Before the Dawn (5 page)

Leah nodded frostily. “Mr. Waters is more than welcome.”

“How about me? Am I welcome, too?”

Leah surveyed his too-handsome countenance. She'd willingly bet that when he chose to do so he could make a woman melt like ice on a hot day. “Yes, you are, but you'll have to leave your animosity at the door.”

“It's well-founded.”

She didn't begrudge him his anger; he'd borne the pain, she hadn't, but she refused to be savaged in Monty's stead. “I don't doubt that, but it serves no purpose here.”

There was no doubt in Ryder's mind that she'd married Louis Montague to get his money. For all her prim speech and clothing, her sensual aura was strong. Any initial misgivings Louis might have had about succumbing to her charms had undoubtedly faded the moment he took her in his arms. She was as alluring as a dark-skinned siren at midnight; that mouth alone could have commanded a fortune. Her slim lines seemed to emphasize the generous flare of her hips and the lovely swell of her bosom. He knew very few men who'd walk away from such a tempting piece, and Louis Montague had never walked away from a beautiful woman in his life.

Leah wondered what he might be thinking but decided it didn't matter. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes.”

He closed the door behind him.

Her jaw tightened.

He crossed his arms. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Why? You've already decided who I am.”

“And who might that be?”

“A simple, predatory adventuress.”

He shrugged the magnificent shoulders. “Adventuress, yes. Simple, no. From what I know of Louis, he wouldn't have left his money to a simple woman.”

“On that we agree.”

By the Spirits, she was beautiful, Ryder thought to himself. His half brother, Seth, would undoubtedly try to bed her as soon as the formal introductions were over, stepmother or not.

Leah had no intentions of telling him her life story. A man that arrogant wouldn't believe the truth anyway. She also guessed if he knew she'd married Monty on his deathbed, he'd move heaven and earth to keep the estate out her hands in spite of Judge Raddock. “So, do you need to stay here with us until we reach Denver or not?”

“No.”

Leah thought that a blessing.

“You look relieved,” he replied bluntly.

Her reply was equally as blunt. “I am. I don't want to spend the rest of the journey verbally defending myself.”

“You seem to be holding your own.”

“Compliments now?”

“More truth.”

They silently evaluated each other.

Leah wanted him gone. “Is there anything else?”

“No, not at the moment.”

“Then, as I said, Mr. Waters is in the smoking car.”

Ryder inclined his head, turned and exited.

Leah growled at the closed door.

 

That evening, Leah shared dinner with Cecil and Sam. She had a grand time listening and laughing at their stories. Nobody mentioned Ryder Damien, and that made it grander.

Leah, Sam, and Cecil spent the balance of the trip playing cards, backgammon, and enjoying each other's company. Leah was especially glad to have Sam along because his friendliness toward Cecil seemed to have helped ease Cecil's pain over losing Monty. Ryder Damien stayed away from their little group, and that suited Leah just fine.

When the train finally reached Denver, the travel-weary Leah looked forward to walking around on terra firma. Denver turned out to be a surprisingly robust town. She'd expected it to be quiet and small, instead it was as busy as any big city back East. The depot was noisy with people, vendors hawking their wares, and the sounds of train whistles and engines. As she stood on the windy platform waiting for Cecil to retrieve their trunks, the cold gray day made her shiver inside her thick black cloak. After the monoto
nous sameness of the plains, she thought the mountains would be an exhilarating sight, but they were as gray as the day. The rugged peaks resembled dour, almost disapproving faces.

Sam, trunks in hand, came over to say good-bye. “Be seeing you around, Mrs. Montague. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, Sam.”

“Remember what I said about calling on me if you need anything.”

“I'll remember. Thanks for the company.”

“My pleasure. I already said good-bye to Cecil. He'll be along directly. Do you want me to wait here with you until he gets back?”

Leah was pleased by his generosity. “No, that won't be necessary. I should be okay. Besides, Mr. Damien's waiting for you. I don't want him any angrier at me than he is already.”

