CHAPTER 11

?^?

T he 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 ma?tre 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.

That was the answer she wanted to hear. She poured another cup of tea, then led the conversation into the next area where she required assistance.

"Now that I've had a chance to think about everything, I've concluded I don't want to live on an isolated ranch. I never did." Sharing a home with Livvy McCord was a hundred times worse than living in the house Max had built for her. Livvy's sharp blue eyes made her uncomfortable, made her feel as if she didn't quite measure up. This was utterly ridiculous, and she resented it. "I want us to live in town with you, Daddy."

"There's enough scandal raging without everyone in town watching your belly grow," he snapped. "And you know they will. Besides which, when you do finally move to town, you need your own home, one that's equipped with a nursery."

She'd guessed that would be his position, and she'd thought about it; she had, in fact, put some subtly pointed questions to Wally. "Then I may be rusticating forever," she said, blinking at fresh tears. "Max sold enough cattle to at least build a house even if it is in the country, but Wally says he doesn't want to deplete the herd further. I can change his mind, of course, but it will take time. More time than I want to spend out there in the middle of nowhere." She let a tear slip down her cheek just as the waiter reappeared. Her father waved the man off with an annoyed gesture. "It's like you warned me, Daddy, ranchers are always short of ready cash. Unless you help, I'll never have a house in town."

"Damn it, Philadelphia . I can't make a banker out of every man who comes down the pike. I would have had to watch Max like a goddamned hawk to make sure he didn't give a loan to every rancher who'd fallen on hard times. Now you're hinting that I should turn Wally into a banker?" He shook his head and then finished his coffee, which had grown cold. "I doubt your new husband would recognize an amortization table if one fell on his face. There's nothing about him that makes me think he's suited for banking."

"I didn't ask you to take Wally into the bank," she murmured, leaving unspoken the words: You said it, not I. "But considering him for a position is an interesting idea. After all, you were willing to offer Max something. And a generous salary would go a long way toward a house in town." The conversation was boringly similar to a previous discussion, only then the subject had been Max. "I have no idea how Wally would take to the idea or if he'd be interested in finance." But she would bring him around as she had done with Max. "Naturally, I wouldn't expect you to act against your better judgment. You'll want to get to know Wally and consider carefully before making an offer. Frankly, I think you'll be surprised. I think Wally might take to banking."

"You are a caution," he said, shaking his head and looking at her across the table. "Sometimes you are so like your mother, may she rest in peace, that it's uncanny."

He referred to her ability to twist him around her little finger, of course. And her relationship with Wally would go the same way. Wally truly believed it was his decision not to claim his husbandly rights until well after the baby arrived. And when the time came he would believe that it was his decision to build a mansion equal to the home she had grown up enjoying. Wally McCord would do and believe whatever she wanted him to do or believe.

When she said nothing more, her father signaled the waiter, then urged her to order more food than she wanted. Unspoken was the admonition that she was now eating for two, but she understood the implication.

Finally she could think of the hated pregnancy without feeling sick inside and wanting to throw herself out a window. She still flogged herself for making a stupid, stupid mistake, and everyone would eventually notice that the dates didn't work out. But when she felt a surge of panic close her throat, she had only to look down at the ring on her left hand and her thoughts grew calmer. Max might have betrayed her, but Wally would not. They were man and wife. He had no choice but to stand by her.

Turning to the window, she watched the cold drizzle slanting across the hotel gardens. At odd moments she found herself thinking about seeing Max again. How would they behave toward each other? What would they say? She wanted him to feel guilty and jealous; it was what he deserved. But she hadn't yet decided how to achieve that goal. She had to take into account that others would be watching and judging their reaction to each other.

"I want him punished," she said softly. The rain reminded her of all the tears she had shed. "He has to pay for what he did." She didn't have to identify whom she meant.

Her father nodded, and his eyes hardened like stones. It didn't matter that she had engineered her own destruction and was more to blame than Max. She didn't see it that way. Max had betrayed her and refused to marry her. He had turned his back in her hour of need. The chain of events that ended with her pregnant and married to Max's brother had begun when Max refused to do as she wished. He should have stayed home in stead of going to the mountains for the summer. Had he done as she'd asked, none of this would have happened. She would not be pregnant. The low creature Max married would have married someone else.

