All in Good Time (16 page)

It was on the tip of her tongue to agree. It would have been so
easy. But an image of the sugar-tongued Bennet Pierson rose to an unlikely rescue.

“No, Mr. Foster. I’m afraid I cannot go.” Dessa took hold of the doorknob nearby, grateful that it was cool to the touch. She nearly leaned her forehead against the door itself. “I’m very grateful for your help today, and if you would be so kind as to send someone to repair the window, please tell them I’ll provide a very pleasant meal in return. I haven’t any money to pay for the glass, but I’m a good cook and would count the service as a great favor.”

Mr. Foster turned to the door. “Then I shall accompany my man for the job and share the meal as well.” He winked at her. “One way or another, Miss Caldwell, I intend to enjoy your company.”

He tipped his hat in farewell and saw himself out the door.

Closing it behind him, Dessa leaned against the solid wood and folded her arms against herself. It had been a long time since a man had paid her any attention; she’d nearly forgotten what it was like.

It wasn’t only that she hadn’t allowed the time to get to know any of the men she’d met across the country; she’d been inspired by Sophie.

Sophie had never once let a man turn her head. She’d been far too sensible, and more importantly, entirely dependent upon God and His direction. She’d never expressed a void in her life for not having been loved by a man. She was, instead, loved by the many she helped.

And Dessa meant to be just like Sophie. Charming as Mr. Foster might be, she must never forget that she’d once been so desperate for the admiration of a man that she’d freely given away what the women in this neighborhood sold for a fee.

17

“SO YOU’LL COME,
won’t you?” Dessa asked Mariadela. After Mr. Foster had left, after Rye had been given first a sandwich and then the promised cookie, Dessa had nearly run all the way to White’s Mercantile in search of her friend’s advice. She would stop at the market on the way home for what she would need for dinner guests—Mr. Foster and his glass man, and Mariadela and William, too, if they could both get away.

But Mariadela was already shaking her head. “We have a buyer coming this afternoon from Cheyenne and a salesman due to arrive any minute all the way from Chicago. I must be here for both. The order from Cheyenne is important, and the salesman from Chicago is bringing sewing samples. William depends on me to know what we need in such matters.” She frowned. “Why do you think you need me there, anyway? Jane is with you now; you won’t be alone.”

Dessa sighed, looking momentarily at the ceiling but seeing right through it all the way to heaven. How could she explain that Turk Foster reminded her of her greatest failure? One that had very nearly ruined her life? “You know Mr. Foster—”

Mariadela shook her head again. “I know
of
Mr. Foster. I don’t know him personally.”

“That’s more than I know! Mr. Hawkins told me I’d have little in common with the man’s interests. And believe me, from the few minutes I spent in his company, I think I already know the kind of man he is.”

“What kind of man is he?”

“One who knows how to get a reaction out of someone else—particularly a woman.”

Mariadela’s brows shot upward. “Don’t tell me he got a reaction out of
you
!”

Dessa looked around to be sure neither William nor any of their children were nearby, then whispered, “Tell me, Mariadela: What would you do if a handsome man made you feel as if you were the only woman in the world?”

“And that’s how he made you feel?”

“Let me just say I know that’s what he’s capable of making a woman feel.” Unlike a certain banker who might be every bit as handsome, only he made her feel as though he’d rather be with anyone except her.

Mariadela grinned. “If it’s Mr. Hawkins who warned you about him, then why don’t you go to him for help? Invite him to tonight’s supper.”

“Oh, Mariadela,” she said, exasperated.

Her friend patted her hand. “I wish I could help you, honey. But I just can’t get away. The best I can do is to try to stop by afterward. You can make it clear that I hope to join you for dessert. Would that help?”

Dessa nodded slowly, though she wasn’t at all sure. This was, she knew, ridiculous. She’d learned her lesson, hadn’t she?

Bennet Pierson was the only male heir to the Pierson name and money—and as smooth-talking a man as Turk Foster. Bennet had gone through one maid after another, even after his marriage. When it had been Dessa’s turn—just after she’d reached seventeen—she’d been foolish enough to welcome his attention. He was not only older, wiser, and handsome; he was so important, so respected. And he’d chosen
her
! A girl of no means, an orphan.
She couldn’t deny dreaming that she would last longer than the others, if she ever had a chance.

It had only taken one time for Dessa to realize she’d been as much a fool as the others who’d believed themselves to be special recipients of his attention.

Thankfully, Sophie had learned what happened and rescued Dessa from ruin by taking her along on her travels. As Sophie used to say, it was God who had rescued Dessa, since He’d inspired the mission to help women in need. Given Dessa’s experience in the Pierson family’s employ, as well as in the orphanage, she had been the perfect choice to understand some of the girls they would encounter.

But this was neither the time nor the place to tell all that to Mariadela. Perhaps the memory of Bennet Pierson was all Dessa needed to remind her how shallow were the promises of some men.

Even so, when her favorite market stop took her within a few blocks of Hawkins National Bank, she couldn’t help going out of her way to pass by. Without conscious effort, her steps slowed. Perhaps she’d overreacted to Turk Foster’s visit. Had it only been Mr. Hawkins’s warning that made her so wary of Mr. Foster? And what did it matter what Mr. Hawkins thought, anyway?

It didn’t, of course. And yet Mr. Hawkins was the kind of man she knew she could trust, even if he’d never offered her more than disapproval over both her mission and how she’d spent his bank’s money. He was an honest man, if a bit curmudgeonly.

She had half a mind to go in there and invite him to dinner, just as Mariadela had suggested.

Yet she knew she would not. She kept walking, the grip on her market basket all the tighter. She was no longer that young, naive girl Bennet Pierson had taken advantage of. She could take care of herself—and she would.

