Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (12 page)

She laughed, listening intently to the older woman across the
table. But she could feel the heat of a man's gaze upon her, and
slowly, methodically moved her eyes across the silk-fringed tapestry tablecloth, past empty silver platters being lifted by uniformed butlers, to his chest, to his shoulders, and finally, his eyes. She let them
rest there a moment, fully taking in for the first time another newcomer to the Springs, Jesse McCourt. An actor, of all things, en route
to Denver, merely stopping for a night to visit a relative among them.
Deliciously talking to the general about bringing his troupe here for
the opening of the opera house.

He was lovely, a man who would fill several slots on her dance
card at home, sporting a strong cleft chin and warm eyes that covered
her with a searching gaze. His chin reminded her of Reid, and just in
time, she looked up and to her left to catch the sheriff laugh at the
end of Queen's story and then smile down on Moira.

It was then that she felt Reid's big hand move under the table
and brush against her thigh. He was looking away from her now, but
his hand pressed, skirted, and then clamped down around her leg.
She froze, aghast at his forward move, and flitted her eyes about the
table, feeling a sudden blush rise from her neck and begin a steady
ascent up her face.

Jesse continued to study her. "General," he said, placing a napkin
on the table as his host had done before him. "It is true you have in
your possession the finest of Cuba's cigars, or is that mere rumor?"

General Palmer laughed and sat back against his massive, handcarved chair, a diminutive king wielding his power. "As ever, Mr.
McCourt, your timing is perfect. Come," he said, lifting a hand in
the air in invitation, "let us retire to gentlemen's quarters and leave the
women to their idle pleasantries."

Reid's hand abruptly left Moira's thigh and she rose in turn,
wondering if his hot fingers had left wrinkles in her teal silk. He rose to follow his host, General Palmer. She eyed Jesse across the table
and gave him the tiniest of nods before the men all headed off as a
group. Moira turned to join Queen, taking her hostess's offered arm
as she led the way to the blue room, the women's group following
the men.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Queen asked.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You appear a bit flushed."

Moira smiled over at her hostess, a small woman. "It must be
all that fine food and drink. It really was amazingly delicious. I don't
know how you can manage to bring all the comforts of the East way
out here in the West. I feel as if I'm in a dream."

Queen smiled. "A princess in her castle? I confess I feel the same.
I thought it a bit much but the general insisted."

"A castle fit for a queen," Moira deferred with a grin and a nod.
"Your king must be sad indeed when you all depart." She thought of
the three small children in stiffly ironed dresses and perfectly curled
hair, paraded through the dining hall by a nursemaid. Later, they had
peeked out from a loft, watching the adults at dinner as if observing a
grand banquet play. They had been led off, all three faces glum, when
their nurse discovered them again and pulled them into the shadows.
It reminded Moira of her and Odessa when they were small, always
wishing, wishing to be big.

"It is not as either of us had envisioned. But the doctors tell me
my heart cannot endure this altitude, and my husband's heart has
belonged to this city since the first day he laid out the streets with
the surveyors."

"I am deeply sorry."

Queen eyed her with one eyebrow lifted and gave her a small
smile. "We make do. the general will sojourn east to visit us. I fear I
shall not return again."

"I hope that does not prove true."

Obviously growing weary of the subject, Queen said, "It is our
understanding that the heirs of St. Clair Press wish to establish a
bookshop here in the Springs."

"Indeed. My father wishes to expand his enterprise, not only
publishing, but selling his wares. Since my sister was to come here for
treatment of consumption, he thought it might occupy my brother
while she convalesced."

"And it sounds as if your brother is in need of ... occupation."

Moira paused, careful to choose her words wisely. "It is always
best for Dominic to be engaged, using his hands as well as his mind.
Give him a hammer, nails, and some wood and he'd have our father's
first bookshop built in a few weeks."

"He sounds like a true pioneer. But why begin from scratch if
there is already something in place to be utilized? The general will
enjoy having a fine bookshop in town," Queen said. "Come. You
must meet Amy Brennan. Her husband owns three square blocks of
land downtown and will aid you."

Moira smiled and squeezed her hostess's arm. "Thank you so
much, Mrs. Palmer." She put a hand on her heart. "That would be
an answer to our prayers."

They swept down the massive hall, then down the wide, cascading stairs edged with stone banisters, turning, then turning again
until they were again in the grand reception hall. One corner of the
wide entry led to the stairs, another to a small front parlor, another to the blue room, and still another to a welcome expanse of solarium
glass and a warm, wood-paneled den with a massive fireplace. A fire
crackled in the hearth already.

The men moved off with a wave and a nod to the women, while
the women turned into a north-facing room lit with a hundred candles. As Queen entered, a woman at the grand piano began playing.
Moira felt quick, hot tears lace her lashes. It was as though she were
truly entering a grand home in Philadelphia-it made her miss all
that she'd left behind. Perhaps she had been wrong about this rough,
unsettled country. Perhaps there really was a place for her here.

"Here, Miss St. Clair, please sit with me and Amy," Queen
directed, depositing her upon a small divan with the plain-looking
woman she had met earlier.

"Mrs. Brennan," Moira said, giving her a warm smile. "I'm afraid
we were seated at opposite ends of the table. Please, tell me all about
yourself How did you come to be one of Colorado's first residents?"