She wanted them both to suffer.

*

Like most western towns, Fort Houser spread outward from Main Street . Modest homes occupied the outskirts of town, while larger and more elaborate homes were found the closer one approached Main Street . Main Street itself was broad enough to easily accommodate two-way traffic, and was cobbled before the bank and the county courthouse. Livvy mentioned there were plans to cobble in front of the post office and town hall come next spring.

Louise, who believed she was not sensitive to such things, noticed that people stopped on the boardwalk to stare as the McCord women drove past on the wagon. She fancied that she drew the most intense attention. "Aren't there any saloons in this town?" A whiskey sounded good right now. Maybe Livvy and Gilly were thinking the same, given the way folks gawked at them.

"The saloons and parlor houses are located about a mile north of town." Livvy kept her gaze firmly forward, but her terse voice indicated her awareness of the interest they attracted. "The Ladies Society has been trying to close them down for years. So far it hasn't happened."

All right, Livvy and Gilly weren't thinking about whiskey. But the idea still sounded good to Louise.

The mature elms shading Main announced to all and sundry that Fort Houser was not a flash in the pan, but an established town worthy of the name. Brick storefronts imparted an impression of age and stability. Church steeples rising above the tree line suggested a settled, organized community. If Philadelphia 's grandfather were still alive, he would have been proud of the town he had founded.

Livvy reined up before the Fort Houser Ladies' Emporium and set the wagon brake. "The first time is the hardest," she said quietly. "Both of you, hold your heads high and remember that you're McCords. Gilly, don't allow anyone to draw you into a discussion about what's happened. Louise, act like a lady and try not to look like a seductress."

"Me?" Her eyebrows soared, but she didn't laugh.

"Don't look hangdog, either. Not too assertive and not too apologetic." Livvy leaned across Gilly to look Louise in the eye. "I've noticed that you either thrust out your chin like you're spoiling for a fight, or you hunch up like you're hoping to disappear."

"I do?" But she knew that was exactly what she did.

"Aim for something in between," Livvy ordered, swinging down out of the wagon, then smoothing her skirts and straightening her hat. "And stick close by. Don't go wandering off."

The warm feeling of family cooled somewhat. Louise doubted Livvy would have thought it necessary to warn Philadelphia to act like a lady, or to tell her how to look, how to behave, and where to stand. Lips pressed together, she swung down from the wagon seat and conducted a quick inventory.

She was wearing one of the ensembles she'd purchased at the seconds shop in Denver . Comparing herself to Livvy and Gilly, she suspected her skirt and jacket were hopelessly out of fashion, but the length of her skirt was approximately correct, and the fit wasn't far off. She was clean and tidy. Her silly ladies' hat was almost the same color as her brown jacket. This morning she had carefully spit-shined her boots and had washed and ironed a fresh hanky.

Her chin came up, and her eyes hardened. Livvy and Gilly might not agree, but she didn't feel her appearance needed apology. She'd done the best she could with what she had to work with.

Gilly pressed her arm and gave her a look of encouragement. "With your hair and eyes, brown is a good choice. Don't you agree, Mama?"

Livvy was pushing at her gloves, studying the gold lettering curving across the emporium's display window. "Mmm. Green and gold would also be good." Sunlight dappled through the elm branches and lit the auburn strands threading the coil on her neck. Livvy McCord was a handsome woman; she must have been a beauty thirty years ago.

Livvy adjusted the strings of her purse, then lifted her head high and arranged a smile on her lips. "Gilly, I'm relying on you to select the trim we discussed." Stepping forward, she opened the door to the emporium. "Louise, you'll come with me. I want to hold the fabric near your face before we make any purchase. Gold may be as wonderful as I think, or it may make you look sallow. Of course, we won't know for certain until your tan fades. I suspect we'll have to take our chances."

A cheerful hum of voices greeted them when Livvy opened the door. As they stepped inside, however, a wave of silence began at the front aisles and rolled backward toward the bolts of material stacked up the far wall.

Had it not been for the silence, Louise doubted she would have noticed the tapping of their heels against a wooden floor. To her ears, their steps sounded like two deer and a horse clomping across a hard surface. Livvy managed to look stately and even a bit imposing as she moved toward the back. Gilly seemed delicate, and circles of pink burned on her cheeks, imparting an impression of fragility. Louise felt anything but stately or delicate. She felt tall and clumsy, big-handed, big-footed, a fit object for ridicule and scorn. When Gilly turned toward the trim department, Louise moved up next to Livvy.

