by Gina Welborn
Whatever Mr. Nordstrom said to Carline caused her to shake her head.
At the sound of a soft hmm, Jakob looked left. Madame Lestraude, in a fashionable burgundy dress trimmed in lace, sat in the middle of a row of Queen Anne chairs. He took several steps toward her. “I hear you’re asking for me.”
Her painted lips curved into a smile. “I would like to hire your services.”
Jakob’s stomach clenched. She needed him for another rescue operation. Why ask so openly? He turned his head a fraction. Sure enough, the trio of candle-shopping ladies were watching him and Madame Lestraude; Mrs. Wilson looked none too pleased.
“My heart breaks over my son’s losses.” Madame rose from the chair with the kind of grace Jakob expected she demanded from her brothel girls—the kind that drew every eye. “What better to give Mac something to take his mind off his injuries and grief than a new horse?”
Jakob was sure Emilia and the baby she was carrying would be better at helping Mac mourn than a new horse would.
“Who’s her son?” whispered one of the candle ladies.
“The county sheriff,” Mrs. Wilson whispered back.
“What happened to him?” asked her other sister.
Jakob opened his mouth to explain.
“Allow me, Mr. Gunderson.” Madame Lestraude turned her gaze to the eavesdropping ladies. “Last month my beloved son, Sheriff McCall, was shot while attempting to raid a suspected counterfeiting operation outside of Helena. He was fortunate to come away with his life. I’m confident justice will prevail upon the person responsible for trying to kill my son.” She rested a bejeweled hand over her heart. “Thankfully Mac lived, but his horse and Deputy Alderson both died that day.”
“We’re so sorry to hear—”
Mrs. Wilson jerked her sister’s arm. “Don’t speak to her. She runs a brothel.”
Her sisters gasped. The trio then hurried out of the store while whispering among themselves and casting horrified glances over their shoulders.
“I’m s—” Jakob bit back his apology. Madame Lestraude didn’t want his pity or need him to come to her defense. “How can I help you?”
Her mouth, which had been twisted in an ironic grin, lifted into a genuine smile. “There’s to be a prestigious horse auction starting September thirteenth in Wichita, Kansas, which I am hiring you to attend. A man who rides a spotted horse like you ought to know a thing or two about choosing a horse based on bloodline, temperament, and appearance.” She reached to the lace at her wrist and withdrew an envelope from her sleeve. “I trust you will care for Mac’s new horse as if it were your own.” She handed him the envelope, turned around, and strolled out of The Import Company without securing his verbal acquiesce.
Torn between amusement and affront at her brash assumption that he’d offer no argument, Jakob glanced across the store to where Carline and her uncle stood. They looked to be in a quiet disagreement over the landscape painting. He ought to rescue her, but the envelope weighed heavy in his hand. He had to know what was in it. He had to know what next adventure Madame had for him. Besides, Carline was too opinionated to be bullied into owning a painting she didn’t want. Except…
There was that new home and three wagon-loads of household items Mr. Nordstrom had purchased for Carline. And for someone poised to inherit millions, she looked miserable. Jakob tucked the envelope inside the back pocket of his waist overalls. No matter how vexing Carline was to him at times, no matter how envious he was that she had an entire house to herself when he made do with an apartment over Doc Abernathy’s shop, she was his friend since childhood. And he probably still owed her for the time she helped him with his writing assignments.
Jakob took a step forward.
A hand rested on his shoulder. “Son, the wagon’s loaded. Head over to Miss Pope’s house and unload it. Your brother is waiting for you. I’ll handle our customers.” Pa’s gaze flickered to Carline and her uncle. “We can talk about what Madame Lestraude wanted later.”
Jakob nodded, although he had no intention of sharing the truth about what he suspected was the real purpose of her visit. He couldn’t. Madame Lestraude had sworn him to secrecy.
