The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (11 page)

Elias suddenly looked as if he’d said too much, which intrigued Gennie.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She rose and reached for one of the aprons still hanging on the pegboard. “Might I help with whatever you’re preparing?”

Gennie’s quick change of topic did its job, and soon Elias seemed to have forgotten her foray into dangerous territory. Gennie, however, did not.

She handed him three eggs and watched him crack them into what appeared to be some sort of cooked meat. “You mentioned Charlotte’s mother. Might I ask what sort of calamity befell her that she’s no longer raising her daughter? Just so I might be prepared should Charlotte speak of it, you understand,” she hastened to add.

Elias paused in his work to give her a sideways look. Gennie put on her most innocent face. Gossip was wrong, but being informed seemed anything but. And with the child in question, any weapon was worth the attempt.

“A sad tale, that one,” he finally said, going back to his work. “Hand me another egg. That one there.”

Gennie complied, then knotted the tablecloth across her bosom to keep the fabric from slipping. Rather than probe further, she elected to remain silent. Men often spoke more when nothing impeded the conversation. This she’d learned in finishing school, though she’d not retained much more than that.

Of course, the school really intended to teach how to catch a husband. In that, she’d likely be called a success soon.

What would Chandler Dodd think if he were to walk in and catch her dressed in this garish ensemble helping a quirky fellow break eggs into a frying pan? Gennie couldn’t muster up even the slightest image,
though when considering what Mae Winslow might do in the same situation, she had no problem.

Mae would ask for the recipe, then fetch her pistols and be gone. How Gennie envied that fictional female.

“She was a pretty thing,” Elias said, his voice soft enough to make Gennie wonder whether he spoke aloud on purpose or merely mused for his own benefit. “Too pretty for her own good. I told Daniel as much, but a man in love won’t be warned.”

He looked to Gennie as if he expected a response, so she nodded. “Indeed.”

“And that younger brother of his, well, Edwin never struck me as anything other than a fellow who wanted what Daniel had.” Elias stirred the last of the eggs into the mixture, then turned the whole thing into a baking dish and stepped away from the stove. “I’ve said too much. Fetch yourself a plate and mug off the drainboard and go sit down.”

Gennie held her tongue and did what he asked. Before she could settle in the chair, Elias placed before her the iron skillet filled with the delicious smelling concoction, along with a pot of coffee.

“There,” he said as he joined her, “that ought to do for a passable breakfast.”

She paused, the fork poised at her lips. “Breakfast? I thought this was dinner.”

Elias shook his head, then adjusted his cap. “No, you slept through that meal. This here’s breakfast.” He pulled a gold watch from his pocket and consulted it before offering it to her. “See there? It’s nearly eight.”

“Eight in the morning?” She placed her fork on the plate, the bite untouched. “I slept since yesterday afternoon?”

“You did, and it’s a miracle that child didn’t wake you.” He reached over to spoon a generous helping of the concoction onto his plate. “I
threatened her with the worst thing I could think of if she so much as tiptoed past your door.”

“And what was that?”

He leaned toward her. “I told her I’d see that Tova threw out all her overalls and made her wear a dress to school.” Elias leaned back and slapped his palms on the table, sending the silverware clanging together. “That put the fear of the Lord into her.”

Gennie tried not to let her appalled state show. She reached once more for her fork. “How old is Charlotte, exactly?”

“She’s ten,” Elias said between bites. “I remember, because it was five years ago last winter when I first laid eyes on her and knew who she belonged to. It took Daniel a bit longer, but a man’s blind when he’s looking at the woman he loves. That’s what I say, anyway.”

“Speaking of me, were you, Elias?” Tova said from the doorway.

The old soldier’s ears reddened as he leaned over his plate and continued to eat. “Likely you misheard,” he said without sparing her a glance.

“I see the nanny is awake.”

As Tova’s gaze swept over her, Gennie felt compelled to rise. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I had no idea I’d be sleeping past dinner.”

“And breakfast,” Tova muttered, hanging her cloak on the peg, then pointing at Gennie. “The apron, please.”

Gennie looked down, then quickly shed the garment and handed it to Tova. Likely nothing she’d do would please the housekeeper.

Except leave, that is, which she planned to do in a month.

“So where is Charlotte now?” she asked, causing both Elias and Tova to stare.

“The girl is at school.” Tova’s sharp response and subsequent dismissal of her startled Gennie. Only the knowledge that Tova somehow
saw her as a threat kept Gennie from taking offense as the older woman stormed from the kitchen in a huff.

Oblivious to the feminine battle of wills waging around him, Elias went back to his eggs. “You got a chill?” he asked.

“A chill?” Gennie looked down at the table scarf still knotted around her. “No. Just, well…” Proper description escaped her, so she decided to change the subject. “I wonder if I might be so bold as to inquire of something.”

Elias set his fork down, the plate scraped clean. “Go ahead, but I don’t promise an answer.”

She nodded. “I’m of a mind to write to the girl’s father to settle some things regarding his expectations of me, get some questions answered. Things of that nature.”

“Go on,” the old soldier said.

“And I wondered, if I posted such a letter, how long it would take for him to receive it.”

He shrugged. “Depends. If you get lucky and catch a train headed to Leadville, he might be holding the letter before nightfall.” Another shrug. “Then again, it might not get there at all. You never know about these things.”

