Every Perfect Gift (6 page)

“Let me get my hat.”

He waited for her and offered his arm as they crossed the busy street, dodging a couple of empty freight wagons rumbling toward the station.

Inside Miss Hattie’s, Ethan ordered a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits with butter and jam. Miss Hattie, her iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, shuffled to the table, the tea things rattling and
tipping precariously on the tray. Ethan got to his feet to steady her. “Allow me, ma’am.”

“Sit down, young man. I’m not completely incompetent yet.” Miss Hattie set down the tray and squinted at Sophie. “Do I know you?”

“I lived here when I was a child. But I’ve been away for quite a long time.”

“That’s right. I remember now. You’re the one Wyatt Caldwell took to Texas when he married that Yankee girl.”

The door opened, and Miss Hattie spun away to greet her next customers.

Ethan added sugar to his tea and stirred. “Wyatt Caldwell is the first person I heard about when I got here. It seems he’s a near legend in these parts.”

“He owned the lumber mill back then. He sold it when his aunt, Miss Lillian Willis, passed on. His wife, Ada, worked for Miss Lillian and made hats too.” She patted the blue silk toque atop her head. “Still does.”

He smiled and buttered a biscuit. “Very fetching. How did you find life in Texas?”

“I loved it. Wyatt established a ranch west of Fort Worth. I grew up riding horses and branding longhorns. And helping Ada with her hatmaking business.” She sipped the fragrant tea. “When I went away to school in Dallas, I fell in love with newspapering, so Wyatt arranged for me to work with Mrs. Mills at the
Telegraph
. She’s a correspondent for papers all across Texas.” She set down her cup. “I’m lucky to have had such good training.”

He chewed and swallowed. “See, that’s what puzzles me. Why would someone who could have gone to an established newspaper choose to come here and start from scratch?”

“Maybe for the same reason you came here to carve a resort out of a mountain.” She smiled. “It’s an adventure to build something from the ground up, isn’t it?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s exactly it. When Horace asked me to design Blue Smoke and oversee the construction, it was a dream come true.”

Sophie buttered a biscuit and topped it off with a dollop of strawberry jam. “Do you still feel that way?”

“For the most part. Every endeavor has its challenges, and Blue Smoke is no different.” He dropped a sugar cube into his cup and refilled it. “But everything is under control.”

“No more riots?”

“There never was one. The entire episode was blown all out of proportion. Anytime you get a large group of men together, a few bad apples are bound to cause trouble.”

His face closed down. Clearly he wanted to change the subject. Sophie finished her tea and watched the customers come and go from Miss Hattie’s. The train whistle shrieked. Mr. Heyward stood and held her chair. “I’m sorry to rush off, but—”

“It’s all right. I should get back to work myself.” She rose. “Thank you for the tea and biscuits.”

“My pleasure. I enjoyed our conversation.” He smiled down at her, and she felt herself warming once more to his charm and intelligence. If he could resist the urge to control the content of her newspaper, perhaps they could forge a pleasant working relationship after all.

They left the restaurant as the train emptied and passengers scattered to await their baggage. At the end of the platform stood a knot of men, each carrying a small white bundle. Ethan frowned and his generous mouth formed a hard, straight line.

“Is something wrong?”

“When I wired my colleague out west for more laborers, I never dreamed he’d send a bunch of Chinese.”

Sophie watched as the men chattered to each other, gesturing first toward the looming mountains and then to the train. Her heart ached for them. A few years back, the papers had been full of stories
about the Chinese Exclusion Act the Congress had passed in an effort to end Chinese immigration. According to the editorials she read, people objected to the foreigners because they took American jobs laying railroad track and harvesting crops. Some writers called the Chinese “the yellow plague” and “slant-eyed Chinamen.” It was disgusting.

“Well, they’re here. And I can’t afford to send them back.” Ethan Heyward frowned, and Sophie’s hope for a friendship with him dimmed. Apparently Ethan Heyward had little use for anyone who was different.

Ethan handed the five Chinese over to the cook and headed back inside. The newcomers seemed eager to work. With Li Chung to show them the ropes, they should adapt quickly to the routine. In the meantime, he had a million details to work out before the grand opening on the first Saturday in June. Only seven weeks remained to finish the landscaping, place the last of the furniture, hire the housekeepers, waiters, and valets, and plan the ball, to which he had invited everyone from Governor Bate on down.

“O’Brien?”

His secretary entered, pen and notebook in hand. “Sir?”

“How are the arrangements for the ball coming along?”

“So far, a hundred and twenty yeses, seven nos, and forty odd who haven’t replied.” O’Brien paused. “You got a lady in mind for yourself?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Haven’t asked her yet, though.”

“Well, don’t wait too long, sir. Ladies take a long time to pick out a fancy dress and such.”

Ethan nodded and opened the leather ledger on his desk. “Be sure to pick up cash at the bank before payday.”

“What about the Chinamen?”

Ethan thought for a minute. “Go ahead and pay them for the week. They’re probably broke after their trip.” He ran his finger down a column of the ledger. “I was worried that hiring more Chinese might cause a disturbance, but so far everything’s quiet.”

O’Brien scribbled in his notebook. “Speakin’ of disturbances, Sean Murphy’s been spreading it around that whoever talked to that lady reporter the night the sheriff came up here told her fights go on all the time. Murphy said the lady asked a lot of questions.”

“So I heard. But I suppose that’s what reporters do.” Ethan signed a cash-withdrawal note and slid it across the desk. “Did Murphy say who it was that talked to her?”

