The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (12 page)

Both could bring trouble, but writing Papa might be an exercise in understanding what brought her to Denver in the first place. Not that she’d mention she’d gone any farther than Boston.

“Are you listening?” Tova inquired.

“Yes, yes, please do continue.”

Gennie turned from the desk to see the housekeeper had fetched some sort of cleaning equipment and was brandishing it with great excitement. In terms that sounded more like a foreign language than plain English, Tova explained the proper procedure for everything from dusting to winding the Viennese eagle clock.

“Which must be done daily to keep it running,” Gennie said. Noting Tova’s raised eyebrows, she added, “Mama loves the sound of ours, though I find the chiming every fifteen minutes quite annoying. And as the thing is set in the belly of the eagle, I always wondered why it chimed rather than chirped. Chirping would be the appropriate sound for a bird-shaped clock, don’t you think?” She paused. “Of course, I always preferred the Empire style to the later Biedermeier pieces.”

Tova responded by leaving the room without comment.

When the door shut, Gennie turned to her task, stepping over the cleaning equipment to seat herself at the oversized mahogany desk. “Likely Mr. Beck’s never here long enough to notice the dust,” she said under her breath as she reached for the writing paper.

Before the clock chimed the quarter hour, Gennie had completed a firm letter insisting the absent father of Charlotte Beck present himself to be accountable for the child, and she decided not to write her own father.

“Now to post it.” Gennie rose and slipped the door open a notch. The coast clear, she slid past the horrid bejeweled bird and edged her way into the kitchen. There she found Tova and Elias at the kitchen table, discussing something related to a pie.

Leaving the pair to their culinary pursuits, Gennie backed quietly into the hall and slipped off her shoes. In a moment, she found the front door and escaped.

The air was brisk and bracing, a shock after the warmth of the home’s interior. Ducking to pass beneath the kitchen window, Gennie returned her shoes to their rightful place then found Isak in the carriage house, mucking a stall.

“Might I post a letter?” she inquired. “It’s rather urgent.”

Tova’s son paused his work. “Is it now?”

“Mr. Howe told me I might be able to get this to Mr. Beck via the train to Leadville.”

“Well, now.” Isak tossed the pitchfork aside and dusted off his hands. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll hitch up the buggy.”

In what seemed like no time, Gennie found herself riding through town beside the Scandinavian fellow. “Is it always this chilly in July?” she asked.

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I say if you don’t like the weather, give it a day, and it’ll change.”

Gennie grinned as she shivered. The buggy soon stopped in front of Union Station. A train whistle caught her attention, reminding Gennie of just how far she’d come since leaving Manhattan.

Far in distance, perhaps, but what had she accomplished? Washing dishes and cleaning an office were hardly what she’d come west to do. A train edged past the station, picking up speed as it rolled away.

With nothing to lose and only an adventure worthy of Mae Winslow to gain, Gennie considered climbing from the buggy and walking into Union Station to purchase a ticket for points west or north. Anywhere an adventure might be had.

“Miss?” Isak nudged her. “Post office is over there.” He pointed away from the trains.

“All right.” Gennie started to climb down, but Isak scampered around to lift her off the buggy. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re very kind.”

Isak grinned and his cheeks went red beneath his pale hair. When she made no move to walk toward the post office, Isak shook his head. “Might I post it for you?”

“Yes, please.” She handed him the letter with a smile, then looked back toward the station. When she returned her attention to Isak, she found he’d not yet made an effort to head to the post office. “Something wrong?”

The pink in his cheeks deepened. “Mailing a letter costs,” he said without meeting her stare. “I’d offer to do it for you, but I didn’t think to bring money.” His gaze met hers. “I’m awful sorry.”

She asked him the cost of posting a letter to Leadville in the fastest manner, and when he told her, her grin faded. At this rate, she’d have nothing left of her meager savings. “How much if I were to send it a bit slower?”

“Hold on,” Isak said. “It appears this may be your lucky day.”

Gennie watched the young man dart across the crowded platform and catch a well-dressed man by the sleeve. After a few moments of conversation, Isak handed the gentleman the letter and loped back to the wagon.

“That’s Mr. August Meyer,” Isak said as he helped Gennie back into the wagon. “He’s an associate of Mr. Beck from over in Leadville. I’ve often driven him about Denver when he’s visiting.”

“Oh?”

Isak took his place on the seat beside Gennie and reached for the reins. “He’s heading home to Leadville now and will see that Mr. Beck gets the letter.”

“Wonderful.”

The buggy returned to the Beck home without—as far as she could tell, anyway—being missed, and Gennie quickly climbed the stairs to her room and closed the door. Isak had informed her that while Charlotte completed her lessons at the same time each day, she’d always been allowed to return home at her own discretion.

This appalled Gennie, though she held her tongue. How much the son told the mother was not yet evident, and Gennie had yet to figure out whether Tova was jealous or merely disliked her on principle.

Whatever the reason, Gennie decided to stay out of the woman’s way and keep to her room. The more she thought on it, dining alone
with Elias Howe was likely enough to land one on the housekeeper’s list of troublemakers.

