and once in early spring before he left again for Leavenworth. I paid little attention to his visits until this one.

  “It’s gettin’ so there’s almost no open territory between here and Leavenworth,” the trail master was saying. “What with the riverboats going up and down the Missouri all the time, people just come flocking west. Leavenworth’s regular civilization now.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Grandpere said. “The last time I saw I, it was no more than a fort with a few tents thrown up.”

  “You ever think on goin’ back there?” Slater asked.

  “No, not now. If I were younger, I might, but not at my age. We’ll just stay here in New York and leave the adventuring to you.”

  But I won’t, I wanted to say. I had often thought of how I might make my way to the prairie but I had almost no idea of how to do it. Perhaps, though, if the way were not so dangerous or rigorous anymore, I could go. I’d get no help from my grandparents―of that I was sure.

  I listened to the rest of the conversation as I never had before. I made mental notes to myself of the cities Mr. Slater mentioned, of the meeting places of the wagon trains. Before dinner was over I had made up my mind that I would go.

  For almost a week I planned. I got an old carpetbag from my mother’s old room and began to pack carefully. I was limited on space so I took only essentials. Two changes of clothes and a few toilet articles would have to be sufficient until I was in a position to buy more. I made sure I had my brush and enough pins to keep my hair back in a knot at the back of my neck. I would necessarily have to keep up my charade of being a well-bred young white woman or find my way blocked by prejudice and possible harm. I pilfered chunks of cheese from the kitchen and some apples and salt. With any luck I wouldn’t be forced to survive on these things only, as I planned to have plenty of money, but I wanted to have every alternative covered.

  I considered writing a note to my grandparen
ts, then decided against it. I wanted to leave no clues because I knew they would have me tracked down and brought back if possible. As much as they verbalized their love for me, I saw the guarded look in their eyes when they thought I wasn’t looking. They pictured me much like a pet dog that might turn viciously on them at any moment and they were convinced that only my constant immersion in civilization would keep me tame. I had lived more years as a savage than as a civilized being, and so could never be completely trusted.

  On the night I chose to leave, I waited patiently in my darkened room. I let the big clock downstairs chime two before I moved. Wearing a split-skirted traveling costume, I packed a carpetbag with a few changes of clothing, some toilet articles and my small knife, the only thing left me of my Cheyenne life. My father had made that knife of finely flaked, razor-sharp stone and hafted it to the bone handle with sinew. Many times I had been tempted to flash the knife at others—at the men who pulled me from my home, at the men who escorted my mother and I to New York—but luckily caution had prevailed. I knew revealing the knife in circumstances not going my way would only result in having it taken from me. Even my mother never knew I kept it. Now I carried it like a talisman, as if it might guide me home. Ready at last, I crept downstairs.

  In Grandpere’s office, I went directly to his large roll-top desk. I knew of the money he kept there for emergencies, since most of his wealth was tied up in investments and large amounts of cash could not always be easily come by. I found the back pigeonhole in the top right side of the desk and pulled out the roll of bills. I glanced through and thought there was perhaps two thousand dollars, enough to see me to Leavenworth comfortably. I jammed the money inside the bodice of my blouse and left by a little-used side door. I walked several blocks before I hired a hansom to take me to the railroad office.

  In the early hours of the morning I boarded a train bound for St. Joseph. I had considered trying to buy a place on a wagon train but was too afraid I might bump into Mr. Slater. Anyway, the train afforded me more anonymity as passengers came and went, and I stayed as much to myself as possible.

  The train trip was boring, although I had thought it would be interesting. I kept a window seat and watched the countryside slide by, but it was all very much the same after the first day. We pulled into and out of small towns, past farms and over rivers. None of it looked as I remembered, but that did not surprise me. I had not been in a frame of mind to remember clearly the last time I had passed this way.

  Occasionally another passenger would try to claim my attention but most discouraged easily. One man sat boldly beside me and drew me into conversation until I confessed I was on my way to Leavenworth to marry a lieutenant colonel there. After that he talked for a moment longer, then excused himself and never came back.