Gennie straightened her back and turned toward the door. “If there’s nothing else for me to do while Charlotte is at school, I’ll go and write that letter. Might you have pen and ink I could use?”

“All of that’s in Daniel’s office, and you’re free to take and use whatever you need.” Elias looked perplexed. “But aren’t you forgetting something?” He pointed to the table and her plate.

“Oh,” she said, hurrying to explain the food remaining there, “I’m not one to eat a big breakfast. I assure you, however, it was quite delicious.”

“I do thank you,” Elias said, “but what you’re forgetting is to wash your plate and mug.” He shrugged. “That’s part of your duties, what with Tova busy cleaning and me doing all the cooking. Unless Charlotte’s home, you’re to do whatever Tova or I need done.” The oddly dressed man rose and shoved his plate toward her. “And right now all I can think that needs doing is the dishes. Be sure and scrub that pan extra. An iron skillet doesn’t need dish soap. Just clean it the usual way.”

“The usual way.” She paused and let the dish slide from her hands into the sink with a clatter. “Yes, of course.”

And with that, he was off, leaving Gennie to decipher what the “usual way” might be. For that matter, leaving her to figure out exactly how dishes were washed.

At least she knew what she would say in her letter to Daniel Beck. In plain terms, she would tell him his daughter needed a father who did not stray so far from the home fires. She would add, of course, that while his daughter was not completely a lost cause, she did have quite a road to travel to become a young lady.

And finally, Gennie would have to tell Daniel Beck that while the job was not beyond her abilities, she would not be staying for the extended period of time it would take to accomplish it.

In short, the brief but exciting adventures of Gennie Cooper would soon mirror the ongoing adventure of Mae Winslow.

But first, she had to figure out the puzzle that was dish washing.

Had Ed been given the moment to do over, he likely would have wished for both eyes to be operational. As it was, Mae caught him unaware, and rather than dispatch him to kingdom come, she hobbled him to be sent there via the good marshal and a sturdy rope.

The rope he’d used on her, Mae kept as a souvenir, along with the horse the formerly fortunate felon rode in on. Renamed Lucky, the mare became her means of returning to Deadwood and Henry, both of which had found a dear place in her heart.

If only she’d watched where she was going and sent Lucky around the coiled rattler instead of over it.

Gennie awaited Charlotte’s return from school with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The dish washing proved short yet eventful, and she’d only have to replace a few broken plates to make things right.

In spite of—or perhaps because of—Gennie’s skills at dish washing, Tova stood at the kitchen door, regarding her with what appeared to be great curiosity. “Did the girl return?”

“The girl?” Gennie shook her head. “Do you mean Charlotte? I thought she was at school.”

“It just looks like she and not you…” Tova shook her head. “Never mind.”

Seizing her opportunity, Gennie let the dishcloth fall to the floor, and smiled. “As you and Elias—that is, Mr. Howe—have said I’m to
be at your bidding when Charlotte is in school.” She propped up her grin with an enthusiasm she did not feel. “How can I help you?”

“Remove the towel from the floor,” Tova said, turning up her nose.

“Fine.” Gennie snagged the dishcloth and tossed it onto the table, then pressed past the housekeeper. “If that’s all, I’ll go find Elias and see if he would like me to do anything for him.”

“Wait,” Tova commanded.

Gennie turned. “Yes?” she asked, sweet as cream. “Did you think of something?”

“Mr. Beck’s study needs a thorough cleaning. Come. I’ll show you.”

Gennie followed the housekeeper’s straight back through a narrow hallway that opened into a foyer of similar size and construction to her family home in Newport. While the Cooper home had been decorated with one of Mama’s priceless papers depicting the English countryside, this space bore no such adornment. What it lost in wall décor, it more than adequately made up in the ornamentation that had been tacked to walls and set on every available space, like so much gilded debris.

A woman’s touch was sorely needed to make what was sadly garish into something grand. Perhaps during her short stay, Gennie might offer some assistance.

She ducked just in time to miss an oversized statue of what looked like a plucked chicken. Likely the artist had intended a different effect, possibly an ostrich or other exotic bird, but the featherless metal fowl looked exactly like the pompous rooster that populated the servants’ chicken yard in Newport.

“It’s beautiful, yes?” Tova asked as she gazed at the statue with something akin to wonder.

“Truly like nothing I’ve seen,” Gennie said, touching its bejeweled beak.

Other items of décor were less overdone and obviously well chosen, though Gennie couldn’t find more than a few. Then the housekeeper opened the doors to a room that changed her mind about the home’s owner.

Gennie walked into Daniel Beck’s private sanctum and felt as if she’d stepped into another time and place. The carpet beneath her feet was a lovely cinnamon-colored Sarouk, and the walls bore wainscoting in a dark wood that sent her mind reeling back to visits to the English country home of Papa’s second cousin, the Marquis of Something-or-Other.

Volumes of Shakespeare and Dumas shared space with titles by Aristotle and Voltaire. Upturned on an Empire table beside a leather chair was a copy of
A Tale of Two Cities
with what appeared to be a railroad schedule marking a place midway through the novel. Next to it was
Aesop’s Fables
, open to the beginning of a story called “The Fawn and His Mother.”

The room smelled of leather and Morocco varnish, and made her miss Papa terribly. She spied the desk, with its sheaves of fresh paper stacked beside a filled inkwell, and debated whether her first letter would be to Mr. Beck or her father.