He hurried out to the alley behind The Import Company. He glanced around. Seeing no one paying him any attention, he took the envelope from his pocket and unsealed it. Inside was a folded sheet of cream-colored vellum and more greenbacks than he cared to count at the moment. Heart pounding with anticipation, he withdrew the letter.
Billings depot, Tuesday, September 4. Wear Sunday suit. Watch for one or more impoverished-looking girls to board the private Pullman at the tail end of eastward-bound train.
Private Pullman? That cost a pretty penny.
Wait until the final call to board. The girls’ chaperone will provide specifics of the mission. Your performance thus far and the unique situation make you the best man for this. Don’t forget to buy the horse.
The best man?
Jakob huffed at Madame Lestraude’s complimentary yet exaggerated words. He was no more skilled for this job than any other man in Helena was. He certainly wasn’t the best man, either. A marshal, sheriff, deputy, or even a bounty hunter had more useful skills. Willing, though—that he was. And he could abruptly leave Helena to buy a horse in Kansas and no one would question his action because Jakob Matthew Gunderson was overlookable.
Yancey had rejected him to fruitlessly pursue Hale Adams, and Emilia Collins hadn’t noticed Jakob’s quiet attempts to court her because of Sheriff McCall. Jakob’s chosen mail-order bride, Zoe de Fleur, had fallen in love with his twin brother, Isaak. And in the last four months, every girl in Helena whom Jakob had attempted to court had refused him, insisting he was still smarting over Zoe and Isaak’s elopement. Not true at all! Jakob’s pride had been wounded far more than his heart.
What stung was continually being second best.
As much as he wanted love with a girl who saw him as her top choice, right now this rescue operation of Madame Lestraude’s came first in his life. That alone made him, as Madame said, the “best” man for the job.
Was it asking too much to have someone he could confide in?
It was.
If he didn’t keep the rescue operation a secret, Madame’s life could—no, would—be forfeit. His, too.
Jakob slid the stationery back inside the envelope. After ensuring it was secure in the back pocket of his waist overalls, he climbed into the wagon and set it into motion. Madame’s reliance on him wasn’t mere words. She’d backed it up with an important job and a great deal of money. He accepted that his family would never know he was helping rescue girls from prostitution, not even if he died while on a mission. They’d never see him as a hero.
But those girls on the train would. Their chaperone, too.
Good enough for now.
Once he returned home, he’d contact the Archer Matrimonial Company again and give mail-order courtship another go. The right lady was out there, waiting for him to find her.
Chapter Four
I will be calm. I will be mistress of myself.
—JANE AUSTEN, Sense and Sensibility
Eastern Montana
Tuesday, September 4, early afternoon
The train whistled, announcing the arrival to Billings.
Colette laid her well-worn copy of Sense and Sensibility on the leather button-tufted sofa—on what had become her favorite spot to sit on the journey from Denver—as she sat alone in the observation room at the tail end of the “executive charter” her parents had rented. They’d paid additional for it to be placed last on the train if there were other private Pullman cars. Their preference—insistence, actually—to be at the end was as much to be away from the engine smoke as it was for privacy.
After four days of travel from Denver, her real adventure was now about to begin.
“I can do this,” she
said as she strolled to the door to the observation deck. She stepped outside. Gripping the railing, she breathed in the muggy mid-morning air; the floorboards vibrated under her boots as the train crawled by buildings on its way to the depot. A church. A hotel. Billings was a fraction of the size of Denver. And dustier.
People crossed the street once the train passed by. A child waved.
Colette waved back.
“Dear Lord,” she prayed aloud, “give to me and the lady that the benefactor provided to help me on this journey…all the wisdom, compassion, and grace needed to help our charges. Oh, and please let her be nice and not bossy like Mother.”
The train’s horn whistled, brakes squealed.
Colette whispered an “Amen” as the train jolted to a stop.
