Chapter Six

Dresses by Wilma

Wilma Peters, Proprietor

Monday Morning

Adela stood outside Missus Peters shop long enough to take in the window display. Calico dresses, simple shirtwaists, and aprons hung from wooden hangers on a clothesline. Comfortable, affordable clothing for the everyday woman, farm wife, shopkeeper. Turning the doorknob, she stepped across the threshold and into the dimly lit storefront.

"Good morning, Missus Peters," Adela said in cheerful greeting. "It looks like another hot day today."

"Miss McIntyre," Wilma responded with a curt nod. "I don't know what the summer's like in Boston, but it gets mighty hot here in Colorado."

"It gets quite warm in Boston, too. At least, they have ocean breezes that offer some relief. I am finding the dry air here rather stifling."

"Like I mentioned on Sunday, I don't have much need for an employee," Wilma said, getting straight to the point. "My business comes and goes at a pace I can handle on my own." Pulling a face, she admitted, "Most it goes. Women can only use so many shirtwaists."

"Do you ever get a call for something fancier?" Adela wondered.

"Occasionally. When a woman becomes engaged and needs a wedding dress. Mostly it's everyday clothes and a single good dress or two for church on Sundays."

Adela scanned the room carefully. "I see you have a few hats as well."

"Very few," Wilma confirmed. "I used to make them myself, but the materials are hard to come by. Lately I've been ordering a few through the mail and then marking them up slightly when they arrive."

"I understand you have no room in your work for an employee," Adela began cautiously. "What about a business partner?"

"A partner? In what? I barely have enough business for myself," Wilma argued.

"That's just it, I think together we could boost your business substantially."

Wilma's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "How do you propose we do that?"

"First of all, we would remake the look of the shop. Brighter lights, maybe a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Rather than dark colors on the dresses in the windows, we display fancier, more colorful dresses in the window."

"I don't have any fancier dresses to display, nor the fabric to make them," Wilma pointed out.

"But I do. I have three steamer trunks filled with dresses from some of the best designers on the east coast. I even have a couple of day dresses from Paris." Before Wilma could comment, Adela continued. "We could use my dresses to attract clients. If someone wanted to buy one, we'd sell it and split the profits."

"If they're your dresses, it wouldn't be fair to split the money."

"Sure, it would," Adela coaxed. "Half to me for compensation, half to you for the use of your display space and for doing any necessary alterations."

"And you seriously believe your fancy clothes will attract the attention of the ladies of Comstock?"

"Women need clothes. It's not just about those everyday clothes that they need, it's also about what they want . I'm almost positive there's not a woman out there who wouldn't want at least one pretty dress in her closet, even if she only wears it on special occasions."

"But—"

"Comstock may be a small town now," Adela interrupted quickly. "However, if we're truly getting a rail line from Denver to places farther south, we won't stay small forever."

"Does this mean you're staying?" Wilma asked. "I'd have thought after Mister Wentworth's deplorable behaviour you'd want out as quickly as possible."

"I've never let a man's actions dictate my own and I never will. I've had my fill of big cities, and people who only do for others if it will benefit them. I like Comstock. It's peaceful here. I'm close to my sister if she needs me, yet far enough away to have my own life."

"You've certainly surprised me… and a few others. We expected some highfalutin society woman, not some down-to-earth lady."

"I'm still shaking off the prim-and-proper training, but I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if need be."

"Why don't I go in the back and make us a pot of tea?" Wilma asked. "Then, we can sit down and make a list of the changes to update my shop. Money may be a little tight for ordering paint and extras, but I can arrange credit at the store."

"Don't worry about that, Missus Peters," Adela assured her. "I can arrange to transfer some money from my account in Denver to the bank here in town."

"Wilma. Please call me Wilma."

"And you must call me Adela." Adela held out her hand, and asked "Partners?"

"Yes," Wilma confirmed. "Partners."

A Big Commotion

Two-Weeks Later

Key dropped into the chair, removed his hat, and used the bandana laying on his desk to mop the sweat from his brown. "I swear it's got to be one hundred degrees out there today," he grumbled.

"According to the thermometer hanging on the wall at the barber shop, it's ninety-six, but that's close enough," Deputy Baker confirmed.

"Your woman must be getting anxious to drop that baby," McGibbon suggested from where he sat near the half-open window. Not that there was a breeze of any kind.

"What's going on down the street?" Key asked. "Despite this stifling heat, there's a gaggle of women standing in front of the dress shop."

"They're in line to get in," Baker explained. "Today's the big reopening. It was all I could do to keep Millie in bed and resting."

"Reopening? I don't understand," Key admitted.

Terrence gave a chuckle. "That's because you're not married."

Key shrugged his continued confusion. "I'm going to need a bit more explanation."

"Missus Peters took on Miss McIntyre as her new business partner," McGibbon said. "They closed the shop for two weeks while they painted and added extra lighting. Then, they hung up a bunch of Sunday-Go-to-Meeting dresses in the windows. It's been drawing the town's ladies like flies to sorghum since early this morning. The Bailey sisters, the reverend's wife, and Missus Parker, the mayor's wife, were in line a half hour before the doors opened."