As was making any changes to the staid routine of Beck Manor, which she found out later in the evening when she suggested Charlotte might benefit from instruction in decorum rather than being allowed to run free with the neighborhood children. She was a Beck, Gennie argued, and thus held to a higher standard. Tova disagreed, and Charlotte disappeared until well after the dinner bell had rung.

Oddly, the child had a pie in hand when she deigned to ring the front bell and make a grand entrance befitting a queen, just as the stars appeared over the Rockies.

Gennie had nothing to do but sit in her room all evening and wonder whether Mr. Meyer had delivered her letter to Daniel Beck.

That, and daydream of what Mae Winslow might do in a similar situation. Mae would certainly never hide while chaos reigned.

Falling asleep with this thought, Gennie decided that, like Mae, exile no longer suited her. Tomorrow she would begin the adventure she’d come to seek, and like it or not, Charlotte Beck would be coming along.

The handwriting on the letter was exquisite, like the engraved invitations that too often graced his hall table. The ones Daniel ignored whenever possible and suffered through when he could no longer pretend to be away or otherwise occupied.

This, however, was no summons for supper or call to attend someone’s charity ball. Daniel slammed the letter on the desk, then picked it up again, still unable to believe the impudence of the author.

“Something wrong, sir?” Hiram asked, stopping in the doorway.

“What?” Daniel said. “No, nothing.” He held the letter up, then let it fall once more to the desk. “Yes, actually, there is something. I’ve received a demand from Charlotte’s governess that I return to Denver. Can you believe the audacity?”

He thought he saw a smile cross Hiram’s expression for a brief moment. “Audacity? Sir, I’m not sure to what you’re referring. Might it be her decision to speak up, or her lack of decorum on what she said?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Hiram. A woman who does not know Charlotte has written to tell me how to parent. What right has she?”

“Perhaps she felt she was—”

“Was what?” He continued without allowing Hiram to answer. “This woman is an
employee.
A governess, of all things. How dare she question my abilities as a father to my daughter? How dare she question me at all? Not a single man in my employ would dare do such a thing, and yet this woman…this…
governess
…”

Blood pulsed in his temples. He clenched his fists and longed for something to slam them into. The one thing he’d not tolerate was being judged and found inadequate. He’d throttle the man who tried. And fire the woman.

“Hiram,” he said, storming toward the door, then doubling back to snatch up the offending document. “Get me a train ticket.”

“For Denver, sir?” Hiram backed away from the door to allow Daniel to pass.

“Yes, Denver,” he tossed behind him as he ran down the stairs. He could hear Hiram following. “Where did you think I’d be going? I’ve got a situation to handle, and it can’t wait. I want to be on today’s train when it leaves, which, according to my watch, is in less than an hour. See to it.”

“Yes sir,” Hiram called. “But, sir?”

Daniel stopped and whirled around. “What?”

“You’ve got meetings all afternoon and dinner with Lieutenant Governor Tabor and his wife tonight. They’re hosting the governor, you know.”

He did. Barely had the storm of controversy lifted over the recent miners’ strike when Daniel had been inundated by correspondence from the state’s top politician. Thus far he’d avoided any discussions of a political nature, and had dreaded the evening ahead for that very reason. The governor was shopping for underlings, and the last thing Daniel needed was to add another responsibility to his growing list.

Hiram put on his determined look. “The governor’s aide expressly requested your presence.”

“I don’t care what he requested. This takes precedence.”

Hiram opened his mouth to respond, then wisely clamped it shut again.

“Cancel them all,” Daniel said. “This woman called me an irresponsible parent, and I’ll not stand for it.”

“But, sir!”

“Hiram, do not join my governess in questioning my authority. It would be immediate grounds for dismissal.”

The color drained from Hiram’s face, and, for a moment, he looked as if he’d been rendered immobile.

“Look,” Daniel said in what he hoped was a gentler tone, “I’ve known Tabor for some time. If you explain to Horace that I’ve been called home on a family emergency, I’m certain all will be forgiven.” He paused to think. “Much as I hate to make this offer, tell him I’d be happy to host a gathering of some sort in his honor the next time he’s in Denver.”

“Yes sir,” Hiram said, looking slightly less fearful. “And the miners?”

“I trust you,” Daniel said. “You’ve got good sense and will handle anything that comes up.” He turned on his heels and headed for the exit, attempting to modulate both his voice and his temper. “Those people will still have their jobs when I return. The author of this letter will not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must pack.”

Mae always hoped the rattle she heard would be in the hands of a baby and not attached to a creature the size of her arm and three times the length. With Lucky galloping off for parts unknown, she realized the rattler wasn’t going away, and neither was she.

Any other helpless woman faced with deadly peril would reach for her lace handkerchief and soak it with tears. Mae, however, was neither helpless nor in possession of a handkerchief, lace or otherwise.

She did, however, have her trusty Colt revolver, which she slowly grasped even as the demon played its castanets double time. Unlike One-Eyed Ed, this varmint had better-than-average vision and no blind spots.

Whatever she did, she would have to do fast and with no margin for error. Her fingers met the cold steel of her weapon just as Lucky decided to return.