Bride in Blue Read online

  “But aren’t those tools he would use for his job?” Cassie asked.

  “Not anymore. He hasn’t sewn in years. Now he just checks the quality before items go out the door. That and drives everyone crazy with those habits of his.” Mr. Weston paced the floor. “But it wasn’t that. Money was stolen from the till. Money that was later found in that very same work box. I don’t know why I kept you on for so long.”

  “No!” Cassie cried.

  “I didn’t take a blasted thing from you, Weston,” her father insisted, standing to his full height. It had been so long since Cassie had seen him stand without his shoulders curled, she forgot just how tall he was.

  “That is for the constable to decide. One look at you and you may be headed for the asylum, not prison.” Weston tapped his fingers against the settee back. “However, you may always pay restitution and we can consider the matter closed.” Weston looked at Charles. “Oh, you are fired too. I am sure if there is one thief in the family, there are more.”

  Cassie flew to Charles’ side. “Say something,” she pleaded.

  “There is nothing to say,” Charles met Weston’s glare. “His mind is already made up.”

  What were they going to do? She doubted her father would be able to find work, and her brother had been working at the factory since he was seven. Nearly fifteen years. Folks just didn’t find other employment – they worked at one factory until they died.

  “Oh, Cassandra, you can deliver your jackets tomorrow morning and then you may seek employment elsewhere. I will write a reference for you, of course.”

  “Fired? I’m fired as well?” Cassandra asked. It all seemed like a bad dream.

  Mr. Weston nodded. “And you have 30 days in which to vacate the property. Unless, of course…” he grinned.

  “Unless what?” Charles asked.

  “Cassandra becomes my wife. Then this whole matter will go away. You can have your jobs back and she will be taken care of.”

  “No!” Cassie’s father and brother said at the same time. Cassie felt as though she would faint. He was nearly three times her age!

  She locked her legs to hold herself up. Mr. Weston was a widow. It was said he had a son, but no one heard about the younger Weston after his mother’s death. It was as if he disappeared as well.

  Rumors, Cassie thought. They were just rumors.

  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it and come up with the correct answer.” He walked over and took Cassandra’s hand, placing a sloppy kiss on the back of it. “I know I can make you happy, my dear. And you’ll be saving your father and brother from any further embarrassment.”

  Cassie pulled her hand away and curled it up to her chest. “I would never marry you.”

  “You might want to rethink that, Cassandra, dear. Your brother and father wouldn’t make it in prison.”

  “My brother has done nothing. Neither has my father.”

  “So, you keep saying. Several pairs of new pants disappeared. They haven’t been located yet, but I will find them.” He looked at his watch. “I have other families to see tonight.” He walked back to the door.

  When the door shut, Cassie turned to her father and brother. “Care to tell me what is going on?”

  Her father opened his mouth as if to speak, but Charles interrupted him. “I am pretty sure that it was one of the other lads framing Pa.”

  “How can you be sure?” Charles thinned his lips. “What is it, Charles?”

  “Because I got involved in some underhanded business in the factory.”

  “Does that explain the pants you had in your bag?”

  Charles looked ashamed. “I needed to give them to someone.” Charles stole a glance at their father. It was so slight, Cassie almost missed it.

  “Did you know about this?” Cassie asked her father. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he chose to stare out the small window. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Her father looked back at her. “I told you and Weston I didn’t steal a thing from him.”

  “Then why does he think you did?” She turned back to Charles, since her father wasn’t providing an answer.

  “Because I wanted out. Framing Pa is a message for me. But I’m in danger because they will come after me. You can’t say a thing to anyone, Cassie. Got me?”

  “What are you going to do, Charles?”

  “I’m going to fix this. But in the meantime, we need to get you and Pa as far away from here as possible.”

  “You mean run away?”

  “Do you want to get married to Weston?” Charles was rearranging things in his bag. Cassie shook her head. “Pretend everything is normal when you go to the factory tomorrow to turn in your sewing. I’ll get you on a train tomorrow night.”

  “Where to?”

  “West. Somewhere West.”

  Cassie nodded and looked once more at her father. She almost felt sorry for him in that moment. Almost. “I better get packing then.”

  Cassie went to take the basket of sewing back to her room. It was knocked over and the jackets were sitting in the dust on the floor. Cassie wanted to cry. She knew she’d be penalized for the dirt on the fabric.

  She tried to brush the dust off, but it held fast. becoming a stain on the dark fabric. She wondered if this incident with her father and brother would become a stain on her as well?

  Chapter 2

  Creede, Colorado

  Maximillian Blue didn’t hurry anywhere, but this morning was the exception.

  Normally, Max was slow and deliberate in his movements. Each step, each placement of his foot had a purpose. To line up in a pattern for getting him from point A to point B.

  Every morning he engaged in the same routine.

  Once he left the house, he made sure the door was locked. Not once, not twice but three times, before proceeding down the path to the main street. He would walk up W 10 1/2 Street to S Main and turn towards the bakery.