"Get your chin off your chest and hold your head up," Livvy whispered from the side of her mouth. She smiled as she approached a woman standing behind a counter wearing a tape measure around her neck.

"Mrs. McConigle, I hope you aren't too busy today, as we require your assistance for a rather large order." Withdrawing a list from her purse, she drew a breath and began. "If we put a ruffle around the hem of your everyday skirts, I think they'll do nicely," she said to Louise. To Mrs. McConigle, she added, "We'll need wash poplin and black broadcloth, enough for a half dozen ruffles."

Louise stood like a dolt, clutching her purse in front of her waist, gazing at the wide bolts of material. She recognized the serge and broadcloth, and velvet and cotton prints and gingham. There were lightweight wools that she hadn't seen before and many fabrics she didn't recognize.

"Whipcord serge in golden brown. That will do nicely for a suit." Livvy's pencil made a scratching noise against her list. "We'll want French taffeta for the holidays, I think." She eyed Louise as if seeing her for the first time. "Not a plaid, a solid. Green. Now how many yards, I wonder?"

"Do I have a say in any of this?" Louise inquired uneasily, shifting from one foot to the next.

"It's all been decided," Livvy answered in a frosty tone, indicating her list.

Mrs. McConigle pulled down a flat bolt of green taffeta and began to roll out the yardage. With a sly look she picked a newspaper off the counter and handed it to Louise. "Would you hold this for a moment? It's in the way, and we wouldn't want to smudge newsprint on the fabric now, would we?"

Louise glanced at the newspaper and sucked in a breath. It was folded back to a headline that read: Granddaughter of Founder Weds Rancher. Philadelphia 's name jumped off the page. So did Wally's.

"When you've finished measuring out the taffeta, we'll need some chambray for shirtwaists in both plain and print, if you please." Livvy glanced at the newspaper in Louise's hands then made another checkmark on her list. "I hope Gilly can find bead trim for the taffeta. And I do hope dress stays are on her list." Only the crimson climbing her throat indicated she had read the headline.

And then the whispering began. Or perhaps it had begun earlier but only now moved close enough that Louise and Livvy could overheard a few words and phrases. As they were intended to overhear.

"… his own brother's bride. Indecent is what …"

"She must have been carrying on with one brother while she was betrothed to… "

"Well, I think the oldest McCord jilted her and she ran off with the other one for spite. Look at the dates. The oldest one married first."

"That's her over there… the one who married Max McCord days before he was supposed to marry…

what kind of hussy would…"

"… don't know how they can show their faces as if nothing … "

It seemed to go on and on and on until Gilly appeared at the fabric counter, her cheeks pulsing with high color. "I believe I have everything. It's loaded in the wagon. Are you ready?" Her eyes pleaded with them to say yes.

"It will take all of us to carry these packages," Livvy said, hastily loading a multitude of string-tied parcels into Louise's and Gilly's arms.

She lifted a similar number of packages and started down the long aisle toward the street door. This time she didn't march silently. "Good morning, Mrs. Howard. Miss Greene." The ladies did not return her cool-eyed greeting. "A lovely day, Mrs. Peabody. Mrs. Johnson." Near the door she stopped suddenly and Louise almost ran into her. "Mrs. Halston, I haven't seen you in ages. May I present my dear daughter-in-law, Mrs. Max McCord." There was nothing warm in Livvy's voice. Her tone was steely and stubborn.

"Howdy do," Louise murmured, pasting a smile on her lips. She couldn't shake hands because of the parcels stacked nearly to her chin, and didn't know if women shook hands in any case.

Mrs. Halston pointedly ignored her. Cool, condemning eyes remained on Livvy. "Am I to assume there will be no wedding on Sunday, Mrs. McCord?"

"I believe today'sGazette answers that question, Mrs. Halston." Livvy's gaze was equally cool and unapologetic. "If you'll excuse us …"After nodding curtly, she swept out the door with Gilly and Louise trailing behind.

