Chapter One

Goldman Theatre

Backstage Access Only

Manhattan, New York

November 1905

Eliza Carson set aside the dress she’d been hemming and sank back into the wobbly chair opposite the sewing machine. Picking up the script lying on the table next to her, she studied the lines of the main female character. True… she was only the woman’s understudy… second understudy, in fact… but it was best to be prepared. Just in case.

“Hey Red,” the stage manager shouted from the doorway. “You got Miss Allen’s dress done yet?”

Eliza looked up, turning toward the man’s grating voice, cringing at the hated nickname. “Yes, Ernie, I just finished the hem.”

He grabbed for the delicate garment with one meaty hand, and then thrust a piece of paper in her direction with the other. “Mister Baker wants these four costumes done by the day after tomorrow. He wrote out what they should look like and said you were to work your magic. Or some nonsense like that.”

She took the crumpled list from the man’s grasp. “I’ll get right on it.”

Ernie growled his understanding. “Oh, another letter came for you this morning.” Reaching into his vest pocket, he produced a folded envelope and gave it to her. “Mister Baker says you should stop using the theater as a mailing address. Ain’t that boarding house you’re living in got a street number?”

“Of course it does. I don’t trust some of those women with my mail.”

“Maybe what you need is a man to keep you in a style more befitting the city’s top costume maker,” Ernie pointed. “I’ve seen the way some of those hot shots look at you when you’re all gussied up on opening night. That includes the boss man.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said stubbornly. “I have no interest in being beholden to any man, especially those with no honorable intentions.”

“Suit yourself, Red. You ain’t getting any younger. This city will eat you up and spit you out if you’re not careful. Some of the most famous stage performers started out as kept women.”

“No thank you. I’ll work in my sewing room and wait for my big break, rather than take their handouts that always come with unwanted conditions.” She paused, then insisted, “Besides, twenty-five isn’t that old.”

Ernie snorted a laugh that quickly ended in a smoker’s cough. “You’d think for as long as you’ve been in the business, you’d have a better handle on how things work around here. You ain’t had more than a walk-on role in over two years,” he reminded her. “Maybe because you’re flaunting your independence.”

“Rather than flaunting my body, you mean?”

The big man’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “Yep, that’s exactly what I mean.”

Once Ernie left, Eliza glanced at the envelope he’d given her. Amanda Peterson . Eliza’s best friend growing up and the only one, other than Gram, who ever wrote to her. Tucking the envelope into her purse, she picked up the producer’s list of costume requests and got to work.

It was half-past midnight when Eliza used her key to let herself in the front door of the boarding house. Most of Missus Walker’s tenants were required to be home before she locked the doors at ten. However, given Eliza had lived there for nearly seven years, she was a trusted boarder and given her own key. Margaret, a doctor at the women’s health clinic, also had a key. It made sense given they both worked late evening hours.

Eliza kicked out of her button up boots, setting them neatly on the rag rug by the door, before hanging her heavy cloak on one of the wall pegs. Stretching her back to work out the kinks of hours spent over a cutting table and sewing machine, she made the climb to her second-floor room as quietly as she could.

As soon as she’d taken care of her evening ablutions, and changed into her gown, she climbed beneath the covers and opened Amanda’s letter. No doubt it would be filled with the goings-on in Big Bend, especially with Thanksgiving just around the corner, and Christmas not far behind.

Leaning close to the small lamp on her bedside table, Eliza began to read. ‘ Dearest Eliza, I write to you today not with the latest gossip but to tell you that your grandmother has not been well. Doc Whitman says she’s got a bad heart. She insists he’s an idiot and is demanding to be let out of the hospital. Miss Jillian intends to go back home and take care of herself .’

Eliza drew a deep breath and willed her own heart to quit pounding with the urgency of a hummingbird trying to stay aloft. She’d never imagined her robust and active grandmother to have a serious health condition. Rustling the stationery between her fingers, Eliza read on. ‘ Miss Jillian scolded me when I told her I was writing to you. How could I not? You’re my best friend, and she’s like an extra grandmother to me. If you can possibly get away, even if it’s just for the holidays, I know she would perk right up and be back to her old self soon enough. Of course, I’ll understand if you can’t get away. Love, Amanda .’

She was about to lay the letter aside when she spotted a postscript at the very bottom of the page. ‘ P.S. You’ll never guess who’s come back to Big Bend. Cole Stewart, and just as handsome as ever. He’s going to be our new marshal .’

Cole Stewart? Now there was someone she’d not thought about in a long time. She was barely thirteen when Cole left to join the army. His father, the town’s sheriff, was angrier than she’d ever seen him, but that didn’t stop Cole from getting out of Big Bend, just as he’d always said he would.

Three years later, when Sheriff Stewart died, Cole came back. He stayed only long enough to bury his pa, and then he was gone again. That was the last time anyone in Big Bend had seen or heard from him… much to the disappointment of the town’s young women. Like Amanda had said in her letter, Cole Stewart was handsome, and even more so in his military uniform.