  I was extremely grateful when the train pulled into St. Joseph. I had become impatient and eager to begin the next leg of my journey. I went directly from the train depot to the waterfront and booked passage for Leavenworth on a big riverboat. Since it wasn’t to leave until the following day, I rented a room in a hotel and stayed there until time to depart.

  The riverboat was more interesting than the train and I relaxed enough to enjoy it. I decided I should invent and practice a story credible enough to answer questioners without arousing interest. Since the passengers all ate in a common dining room, I joined in quietly and allowed myself to be led into conversation. We sat eight to a table and it seemed that everyone was intent on finding out everything about everyone else. It was still not easy for me to initiate conversation but I answered most questions put to me until I had woven a simple history.

  My father, I said, being widowed, had gone last year to California to make a new start there. I had just recently finished school―which was true―so he had sent for me. I was to be met by my father in Leavenworth sometime later in the summer and together we would go to California.

  Since I did not appear to have a vast amount of money, was not related to anyone famous and had no exciting stories to tell, I was not pressed further for details. The women passengers would speak to me and then turn their attention elsewhere while the men might look fleetingly, then turn away from my own averted gaze. There were no incidents while I was on board the ship.

  One morning when I awoke early and went out to stand at the rail, I saw Leavenworth come into view. It was much larger than I remembered, but I knew it must have grown quickly since Kansas had won statehood. The fort stood south of town, unassuming in its open, three-sided arrangement. I had heard people criticize the absence of walls and battlements, especially since the fort was the last bastion between the civilized east and the savage west, but still the fort had no stockade. Except for the flags flying briskly in the morning breeze, it might not even be taken as a government installation. An unknowing stranger might mistake it for the low buildings of squatters, like on the south side of town.

  As we neared the wharf, the big Planter’s Hotel reared up above the other buildings like a beacon. It sat on a low hill and its sign could be read above all others. The rest of town fell into orderly sections, none of which looked familiar to me. Although apprehensive, I was anxious to get off the ship and see the town.

  We docked shortly and after much commotion on both the wharf and the ship, the passengers were allowed off. I took my carpetbag and allowed a steward to help me down to the dock. Then I wasted no time heading toward Leavenworth.

  I supposed the Planter’s Hotel was the most obvious place to go first. I became part of an irregular stream of people going in the same direction, and when I entered the lobby there were already five or six people at the desk ahead of me. I waited patiently, but a feeling of giddy excitement was filling me as I looked around. I was closer to my homeland than I had been in seven years and I had escaped New York and all its constrictions with hardly a problem. I was alone and independent and self-sufficient, and I loved it!

  My room was on the third floor and looked south over the biggest part of town. It was comfortable, with a dark patterned carpet and flowered walls, a single soft bed and a dresser and nightstand. I unpacked my carpetbag and washed at the basin provided. Although it was not yet noon, I thought about lunch. I had been too excited to eat breakfast.

  The dining room was on the main floor and I was seated at a table by myself. I ordered lunch and opened a copy of the paper I had picked up while waiting to register. The hotel was fine for a few days but I was afraid I would spend too much money if I stayed there for very long. I had no idea how long I would be in Leavenworth but until I could find some thread of information about my band of Cheyenne, I might as well be comfortable. I opened the newspaper to the ads and searched for rooms to rent.

  “Miss Lance?” a familiar voice called. At first I didn’t even look up, my assumed name not registering. I had been afraid to use my real name in case I should be recognized as Jack’s granddaughter, so I had used Lance since I booked passage on the train. Now I remembered my identity and looked up to see who had called me.

  A young woman I remembered from the steamboat was coming my way between the tables. She was younger than I and much prettier, I thought, with auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She was probably no more than eighteen and had been traveling with her parents. We had spoken a few times on the ship so I knew her name and that she was betrothed to a corporal in the 8th regiment.

  “Melly!” I said. I had not sought her company on the ship but neither had I discouraged her. She was a vibrant girl and so caught up in her love that she was no threat to me. “Come join me,” I said.

  She took a chair opposite me and asked a waiter for a menu. “What are you having?” she asked.

