The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper Part 7

Gennie dried quickly, this time with the door locked, and donned her wrapper. Outside, the sun still hung above the Rockies, but Gennie felt the clock should read half past midnight.

Manhattan and her home on Fifth Avenue suddenly seemed very far away. The realization made her want to laugh and cry in equal measure. Somehow she'd become a woman capable of boarding a train for the Wild West with nothing but her reticule and a prayer, arriving in Denver with only her pluck and poise to get her through.

A stab of loneliness jabbed her heart, and tears blurred her vision. "Stop that, you ninny," she said as she furiously swiped at her eyes. "You asked for this adventure, and you're going to appreciate every single minute of it."

Gennie leaned against the fireplace mantel, a lovely piece carved from the same marble as the tub, and placed her forehead against the cool stone. Father, is this the end of my adventure or merely the beginning? Gift me with discernment. Father, is this the end of my adventure or merely the beginning? Gift me with discernment.

A movement outside her window caught Gennie's attention, and she strolled over in time to see Isak s.h.i.+nnying down the pine tree, the union suit draped over one shoulder.

And, please, she added as she turned away from the window and walked toward the feather bed, an extra measure of patience. an extra measure of patience.

She couldn't leave the room until Tova returned with her newly purchased clothing. Surely s.n.a.t.c.hing a few moments of rest while she waited wouldn't hurt.

The feather mattress cus.h.i.+oned her, while a pile of pillows in various sizes provided just the right position for her to recline in comfort. The bed coverings were a decent silk, and the sheets felt nearly as soft as the ones on her bed at home.

With the sun streaming through the pines, the room took on a pleasant, soothing atmosphere. All that remained was a good-night from her parents and a practical joke of some kind from Connor, and she'd feel right at home. Gennie settled back into the pillows and let her eyes drift shut.

Moments later, she opened her eyes and noted two things: her new clothing had been delivered, and she'd missed dinner by an hour. If the mantel clock were to be believed, she'd slept until a few minutes before seven.

Gennie scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward the dress, then froze.

The garment was absolutely hideous. She touched the fabric, then jumped back in horror. She wouldn't dream of asking her own maids to wear something this horrid.

Constructed of some poor version of homespun that would likely cause a rash, the garish, saffron-colored day dress, with its random sprigging of scarlet rosebuds and green leaves, would do nothing for her complexion or, likely, her figure. A matronly set of undergarments of the same rough-hewn fabric lay folded on the chair. A pair of serviceable lace-up boots and heavy woolen stockings, both in dull black, completed the ensemble.

Then she saw the hat. More suited to a prairie schooner than any possible city venue, the poke bonnet had been chosen, presumably, for its matching red roses, though the background of the chapeau was a sickly blue green.

"An absolute nightmare," Gennie muttered.

Casting about for her traveling garments, she sighed. Either they were hanging in a tree somewhere, or Tova had not yet completed laundering them.

There was nothing to do but don the newly purchased frock and make the best of things. She stepped out of her wrapper and into the dress.

A long line of b.u.t.tons was the only way to close the gaping back. By putting the dress on backwards, she was able to b.u.t.ton the skirt and a portion of the waistband, and reaching behind her took care of a few of the top b.u.t.tons. The middle of her back proved a bit trickier, however.

After several more attempts to close the gap, Gennie gave up. Grabbing the cloth from the bedside table, she draped it over her shoulders like a shawl and headed downstairs to make her apologies for the lateness of the hour.

She found Elias in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled delicious. Before she could greet him, the older man turned around and grinned.

"I wondered if you'd climbed down the drainpipe and run off. Not that I'd have blamed you." He used the knuckle of his forefinger to straighten his cap, then went back to stirring. "Sit yourself down. The others have already eaten and gone."

So she had missed the meal. How odd that he would still be cooking.

"I'm terribly sorry," she offered. "I had no idea I was so tired."

"Sit," he repeated. "You've had a long trip. We'll not let a little thing like oversleeping cause you to be fired on your first day."

Only when he punctuated the statement with a chuckle did Gennie relax. She pulled a chair away from the table and sat, mindful of the fact that she'd never taken a meal in a kitchen in her life. Unlike the dining rooms she was accustomed to, the scent of food cooking and the warmth of the big stove gave the kitchen an informal air. Dining with the servants felt odd, but for now, at least, she was exactly that: a servant.

As this realization sunk in, her makes.h.i.+ft shawl slipped. Gennie hurriedly straightened it. Should the former tablecloth fail to cover her faux pas, bare skin would show, and so would her inability to do the simplest dressing of herself.

Gennie sat straighter in her chair and tried not to think of such things. Pots and pans clanged, and the cook seemed in perpetual motion. For a man of advanced years, the old soldier obviously still had plenty of energy.

"So," Gennie said to Elias Howe's back, "when exactly is Mr. Beck expected to return?"

"It's easier asking when the wind will stop blowing." The man's chuckle rumbled toward her. "No one knows for sure, though it always happens."

Despite having no interest whatsoever in staying with the Becks, Gennie felt her temper rise. "So he comes and goes without concern for what happens to his daughter?"

