Deeply Devoted (19 page)

Catharine stepped away from his grasp and whacked him playfully on the arm with her fan. “I think not. Nothing you could say could keep me from the play tonight.”

“I bet I can change your mind . . .”

A rustle of silk and the flurry of footsteps descending the staircase thwarted Peter’s teasing. Greta and Anna stepped into view, and Peter said, “My, my, but don’t we all look so elegant and grown-up. Quite a switch from the calicos and brogans. Guess I’ll have to play the knight in shining armor to keep the men away.”

The sisters giggled and Catharine remarked with a smile, “You’re already my knight, Peter.”

“Let’s cut the sweet talk, you two, or we’ll be late,” Greta teased.

Anna gave a quick curtsy. “Do you think I look older now?”

Catharine laughed and winked at Greta over Anna’s head. “Indeed you do. Why, I hardly recognized you with your hair curled!”

Greta was wearing the pretty blue gown that she’d charged to Peter’s account, and Anna wore a mint-green gown with velvet bows on the skirt that lifted the frothy material in peaks all around the hemline.

“You two are beautiful!” Tears sprang to Catharine’s eyes. “I have the loveliest of sisters, don’t you think, Peter?”

“Absolutely!” Peter laughed. “But I think we’ve stood here admiring one another long enough.” He opened the front door, offered his elbow to Catharine, and escorted her to the waiting surrey. Peter had spent the afternoon polishing the surrey used for special occasions, cleaning it until it shone like a new penny. Catharine was impressed at the great lengths he’d gone to in order to make the evening perfect for all of them.

Moments later they were all settled and off on an adventure to Cheyenne, their laughter and chatter spilling out across the yard. Catharine couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen this much excitement on her sisters’ faces.
They’ve needed this outing
. She felt a twinge of regret that they had had to leave the city life of Amsterdam behind. Not so much for her but for her sisters.

Cheyenne, or Magic City, aptly nicknamed by a newspaper journalist because of its rapid growth, boasted the finest opera house in the West, Peter told her, and Catharine was in total agreement. An air of excitement filled the streets as carriages and people on foot lined up in front of the impressive building. Peter lined his carriage up with the rest of those arriving, then assisted the ladies down, being careful not to catch their gowns in the carriage door or wheels.

Catharine and Peter headed toward the huge double doors with Greta and Anna following. Dorothy was waiting inside, dressed in a deep ruby gown of silk and lace, and looked lovelier than ever.

“So wonderful to see you all again.” Dorothy hurried over, passing a handful of tickets to Peter. “Our seats are up in the balcony. I think we’re going to really enjoy this performance.” Then before Catharine or Peter could answer, she turned to Greta. “I hear birthday greetings are in order for you.”

“
Dank U wel
. My birthday is next week, but this is a gift from Peter.”

“I appreciate you getting the tickets for us, Dorothy. Look there, I see Francis and Helen Warren.” Peter waved to them from across the room and they smiled back, then continued into the theater to locate their seats.

“Goodness! This place is spectacular!” Anna looked around the hall in amazement.

“Yes, it is. I’m on the Cheyenne Opera Committee,” Dorothy said. “The opera house holds 860 people.”

“That’s a lot of folks,” Greta acknowledged.

Peter took Catharine’s arm with one of his and Dorothy’s with the other. “Follow me, ladies,” he said to Greta and Anna.

Catharine took in the gas lighting throughout the vast foyer, where a fifty-two-light chandelier hung from the ceiling. A gas reflector above illuminated every corner of the auditorium. “So beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” Greta said. “Even the railings have upholstery. I’m impressed.”

“There’s a large banquet hall for refreshments on the second floor too,” Dorothy added.

Catharine was in awe of the rich, carved woodwork that gleamed from the soft glow of gaslights and the three large cathedral windows at the back of the balcony. The hundreds of colored glass panes were impressive. Her gaze traveled up the grand stairway to the balcony. “Is that where our seats are?” she asked Peter.

“Yes, my sweet. We’ll have a grand view from there. Shall we go find our seats?”

“I think we should,” Dorothy said with a nod. “Later, at intermission, we can have refreshments.”

That sounded good to Catharine since she was already hungry. She’d been a little too excited to spend much time in the kitchen for supper, and now she regretted not eating more.

Once they were seated, Greta remarked at the perfect view of the stage. “I like it up here. I can watch everyone below before the shows starts.”

“There are many truly magnificent gowns being worn tonight,” Dorothy whispered. She sat on the other side of Peter and Greta, with Anna occupying the seat on Catharine’s left.