  “The fish. I heard on the ship that it was very good.”

  “I’ll have that, too,” she told the waiter. When he left she peered over at my newspaper. “What are you looking for?”

  “A room to rent.”

  “You’re not staying at the Planter’s?” she asked. I had guessed from her cloth
es and attitude of naive assurance that she came from a well-to-do family. Her question only confirmed that for me.

  “Only for a short while,” I said. “I have no idea how long I’ll be in town so I’ve decided to go ahead and get a room. It could be weeks or possibly months before my father arrives from California.”

  “Oh,” she said. She accepted my inference that my funds were limited, which was what I wanted. I hoped to camouflage myself with mediocrity, seeming neither rich nor poor, grand nor pitiful. I would just as soon people forget my face as soon as their eyes left it. If any inquiries should make their way to Leavenworth concerning a runaway heiress, I wanted no one to be able to make any connection to me.

  “When will you see your soldier?” I asked to lead the conversation away from myself.

  “Oh, he’s on campaign now, scouting northwest toward Fort Kearney. He wrote that he’d probably be gone two months or more, so I don’t expect him until the end of April or later. We’ve tentatively planned the wedding for June, just to be safe.” She smiled happily as she talked.

  “That’s good,” I said. “You can always change your plans if he comes in earlier.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “His campaigns are the only reason my parents agreed to let me come west and marry here. If Frank could get any furlough in the east, they’d have made me wait until then. I’m glad it turned out like this. I’ve never been this far west, have you?”

  “No,” I lied. “It’s all pretty new to me, too.”

  “It’s exciting, though,” she said looking about. “Who would have thought there could be this much civilization so close to Indian Territory? At first I was glad my parents came with me, but now I think I could have probably managed quite well here on my own. You’re traveling alone, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but only because I have no close family other than my father.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

  “That’s all right. I have relations, but not where I can reach them quickly. My father is my family and I’ll be with him again soon enough.”

  “I’m glad,” Melly said. “Everyone needs family, even if it’s only one person.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. And grandparents tied by blood but without understanding did not comprise a family, at least not to me. I let the thought remain unspoken, especially since our lunch was being served.

  “Where are your parents?” I asked, still following our thread of conversation.

  “Upstairs. Mother’s resting and Daddy said he would have lunch sent up. I told him I was too excited to sit in my room now that I’m here. I want to see Leavenworth!”

  I laughed at her excitement. Although I was normally much more cynical than she, arriving in Leavenworth had made me optimistic also and I shared her rosy outlook. It was refreshing to let myself be caught up in her carefree mood.

  “Would you like to go with me when I go room hunting?” I invited. “If your parents wouldn’t mind, it would be a good way to see the town, and with two of us keeping our eyes open we’d be less apt to get lost.”

  “Oh, I’d love to!” she said quickly. “I think that would be fun!”

  “Good. As soon as we’re finished with lunch we’ll go up and ask them if it’s all right.”

  It was, but only after some thought and a piercing examination of me. Melly’s father, Jason Crutchfield, eyed me coldly, as if I might be plotting to abduct his daughter and sell her to white slavers downriver. He showered me with brisk, forthright questions to which I gave equally brisk answers, sticking to my story without wavering. When he seemed satisfied, I realized that he had been noting my appearance and that my understated, tailored outfit and proud carriage might have been a deciding factor. As much as I attempted to play down my wealthy appearance, I knew a keen eye could see it if one knew where to look. Mr. Crutchfield did.

  “Don’t be gone more than two or three hours,” he said, checking his pocket watch. He waved a cigar and used it to punctuate his words. He was a fairly short man, but burly and barrel-chested and had a look about him of one who brooked no disobedience. Melly quickly assured him we would not be late.

  “And don’t go gawking over on that southwest quarter. You remember what Frank said about that in his last letter.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said. “We’ll stick to this side of town.”

  Mr. Crutchfield chewed on his cigar and surveyed us one last time. “When you get back,” he said, “you’ll have dinner with us.” When I realized this last order was an invitation to me, I accepted graciously and we left. In another instant Mr. Crutchfield might have annoyed me with his authoritarian, businesslike manner, but on that day I only nodded to his dictates and smiled inwardly. In a way he reminded me of Grandpere, a man who had made his own way up the ladder of success and still retained the push and drive that had got him there.