"They ordered special finger cakes from Mae's Café, and are serving tea to the customers," Baker added.

"So, in other words, Miss McIntyre is staying," Key confirmed. "I honestly thought she'd be on her way back to Boston… or at least Denver… by now."

"Yeah, me too," McGibbon agreed. "I guess she's got more moxie than we thought. She's not about to let a weasel like Wentworth scare her away."

"Sounds like it," Key responded, his thoughts scattered.

He'd seen Adela McIntyre less than a handful of times since her arrival, mostly at church services. Each time they'd met, he'd had the strangest feeling in the middle of his gut. The feeling scared him. Adela McIntyre was not what he had in mind for a lawmaker's wife. Yet, every time he closed his eyes and conjured up the home he would build, the land surrounded by the white fence, it was her vision that popped into his head. Unwanted, unbidden, but as clear as day.

The realization was like a punch to that quivering gut of his.

He needed to take a walk, work off some residual energy. "I'm going out for a bit," he told his deputies. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Sure ‘nuff, boss. We'll be here," Baker assured him.

Key cut a straight path to the telegraph office. He'd been putting off responding to the estate attorney. He'd thought of writing a letter, but the sudden urge to make an offer on the land he wanted changed his mind.

"Can you get that out right way?" he asked the operator.

"Will do, Marshal. That'll be twelve dollars."

Key dug into the pocket of his trousers. "I've got nine and change. I'll go over to the bank and get the rest and be back as quickly as I can."

"No rush," the clerk told him. "I'll go ahead and send this. Pay when you get the chance. You know… so I don't have to call the law on you." The young boy laughed heartily at his own joke.

"I suppose it would be something having to arrest myself, wouldn't it?"

Key's next stop was the savings and loan. The first thing he noticed was a heated argument taking place inside Peter Wentworth's office. "What's going on?" he asked the head teller.

"Mister Wentworth just found out that Miss McIntyre has an account with the Denver branch of the bank, rather than forwarding her money here to Comstock."

"Isn't that her business?"

"Of course it is," the teller confirmed. "However, he's taken it as a slight, as if she was hiding something from him even before they married."

"But… they're not marrying… by his choice," Key clarified, if only to keep his own head on straight.

The young man leaned forward, confiding in a whisper, "I get the distinct impression he's regretting his decision."

Key was about to offer to intervene when the door to Wentworth's office opened and Adela McIntyre stormed out, slamming the door behind her so hard that the glass rattled.

"I should check on her," Key suggested. "I'll be back later."

Stepping out of the bank on Miss McIntyre's heels, Key called out, "Miss McIntyre."

She stopped short and turned. "Marshal. I assume you overheard our… discussion."

"I'm pretty sure the entire town heard it," he teased. "I thought I should make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine, thank you. It's that pompous… um…"

"I get the picture," Key responded, chuckling. "May I walk you back to the dress shop?"

"If you'd like, though I'm fine if you have other duties."

"Nothing that can't wait. I'm glad to see you decided to stick around for a while. Comstock needs some fresh blood. Someone to shake things up a bit."

"I thought I was done with entitled men when I left Boston. I guess a few were shipped here to Colorado."

"It was the same when I left New York," he told her. "The rich controlled everything. Those who did an honest day's work paid the price for the arrogance of those who employed them."

"You're from New York?"

"Do you find that surprising?" When she nodded, he elaborated. "I grew up in Albany. My father is an attorney but is now serving in the state government."

"Isn't Albany the oldest of the original settlements?"

"Yes, it was discovered in 1609, long before we became our own country. It was made the state capitol in 1797."

"So, with all that history behind you, why did you come west?"

"Mainly because I had no desire to follow in my father's footsteps. I tried law school, but it didn't take. Instead, I hired on with Pinkertons. They sent me west to track down a bank robber. Once that was done, I got an offer from the Marshal Service, and I've been bouncing around Colorado, Utah, and Nebraska territories ever since."

"You're not staying in Comstock?" she wondered.

"This is my last posting, or so my bosses tell me. Once you hit thirty-three, they stop moving you around as much and give you a chance to finally settle down. I figure Comstock's as good a place as any to lay down some roots."

They slowed to a stop in front of the still-busy storefront. "We're here," Adela announced.

"Yes, I suppose we are."

"Thank you for seeing to my well-being, Marshal."

"If Wentworth gives you any more trouble, let me know. I don't mind straightening him out a bit."

Her soft laugh did another number on his insides. "Like I said earlier, I've known and had plenty of experience dealing with men like Peter Wentworth."

"Really?"

"When my sister and I were growing up under Missus Dutton's watchful eye, she would warn us about men's improper advances. She told us if we ever felt uncomfortable, or if a man was getting too close, we could make a show of tugging off our gloves and, in the process, jab the man soundly in the ribs. By accident, of course."

"Of course," he agreed with a grin.

"She called it ‘ The Proper Lady .'"