Henry, at one of the tellers’ cages to oversee a rather large withdrawal, spotted Miss Caldwell on the sidewalk outside, slowing in front of the bank. He lost count of the money in his palm. Would she come in?

But then she continued at a faster pace than before. Surely this street wasn’t on her normal route for errands. Had she intended to come inside but changed her mind? Why? And why would she have wanted to come here in the first place?

He nearly dropped the money he was distributing to go out after her.

But instead, knowing not only his duty but that such an action would have been hard to explain—a banker chasing down a woman on the street?—he went on with his business, just as he always did.

Perhaps, though, he would have Fallo take him home by way of Pierson House this evening. It was several blocks out of the way, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so.

It didn’t take the glazier long to install a new pane of glass, and when he neared finishing, Dessa went to the kitchen to check on the last-minute preparations for dinner. Duckling, new potatoes, peas in turnip cups, and dinner rolls she had made yesterday. For dessert, she would serve a silver cake that was just like a golden one except she’d siphoned off the egg yolks—which she would use tomorrow for a vanilla pudding recipe.

The duckling only needed to cool a few minutes before she could slice it and serve dinner. After asking Jane to fill the glasses with water, Dessa made her way back outside.

Although the glazier had told her he came at Mr. Foster’s request, Mr. Foster himself had not yet arrived. Dessa wondered if
she would be relieved or disappointed if she had only the friendly, middle-aged glazier to share her dinner. She should definitely be relieved . . . and yet, she wasn’t entirely sure that was all she felt.

However, when she arrived outside to let the glazier know his promised dinner would be served as soon as he was ready, she saw that he and his wagon were already gone.

In the wagon’s spot was a fancier carriage, the same one she’d seen earlier that day. Mr. Foster’s. She knew because it was pulled by a pair of shiny black horses with long and thick matching manes—a uniquely attractive pair.

Mr. Foster was just alighting.

“That’s what I like,” he said with a broad smile, “a woman so eager to see her guest that she comes out to the curb to meet him. As long as I am that guest, of course.”

Dessa looked around. “Your glazier must have just left. I was about to tell him dinner is ready.”

Mr. Foster gently took her arm and looped it through one of his, leading her toward the Pierson House porch. “He’s been well compensated, I assure you. But he has a family waiting at home and a wife who would rather he ate dinner only at her table. You understand, of course. This neighborhood has a way of making a woman want to see her man at home, if you know what I mean.”

Dessa nodded, though she couldn’t deny feeling her pulse speed. It was certainly a reasonable excuse, one she hadn’t considered. “I should have extended the invitation to her as well, then. Perhaps she would have enjoyed having someone else cook for both of them.”

“No need to worry. Today’s job brought him a nice little bonus, and my compliments.” He glanced to the repaired window. “Is the work to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t look at the window. She looked down the street instead, wondering if the glazier was close
enough to hail back. She could ask him to return with his wife. Certainly she could keep the duck warm in the oven. . . .

But instead of seeing the wagon, Dessa spotted another familiar carriage turning onto the street. Surely that was Mr. Hawkins’s coachman atop that black lacquered clarence? What in the world had brought him into this neighborhood?

She smiled to herself. Perhaps it wasn’t anything in this world at all.

“Oh, Mr. Foster, you’ll excuse me, won’t you? I believe we have another guest for dinner after all—one of the parties responsible for helping me to open Pierson House.”

Mr. Foster’s gaze followed the direction of hers, though she noticed his scarred brow—the only apparent flaw on his otherwise handsome face—pulled downward into a frown.

She offered a contrasting smile. “Perhaps it’s fortuitous that your glazier couldn’t stay. We have just the right number of plates already at the table.”

“Indeed.”

Henry looked down the street as his carriage turned the corner. If all appeared normal at Pierson House, he wouldn’t instruct Fallo to stop. How could he? How would he possibly explain a visit? He’d made it clear from the start that he had no real interest in Miss Caldwell or her mission. Stopping by for a neighborly visit was something Tobias would do. Not Henry.

But Henry knew why he’d had his driver go this way and despised himself for his weakness. He simply wanted to see Dessa Caldwell; he’d be a fool to deny how often she came to mind. Seeing her hesitate in front of his bank today had dismantled any power to resist driving by.

It did no good to tell himself men with a past did not pursue
polite women who were looking for honesty and a sound reputation in the men they might consider fit to share a future with. His reputation, his fortune, his banking institution were all built upon a foundation of glass. One whisper about how it all began would see it shattered.

Glancing out, the first thing that caught his eye was the carriage stopped in front of Pierson House: a black barouche with the hood drawn over the top, along with a pair of matched Friesians. If the carriage itself wasn’t identifiable, the horses were. Turk Foster was known to ride one of those long-maned horses throughout the city—rumor had it that was how he’d seduced more than a few young women. They’d been attracted first to his horse.

Henry’s jaw tensed. What was Foster doing at Pierson House? Chasing after a runaway girl from his dance hall, or looking for a new recruit?

Abandoning all thoughts of driving on, Henry tapped his walking stick on the roof of his carriage and Fallo slowed behind Foster’s barouche.

“Why, Mr. Hawkins, how nice to see you!”

At the unexpected hail, Henry’s driver stopped altogether. Henry hadn’t seen Dessa Caldwell on the other side of Foster’s carriage until now, but as he hurried to exit his own coach, his gaze fell briefly—disapprovingly—on the man behind her.

Henry tipped his hat. “Good evening, Miss Caldwell. I . . . trust all is well with the sign I hung the other day?” He forced himself to look beyond her to the shingle still affixed to the house. “It’s been some time since I trusted my handiwork and had my man drive us by to be sure it was still in place.”