  Melly and I began our outing by walking south along the main street, looking in store windows and noting what businesses thrived there. Hardware stores, dry goods, general goods, leather and yardage stores made up the bulk of them, along with other offices―claims, assayers and the jail. Banks and churches stood with tall steeples, signaling Leavenworth’s wealth and piety, and there were restaurants and an opera house. It was all larger than I had expected and quite different from what I remembered.

  After we had walked a bit and read what street signs we could find, we began to sort out the ads in my paper. A couple of them ended by directing the reader to this or that saloon, so we eliminated those right away.

  “Frank says the saloons are awfully rough and no decent lady would even walk down the same street where one is,” Melly told me. “Old trappers and buffalo hunters come in and spend hundreds of dollars on drink before they head out again. Can you imagine?”

  No, I could not. I had a taste for wine, developed by my grandparents, and had occasionally sipped Grandpere’s brandy, but getting drunk disgusted me.

  “And Frank says some of those old Indian fighters and even some soldiers don’t have a lick of care when they’re drunk―might even accost a lady were she to wander down that way.”

  We stayed near the main street. Leavenworth was not so big that we’d ever get lost, but narrow, lonely streets were unappealing to us. There was a boarding house very close to the center of town and I knocked on the door there. An elderly woman almost bent double from arthritis answered.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when I inquired about a room. “We’re all full up. Try Mrs. Reedy’s down behind the church.”

  I thanked her and we moved on down the street.

  “Which church do you think she means?” Melly asked, looking about.

  “She pointed toward the hotel. Let’s try a couple more around here before we go back that way.”

  We stopped at the dry goods store that had a ROOM TO RENT sign in the window, but one look at the dirty, unkempt room and the unkempt man who owned it turned us away.

  “How awful!” Melly said. “And that man was the worst. Imagine sleeping there on that lumpy bed and staying in the same building as him.”

  “No wonder he’s not married,” I agreed. “Any woman would have to be desperate to stay with him.”

  We stopped at a house located one block east off the main street, but the room it offered was small and cramped and I suspected I would have little privacy. I thanked the couple who showed it to us and went on. Finally we worked our way up to the big white church and saw the boarding house behind it. A small shingle on the front porch said MRS. REEDY’S in narrow stick letters.

  “That looks like a nice place,” Melly said. “It must have been a private home at one time.”

  It was a large two-story building with a raised porch running the entire length of it. Painted stark white, it was imposing in its structural simplicity and I agreed with Melly that it had once been a very fine house.

  We knocked and the door was opened by a tall older woman with graying hair swept back in a knot. Her gray eyes examin
ed us curiously.

  “Mrs. Reedy?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, “No, I’m Margaret Henkins. Mrs. Reedy is in the kitchen. May I say who’s calling?”

  “Yes, my name is Catherine Lance. I’d like to inquire about a room to rent.”

  “Come in. Won’t you wait here in the parlor? I’ll get her.”

  Mrs. Henkins led us to a large drably furnished parlor. The overstuffed divan and chairs were of an old faded flower pattern, with crocheted doilies on the arms. There was a large dark piano to one side and stairs leading up to the second floor. It was clean but almost oppressive in its lack of color.

  We waited standing, just looking about, until Mrs. Reedy came in. She was taller than Mrs. Henkins and much thinner, with piled white hair. Although I guessed her age to be in the late sixties, she looked hard, as if she might have had more bad times than good in those years. Her face was shrunken and wrinkled and her eyes peered out of deep sockets. She was somewhat overbearing and had an arrogant manner.

  “I’m Mrs. Reedy,” she said, not offering her hand. “You’ve come about a room?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Both of you?” she asked a little suspiciously.

  “No,” I said, not liking her manner. “I want the room. My friend is lodging elsewhere. May I see it?”

  Mrs. Reedy drew herself up a bit as if affronted by my question and I assumed she was used to doing all the asking. I decided then that, if I took the room, I would not succumb to her dominance.