Elias froze, then slowly set his utensils aside and turned to face her. Gennie watched in stunned silence as the old man's genial expression turned sour.

"I don't believe you should judge Daniel until you know him." He reached for a corner of the ap.r.o.n he'd thrown on over his customary Confederate suit coat and mopped his forehead. "He does what he thinks is best for Charlotte and leaves it to the rest of us to honor that and not question it. You're here to take up where the girl's ma left off, so I'd advise you to hold your questions until you can ask them of Daniel himself. The raising of that child is important to him, especially now."

Elias suddenly looked as if he'd said too much, which intrigued Gennie.

"I'm sorry," she said. She rose and reached for one of the ap.r.o.ns still hanging on the pegboard. "Might I help with whatever you're preparing?"

Gennie's quick change of topic did its job, and soon Elias seemed to have forgotten her foray into dangerous territory. Gennie, however, did not.

She handed him three eggs and watched him crack them into what appeared to be some sort of cooked meat. "You mentioned Charlotte's mother. Might I ask what sort of calamity befell her that she's no longer raising her daughter? Just so I might be prepared should Charlotte speak of it, you understand," she hastened to add.

Elias paused in his work to give her a sideways look. Gennie put on her most innocent face. Gossip was wrong, but being informed seemed anything but. And with the child in question, any weapon was worth the attempt.

"A sad tale, that one," he finally said, going back to his work. "Hand me another egg. That one there."

Gennie complied, then knotted the tablecloth across her bosom to keep the fabric from slipping. Rather than probe further, she elected to remain silent. Men often spoke more when nothing impeded the conversation. This she'd learned in finis.h.i.+ng school, though she'd not retained much more than that.

Of course, the school really intended to teach how to catch a husband. In that, she'd likely be called a success soon.

What would Chandler Dodd think if he were to walk in and catch her dressed in this garish ensemble helping a quirky fellow break eggs into a frying pan? Gennie couldn't muster up even the slightest image, though when considering what Mae Winslow might do in the same situation, she had no problem.

Mae would ask for the recipe, then fetch her pistols and be gone. How Gennie envied that fictional female.

"She was a pretty thing," Elias said, his voice soft enough to make Gennie wonder whether he spoke aloud on purpose or merely mused for his own benefit. "Too pretty for her own good. I told Daniel as much, but a man in love won't be warned."

He looked to Gennie as if he expected a response, so she nodded. "Indeed."

"And that younger brother of his, well, Edwin never struck me as anything other than a fellow who wanted what Daniel had." Elias stirred the last of the eggs into the mixture, then turned the whole thing into a baking dish and stepped away from the stove. "I've said too much. Fetch yourself a plate and mug off the drainboard and go sit down."

Gennie held her tongue and did what he asked. Before she could settle in the chair, Elias placed before her the iron skillet filled with the delicious smelling concoction, along with a pot of coffee.

"There," he said as he joined her, "that ought to do for a pa.s.sable breakfast."

She paused, the fork poised at her lips. "Breakfast? I thought this was dinner."

Elias shook his head, then adjusted his cap. "No, you slept through that meal. This here's breakfast." He pulled a gold watch from his pocket and consulted it before offering it to her. "See there? It's nearly eight."

"Eight in the morning?" She placed her fork on the plate, the bite untouched. "I slept since yesterday afternoon?"

"You did, and it's a miracle that child didn't wake you." He reached over to spoon a generous helping of the concoction onto his plate. "I threatened her with the worst thing I could think of if she so much as tiptoed past your door."

"And what was that?"

He leaned toward her. "I told her I'd see that Tova threw out all her overalls and made her wear a dress to school." Elias leaned back and slapped his palms on the table, sending the silverware clanging together. "That put the fear of the Lord into her."

Gennie tried not to let her appalled state show. She reached once more for her fork. "How old is Charlotte, exactly?"

"She's ten," Elias said between bites. "I remember, because it was five years ago last winter when I first laid eyes on her and knew who she belonged to. It took Daniel a bit longer, but a man's blind when he's looking at the woman he loves. That's what I say, anyway."

"Speaking of me, were you, Elias?" Tova said from the doorway.

The old soldier's ears reddened as he leaned over his plate and continued to eat. "Likely you misheard," he said without sparing her a glance.

"I see the nanny is awake."

As Tova's gaze swept over her, Gennie felt compelled to rise. "I'm terribly sorry," she said. "I had no idea I'd be sleeping past dinner."

"And breakfast," Tova muttered, hanging her cloak on the peg, then pointing at Gennie. "The ap.r.o.n, please."

Gennie looked down, then quickly shed the garment and handed it to Tova. Likely nothing she'd do would please the housekeeper.

Except leave, that is, which she planned to do in a month.

"So where is Charlotte now?" she asked, causing both Elias and Tova to stare.

"The girl is at school." Tova's sharp response and subsequent dismissal of her startled Gennie. Only the knowledge that Tova somehow saw her as a threat kept Gennie from taking offense as the older woman stormed from the kitchen in a huff.

