Cloaked (Once Upon a Western Book 1) Page 2

  Mary Rose had done her best to encourage that notion.

  Chapter Two

  The three passengers rode on in silence until the driver outside yelled a long, many-noted “Whoa!” to his team. The stagecoach slowed to a stop, dust swirling all around it. Afternoon sunlight transmuted the dust cloud to shimmering gold, and through it Mary Rose could see the figure of a woman, small but erect, as proud of bearing as Queen Victoria of England. Mary Rose had seen many photographs of Queen Victoria in the newspapers following the recent assassination attempt foiled by two valiant schoolboys. Mary Rose idolized those boys. To have the temerity to tackle the man who tried to kill a queen… Mary Rose longed to learn if she had such courage herself. But in all her sixteen years, she had not yet had the chance to find out.

  Hauer opened the door beside Mary Rose, dropped lightly to the ground, and held out his hand to her. Mr. Linden had no choice but to allow her to exit without his assistance, which pleased Mary Rose more than she would have expected earlier.

  A light wind blew the dust away while Mary Rose smoothed out her skirts and made sure her favorite hat remained attached to her head. She would hate to have it go flying down the road along with the dust. She prayed one last time that her grandmother would find her suitable. Would even like her, at least a little. Mary Rose was not prone to shyness, but she worried now that she would never manage to speak intelligently.

  Mrs. Jubilee O’Brien wore a dress of such dark blue that it was closer to black. Around her shoulders, a bright red cloak kept out the cool of the late spring afternoon. The cloak had a hood which she had left down, revealing pure white hair. But hers was not long hair pulled back into an obedient bun as worn by the other grown women Mary Rose knew.

  Jubilee O’Brien’s hair was short. As short as a man’s. The breeze teased it, and Mary Rose knew she was staring but could not make herself look anywhere else.

  The driver threw Mr. Linden’s case down near them, along with a packet from the mail pouch. Mary Rose’s small trunk he lowered more gently to Hauer. Then he shouted words only he and the horses could understand, and the departing stage stirred up a fresh cloud of dust. Mary Rose realized too late that she had never looked to see if he possessed the bristling mustache and squint lines she’d pictured.

  Hauer put his hand on her elbow and gently guided her toward her grandmother. “Well, here she is.”

  “So I see.” Jubilee looked her granddaughter in the eye for a moment. “Welcome, Mary.”

  “Mary Rose,” the girl corrected her out of habit. “I, that is… I prefer… I’m sorry, Grandmother. Thank you.” Mary Rose knew she blushed then. Her premonition had been distressingly correct: The power of intelligent speech had abandoned her.

  “You prefer to be called Mary Rose?” Her grandmother smiled in a tight, hesitant way. “Then welcome, Mary Rose.” She looked to Hauer, almost for reassurance, Mary Rose thought. As if wondering if she had greeted her granddaughter correctly.

  Hauer gave her an encouraging nod. “I near forgot—you didn’t mention another visitor coming, but you’ve got one anyhow.”

  Jubilee approached her second guest. “Mr. Linden? I wasn’t expecting you until after roundup.” She sounded much more sure of herself than she had moments earlier.

  “I finished putting my previous client’s affairs in order rather sooner than I had anticipated.” Mr. Linden offered both his hand and his wide smile. When Jubilee took his hand, he wrapped his other around hers. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O’Brien.”

  “Thank you. I’m so grateful you were able to come see about my predicament.” Her voice sounded more relaxed now, Mary Rose noticed with a pang of something that might turn to jealousy if she let it. Who was this Mr. Linden, to receive a warmer welcome than she did?

  “Is the house far?” Mr. Linden asked.

  “Just up the rise.” Jubilee indicated a cluster of barns, sheds, and other structures. “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry your own bag, Mr. Linden. I’ve been short of help this spring and had to send all my hired hands on roundup.”

  “No matter.” He picked up the mail packet and handed it to Jubilee, retrieved his bag, and offered Jubilee his other arm. “Let’s not stand about in the dust.”

  She accepted with a pleased smile, and together, they proceeded toward the house.