You can do this was the last thing Father had said to Colette before he and Mother de-boarded in Cheyenne, only to board a second executive charter, which would take them to New York City to shop for Colette’s wedding trousseau. No one who saw the three of them board the train in Denver would know Colette had separated from her parents in Cheyenne. As long as everything followed the plan, she would meet them on the twelfth in Salina, Kansas, after she’d delivered the rescued girls to the female academy in Manhattan. Together they would return to Denver and no one the wiser.
First, she had to finish rescuing the girls.
Father said the girls would board the back of the executive charter, one at a time. Could be one girl. Could be as many as eight.
In Helena, per Mother’s instruction, Colette had purchased eight sets of toiletries and hairbrushes, in case there were that many girls. She also purchased two dozen books for the girls to take if they wanted. On a whim, she bought bouquets of fresh flowers to fill vases throughout the car. She even sprinkled the bedding in each stateroom with rosewater she’d made following Grandmother Vanderpool’s recipe. The rented Pullman was as welcoming as Colette could make—
The beignets!
Colette jerked open the door to the observation room, then dashed down the corridor to the parlor where Mrs. Gaines was holding a platter filled with the delicious beignets that Colette couldn’t believe she’d found for sale in Helena.
“Don’t you worry none, Miss Pool,” Mrs. Gaines said before Colette could speak. “I’ve taken care of everything.” Mrs. Gaines sat the platter on the table. “Coffee, tea, and lemonade are available.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Gaines tipped her head in acknowledgment, then headed down the corridor to the kitchen. Father had insisted Mr. and Mrs. Gaines served with the strictest of confidences, or they would lose employment with the Pullman Company. Like every other steward, porter, cook, and maid who served on the rented private cars, Retta and Moses Gaines likely had witnessed activities far more suspicious than what Mother, Father, and now Colette were doing under the guise of helping “orphans” to a better life.
Colette adjusted the parlor table’s floral arrangement, then walked back to the observation room. She stopped abruptly. There, standing in front of the door to the observation deck, was a wary-eyed brunette in a calico dress that barely covered the ankles of her scuffed boots. One hand gripped a linen-wrapped bundle. She looked to be fourteen, maybe fifteen. Not strikingly pretty but neither plain. A few years of maturity would help her look less gangly.
“I thought—” Colette cut off her words before she admitted that she’d expected the escort to arrive first so they could greet the girls together. She didn’t move forward per Mother’s warning to wait for the girl to approach. “Welcome to the train. I’m Miss Letty Pool. You can call me Letty if you like.”
“I’m Ada,” the girl answered in a flat voice. “Ada is short for Adeline. It was my grandmother’s name.”
“Would you rather be called Adeline?”
The girl shrugged. “Ada’s fine.”
“What’s in the bundle?”
The girl’s dark brown eyes never shifted away from Colette. “A Bible and a second dress. They said the academy would provide anything else we will need since we’re on scholarship. Where should I sleep?”
“Let me show you the staterooms.” She led Ada to the first one. “The other one is a mirror image of this one. There are two berths in each. The upper one folds down, while the bottom benches fold together to create a bed. You can sleep wherever you like.”
A loud “Hello?” came from the observation room.
“That’s Victoria.” Ada tossed her bundle onto the bench by the window. “You should go help her. She abhors being ignored.”
Unsure of what to make of Ada’s comment, Colette returned to the observation room to find a girl with black hair in long braids sitting on the sofa, her legs outstretched as if the sofa were a chaise lounge.
The girl, possibly Ada’s age, shuffled through the pages of Colette’s book. “This yours?”
“It is,” Colette answered. “Sense and Sensibility is one of my favorite novels. Have you read it?”
“Yes.” The girl looked up. “Once was enough for me. I prefer Mark Twain.” She returned her attention to flipping through the pages of the book. “Jane Austen wants me to admire Elinor Dashwood because she’s practical, self-sacrificing, and has good sense, but Marianne Dashwood is the fun sister.”
“She makes many imprudent decisions.”