Oblivious to the feminine battle of wills waging around him, Elias went back to his eggs. "You got a chill?" he asked.

"A chill?" Gennie looked down at the table scarf still knotted around her. "No. Just, well..." Proper description escaped her, so she decided to change the subject. "I wonder if I might be so bold as to inquire of something."

Elias set his fork down, the plate sc.r.a.ped clean. "Go ahead, but I don't promise an answer."

She nodded. "I'm of a mind to write to the girl's father to settle some things regarding his expectations of me, get some questions answered. Things of that nature."

"Go on," the old soldier said.

"And I wondered, if I posted such a letter, how long it would take for him to receive it."

He shrugged. "Depends. If you get lucky and catch a train headed to Leadville, he might be holding the letter before nightfall." Another shrug. "Then again, it might not get there at all. You never know about these things."

Gennie straightened her back and turned toward the door. "If there's nothing else for me to do while Charlotte is at school, I'll go and write that letter. Might you have pen and ink I could use?"

"All of that's in Daniel's office, and you're free to take and use whatever you need." Elias looked perplexed. "But aren't you forgetting something?" He pointed to the table and her plate.

"Oh," she said, hurrying to explain the food remaining there, "I'm not one to eat a big breakfast. I a.s.sure you, however, it was quite delicious."

"I do thank you," Elias said, "but what you're forgetting is to wash your plate and mug." He shrugged. "That's part of your duties, what with Tova busy cleaning and me doing all the cooking. Unless Charlotte's home, you're to do whatever Tova or I need done." The oddly dressed man rose and shoved his plate toward her. "And right now all I can think that needs doing is the dishes. Be sure and scrub that pan extra. An iron skillet doesn't need dish soap. Just clean it the usual way."

"The usual way." She paused and let the dish slide from her hands into the sink with a clatter. "Yes, of course."

And with that, he was off, leaving Gennie to decipher what the "usual way" might be. For that matter, leaving her to figure out exactly how dishes were washed.

At least she knew what she would say in her letter to Daniel Beck. In plain terms, she would tell him his daughter needed a father who did not stray so far from the home fires. She would add, of course, that while his daughter was not completely a lost cause, she did have quite a road to travel to become a young lady.

And finally, Gennie would have to tell Daniel Beck that while the job was not beyond her abilities, she would not be staying for the extended period of time it would take to accomplish it.

In short, the brief but exciting adventures of Gennie Cooper would soon mirror the ongoing adventure of Mae Winslow.

But first, she had to figure out the puzzle that was dish was.h.i.+ng.

Had Ed been given the moment to do over, he likely would have wished for both eyes to be operational. As it was, Mae caught him unaware, and rather than dispatch him to kingdom come, she hobbled him to be sent there via the good marshal and a st.u.r.dy rope.

The rope he'd used on her, Mae kept as a souvenir, along with the horse the formerly fortunate felon rode in on. Renamed Lucky, the mare became her means of returning to Deadwood and Henry, both of which had found a dear place in her heart.

If only she'd watched where she was going and sent Lucky around the coiled rattler instead of over it.

Gennie awaited Charlotte's return from school with a mixture of antic.i.p.ation and trepidation. The dish was.h.i.+ng proved short yet eventful, and she'd only have to replace a few broken plates to make things right.

In spite of-or perhaps because of-Gennie's skills at dish was.h.i.+ng, Tova stood at the kitchen door, regarding her with what appeared to be great curiosity. "Did the girl return?"

"The girl?" Gennie shook her head. "Do you mean Charlotte? I thought she was at school."

"It just looks like she and not you..." Tova shook her head. "Never mind."

Seizing her opportunity, Gennie let the dishcloth fall to the floor, and smiled. "As you and Elias-that is, Mr. Howe-have said I'm to be at your bidding when Charlotte is in school." She propped up her grin with an enthusiasm she did not feel. "How can I help you?"

"Remove the towel from the floor," Tova said, turning up her nose.

"Fine." Gennie snagged the dishcloth and tossed it onto the table, then pressed past the housekeeper. "If that's all, I'll go find Elias and see if he would like me to do anything for him."

"Wait," Tova commanded.

Gennie turned. "Yes?" she asked, sweet as cream. "Did you think of something?"

"Mr. Beck's study needs a thorough cleaning. Come. I'll show you."

Gennie followed the housekeeper's straight back through a narrow hallway that opened into a foyer of similar size and construction to her family home in Newport. While the Cooper home had been decorated with one of Mama's priceless papers depicting the English countryside, this s.p.a.ce bore no such adornment. What it lost in wall decor, it more than adequately made up in the ornamentation that had been tacked to walls and set on every available s.p.a.ce, like so much gilded debris.

A woman's touch was sorely needed to make what was sadly garish into something grand. Perhaps during her short stay, Gennie might offer some a.s.sistance.

She ducked just in time to miss an oversized statue of what looked like a plucked chicken. Likely the artist had intended a different effect, possibly an ostrich or other exotic bird, but the featherless metal fowl looked exactly like the pompous rooster that populated the servants' chicken yard in Newport.