  Mary Rose looked at her trunk. Though it was small, she doubted she’d be able to drag it far. But before she could even attempt such a thing, Hauer took hold of one end and hoisted the trunk to his shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Mary Rose trailed on behind him as he followed the others. She wondered whether her grandmother would have preferred it if she’d stayed in Peoria where she belonged. The visit was not Jubilee’s idea, after all.

  This was not the welcome Mary Rose had expected. She had imagined many variations of this first meeting over the past weeks, none of them this perfunctory. She trudged along, doing her best to step daintily over every rut and bump.

  In her daydreams, her grandmother had been more… well, more like the grandmothers she knew back home. Soft and sweet, like a pastry you didn’t want to hold too tight for fear it would crumble between your fingers. Nothing about Jubilee O’Brien appeared soft, and she hadn’t offered Mary Rose even so much as the handshake she had given Mr. Linden. Mary Rose had expected, if not an embrace, at least the touch of friendly greeting.

  Mary Rose’s thoughts followed this unhappy trail all the way to the house, which she did not see properly until they had turned the corner around what Hauer told her was the old bunkhouse, now home to someone named Mrs. Mills. Then the house loomed before her, a long, low building stretching out along the land like a contented cat.

  Mary Rose’s home back in Peoria was of a substantial size, for her father was a successful lawyer and owned a house befitting his success, three stories of refined grandeur. All the people Mary Rose had grown up with lived in tall houses, not quite of a size to call mansions, but solidly in the realm of respectable substance. Only less-well-off people lived in one-story houses, none of which looked like this.

  What it lacked in height, it made up for in length, extending far on either side of its central entrance. Its whitewashed board walls looked cool and crisp against the dark blue of the mountains in the distance. A deep porch ran the entire length of the house, providing welcome shade, since the ranch buildings had not a single tree nearby. Four hitching posts stood in front of the house, spaced at intervals on either side of the steps leading up to the front door.

  Mary Rose followed the adults up the steps and entered through the door Mr. Linden held open. The front door led into a sort of all-purpose room with a bare wooden floor scarred by the steady parade of spurred boots that crossed it. The walls in the entry were painted a determined white. A row of hooks for hats and coats flanked both sides of the door except where a central hallway interrupted them, one doorway to the left and one to the right. Jubilee removed her red cloak and hung it from one of these hooks, and Hauer hung his buckskin jacket there also.

  The back wall had another door exactly the same as the front door, and Mary Rose wondered whether a matching porch stretched along the back of the house. Everything was so symmetrical, she felt for a moment that she had stepped inside some sort of mirror world. Would she find a second self lurking about the house?

  Jubilee asked Hauer to show Mr. Linden to his room in what she called the guest wing, to the left of the entry. She continued to the right with Mary Rose. They passed a middle-aged woman with a big white apron over her faded gingham dress, whom Jubilee introduced as Mrs. Mills, the cook and housekeeper. Mrs. Mills said a distracted how-do-you-do to Mary Rose and told Jubilee that dinner would be ready in half an hour, then bustled back to the kitchen.

  Mary Rose had a brief impression of a long hallway with rooms opening off it. Her grandmother pointed them out to her, naming the dining room and office on the right and the kitchen and sitting room on the left. “These are the family rooms,”
she explained when they reached the end of the hall. “Mine is there, and this will be yours across the way.” She stood back to let Mary Rose enter in front of her. “This was your father’s, years ago. I had it papered fresh when I learned you were coming.” She paused. “I hope you like it?”

  “I do, thank you.” It was smaller than Mary Rose’s room at home but somehow snug and cozy, a safe retreat. The wallpaper was a restful dark green with a design of daisies and fern leaves in a paler shade.

  “Dinner is in half an hour,” Jubilee reminded her. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. Meals here are generally informal, so there’s no need to change.”

  Hauer arrived with Mary Rose’s small trunk, which he placed just inside the door. Then he and Jubilee left, closing the door behind them.