  He would spend 30 seconds looking at the display before selecting the same type of pastry every morning. He would spend a few minutes chatting with Maybelle, who owned the bake shop, before taking his pastry and wandering over to the tea shop. One of the sisters, either Mrs. Thurgood or Mrs. Honeycutt, would have his travel jug filled with hot tea waiting for him as soon as he walked through the door. He would leave an empty one for the following morning and take the full one in its place.

  Max would then continue his walk to the haberdashery. There he would spend 24 minutes enjoying his pastry and tea before opening for business.

  This morning, however, Mr. Gladstone, his beloved cat managed to escape out the door and into the shrubbery. He spent valuable moments looking for the kitty without success.

  After locking the door, he realized he was 7 minutes behind schedule. He picked up his pace, grimacing as small clouds of dust appeared beneath his feet. He quickly walked around a rut where a wagon had been digging into the soft soil.

  The bell on the bakery door rang as he entered the small shop. The yeasty smell of bread baking and fresh cakes reached his nostrils. He inhaled, as he did every morning. It was heavenly.

  There was no one inside the shop, but he heard movement from behind a curtain in the back.

  “Miss Maybelle?” he called. He only had a few moments and didn’t want to waste any of them. The curtain flipped to the side and a small blonde woman appeared, wearing an apron and covered in flour.

  “Good morning, Mr. Blue. I noticed you were late, so I put your pastries in a box already.” She lifted a small box tied with string and handed it to him. “That will be three cents.”

  “Have you created anything new recently?” he inquired.

  Maybelle raised her eyebrow at him. “Would it matter? You get the same thing every morning.”

  “I know,” he said sheepishly. “It is just that your jelly pastries are so good.”

  Maybelle laughed. “I am working on a new chocolate cake recipe as we speak.”

  “Perhaps I’ll try it,”
he said, even though he knew he never would. He was a man that didn’t like change. Two small jelly pastries were just fine for him.

  He pulled coins out of his pockets, turning each one over in the palm of his hand so they all faced upwards. He then counted out the pennies, placing each one individually in Maybelle’s hand.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, placing the pennies in her cash box. Max nodded and took the box, exiting backwards from the store. He pulled the door shut, checking it three times before he left.

  He checked his watch. Four minutes longer than he intended at the bakery. He’d have to be sure to spend no more than a minute at the tea shop.

  Mrs. Honeycutt was in the tea shop, fixing a display of muffins on a china plate. She smiled when she saw him. “Mr. Blue, I wasn’t sure if you were going to be by this morning.” The shop wasn’t open for business, but he had established a routine with them to stop by before business hours to pick up a pot of tea.

  It wasn’t actually a pot, but more of a glazed terracotta jug that he brought from New York when he moved west. He had three such jars, which allowed him to leave one at the store and rotate the other two on alternating days.

  “I am running a bit late, if you please, Mrs. Honeycutt.” He placed the empty jug and cover on the counter. He turned it so the handle was placed away from the door.

  “Of course,” she said, placing the muffins down. She walked behind her display and returned with a duplicate jug which was warm to the touch. “It is still brewing, so it will be piping hot when you get to the store.”

  Max handed her a nickel and picked up the jug. The pot would last most of the day and the terracotta would keep it warm until at least afternoon.

  He was on his way out when an elderly woman wearing a dark bombazine frock with a crepe hood entered the shop. He had never seen her before, and he knew most of the folks in Creede.

  The frock appeared a little dusty and definitely out of fashion. He thought it might be from 1837 if memory served him correctly. Why would she be wearing a mourning dress that was in style over 30 years ago?

  She looked at him for a moment and grinned a big toothless grin.

  He estimated her to be at least eighty. He didn’t recall seeing many people that elderly, and certainly not in Creede. Most he knew, died around sixty years of age, at most.

  Max returned her smile with a half one of his own and scooted past her. “I don’t believe they have opened for business this morning,” he said, pushing his way out into the morning air. The smell of roses lingered, mixed with something else. It reminded him of the factories back east. He quickly dismissed the thought.

  “That is a shame,” she said, adjusting her hat. “I did so fancy a cup of tea.”

  “You’re British?” he asked.

  “Yes. From Manchester. Came over here about 30 years ago with my Edward. God bless him, he is gone now.” She touched the delicate fabric around her face.

  He pulled the door behind him, checking it three times to make sure it was secure before stepping back into the road.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Max shifted the jug to his other hand and dug through his pocket. He pulled out his watch once more and glanced at the time. He needed to open the store within five minutes. Where did the time go? “I really must be going.”

  “Sixty-five,” the woman called behind him.

  “Excuse me?” Max stopped and looked at her.

  “I’m sixty-five. Nowhere near eighty.”

  “How…?” Max started. He was sure he didn’t speak his thoughts out loud.

  “You didn’t,” she replied to his unspoken question. “But I know you were thinking it, Maximillian Blue.”

  Max nearly dropped his jug, but she was there in an instant to make sure he held onto it, wrapping her hands around his hand and arm. Her bony fingers were small, but they held onto him with a powerful grip.

  “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

  “No, you haven’t.” she grinned again. Pale gums peering from behind her furrowed lips. “How about we have a nice cup of tea and a chat, Maximillian?”