“Imprudent? I suppose she does…from a certain point of view.” The girl’s bright blue eyes settled on Colette. “I like your dress. It’s taffeta, isn’t it?”
Colette nodded. She hadn’t given much thought to her clothes before this moment. In light of what the girls were wearing, she should have invested in a few unobtrusive dresses. Not once during her parents’ discussion of what to do and what to expect on the trip had they mentioned dressing differently. Rule number one—Don’t use your real name or share where you live—was what they’d continually stressed.
“Welcome to the train. I’m Miss Letty Pool,” she said with practiced ease. “You may call me Letty.”
“Your name is…Letty?”
Colette nodded again.
“You don’t look like a Letty.” After a soft humph, the girl shifted her feet to the floor. “Blue is a good color on you. I’d love to wear red or pink taffeta”—her gaze flickered to her unbleached cotton dress—“but beggars can’t be choosers. I’m Victoria.”
Broken and guarded were all character traits Colette had expected the girls to have. This one seemed as cheerful and open as any of Colette’s friends back home. Friendly people were always more enjoyable to be around than morose ones.
Colette smiled. “Would you like to share a stateroom with Ada?”
“Do I have to?”
“There’s a second one.”
“Sounds perfect.” Victoria scooped her linen-wrapped bundle off the floor.
“This way.” Colette led Victoria to the stateroom between Ada’s and the parlor. After demonstrating how to lower the upper berth, Colette stepped out into the corridor. “Girls, once you’ve settled in, there are beignets for you on the table in the parlor. We have coffee, tea, and lemonade. Lunch will be served in an hour or so.” She looked at Ada and Victoria, both standing on the threshold to their staterooms. “I suppose now is a fitting time as ever to go over the rules.”
“There’s also Hazel,” Ada said as if she were bored. “Unless she’s changed her mind.”
When Ada said no more, Colette gave Victoria a questioning look.
“Hazel is scared of everything. Especially trains and strangers.” Victoria sighed. “I’m sure she’ll choose to come with us because she decided Ada is her older sister.”
Ada’s expressionless face betrayed none of her feelings about Hazel’s bonding.
“So, Letty, what’s a ben-yay?” Victoria asked.
“It’s a fried pastry,” Colette explained. “They became my favorite sweet after I enjoye
d my first one in New Orleans. The ones I bought are round but taste the same as the square ones that Café du Monde makes. The restaurant manager in Helena said these were made by a French chef.”
Victoria exchanged glances with Ada. “How many can we have, since there’s only three of us?”
Colette paused before answering. She’d purchased all the restaurant had remaining, which thankfully was enough to serve eight, plus some for her, the lady helping her escort the girls, and the Gaineses. “Unless you want to portion these out over several days, you can have as many as you want.”
Ada’s face brightened with a smile. “I like your answer.”
“Me, too.” Victoria followed Ada to the parlor.
Colette strolled back to the observation room, hoping to see Hazel waiting. The girl wasn’t there, so Colette stepped to the observation windows on the side of the unloading platform. She looked left to the Headquarters Hotel. No one seemed to be paying the executive charter any attention, so she sat on the sofa and picked up her book. With Billings being a water stop, passengers had plenty of time to board. Maybe Hazel needed a few moments to find the courage to be brave.
Father said the girls had been rescued from brothels in Helena. With Billings being in the same territory, this stop on the journey would be the only place anyone might possibly recognize the girls, and the odds of that were slim. The girls had been hidden at a secure location for over a year since they “disappeared” from the brothels. Another slim-but-possible danger was people reporting wayward girls sneaking about an executive charter. Railroad personnel, too, could interfere. Not that anyone ever had over the years. Once the executive charter left Billings, Mother and Father had insisted that any potential for danger would be gone and the girls would be as safe as anyone could be while traveling on a train. With a chaperone and an escort guarding the girls—not to mention Mr. and Mrs. Gaines—the girls had nothing to fear.
If Colette could talk to Hazel, she’d tell her that.