Catharine wasn’t sure how to respond to Dorothy, and she’d felt miffed that Peter would extend his arm to her as well. Maybe he was just being a gentleman. But my, he looked so handsome, and she’d seen the way Dorothy glanced at him from time to time. Was she thinking it could have been her who had wed him?

Catharine felt foolish with this kind of thinking. Dorothy had been nothing but friendly to her. Perhaps all the unkind thoughts had been placed there by Clara’s mother at their wedding.
Well, I’m going to sit back and enjoy my evening, because I know tomorrow I’ll be the one by Peter’s side. I’ll choose to remember this special outing with my husband.

Peter held her hand and pointed out the arched stage supported by Corinthian-Doric columns, and an elaborate curtain covered with a portrayal of Roman chariot races. She knew he was proud to have brought them to the opera.

Soon the curtains were drawn, and for the next hour or so, Catharine settled back with nothing but rapt attention at Sarah Bernhardt’s acting.

Intermission came quickly, Peter thought. The play was a good distraction from his earlier worries, and from the looks on the ladies’ faces, they felt much the same way. He rose from his seat to suggest refreshments when suddenly he spotted his mother in the crowd below, being assisted down the aisle by an attentive gentleman. His mother had a big smile on her face and was dressed to the nines, and he had to admit she looked wonderful.
Could this be
. . .
please, don’t let it be
. . .
the private investigator she hired?
Hopefully he could avoid a confrontation tonight.

“Shall we go have a glass of lemonade in the banquet hall?” Peter asked, turning back to his party.

“Wonderful suggestion, Peter. I’ll lead the way,” Dorothy said, getting up from her seat.

“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more. This is such a treat for us, Peter.” Catharine smiled at him.

Peter thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right at this moment. Well . . . maybe that wonderful night they’d spent in the city. His heart rate increased when he thought about it. He swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise up his neck. “I’m so glad you’re having a good time. That’s why we’re here. Everyone needs some fun to look forward to.”

Anna stood on tiptoe to reach Peter and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you so much!”

Peter was flustered. “Well . . . goodness, you’re welcome.”

“We’d better hurry,” Dorothy urged. “Intermission is not long and I’m sure there’ll be a line.”

They joined the throng of people and headed for the banquet hall, where refreshments were being served. No sooner had they walked in than Peter saw his mother with a glass of lemonade in her hand. When she spotted him, she waved.

Peter groaned. He couldn’t avoid speaking to them. “Catharine, I see Mother with a friend. We should go over and say hello.”

“Of course, Peter.” She dipped her head in agreement.

“You all go ahead and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I see someone I want to talk to.” Dorothy slipped away from their group.

“Peter, what a nice surprise to see you,” Clara gushed as they walked closer. She greeted Catharine and her sisters. “Greta, I see we meet again. How’s that nice soldier boy you were with?”

Greta’s eyes shifted to Peter, then met Clara’s gaze. “I believe he’s just fine.”

“Pity he couldn’t escort you tonight.” Clara turned to her escort. “This is Mac Foster, a very dear friend,” she said, her face coloring. “Mac, this is my son Peter and his wife Catharine, and her sister Anna. You met Greta at the Tivoli.”

Mac bowed slightly and squeezed Catharine’s hand. “You never told me how beautiful Dutch women were.” He winked at Catharine, then shook hands with Peter. “I’m glad to have finally met you. Your mother is extremely fond of you, but I’m sure you know that.”

Peter responded with a hello but couldn’t help thinking what a smooth talker Mac was. He appeared to be around his mother’s age, with a dusting of gray at his temples and intense eyes. He could tell by his mother’s expression that she really fancied Mac. Did she imagine herself in love with him? Peter was shocked at the thought, but the look on his mother’s face said a lot. Why shouldn’t she seek male companionship? She’d been a widow for years, but somehow Peter had never given it much thought. Of course she was lonely. And with Mac’s arm encircling Clara’s waist, it looked like they’d built a close friendship.

“You must come back and have dinner with us again sometime, Mrs. Andersen,” Catharine said.

“We’ll see,” was all she said, then engaged Anna in conversation about her plans for high school.

“Mac, why don’t you and I get these ladies some refreshments? I see you’ve already had yours.” Peter indicated the empty glass in Mac’s hand. “There’s only ten minutes before curtain.” Mac acquiesced and Peter steered him toward the huge counter for their drinks.

“Mac,” Peter said as soon as they were out of earshot, “I know all about my mother hiring you to get my wife’s past history. I want to know if there’s any proof to what she told me.” Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, and his jaw twitched.

“You like to get right to the point, don’t you?” Mac chuckled. “Since you’re Clara’s son, I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

“I prefer not to waste my time. I don’t want you to take advantage of my mother.”