  “This way,” she said, starting for the stairs. Melly looked questioningly at me behind the older woman’s back, but I just shrugged. We followed her upstairs.

  The room was small but neat and clean with a single bed, a washstand and a large highboy. The window looked north, toward some low hills. Mrs. Reedy offered no comment about the room and I gathered it would not dismay her if I chose not to take it. Still, I liked the idea of being upstairs and away from the communal rooms below, and the room was decent and sufficient for my needs. Mrs. Reedy’s cold attitude was not enough to discourage me.

  “I should like to take it,” I said finally.

  She looked at me steadily for a moment and I met her steely gaze. “Very well,” she said. “Come downstairs and we’ll make the arrangements.”

  Over tea served by Mrs. Henkins, the rules of the house were explained to me.

  “Breakfast is at seven and dinner is at six. Anyone later than half past the hour will not be served. The front door is locked at eleven every night. I do not permit ladies to entertain gentleman guests in their rooms and if I decide a boarder is ... unsuitable, I give twenty-four-hours notice.”

  “That sounds satisfactory to me,” I said. I drew out my purse and counted out enough money for two weeks’ rent.

  “Will this be enough to secure the room?” I asked.

  Mrs. Reedy counted the money carefully. “You may move in any time,” she said.

  Melly could hardly contain herself until we left Mrs. Reedy’s and started back toward the hotel. “Wasn’t she awful?” she said in a high voice. “She reminded me of a witch with her staring eyes and bony hands. Do you think you’ll like it there?”

  “It’ll do,” I said. “I don’t plan on associating with Mrs. Reedy unless I have to, so I shouldn’t have any problems.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could bear it there,” she insisted. “She’s awful.”

  When we reached the hotel, we went up to the Crutchfields’ suite and I met Melly’s mother. She was a willowy woman, soft-spoken and frail, and I guessed Melly must be a handful for her. Mrs. Crutchfield immediately assumed the role of hostess and we three women sat in the large front room of the suite while dinner was being set for us.

  “Have you any idea when your father will arrive?” she asked me. Mr. Crutchfield had apparently explained to her about me.

  “None,” I said, “except sometime before winter. It’s even possible we may have to spend the cold months here and start for California next spring, although I hope not. I’ve heard the trip from Los Angeles to Leavenworth is still very rough.”

  “Yes, they say it is,” Mrs. Crutchfield agreed.

  “Will you be all right by yourself? We have plenty of room here, if you’d care to stay with us. We’ll be here at least until Melly and Frank get married.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “But I’ll be fine. I’m used to living alone.”

  “She has no one except her father,” Melly explained in a pitying voice.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” her mother said.

  “That’s all right. I can manage quite well. I’ve thought I’ll probably take a position in town somewhere, at least until my father arrives.”

  “What sort of position?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure yet. I’ve had very little work experience―none in fact―but I’m sure I can find something.”

  “You poor girl,” Mrs. Crutchfield said.

  “No, it’s all right. I’ve got to keep busy somehow.”

  “But surely you’re not used to working?” she asked. I noticed Mr. Crutchfield’s quiet interest and I was afraid my schooling was showing.

  “No,” I said finally, “but it can’t be too bad. I’m sure I can find something useful to do.”

  When dinner was over I found I had to bear both Mrs. Crutchfield’s mothering sympathy and her husband’s sharp eyes. He was not completely sure of me yet, and I decided I would stay out of his way from then on. I wanted no one trying to piece together my true story while I was in Leavenworth.

  The next day I removed my few belongings to Mrs. Reedy’s. Being a weekday, there were no other boarders about besides Mrs. Henkins and I was grateful not to have prying eyes on me as I settled in. I hung up my extra clothing in the wardrobe, hoping Mrs. Reedy was not a snooper and would wonder why I traveled so light. Just in case, I secreted my small knife inside one of my shoes and pushed the shoes to the back of the wardrobe. Then I examined my room. The bed was comfortable if a bit lumpy, but with clean sheets and a neatly mended bedspread. The room was even cleaner than I had realized at first, and there was fresh water in a pitcher on the dry sink. I remembered Mrs. Henkins saying there was a large tub for bathing in the service porch off the kitchen, and I could wash my clothes down there as well. All in all, it looked to be a satisfactory place. I even had a view of the north end of town and the prairie falling away in green and brown waves.