Sam looked over at the tight-lipped Ryder standing and waiting just a few feet away. “He'll come around. You'll see.”

Leah didn't want him to come around; she didn't want anything from Monty's bitter youngest son.

Sam departed with a wave.

While the hustle and bustle of the depot swirled around her, Leah patiently waited for Cecil's return.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Leah turned in response to the male voice and found herself staring into the watery brown eyes of a sad-faced, skinny little White man in an ill-fitting brown suit. Beside him stood the conductor. The pleased look on the conductor's face should have warned her.

“You Mrs. Leah Montague?”

Leah answered warily. “Yes.”

“Got a summons for you.”

A confused Leah took the document from his outstretched hand. She opened the seal and her heart stopped. She was being sued!

The server said then, “Be at the Denver courthouse at nine tomorrow.”

“But what is this about?” she demanded.

The little man shrugged. “They just pay me to deliver. You'll find out tomorrow, I reckon.”

The conductor looked so pleased with himself Leah wanted to punch him. “Thank you,” she told the process server frostily, then turned her back.

Once they were gone, her eyes frantically searched the platform for Cecil. She saw him a ways off accompanied by a porter pushing their trunks on a cart and hastened to meet them.

Cecil must've seen the distress in her face because he asked, “Leah, what's wrong?”

She handed him the summons. He scanned it and then raised his widened spectacle-aided eyes back to her. “Where'd you get this?”

“Process server. He must've been waiting for the train because the conductor brought him over to me. What is this about, Cecil?”

“I've no idea, but someone is challenging your right to inherit the estate.”

He looked as stunned as Leah. Cecil took a moment to reach into his pocket and extract a tip for the still-waiting porter. The man nodded and departed.

“Could it be his other son, or some long lost relative?”

Cecil seemed at a loss for further words.

Leah had a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling. “I don't like this.”

“Neither do I. Once we secure a room, we'll see what we can learn.”

The elderly Black driver of the hack they hired ferried them and their luggage into the city. Once again she was struck by how well built Denver appeared to be. The street they were traveling down was choked with vehicles of every kind. Because of the slow pace she had an opportunity to view all the glass-windowed stores, the fancy hotels, the sturdy plank walks, and the fashionably dressed people of all races going about their day. The city even had a streetcar system.

As their journey continued, the traffic thinned and the area became less impressive. The big buildings and glass windows gave way to an area of saloons, small clapboard houses, and stores that appeared to serve a different segment of the population.

“This is our side of town,” the driver confirmed. “You folks got a preference for where you want to stay?”

“Where would you suggest?” Cecil asked. “I haven't lived here in thirty years.”

“Right here,” the driver declared as he brought his ancient mule and buggy to a halt. They were in front of a large ominous-looking place that stood like a sentinel amongst the smaller houses nearby. The weathered two-story Victorian house with its faded green paint, gables, and cornices reminded her of the mountains—grim, imposing, bleak.

The driver said, “This here is the best Denver has to offer. Lady named Miss Helene owns it. She looks down her nose at most folks, but she runs a decent place.”

Cecil seemed to have turned to stone.

Concerned, Leah asked, “For heaven's sake, what's the matter?”

Cecil didn't reply. He instead asked the driver, “What's her full name?”

“Helene Sejours. Been here a long time I'm told. Fancy Creole woman.”

Cecil looked to Leah, and said, “This is the house Louis built for his wife, Bernice. I never imagined it would be still standing.”

Leah's eyes swept the foreboding-looking place once again. That same odd chill she'd felt before crept over her skin.

Cecil explained further. “Helene Sejours is the sister of Bernice.”

Leah could just imagine how the woman might react to having Monty's new wife under her roof. “Maybe we should stay somewhere else, Cecil.”

“We'll stay here,” Cecil replied as if he'd made some type of decision.

Leah didn't like the idea. “Cecil, I don't think—”

He cut her off. “It'll be fine.”

Leah didn't believe it for a minute but followed him out of the carriage and up the walk to the door.

