Page 47 of Silver Lining
She ran an eye over Louise's flannel shirt and suspenders, then cleared her throat. "Ma thinks we should go to town tomorrow to buy material for your new clothing. It needs to be tomorrow because two days after, Wally and Philadelphia will arrive home, and the first herd will be coming in. Me and Ma—and you, too, if you want to help—will cook for the boys since they'll need every man to hold the herd and do the branding and notching."
Louise cupped her hands around her coffee cup and nodded, absently thinking that Sunshine was a miniature vision of Gilly. Long chestnut curls hung beneath her neat little hat. Her eyes were a lovely clear McCord blue. "Tomorrow's fine. And of course I'll help with the cooking. I'll make pies." At least she knew she could make a credible pie.
Wally and Philadelphia were coming home. She didn't need a fortune-teller to predict that their arrival would shatter the fragile equilibrium she and Max had begun to establish.
"We'll come by for you tomorrow morning, and I'll tell Ma about the pies."
Lifting her arms, Gilly removed her hat, then took the cake out of the basket, followed by a pile of mending. And suddenly Louise realized Gilly meant to stay a while, which made sense when she thought about it. The drive would hardly be worth the considerable trouble if Gilly had delivered her messages and then turned around again and left.
Stepping to the window, she gazed toward the corral and pictured the black gelding waiting for her. He was out of luck. No horse could compete with a visit from family.
Grinning broadly, she returned to the table with a knife, plates, and forks, and suggested that Gilly cut the cake. Then, curious, she asked Gilly to describe her house. She made bread while Gilly talked and Sunshine played quietly with the doll that Max had brought her from Denver .
Louise laughed at Gilly's growing-up stories and told a few of her own. She asked about roundups and stampedes and caring for cattle through the winter Gilly asked about prospecting and the people Louise met in the mining camp. They talked about the things all women have in common, homes and stoves, recipes and chores, until Gilly glanced at the kitchen clock, said, "Oh mercy me," and reached for her hat.
As Louise stood in the doorway and returned Sunshine's wave while Gilly's wagon headed up the rutted road, she realized she was sorry to see her niece and sister-in-law leave. She and Gilly were as different as a mouse and a moose, but they'd enjoyed each other's company and had found a few areas of shared interest. They hadn't discussed anything important, had avoided the problem areas, but they had made a beginning. Toward what, Louise didn't know, but she hoped it was a friendship. That would be mighty fine. She'd never had a woman friend before.
CHAPTER 11
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The first person Philadelphia saw as she and Wally descended the staircase was her father, sitting beside one of the massive ferns, frowning and tapping a polished shoe as if he owned the hotel and itched to chastise someone. There was no surprise at discovering her father waiting in the lobby; it didn't occur to her to question his presence. Running across the marble tiles, she threw herself into his arms and clung there, fighting tears.
Howard Houser patted her back and murmured soothing sounds before he gently set her away and lifted an eyebrow in Wally's direction. "I'll take my daughter in to breakfast. You may return for her in two hours."
Coloring at the dismissal, Wally turned his hat in his hands like a rube, looking back and forth from Philadelphia to her father as if unsure what his response should be. His hesitation drove her mad. There had been nothing tentative about Max. And Max would never have allowed himself to be disposed of so easily. He would have stepped close and taken her arm, would have smiled his stubborn smile and made it obvious that any invitation included them both.
But Wally was not that sure of himself. And because he was already half in love with her, he'd become pathetically eager to please. As she might have predicted, he nodded and withdrew, ambling toward the Street doors with the uncertain look of a man who had time to kill and no place to go.
Putting him out of her mind, Philadelphia tucked her arm through her father's and let him lead her into the hotel dining room. Instead of the midroom table where she and Wally had dined during the days they'd been here, the maître d' led them to a choice table beside a window overlooking the hotel's gardens. The gardens had been planned to offer a charming vista in any season, evidenced by a flaming plum tree that drew the eye away from bare flower beds covered with winter mulch.
Coffee for her father and tea for her appeared as if by magic, but her father waved aside the waiter who would have taken their order.
"By now you know if this solution is going to work. Will it?" her father asked bluntly.
She could smell the pomade slicking his hair back from a center part and the lingering scent of an English shaving soap, familiar smells that she associated with security, comfort, and indulgence. Among the shocks that had piled one atop the other during the past horrible week was the previously unthinkable realization that her father could not right every wrong, could not fix everything the way she wanted it fixed.
"You should have made Max marry me," she whispered. Tears of betrayal and accusation welled in her eyes.
"Now you know that's impossible. The son of a bitch already has a wife. If you'd waited for him to divorce that Jezebel, you'd have found yourself standing in front of a preacher holding a bastard in your arms. Is that what you wanted? To bear a child out of wedlock?"
Events had moved with lightning speed, beginning the moment Max related the story of his illness and subsequent marriage. A husband had been chosen for her, a hasty date selected for the elopement, a decision made as to where she would live afterward. And not once had anyone solicited her opinion.
"Of course not," she answered with a sigh. Several generations of proud Housers would roll in their graves if she shamed the family name by bearing a bastard. The scandal was bad enough without that. A drop of rain slid down the windowpane, followed by a thickening drizzle that obscured the plum tree.
"Are people talking?" she asked, gazing out at the wet garden.
"Ridley reports that minutes after the telegrams arrived, the news of your elopement raced through town like a hot wind."
Philadelphia lowered her gaze and raised a hand to her forehead. "Is it known yet that Max has a wife?"
"That news created the first wave of scandal." He turned to the window and ground his teeth, sending knots rippling up his jawline. "TheFort Houser Gazette is running a quarter-page article today announcing your marriage to Wallace McCord. It's a straightforward piece presented as if Wallace was the man you always intended to marry. There's also a paragraph on a different page announcing the marriage of Max McCord. Needless to say, no at-home days are listed for either of the new Mrs. McCords."
His snappish tone informed her that his anger had not cooled. He still blamed her, at least partly. But it wouldn't do to permit him to see how his unfairness irritated her.
"What happens to the gifts? Given the circumstances, do you have to return them?" They had arrived addressed to her and Max. Strictly speaking, she supposed the gifts should be returned, but she didn't know the etiquette involved in this instance. The bride was still the bride. There had been a wedding.
"I have neither the time nor the inclination to sort out which gift returns to whom. I'd say keep them." He shrugged.