"I've always been a Colorado resident, Miss St. Clair," she said,
eyeing her with the look of a woman on guard. Clearly, she was well
used to the long nose and narrowed eyes of those from the East,
scrutinizing pioneers as some odd specimens.

"You have?" Moira gushed, barely letting a breath escape. "You
can teach me so much! I am desperate to learn about this new land.
It is frightfully beautiful, but a bit overwhelming. Do you ever get
used to it?"

"In time," Mrs. Brennan said drily, thawing just a little bit in
spite of herself.

Moira kept up her efforts. "Please, grant me a bit of wisdom.
What is the most important thing I must remember?"

"Keep the edges of your skirts out of the mud," Mrs. Brennan
said.

Moira laughed as if they were sharing a private jest, choosing
to ignore the patronizing snippet, and Mrs. Brennan relented a bit.
"Mrs. Palmer said that you might be of assistance to me and my
brother."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Queen said, rejoining them on the settee after seeing to
the other women. "Miss St. Clair's brother is seeking retail space
downtown for a bookshop. I think a bookshop would be just the
kind of establishment that the general would like to see, don't you
agree?"

"Indeed," Mrs. Brennan said with a nod, eyebrows raised. Moira
could see she felt caught, like a fly in a spider's web.

"Mr. Brennan has that quaint little shop on Tejon almost complete, does he not?'

"I believe he does."

"Wouldn't that be a good location for a bookshop?"

"I believe it has a tenant already, Queen," Mrs. Brennan said,
shifting now with discomfort.

"Oh," Queen said with a slight pout. "A pity, that. To whom?"

"A merchant of dry goods."

"Hmm. Another merchant of dry goods." She let the comment
sit for several moments.

"Of course, I could speak to Mr. Brennan about returning the
merchant's funds and selling him another plot."

Queen brightened and reached across to place a hand on Mrs.
Brennan's arm. Moira noted the large ruby and emeralds that she wore across her short, stubby fingers, felt the visceral pull and might
of the woman, and knew she was watching the skilled efforts of a
mentor. "That is a fine idea, Amy! A fine idea. I always say you are
one of the most clever of my friends here in Colorado. The general
will be most pleased."

"You saw him hand off two envelopes to Bryce McAllan?" the man
asked.

A shorter man nodded. "Day of the funeral. At the grave site."

"You think it's related to O'Toole calling him in?"

"Hard to consider many other options."

The first man paced, chin in hand. "You certain it's worth
pursuit?"

The second man shrugged. "All I know is that O'Toole brought
in the highest-grade ore the county assessor had ever seen."

The taller man nodded. "We have O'Toole's signature. We can
get to the mine. It'll be ours before months end."

"Unless he willed the mine to McAllan."

"Has McAllan laid claim to it?"

"Not yet. But he's not exactly in miner condition."

"No matter. While he's laid up, we'll just see if it's as good as the
rumors say it might be."

"Only one problem."

"What's that?"

"O'Toole apparently hid the entrance."

"That's impossible."

"Maybe, maybe not. He didn't mine much of the ore. Consumption made him too poorly. And that creek runs the full
length of his property. All five miles of it."

"Five miles!"

"Five miles, winding tighter than a rattler under a rock."

The taller man began pacing again. "Head down now. See if you
can find the entrance. Maybe it's not as difficult as they say."

"And if it is?"

"Maybe McAllan holds the keys." The two shared a meaningful
look, and the taller man moved to the door. He was stopped by the
other. "And when he returns, see if you can persuade the honorable
esquire to tell you what those envelopes contained." He slid open a
drawer, withdrew a pouch of coins, and tossed them to the other.
"There. That ought to prove persuasive enough."

"You sing?" Queen Palmer asked, moving her head closer to speak in
a tone barely discernible above Amy Brennan's soprano.

"Me? A bit," Moira deferred. "Forgive me. I was humming,
wasn't I?"

Queen nodded, her brown eyes searching Moiras.

"It is a favorite of mine, this song. I could not help myself."

"Then you shall sing the next." Queen patted her arm.

"Oh, I cannot. I did not bring any music with me."

"Pay it no heed. My pianist knows all the best. Opera, hymns,
folk tunes," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Moiras heart beat a bit faster. Opera? Hymns? Folk tunes? She
studied the woman at the piano with renewed interest and tried not
to cringe when Amy sang a flat when a sharp should have been met.

Reid had told her that Queen once sang opera, but had been forbidden to take on any duty remotely strenuous following the frightening
episode with her heart.

The ladies applauded as Amy completed her song. Moira could
hear the gentlemen down the hall laughing uproariously, their laughter fading like fog under sun.

Queen rose. "Thank you so very much, Amy. Would anyone
else favor us with a song? Or a bit of drama?" She looked about,
but no one rose to her invitation. "No? Then I must invite our
newest companion, Moira St. Clair, to come and share her music
with us."

Moira paused, deferential, poised, waiting for just the right
second to rise and join her hostess. Her mind cascaded through the
potential songs she might sing, dismissing one as too ostentatious,
another as too vain. Amy had just sung opera, and it would be dangerous to set up a comparison, so she would select something less
vaunted. She needed these people, every one of them, as her friends.
It was then that it came to her.