She and Gram had attended the funeral in the town’s community church and then the reception afterward in the church hall. Rumor had it, Cole’s plan was to complete one last year of military service and then join the U.S. Marshals. Apparently, some people’s dreams do come true.

Just not hers .

Less than a week after she’d received Amanda’s letter, Eliza stood on the platform at the New York Central railway station and watched while her luggage, along with two crates of materials, were loaded onto the train leaving for Denver, Colorado. From there, she’d take a smaller rail line south to Big Bend.

She’d sent Amanda a telegram once she’d made her case to Mister Baker, and his business partner Mister Goldman, about how she could continue to create beautiful dresses for their stars from her grandmother’s home in Colorado. They’d been leery at first but finally agreed to allow her to work on a trial basis. As Mister Baker had reminded the theater owner, you don’t just discard an award-winning costumer. However, they warned, if she didn’t come back by the opening of the summer season, they would have no choice but to replace her.

Eliza wasn’t sure how she felt about their ultimatum. She’d have to think long and hard about what she’d wanted all those years ago, and where she’d ended up. Fortunately, she had five days on a train to review her limited options.

There was always California. The newly opened studios there were always on the lookout for talent for their silent motion pictures. Perhaps her dreams of becoming a starlet would be best served on the west coast, rather than on the New York stage.

“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.

Eliza had barely lifted her traveling case from the wooden platform when a handful of people swooshed by her, nearly knocking her bag out of her hand. Tightening her grip on the worn, leather strap, she made her way to where the porter waited to offer her a boost onto the train.

By the time she’d found a seat in the day coach, she was beginning to regret not spending the extra money on her own stateroom. The train was crowded, noisy, and smelled of a mixture of sweat and garish perfume. When the conductor came through the car, Eliza caught his attention.

“Yes, ma’am?” The stout man with graying hair asked.

“I was wondering if it’s too late to upgrade to a private room.”

The man’s mustache twitched, but he refrained from smiling. “I’ll check the list and see if there are any left. You’ll have to pay for the better room upfront.”

“That’s not a problem,” she assured him. Patting the small brocade purse in her lap, she mentally calculated the money she’d brought with her. It wasn’t as if money was an issue but, living on her own, she’d learned to be frugal. Her last conversation with Gram, before she’d left Big Bend seven years ago, sprung into her head.

‘ I’ve wired money to one of the local banks on Manhattan Island,’ Gram had said. ‘All you have to do is go in and give them the letter of introduction from our bank here in Big Bend. They’ll get you all set up .’

Eliza remembered being shocked at the amount of money Gram had sent… enough to set her up in a very nice boarding house in a good part of the city, as opposed to some of the sketchier looking establishments. Still, she’d rarely touched the account, preferring to earn her own way. Now, with the possibility of moving into nicer accommodations for her long journey, she was glad she’d made a sizable withdrawal before boarding the train.

She was just finishing her dessert in the dining room when Mister Teale, the conductor, appeared at her table.

“Miss Carson, I’ve secured you a sleeper cabin two cars back. I can send a porter to the coach car to gather your things and move them for you.”

“No need,” she told him. “I brought my reticule with me to the dining room, just in case you returned with good news.” Reaching for her purse, she asked, “How much extra do I owe?”

“That’ll be ten dollars and forty cents for the remainder of your trip to Denver,” he told her. “If you only want to pay as far as Saint Louis, it’ll be five dollars even.”

She dug into her bag and produced a ten dollar note, and a handful of silver. “I’ll pay all the way to Denver.”

Mister Teale took the money and issued her a handwritten receipt before saying, “I’d be careful about the fact you’ve got extra money on your person. We’ve never had any trouble, but there’s always a first time. As you’ve probably guessed, not everyone on this train is with means.”

Eliza nodded, then commented, “The young woman with the two small children seems to be struggling.”

Mister Teale nodded. “Like I said…without means.”

“Could you have a porter take them a tray? Maybe the chicken dish, and the sandwich plate. Milk for the children, and a beverage for the mother.” Opening her bag a second time, Eliza added, “I’ll pay for it, of course.”

“Not necessary, ma’am,” the conductor told her. “You’ve got the meal package on your ticket now, and since you missed the included lunch, we can make up for it with your request. We’ll even toss in a couple of cookies for dessert.”

“Thank you, Mister Teale.”

He tipped his hat and responded. “No, ma’am, thank you .”

Eliza made her way to her stateroom, unlocking it with the key the conductor had given her, and tossing her reticule on the bench seat. She removed her hat next, followed by the lightweight shawl she wore in place of her heavier winter cloak.

The room was nicely appointed. Not elegant by any means, but far more to her liking than the day car had been. Taking a seat in the chair by the window, she stared out at the passing scenery until well after the sun had set and there was nothing to see but pitch-black sky.