  Standing at my window, it seemed odd to see Leavenworth through adult eyes. When I was dragged to the fort as a half wild thirteen-year-old, my eyes had rested on nothing for very long but darted about wildly in the way of a panicked animal. Even knowing that my mother had come willingly and that these were the white people she told me of so often didn’t help. I can remember feeling that I was about to die. Perhaps I did. I was certainly not that same person now.

  I wondered how the good people of Leavenworth would react to me if they knew I was a half-breed. So far I had been treated with deference and respect but that would quickly turn to hate and contempt, I was sure, if I were found out. In order to find my lost home, I would have to play my charade well or I would get no cooperation from anyone. If I had my way, I would take a horse and ride straight out of town, out onto the prairie, but that was impossible. I would have to bide my time and find the best way to proceed.

  As I stood at my window gazing down on Leavenworth, I felt almost as if I stood in the wings of a theater and that very shortly the important drama of my life would begin. I watched the shadows elongate and stretch eastward and it seemed that there was a hush in the air. Everything was in readiness―but for what? I wondered.

  At breakfast the next morning I had the feeling that I was an insect stuck on a pin and displayed for all to see. My fellow boarders greeted me with interminable questions, only part of which I had time to answer. I had had ample experience in telling my fabricated story and luckily they chattered so that if I chose to ignore a very pointed or prying question, no one seemed to not
ice.

  There was only one other woman boarder beside myself. Della―she insisted I call her by her first name―was about thirty-five or forty and a very friendly woman. She asked most of the questions of me but either didn’t wait for an answer or surmised out loud, so she did not threaten my privacy. She had been a mail-order bride years before but had stayed on when her man had traveled westward. Now she took in sewing and did some cooking and cleaning occasionally for a widower in town.

  The male boarders, I knew, would require more time to get to know, so I tried not to form opinions right away. Sometimes that was difficult, though.

  Charles Lafferty was the youngest, no more than five years my senior and as out of place in Leavenworth as I had been in New York. His conservative gray suits looked incongruous next to the rough frontier garb of everyone else, but I suppose it was in keeping with being a young lawyer. He was very well mannered and listened rather than talked at breakfast. I decided to reserve judgment of him much as he seemed to be doing of me.

  Jacob Greene was older, probably fifty or so, and rough as a cob. I wondered why he even chose to board in town, since he struck me as a diehard mule-skinner type, complete with full beard and rather distastefully smelling clothes. Later I found out he had been a scout years ago, as well as a prospector, buffalo hunter and trapper. During his younger years he had received numerous wounds from white men’s guns, red men’s arrows and wild animals, and he was arthritic besides. Although his advice was still elicited from the fort on occasion, he was no longer content to sleep in the dirt and eat half raw meat by a smokeless fire. Rather than admit to his weakness, he ignored it as if it were normal for an aged scout to board in town. Rough as he was, I rather liked Mr. Greene.

  I was thankful that breakfast was a brief affair and the other boarders ate quickly before going off on their daily business. I offered to help Margaret with the dishes but she insisted that I must have other things to do. Mrs. Reedy appeared to watch me carefully, as if verifying for herself that I would occupy my time properly. It was enough for me to decide that I would look for a job right away.

  Walking downtown, I was again amazed at the hundreds of buildings and the extent of the town. In no way did it resemble the Leavenworth of seven years ago. I assumed the gold rush, the Civil War issue of state’s rights and the westward growth of civilization were responsible. Even in New York we had heard of Bleeding Kansas and the migrations from Missouri to tip the voters’ scales. Clearly, the town had just grown up and over itself.

