Rexanne Becnel (24 page)

Except a school, she thought smugly. The school was all hers.

“Where did Frederick get the money to keep the school going? What are these holding companies? Where is this mattress factory?”

“The mattress factory no longer exists except on the books. It was just east of New Orleans, but it burned down toward the end of the war. All you own is the name and four or five acres of land. The two holding companies are also defunct, good only on paper.”

“What happened to them?”

“Financed with worthless Confederate scrip.” He shrugged. “None of Frederick’s business ventures were viable.”

“Then how did he keep the school going?” Lacie asked in renewed concern.

“Dillon.” Neal leaned back and scratched at the bandage that still bound his head.

“Dillon!” Lacie sat back in surprise, then quickly grew suspicious. “He wants nothing but to destroy this place! I saw Frederick’s letter to him. No, I’ll never believe Dillon willingly kept Sparrow Hill going.”

“I didn’t say willingly. You’re right that he thought it a poor investment and wanted Frederick to sell it off. But it was Dillon’s other investment choices—these in the center column—bought into jointly by the two of them that provided Frederick with the wherewithal to keep Sparrow Hill going. So you see, he’s not quite as bad as you think.”

Lacie purposefully ignored that comment. “Then I can continue on just as Frederick did,” she said, her interest piqued.

“I suppose.”

At his odd inflection Lacie peered over at him. “Is there any reason why I can’t?”

Neal met her concerned gaze for a long moment, then pushed his chair back from the table they were sitting at and rose to his feet. She followed his restless pacing silently, waiting for a new bomb to fall.

“Damn,” he began, then gave her an embarrassed glance. “Forgive me, but I find myself in a most difficult ethical position. You see, I sympathize completely with your situation, Lacie. Believe it or not, I do. And I like you and this school—”

“And Ada,” Lacie supplied shrewdly.

“Ah…yes.” Color crept into his face. “I like Ada very much. But you have to realize that I am still Dillon’s friend.”

“Yes. And his lawyer too.”

“And his lawyer too,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I am without professional ethics. As long as you remain legally Frederick’s widow, I will deal with you as such.”

“Good, because I plan to stay his widow for a long time to come. No matter what your boss may think,” she added tartly.

“Yes, that may very well prove true.”

“So I will continue, just as Frederick did, to use money from those other companies to finance the school.”

It was easy, and it was logical. Neal gave her no reasons why she might not expect it to be so. Yet she felt a nagging doubt. If there was a way to prevent it, Dillon would find it.

But as one week led into another, they heard nothing from Dillon. If Lacie could have kept him out of her thoughts and out of her dreams, she would have described herself as very well content.

Then a wire arrived, and everything turned upside down.

Lacie knew even as she took the message from the young man that something was afoot. Deliveries were seldom made so far from town. Only Dillon had the pull to have it brought out to her.

As she held the envelope she could not prevent her hand from shaking. She looked over at Ada, who was anxiously wringing her hands, then at Neal, who had received a similar envelope. Neal’s expression was at once both pained and curious. He knew what Dillon was up to, she realized, or at least he suspected. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what it was. Still, there was nothing to do but open the envelope and face whatever was to come.

Instead of a message, what he’d sent her read like a shopping list. Company names and big numbers. It made no sense at all. Then at the bottom a short note was added:

“This budget breakdown will be presented to the Board of Directors at the annual meeting August 15. No monies are allotted to bolster those companies not financially solvent. Any budget deficits must be covered through internal means.”

She didn’t have to understand very much to know what he was doing. In a fury she raised her eyes to Neal. “He’s cutting me off, isn’t he?”

Neal nodded.

“Can he do that?”

“If the Board of Directors goes along with him.” His voice grew more solemn. “They always do.”

“I don’t understand,” Ada said in a worried voice. “Who are these directors? What do they have to do with anything?”

“They represent the stockholders. You see, one of the reasons Dillon has done so well is that when he started each company he opened it to public investment. He sold stocks. He was already a well-known success in Denver starting with his gold strike in ’59, followed by a killing he made in silver. Besides, he has a way of convincing people to go along with him.”