Mac drew his shoulders back and frowned. “Now what’s that supposed to mean? I was hired to investigate your wife, like any other client.”

“I’m well aware of that. And that’s just my point. Have you uncovered anything about Catharine?”

Mac leveled a gaze at him. “First of all, your mother can take care of herself. Second, I don’t discuss my business with anyone but the person who hired me, and that’s your mother. It’s her business to discuss it with you if she so chooses.” He lifted two glasses from the counter. “You have a very beautiful wife, Peter. I’d be more concerned with keeping her if I were you. Someone could snatch her up. Now, if you don’t mind, this conversation is over.”

Peter touched Mac’s sleeve. Without batting an eye, he said, “If that’s a threat, that will never happen with Catharine. We’re very happy. And just so you know, I don’t really trust you or your methods with my mother.” Peter lifted two glasses and spun around to rejoin the waiting ladies. He tried to quell the anger boiling inside. Mac was trouble—Peter smelled it.

The Cristinis had joined the small group, and Angelina walked toward Peter and gave him a kiss on the cheek in greeting. “I know that look, Peter. Is everything okay?” she whispered.

“Nothing that I can’t handle. I didn’t know you and Mario would be here tonight.”

“We wouldn’t miss it! Who is that man standing over there with your mother?”

Peter watched as Mac handed drinks to Greta and Anna and suddenly remembered that he held Catharine’s drink. He strolled toward her with Angelina following. “That’s Mac, Mother’s . . . er . . . friend.” He said hello to Mario, ignoring Angelina’s look of surprise.

Grateful for the bell signaling that intermission was over, Peter gulped down his lemonade and they all hurried back to their seats.

For the rest of the play, a young understudy by the name of Maggie O’Neal delighted the audience with her perfectly delivered lines and performance, but Peter had a hard time concentrating, thanks to his exchange with Mac. It was a hard fact to swallow that his mother, Clara Andersen, was seemingly taken by Mac.

Catharine leaned over and whispered, “Anything the matter, Peter?”

He patted her hand and said, “Everything’s fine, dear.” He could tell that somehow she knew he wasn’t being truthful.

On the ride home, the chatting from the females was a delightful sound to Peter’s ear and a great change from his former life. He shoved his negative thoughts about Mac to the recesses of his mind. He had a hard time seeing Mac and his mother together, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He listened to the conversation flowing around him.

“I declare, Maggie O’Neal is going to be quite a performer,” Greta said.

“Maybe so, but she’s no Sarah Bernhardt. She’s the ultimate actress,” Catharine said, snuggling close to Peter’s side.

Anna chimed in, “But you have to admit she has a way about her, and such striking features. I liked her even in a minor role.” She yawned. “I’m so sleepy.”

Greta patted her legs. “Come, put your head on my lap, my little peep.” That’s all it took for Anna, who settled in for the rest of the way home.

With Catharine’s body tucked close to his side, a warm sensation flooded Peter’s chest. But he was still alarmed by the comment Mac had made about Catharine being a beautiful woman who could be taken from him. He wasn’t sure what Mac had meant by that.
He’s just all talk. I wonder what Mother sees in him.
Other than a means to an end.

An end that might harm his relationship with Catharine.

Clara invited Mac in for coffee after the play, and they were hardly in the door before he grabbed her and planted a kiss on her lips. “You look good enough to eat. I’ve thought about your kisses all through the play tonight, Clara.” His breathing was ragged, and he pulled her tight against him. “Mmm, you smell good too. Do you know what you do to me?”

Clara tried to calm her heart pinging rapidly against her corset, which was already cinched so tight she could hardly breathe. All in the name of vanity. She’d wanted her waist to look small, and the corset flattered her bosom. Truth was she loved his kisses too. They were like an elixir for her thirsty soul, and while she wanted more, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed back slightly. “No, but maybe you should tell me while I make the coffee.”

Mac clasped her hands and kissed them. “It’s not coffee I need. It’s you, my sweet Clara. Beautiful you. You make my senses reel. I long to make love to you.” His eyes were dark and smoldering as they searched hers.

Clara drew back, alarmed, and licked her lips to steady her voice. “Well . . . I . . . I’m very flattered, Mac, and while I want that too, I’ve not heard you say one thing about love or marriage after spending all this time together.”

Though she said one thing, her heart said another and tried to rule her head. She wanted nothing more than for him to sweep her into his arms, vow his love, and declare he didn’t want to live without her, then carry her up the sweeping staircase.

“Marriage!” He chuckled and kissed her on the tip of the nose while stroking her back. “We’re older adults, and since we both know what we want and need, how can it hurt?”