Silently they dropped their packages in the wagon bed, then climbed up on the seat. "Spines straight, heads high." Livvy released the brake and flicked the reins across the backs of the team.

When they reached the outskirts of town, Gilly raised a shaking hand to her forehead. "I've never heard you make an improper introduction before."

Livvy kept her gaze on the road and didn't answer.

"They kept whispering loud enough that I finally realized I was meant to overhear. I'm so glad I decided to leave Sunshine with Mrs. Radowitz. Glad she didn't hear any of this."

"What are the gossips saying?"

Gilly dropped her hand to her lap. " Philadelphia , who is blameless, is—"

" Philadelphia is not entirely blameless," Livvy snapped.

"—the villainess, stringing along both brothers, being no better than she should be. In another version, poor Wally is the cad. He was romancing Philadelphia all along behind Max's back and convinced her to betray his own brother. And there are those who believe that Louise is to blame. Louise worked her wiles on Max, dazzled him so thoroughly that he forgot about poor Philadelphia and married an adventuress. When Philadelphia learned she'd been jilted, she turned to Wally for comfort, then ran off with him out of spite."

"From now on scandal will be a constant part of our lives. Mark my words. The gossips will be counting the months until Philadelphia 's babe is born. And then another wave of ugliness will begin while the rumormongers speculate on whose baby she's carrying. Well. I guess we don't have to worry about Louise or Philadelphia being inconvenienced by a stream of callers from town."

The distant mountains rose majestic and changeless above the tops of the cottonwoods dotted across the range. Louise gazed at the snowy caps and wished she could turn back the clock and return to Piney Creek and the celebration party at Olaf's cabin. If she could live the moment over again, she would ask the miners for a pouch of gold and call it good.

She genuinely liked Max and Livvy and Gilly. She expected to like Wally and Gilly's husband, Dave, when she knew them better. And she had brought all of them nothing but trouble and shame. That hadn't been her intention.

No one spoke until Livvy turned the wagon down the ruts leading to Max's house. Then Louise inhaled deeply, leaned forward, and said in a haughty voice, "Am I to assume there will be no wedding on Sunday, Mrs. McCord?"

Livvy and Gilly stared at her and immediately she regretted her impulsive imitation of the imperious Mrs.

Halston.

Then, as Louise was starting to feel foolish, Gilly blurted, "Yes, you stupid cow, since everyone concerned is already married, you may assume there will be no wedding on Sunday."

Louise pushed the folded newspaper into Gilly's hands. "Perhaps you would like to read the full account, Mrs. Halston," she said, switching roles, "and see if you can figure out for your small mean self if there will be a wedding on Sunday."

"I already know the answer, Mrs. McCord," Gilly said with a sniff. She tilted her head back to look down her nose at Louise. "I'm only inquiring for the purpose of embarrassing you and calling to your attention the unforgivable behavior of those cads, your sons."

"And who is this?" Louise exclaimed, looking down at herself. "Could this be the irresistible temptress who started it all? The seductress no man can resist?"

"My heavens," Gilly gasped, drawing back in horror. "I believe it is. Have you no shame? How dare you show your face in public?"

"Because I don't give a flying—ah, fig—what you think, Mrs. Halston."

She and Gilly grinned, then they burst into laughter, falling on each other and laughing until tears ran from their eyes and their sides ached. Even Livvy was smiling when she wheeled the wagon to a stop in front of the porch.

"It was so awful!" Gilly gasped, pressing a glove to her ribs. "The whispering! The things they said."

"And the way they stood like stones as we were leaving. Nodding to thin air when Livvy said their names. And they didn't even glance at me!"

"Oh, they looked at you, all right."

"I'm glad you two find it amusing to be snubbed and scorned," Livvy said after setting the brake. She climbed to the ground and headed for the wagon bed. "Can you pull yourselves together long enough to carry these packages inside?" She loaded them both from waist to chin with parcels, then looked at Louise and seemed to consider for a moment.

Then her lips pulled down in contempt and she tossed her head. "Since you seem unable to comprehend theGazette announcement, Mrs. Halston, perhaps you should drop by the church on Sunday. If there is no preacher, no guests, no bride and groom, then you may safely assume the wedding has been canceled." Pointing her nose at the sky, Livvy marched toward the door.