He stopped abruptly, embarrassed by the unintended implication, but Lacie waved him on. “Keep going.”

“Well, people saw his success and wanted a piece of it. So he sold as much stock as he could to raise capital. But he made sure he kept a controlling share.”

“In other words, he owns more than half.”

Neal paused and cleared his throat. “I suppose it would be more accurate to say that he and the stockholders friendly to him own more than half.”

Lacie was silent a moment. She chewed her lip before turning her perceptive gaze on him.

“Was Frederick a friendly shareholder?”

“Ah, well, I would say so. Yes, he was.”

“Well, I won’t be!” she vowed, pounding her small fist on the table for emphasis. “If he thinks he can sink this school without any repercussions, he’s a fool.”

“I don’t think you understand, Lacie.” Neal scratched at his brow in agitation. “There’s not much you can do to stop him. Frederick gave him power of attorney on business matters. Dillon votes Frederick’s stocks as he wishes.”

“But Frederick is dead. Those votes are mine now!”

“Not at the moment they aren’t. Not legally.”

Lacie stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled over.

Her eyes were glittering with anger as she leveled Neal with a killing stare. “If Frederick gave him this power of attorney, there must be a way to get it back. How do I do it?”

“There’s certain papers that have to be prepared.”

“Fine. Will you do it? Or shall I hire some other lawyer?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” he said placatingly. Then his eyes cleared and a slow smile lit his fair features. “There is another way, however. A way to insure that there’s no mix-up since there’s only four weeks until the Board of Director’s meeting.”

Lacie looked at him suspiciously. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“If you were to attend the board meeting, you could request power of attorney back again. It would be settled right then and there, in front of everyone. And you would be there to vote precisely as you wish.”

It was, of course, the most obvious solution. Yet Lacie was aghast at the idea of having to face Dillon like that. Just considering it made her heart pound and her palms sweat. To have that dark knowing gaze upon her, to be in the same room and breathe the same air—

No, she could not do it.

But as she stared at Neal’s expectant face, she wondered if she really had a choice. She needed money if Sparrow Hill was to survive. She hadn’t gone through all this misery and guilt and humiliation to lose the school now. Fiddling with legal papers was too chancy. Besides, she had to keep in mind that she was dealing with a most devious person in Dillon Lockwood. If she wanted to keep the school going, she would simply have to go to Denver.

Slowly she sat down, filled now with terrible anxiety.

“The meeting is August fifteenth?” she asked quietly.

“Sometimes it lasts several days.”

“And I would have to go to Denver.”

“You could stay at the Denver Palace. You own it—at least partially. And for heaven’s sake, don’t look so frightened, Lacie. If you’re going to challenge Dillon at the board meeting, you’d better go in there looking like you’ve already won, not like a scared little school-marm.”

But that’s what she was, Lacie was still thinking, not an hour later. She was a very scared—terrified—schoolteacher. No matter what she did, she would never convince anyone otherwise. Oh, how had she gotten into this terrible predicament? It was like some medieval maze. For every step forward she took, two new threatening paths opened before her. Neither choice appealed to her. Both promised only further heartache. Yet she could not turn back for the path had already closed behind her.

She stared at her open armoire morosely, depressed anew by the pitiful array before her. Three simple day dresses she used for teaching. Her one good dress—dyed black, of course. Two plain skirts, several white blouses, and her teal dress. Certainly they would impress no one in Denver. Not one of the other board members would take her seriously at all!

“Lacie?” Ada entered when she spied her friend. “Neal told me. Are you really going to Denver?”

“Yes. I fear I must.”

“Do you want me to accompany you?”

“I would love it, but I’m not sure we can afford train fare for both of us. Besides”—she sent Ada what she hoped was a reassuring smile—“someone must stay here to manage things. Neal says I might be gone almost three weeks. School will be resuming shortly after that.”

“Three weeks?” Ada came to stand beside Lacie. “Then you’ll need some new clothes.”

“We really can’t afford it.”