  There were any number of stores in which I could inquire. Since Mrs. Pettit’s school taught only basic education―and only as much as it was considered proper for a lady to know―I decided I’d best look for a general position. A seamstress would have little use for someone who only knew needlepoint and embroidery, and a newspaperman would have no use at all for a girl who had studied Shakespeare. No, best to lose myself in the obscurity of a general store.

  I chose the largest of the dry-good stores on the main street to start with. There were barrels of goods almost blocking the doorway, with brooms and dusters threatening anyone intent on leaving. I pushed past the choked doorway into the most amazing assembly of things I’d ever seen. There were long tables piled high with all sorts of objects, much of which I had no idea what their use could be, and spaced so that only narrow aisles divided them. I saw kitchen utensils, wooden and metal bowls, pots, spoons and knives; all sorts of lanterns and candles; washtubs and washboards, barrels of grains, salts and meals, hand tools, hardware, and finally millinery. And there were at least a hundred things I didn’t recognize or wasn’t sure of.

  “Can I help you?” a voice boomed behind me. I was so caught up in the conglomeration of things around me that I was startled by the sudden question.

  “Yes, I think so,” I said, turning to face the proprietor. He was a big man, tall as well as wide, with short cropped black hair and blue eyes. He smiled at me.

  “I was wondering if you might have a position open here? I’m looking for work for a few months or so, and I thought, well ...” My voice trailed away, my eyes running over the strange objects. It must have been obvious that I knew nothing whatsoever about this kind of store.

  “Where are you from?” he asked. I looked back at him and could tell he found me amusing.

  “New York,” I confessed. “I don’t have much knowledge of the things you sell here. I’m―I’m more used to specialty shops.” I decided I would have to do a little more researching before I could find a job easily. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” I said, turning to go.

  “No, wait,” he said. His bulk blocked my way anyway. “New York, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmmm,” he mused, looking about. “Do you know anything about millinery, yard goods?”

  “Some,” I lied.

  “I’ve been thinking about hiring someone to manage that back corner for me. There’s so many women about these days that I can’t keep up with all they ask for. Half the time I don’t know what they want, anyway.” He began to walk toward the back as he talked, and I followed him to where bolts of cloth lay haphazardly on a table. “It’s pretty much a mess,” he said.

  “Yes, I see,” I agreed. Notions were spilling out of boxes under the counter and lace and trim snaked around the half unrolled bolts of cloth.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked suddenly.

  “Mrs. Reedy’s boarding house.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Catherine Lance.”

  “Catherine,” he repeated. “I’m Harry Altvater. I couldn’t pay much, and you’d only be working on trial at first, to see how it would go. If there isn’t enough to keep you busy or you can’t handle it, I won’t keep you,” he warned.

  “I understand,” I said. The suddenness of his offer, and the conditions, surprised me.

  “Fine. Can you start tomorrow?”

  “Oh, well, yes, I guess so.”

  “Good. Be here at eight.” Mr. Altvater was beaming at me, obviously very pleased with the arrangement. The man’s abruptness was something I would have to get used to, although I preferred that to the insincerity typical of most people. Feeling bewildered but happy, I left the store.

  I took the liberty in my free time to inspect the town. South of the store, I proceeded on down the main street. I passed more stores and trade booths, noticing how the status of the businesses seemed to diminish the further south I went. Passing blacksmiths and leather workers, liveries and stockyards, I saw the men eyeing me as if I were up for sale. Finally I crossed the street and went back uptown. I could see now how the town was divided and where decent women were expected to stay.

  At every cross street, I could see the garishly painted false fronts of the saloons a few blocks east of the main street. There were also established businesses, but most of them male-oriented, as if women had no need to even wander down that way. That was fine with me. I wanted no part of the drunk and gold-hungry sorts that stayed there.

  Finally back uptown, I stopped in a small home-cooking establishment for lunch. The family-run business catered to the passengers on the stage, which had its depot just across the way and I relaxed in the anonymity of the place. One nice thing, I realized―Leavenworth was not so small that everyone kept track of everyone else. That sort of small-town awareness was exactly what I did not want. I decided to spend the rest of the day acquainting myself further with the town and perhaps see about having some new clothes made, ones that would suit my new identity.

  ###

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