“That boy who lives out near the mill. Works on the finish crew. I can’t ever remember his name. I’ll find out if you want.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll handle it.” Ethan sorted through a stack of mail and signed the purchase orders O’Brien had left on his desk earlier.

“All right.” O’Brien scribbled on his notepad. “By the way, Mr. Blakely’s looking for you.”

Ethan took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. Last week his boss had moved from Baltimore to a palatial suite of rooms at Blue Smoke, bringing his wife and daughters with him. On the one hand, the move made it easier for Ethan to get a quick answer to any question that arose. On the other, having Horace constantly underfoot, second-guessing every decision Ethan made, was a trial. “If it’s about the passenger car, nothing has changed. But I’ll go see—”

“Ethan?” Horace loomed in the doorway. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

O’Brien sent Ethan a sympathetic look and hurried out.

Ethan stood and reached across the desk to shake his boss’s hand. “I had to go to town. What can I do for you, Horace?”

Horace collapsed heavily into the chair opposite Ethan’s desk. “What you can do for me, boy, is get the American Railway Passenger Car Company to deliver the blasted car they promised me, preferably before our guests start arriving. I thought you had the situation under control.”

“I had another wire last Friday. They’re still waiting on that special leather you ordered from Italy. They can’t finish installing the seats till it gets here.” Ethan slipped his spectacles back on and reached for a thick folder. “After the first delay, I made some inquiries. I can get the same quality leather from a supplier down in Texas. I wired them last week, and they’re ready to ship it to American Railway in Chicago as soon as you say the word.”

He slid the folder across the desk to show his boss the company’s advertisement and a leather sample, but Horace refused to even look at it.

“I want Italian leather.”

Ethan shoved the folder into his desk drawer and slammed it shut. People in Hades wanted ice water too, but that didn’t mean they got it. He rose and walked to the window, his hands fisted in his pockets. Down by the stables, Griff Rutledge and his stableboy were working with a couple of the new horses. Ethan fought the desire to grab a horse and disappear into the woods.

“Well?” Horace yelled. “What are you going to do about this, Ethan?”

“I’ve already told you what I would do, but you won’t listen.”

“What are we going to do come June when our guests start arriving at the depot in Hickory Ridge and there is no train car to bring them up the mountain?”

“The four carriages we ordered last year have arrived, and I’ve already put Silas to work training more drivers. We’ll have them meet the train and drive the guests up here.”

“Along that bone-rattling road?”

“I give up.” Ethan crossed the room and plucked his jacket from the back of his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business with the construction crew.”

“Don’t you walk away from me, Ethan. I haven’t—”

“Mr. Heyward?” O’Brien hurried in. “Pardon the interruption, but the chef says the menus are all set and we ought to go ahead and have them printed. I can take care of it tomorrow if you like.”

Ethan took a deep breath and let it out. “Never mind. I’ll handle it. I need to talk to Sheriff McCracken anyway.”

O’Brien nodded. “Mr. Blakely? Sir, I just saw your missus coming in. She’s looking for you.”

“What for?”

“She didn’t say, sir.”

Blakely muttered a curse word, got to his feet, and lumbered away, slamming the door on his way out.

O’Brien lifted one brow and grinned at Ethan. “Mr. Blakely is afraid of nothing. Except Mrs. Blakely.”

“Thanks for rescuing me. I was close to punching him in the nose.”

“He deserves it.” O’Brien pulled his notebook from his pocket. “I could hear him shouting from the hallway. I’m guessing that was about his railway car.”

“Yes. He’s determined to be difficult. Some days I regret ever signing on with him.”

“He’s impossible, that’s for certain. But you couldn’t pass up a chance to work on something as beautiful as Blue Smoke. Quite a feather in your cap.”

“I suppose.”

O’Brien glanced at his notebook. “The replacement for the broken mirror in the library arrived. I told Joel Tipton to go ahead and install it. I hope that was all right.”

“Fine.” Ethan opened another folder and swallowed his lingering anger at Horace. Had Horace always been so difficult? Or were the pressures of the imminent opening wearing on his nerves, making him more demanding than usual? Now that Horace had left, Ethan realized just how close he had come to losing control.

“Forgot to tell you,” O’Brien went on. “Lutrell Crocker showed up half-drunk again this morning and fell off the ladder. But he seems all right. And the cabinetmaker said to tell you he needs more varnish. I’ll add it to the list.”

“I can pick it up. I need to make a trip to the mercantile anyway.”

O’Brien shrugged. “Whatever you say. Keep this up, and I’ll be out of a job.”

Ethan scribbled a few more orders. “No danger of that. Be sure these bills get paid, will you? And tell Crocker I’m looking for him.”

O’Brien left. Too keyed up to concentrate after his argument with Horace, Ethan shoved the folders into the drawer and donned his jacket. He stepped onto the terrace and nearly tripped over an empty bucket the painters had left. With one swift kick he sent the bucket tumbling across the newly sprouted lawn.

The devil with Horace. The devil with all of it.

FIVE

Heavenly days, what an odious chore. Sophie massaged the knotted muscles in her back and frowned at the noisy steam press as if it were a living thing. She’d been here in the office since daylight, printing up the first edition of the
Gazette
. Now it was nearly noon, and she was less than halfway finished. An unexpectedly large number of subscriptions had poured in through the week, compelling her to increase her anticipated print run. Not that she didn’t appreciate the subscriptions. Each one brought her a bit closer to repaying the money Wyatt had lent her and showing the profit she had promised him.