Their knock was answered by a suspicious-eyed, light-skinned woman, who appeared to be in her mid-fifties. She wore the black dress and white apron of a servant. Her silver-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a severe bun. “May I help you?”

“We're in need of a room,” Cecil answered.

The woman looked them up and down. Her eyes settled on Cecil's face, and she asked, “Aren't you Cecil Lee?”

Cecil didn't deny it. “Yes.”

“Do you remember me?” she asked coolly.

Cecil shook his head. “No, I'm sorry I don't.”

Her reply was frosty. “I'm Mable France. I'll get Miss Helene. Wait here.”

Leah wondered why the woman thought Cecil should remember her. This was not going to be a pleasant stay. The specter of tomorrow's court summons played on the edges of her mind, but she refused to think about it now.

Mable France returned accompanied by a woman
whose true features were hidden beneath a thick dusting of white face powder. It was impossible to tell her age, but if she were using the powder to highlight her youth, she'd failed. She was taller than most women. Her green gown looked as weathered and old as the house. “So, you've returned,” she said to Cecil.

Cecil replied emotionlessly, “I'm here to settle Louis's affairs, nothing more. The driver said you have rooms to let.”

“I do.”

She then turned her eyes to Leah. “Who's this?”

“Louis's widow, Leah.”

The woman couldn't hide her surprise. She looked Leah up and down as critically as Mrs. France had done. “What is she, all of twenty-five?”

Leah told her coldly, “No, I'm thirty-two.”

“So old? What was Louis, sixty? You must've been quite a comfort to him in his final days.”

Leah's chin rose angrily, but she didn't respond.

Cecil asked crisply, “Do you have rooms or not, Helene?”

“Oh, I have rooms. Poverty dictates that I open my sister's home to anyone with the coin to pay.”

The blue eyes staring at Leah were frosty. “Seven dollars a week. Six more if you want meals.”

“That's fair,” Cecil allowed.

“Mrs. France will show you up.”

After giving Leah one last look of dislike, Helene Sejours turned and disappeared back into the house.

“This way,” Mrs. France told them.

The interior of the house was dimly lit and literally choked with furniture. Fat, overstuffed, fringed chairs and settees competed for space with fringed lamps, short ornate tables, and large footstools. The burgundy-velvet furniture and the matching fringed drapes had probably been fine and costly once, but were now shiny and faded by time.

Leah and Cecil followed Mrs. France up a short staircase to the house's second floor. She opened one of the doors, then turned to Leah. “This one's yours. Mr. Lee's down the hall.”

Leah stepped into the small room and looked around. Its two windows offered an unhindered view of the trees and bleak gray mountains off in the distance. The brisk air rivaled outdoors.

Mrs. France offered, “I'll bring up some wood for the grate. This room's rarely used.”

“That would be appreciated,” Leah responded, trying not to shiver visibly.

The bed appeared comfortable enough and was covered by a heavy navy quilt. The bureau and a small dressing table with a vanity mirror were the only other pieces of furniture.

“Are there any other tenants here?” Leah asked.

“No. Facilities are down the hall. I don't carry water, so if you want a bath, heat it yourself.”

Leah wondered if the place's lack of tenants could be traced to Mrs. France's unfriendly attitude. She also wondered if they were being treated this way because Cecil didn't recall ever meeting her before, or if the housekeeper was always this brusque.

While Mrs. France showed Cecil to his room, the driver carried in Leah's trunks and set them by the door. He couldn't manage it all in one trip, so it took two. After he did the same for Cecil's things, Cecil paid the man, and he departed with a smile.

“Dinner's in an hour,” Mrs. France announced. That said, she headed back down the hall to the stairs.

Leah shared a silent look with Cecil, who shook his head, and said, “The sooner we get away from here, the happier I'll be.”

“I feel the same way. So do I really have to go to court tomorrow?”

“Yes. We need to find out what this is about.”

“Do you think Mrs. Sejours might know?”