  Max felt himself nodding, and the woman held onto his arm until they reached the haberdashery.

  “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, peering in the window. A dark wool suit was on display. “I am so happy to see frocks haven’t gone out of style.” She turned to Max. “Did you know that dark jackets and lighter pants are what most men in New York are wearing now?”

  Max looked at her. Was this elderly woman giving him fashion advice? He certainly wasn’t going to take fashion advice from someone that was wearing a 30-year-old mourning gown. “I thought you were British.”

  The woman laughed. “I lived in New York once. The same as you, Maximillian. Same as many others.” Max was about to ask how she knew his name and that he had lived in New York, but she quickly said, “Let’s go inside, Maximillian.”

  Max looked at the street. People were walking back and forth as the businesses were starting to open for the day. It didn’t appear that anyone noticed them together. Why he was so concerned, he didn’t know. He tried very hard to keep appearances up, but sometimes things… he just stood out.

  He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the door lock. He turned it once, twice, unlocking and locking it three times before letting the key stay in the unlocked position. He took a deep breath and allowed the door to swing open.

  He stepped aside to let his companion enter first. She walked into the middle of the store and clapped her hands once. “It is just lovely,” she said. “It will certainly do.”

  “Do for what?” Max asked, placing his bag and jug of tea on a table in the corner of the store.

  The woman appeared to ignore him as she moved from display to display fingering the material from each suit as she inspected it. “Oh,” she cooed, stopping in front of a wooden display .

  She actually cooed, Max thought.

  “You have notions. Not many haberdasheries over here have notions. That is something you would only see in a British store.”

  “It came that way. I purchased the store two years ago.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, opening drawers and looking inside. She took a few buttons out of one of the drawers and placed them on top of the cabinet, before walking away to another display.

  Max rushed over and collected the buttons, placing them back in the drawer. He followed her to where she was fingering a display of cravats that had just arrived the previous day.

  “Please don’t touch those,” he said, pushing the display further back on the table.

  “Maximillian, Maximillian.” She patted his cheek. Her fingers felt cold. “Let’s have tea, shall we?”

  Max touched his cheeks. His grandmother used to do that. He felt his throat thickening. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t thought about his grandmother in years.

  The woman sat at the table and pulled the box of pastries towards her. “I do love a good jelly cake. I wonder what type of jelly Maybelle puts in her pastries?” Max watched as she proceeded to unwrap the string holding the box together. She stopped and looked at him. “Aren’t you going to get cups and plates? A serviette would be lovely if you have one.”

  Max couldn’t respond. He felt himself giving a nod and walked to the small cupboard where he kept his incidentals. He placed two cups and saucers on the table and offered the woman his handkerchief as he didn’t have any napkins available.

  Max took a seat and poured tea from the jug into the cups. It was still piping hot and had brewed to a lovely dark color. He pushed a cup towards his guest.

  “It might be better if I know your name.”

  The woman looked at him and lifted her fingers to her mouth. “Oh my, I am a bit addled, aren’t I? Totally forgot my manners. Mrs. Louisa Pennyworth.”

  “Mrs. Pennyworth,” Max sighed, “as much as I would enjoy having tea with you, I do have a shop to open.”

  Mrs. Pennyworth blinked slowly. Her large bro
wn eyes moving like one of those mechanical dolls he saw in a New York shop window. “But Maximillian, no one will be here for a few hours. Your first customer won’t arrive before noon. So, enjoy your morning. You worry too much.”

  Mrs. Pennyworth reached inside the box and placed a treat on the plate in front of him. Max turned his plate three times and sighed. He hated people touching his food.

  “Do you know what you need, Maximillian?” He looked at her but didn’t respond. “You need some excitement. You know, shake things up a bit.” She waved her hands at him.

  “I don’t need that.”

  “Yes, you do. Look at you. You are a handsome man. Your hair is slicked down in the latest fashion. Your beard is neatly trimmed, and oh such a lovely chestnut brown. You aren’t ugly in the least.” She shook her head. “But then there are those peculiar habits. You live alone with Mr. Gladstone, who, by the way is consorting with Miss Pippin down the lane. He’ll be back this evening.” Mrs. Pennyworth lifted the pastry and was about to take a bite. “Oh, my teeth,” she said, placing the pastry back on the plate.

  She rummaged through the silk bag tied to her hand and popped a pair of teeth in her mouth. “I keep forgetting to put them in.” She smiled at Max, displaying a set of bright white teeth. Almost too bright. “They are porcelain, you know. Much better than the ones they would make from animal teeth. Imagine that!”

  “They make dentures from animal teeth?”

  “They used to! But in this case, it is just the base which is made from the bone of a rhinoceros. Imagine, that bone traveled all the way from Africa to be made into a pair of dentures.” She gave a romantic sigh and crossed her hands next to her cheek. “I would have loved to have taken a holiday there, but Edward insisted on moving to New York instead.”

  Max was getting impatient and confused. “Mrs. Pennyworth, what are you doing in my store?”

  “I’m here to help you, Maximillian Blue.”

  “If you think my only peculiar habit is living with my cat, who is consorting with the cat down the road, then I don’t think I need any help.” Max stood.