  Mary Rose looked all around her room, getting acquainted with it, as it were. To the right of the door was her bed, spread with a cream-and-brown quilt. There was an unremarkable washstand with an equally plain washbasin and pitcher, an oval mirror with a pretty scrollwork frame, and a small chest of drawers. And she had her own window with cream curtains to match the bedspread. The floor boasted an oval braided rug of the same cream and brown as the bedspread, a rug large enough that it filled most of the empty floor space.

  “It’s very nice,” she said out loud. “Truly, it is.” Then she allowed herself the luxury of crying softly into her pillow for five minutes, but no longer, so that her face wouldn’t be red and puffy when she went to dinner. She washed her face and stared out at the distant mountains, which cast forbidding shadows in the waning light.

  Mary Rose worried that dinner would be difficult. Not until the previous Christmas had she attended the formal adult meals her parents hosted for their friends, and she had been acquainted already with the other guests.

  Mary Rose changed her dusty brown dress for a much nicer pink frock from her trunk, even though her grandmother had told her she needn’t dress for dinner. The brown dress was too soiled from three days of travelling to be at all appropriate. She loosened her hair, shook it out, and pinned it back up in a simple coil on top of her head, wishing there was time to try something more elaborate. Tomorrow she would appear to more advantage. Perhaps. Her hair, long and dark brown, did not always cooperate with the grown-up styles she could attempt now that she was sixteen and basically an adult. She so wished her mother allowed her the frizzy little bangs her friends all had.

  Mary Rose realized then that if she wanted bangs, she could cut them herself. Her mother would not know until she returned home, and that was months away. She thrilled with independence at the idea. No time to do it now, but tomorrow… perhaps tomorrow. If she dared.

  Far back in her memory, she could hear her mother saying, “I’m told stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.” Her mother always said that when she caught one of her four children trying to keep some unsanctioned activity a secret. But what could her mother have against a short fringe of hair across her forehead?

  Somewhere in the house, a bell rang, raucous and energetic. Likely the signal that dinner was ready. Mary Rose smoothed her skirts and checked the mirror to see if she was presentable, no tell-tale redness remaining from her quick cry. Then she took a deep breath, held her head high, and opened the door.

  When she reached the dining room, she found it pleasantly alight with the warm glow of a fire in the fireplace and a few well-placed kerosene lamps. Mr. Linden stood before the fire, holding a cigar and leaning against the mantel. He still wore the black suit he’d had on earlier, though he had brushed the dust from it. Once again his eyes travelled over her, and goosebumps prickled her arms.

  Mr. Linden bowed slightly. “Good evening, Miss Mary.” He put his cigar to his mouth and inhaled, his cheeks sinking when he sucked the smoke into his mouth. He exhaled, dragon-like, and smiled. “Is it not a good evening?” He possessed far more teeth than were strictly necessary, spaced all even and neat like the pickets of a fence.

  That flustered her. “Oh! Good evening, Mr. Linden,” she replied politely. And then understood, when he smirked, that he had meant to unsettle her.

  “I’m certain it will be. Quite good indeed.”

  Behind Mary Rose, Hauer said, “I’m inclined to agree. I don’t believe I’ve ever spent an unpleasant evening in this house.”

  She gladly turned to face him. “You’ve been here often?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you know my father?” Mary Rose tried to picture her serene father in that house, sleeping in the room she was to inhabit, and found it less difficult than she’d have thought. Though imagining him as a young boy like her own two brothers would take more time and effort than she could devote to it at the moment.

  “I did.”

  “I know he disagreed with my grandparents,” Mary Rose hastened to add. “If we’re not to talk of it or anything—”

  “Most young people disagree with their folks now and again.” Hauer looked over his shoulder and added, “Good evening, Jubilee,” when the lady of the house appeared beside him.

  Jubilee took his arm and nodded to Mr. Linden and Mary Rose. “Good evening, everyone. Let’s not stand on ceremony—dinner is ready when we are.” She and Hauer advanced to a table set for four but large enough to seat six. Hauer assisted Jubilee with her chair, and Mr. Linden solicitously did the same for Mary Rose after stubbing out his cigar. Once the gentlemen were seated, Hauer at the foot of the table and Mr. Linden across from Mary Rose, Jubilee bowed her head. Mary Rose did the same.