Louise's mouth dropped, and she blinked at Gilly . Then they both laughed and followed Livvy into the house. Over coffee and cake, they examined the fabric and trim they had purchased before Livvy measured Louise every which way while Gilly wrote down waist size, bosom size, length of arms, length from waist to floor, length from shoulders to waist.

Louise hadn't known what to expect from this day, but she had sensed that appearing in town would be difficult for Livvy and Gilly and therefore for her. And so it had.

But it had also turned into a happy day. She picked up the cake plates and dropped them into the dishpan, then brought the coffeepot to the kitchen table, refilling cups as Livvy and Gilly sketched suits and dresses on the parcel wrappings.

Before the women departed, they glanced into the parlor and noticed Louise's silver spoon. It was impossible not to notice it since the spoon was the only item on an otherwise bare mantelpiece.

"That's a very pretty spoon," Gilly said after a moment of surprised silence.

"Is it an heirloom?" Livvy inquired politely before she recalled Louise's background. "No, not an heirloom then." When Louise said nothing, Livvy crossed to the mantel and picked up the spoon, turning it between her fingers. "I have some polish that will remove the tarnish lickety-split. The next time you're up at the house, remind me and I'll send some back with you."

Blinking hard, Louise nodded. In the last minute she had experienced an array of emotions. First, embarrassment sudden and hot, that all she had of her own to display was a tarnished spoon. Then defensiveness. The spoon was the only nice thing she owned, and she didn't care what they thought.

Damned if she was going to explain. And finally, a rush of gratitude powerful enough to close her throat.

They hadn't laughed. They hadn't dismissed her spoon with ridicule or contempt.

When she stood in the doorway watching them drive away through a moist blur, she wondered if she really would choose differently if she could relive that moment of decision on the mountainside in front of Olaf's cabin.

*

Max reined up next to Dave Weaver, pushed back his hat, and wiped dust from his forehead. "Does it seem to you that the herd is only half what it was last year?"

He had agreed to return to the main ranch with the first herd and brand any beeves they'd missed in the spring. But until today it hadn't seemed necessary to split the cattle into smaller herds. Today they'd added another eighty beeves, and splitting into two herds would make each herd more manageable.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't really necessary. The boys were handling all the beeves with no particular difficulty.

Dave nodded. "I'm not sure this is the best year to split out the beeves. No one's going to end up with a decent-sized herd." Rocking back in the saddle, he frowned at the cattle grazing on dry yellow grass.

"We sold too many in the spring. Course, no one could have predicted this would be a drought year or that we'd lose so many."

The judge who'd adjudicated Jason McCord's will had insisted the cattle be counted and branded according to ownership, thus ensuring that no dispute would arise later among Jason McCord's heirs.

This had been done, but Dave Weaver and the McCords had continued to work the four land parcels as one ranch.

Early this spring they'd held a family meeting and agreed that operating four ranches as one was not an efficient long-term arrangement. Whose hired hands should hay the cattle during the winter? To whom did the spring calves belong? Who was responsible for what chores and expenses? Moreover, Dave and Max had both pledged cattle as collateral to build their places. The bank reasonably wished to know how many cattle each man owned. In the end, it was agreed to split the main herd as soon as each place was fenced. Dave was prepared to move his and Gilly's cattle onto their range. Max's ranch was ready enough that he'd agreed to bring his beeves to his place and Shorty and the boys would be responsible for feeding them over the winter.

The bank. Max lit a cigar and waved out the match.

This spring he'd sold fifty winter-thin beeves for about half the money he could have gotten for the same cattle if he'd sold them now. But he'd needed cash money then to put against the loan to build his house, barn and outbuildings, and begin the fencing.

Cost overruns hadn't concerned him much. When he'd ordered the best stove and oven on the market, when he'd decided on top-grade wallpaper and when he'd bought a piano for the parlor, he'd thought of the salary he'd earn at the bank and planned to put most of it against the house loan. The terms of his loan were generous, and he hadn't supposed Howard Houser would be too particular about the date he paid it off.

Now he gazed at the herd and imagined it divided into fourths. The result was sobering. Happily, his note at the bank wasn't due until the first of June next year. Therefore, he had some time to find a solution for paying off his loan. This was about the only happy thing he could think of at the moment.

The day after tomorrow he'd have to face his brother and the woman who was carrying his child.