“I don’t think you have a choice. Neal told me you’ll have to convince all those people to help the school. You’ll have to gain their confidence and win them over. You can’t do that if you look threadbare and forlorn. You have to appear capable.”

“Oh, this is just hopeless!” Lacie wailed in despair.

“No, it’s not.” With a burst of energy Ada began to yank Lacie’s clothes from the armoire, garment by garment. “You can travel in this. And this”—she indicated the black dress and the teal one—“this blouse will do. But not this one. And if you could find a basque waist to go with this skirt, it would do as well.” She tossed the three plain dresses aside with a dismissive wave of her hand, then dragged Lacie to stand before Frederick’s triple mirror. “You’ll need an elegant suit. At least two more day dresses. And an evening dress. Perhaps a coat. Or, no—a cape!”

“We haven’t the money.” Lacie sighed.

“We can sew.”

“We haven’t the time,” she explained patiently.

“We can try. Between the two of us and Mrs. Gunter—even the maids could help.”

“The fabric alone will be dear,” Lacie protested despite a little spark of enthusiasm.

“It will be worth it,” Ada insisted. “Think of everything you stand to lose.”

It will be worth it. It
will
be worth it, Lacie chanted as she stabbed her needle into the linen inset of the bodice she was working on. Her back ached, her eyes were swimming, and her fingers were beginning to cramp. The entire house had been in an upheaval since Ada had taken on the task of outfitting her for her trip.

Girding her for battle.

For the sake of time they had selected simple elegant styles devoid of excessive—and expensive—ornament, relying more on cunningly placed pleats, artful drapes of fabric, and discreet borders to give style.

Ada had taken on the hardest task. The suit she was making was of gray chambray with simple lines that befitted a young widow. However, the snug-fitting polonaise fell below the waist in deep, pointed scallops, trailing even longer in the back. She was edging the scallops as well as the cuffs with a band of midnight purple braid. All in all, it was turning out most beautifully. The dress Lacie was making, however, was less certain. It was of dark blue percale, the skirt box-pleated with a draped apron effect in the front. The bodice was close-fitting, and except for the overlapping inset she was working on now, it was not really a very difficult job. But stitching had never been her strong suit. She found it too boring. Still, she struggled on, reminding herself how much was at stake.

Mrs. Gunter was making her a gored basque with vest points to go with her dark red skirt. The basque was in a similar fabric but in a small red and black stripe. It promised to be a very handsome costume.

She’d bought two plain straw bonnets that they would dress with ribbons and remnants of fabric. But the worst was yet to come. Despite her opposition, Ada had insisted on getting a generous dress length of black figured sateen. It had been so dear that Lacie could not justify the expense. But Ada had refused to relent.

“You will be among wealthy, elegant people. You will no doubt be invited to dine and you must look your best.”

“I doubt that rough-and-tumble town will have anyone of any breeding in it,” Lacie retorted. “Besides, I can have dinner in the gray suit. Or in my teal dress.”

“What if there’s a reception? What would you do then?”

Lacie had no answer to that.

As the dress took shape, Lacie grew thankful for Ada’s obstinance. The black sateen dress spoke of elegance and sophistication, of woman at the height of her feminine power. It was not a provocative dress with bare shoulders and bosom on display—that would have been most inappropriate for a widow. And yet as she stood for the fitting, staring at three different reflections of herself in the tailor’s mirror, Lacie thought she’d never looked so womanly. Her waist appeared impossibly narrow, thanks to the multiple-gored bodice. Framed by the small set-back collar and open neckline, her skin looked as pale as ivory, delicate as eggshell. The sleeves were long and slim. The skirt was full, yet fell in softly moving folds. The figured black sateen was its own ornament, needing no more than simple ear bobs, her wedding ring, and an artfully arranged coiffure to be complete.

Here was her armor, she thought with a glimmer of hope. Dillon would not dismiss her in this dress. But perhaps—just perhaps—she would finally be able to dismiss him.

The day of her departure, she was not so sure. Every fear, every terrified imagining she’d had of meeting Dillon again filled her head, sweating her palms and knotting her stomach.