  Hauer said simply, “O Lord, for what we are about to receive, we are most grateful.”

  Mary Rose added, “Amen,” then blushed when no one else said it too. No one noticed her confusion, for they were each scooping food onto their plates out of whatever serving dish was nearest them. She did the same, happy to find fluffy mashed potatoes in the bowl to her right. She heaped them on her plate and then gave the dish to Hauer. They passed around the food in relative silence, no one saying more than, “Thank you,” when they took a proffered dish. Mary Rose added roasted beef and gravy to her plate, then what looked to be pickled beets. She buttered a slice of bread and waited for her grandmother to take the first bite before she began eating, the way she had been taught. No one would have cause to report a lack of manners to her parents, should they inquire about her behavior.

  Jubilee ate a bit of potatoes and beef, then opened the evening’s conversation by remarking, “I am so pleased you have arrived early, Mr. Linden. Especially since this means you’ll be here for the dance a week from Friday. Every ranch in these parts sent their hands out on spring roundup, so we’ll need all the dancing partners we can find for the young ladies.”

  “A dance?” Mary Rose asked.

  “Yes, my dear.” Jubilee smiled at her a little, as if she thought she ought to smile but wasn’t sure she wanted to. “I thought you would enjoy meeting some of my neighbors and friends. I would have planned it for this Friday, but I didn’t know if you would arrive in time. Trains can be so unpredictable. And then, our weather is not always reliable, even this late in May.”

  “I will enjoy it, I’m sure.” In truth, she was quite fond of dancing, for it was one of the few energetic activities her mother approved. “Thank you,” she added before taking a bite of what proved to be the most tender beef she had ever eaten. Mary Rose closed her eyes to savor it and almost let out a appreciative “Mmmmm.” Happily, she managed to remember where she was. She opened her eyes and found Hauer looking at her with a delighted grin he didn’t even try to conceal.

  Mary Rose chewed and swallowed and smiled back a bit abashedly.

  “It’s fresh,” Hauer whispered conspiratorially. “Makes all the difference.”

  “I see.”

  Mary Rose forgot about making conversation. She relished each bite of her beef roast, neglecting the mashed potatoes that had originally gladdened her.

  Meanwhile, her grandmother and Mr. Linden discussed various financia
l topics. Mary Rose gathered that Mr. Linden was some kind of account manager who put people’s money in order. Neither she nor Hauer talked much, though she got the impression he was following her grandmother’s conversation closely.

  Then, while Mrs. Mills brought in coffee and apple pie, Jubilee turned her attention to Mary Rose again. “Do you ride?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Mary Rose admitted. “I was hoping to learn while I’m here.”

  “If you’re to see anything of the country, you’ll have to,” Jubilee answered. “That is, if you want to see more of it?”

  “I do! I want to see everything.” Mary Rose knew she sounded eager and curious and not very grown-up, but she did not care.

  Chapter Three

  Mary Rose woke the next morning to the sound of unfamiliar birds singing unknown songs. She had expected the West to be unlike Peoria, but she had not realized even such little things would differ from the life she had always known.

  The night before, she had been shocked when the men and women moved with one accord from the dining room to the sitting room to enjoy after-supper coffee and conversation together. At home, women left the table first and had time to chat without male intrusion while the men enjoyed their cigars and discussed dull things such as politics and finance. But Jubilee O’Brien had discussed both politics and money with Hauer and Mr. Linden in a way that made Mary Rose certain her grandmother knew far more about such subjects than any woman Mary Rose had met in all her Peoria upbringing.

  At the time Mary Rose had been grateful she was not left alone with the grandmother she did not know. She was not generally shy, but something about the straight-backed, short-haired Jubilee left her bashful. And so curious about everything, from how her father had quarreled with her grandparents to why Hauer had pointedly mentioned that he was staying in a guest room there in the house that night instead of going back to the cabin near the logging operations. He had made some mention of wolves and not wanting to meet one on the path through the forest, but even Mary Rose could tell that was an excuse.