The Bride’s House Page 15

  Pearl was not sure that was a compliment, and she went to the tea table. To occupy herself, she emptied the dregs of her teacup into the waste bowl before holding up the teapot and asking Frank if he would like another cup.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t like tea much. I prefer coffee.”

  “Oh, I do, too,” Pearl breathed. “Tea tastes like straw.”

  “I’ve never tasted straw.”

  Pearl thought that an odd remark, and it took her a moment to realize Frank had made another joke. Unsure how to respond, she said, “I could make us some—coffee, that is, not straw.”

  Frank laughed, although Pearl had not intended to be funny but had only clarified her statement. “Your mother surely would not approve of your wasting both tea and coffee on me.”

  “I don’t have a mother,” Pearl said, adding quickly, “Of course, I had a mother, but she’s among the unloving.” The young woman thought she should not have used that old-fashioned term for the dead, but in her mind it had always fit Nealie. The girl knew her mother and father had loved each other, because married people did; that was why they married. But she had always wondered how Nealie felt about her. After all, Pearl had cost her mother her life, so why would she love her daughter? But Nealie might have loved her at least a little. Besides, her father and Mrs. Travers did, and that was enough.

  “I’m sorry. You must miss her.”

  “She died when I was born,” Pearl said matter-of-factly.

  “And your father never remarried?”

  The man was inquisitive, and Pearl said flatly, “No.”

  “I’ve offended you,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else. Have you always lived in Georgetown?”

  Pearl sat down again, wishing she had not set aside her teacup, because her hands were restless. She clasped them together to calm them. “I was born here.”

  “Well, I find it a very quiet place. I suppose when you know it, the town is much more exciting.”

  “No,” Pearl said, searching her mind for something amusing to say about Georgetown, but failing.

  “I think much better of it since I’ve met you,” Frank said. Then he laughed. “You must think me a flatterer. I daresay I’ve been bold, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Miss Dumas—Pearl Dumas.”

  “Pearl,” he repeated. “What an oddly fitting name.”

  “I’ve never thought so.” It did not occur to Pearl to ask why he thought the name fit her.

  Frank, perhaps sensing she was uncomfortable with flattery, did not continue. “Do you play tennis? I’ve just taken up the game and say it is splendid.”

  “I’m not much good at sports,” Pearl answered miserably.

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Would you like to watch me play sometime?”

  Pearl hesitated, but before she could reply, she heard her father at the door. She was both disappointed and relieved as she stood up and announced, “Here’s Papa now. I will introduce you—Mr. Curry, didn’t you say?” she asked.

  “I did. Frank Curry.” He stood and picked up his hat and walking stick.

  Pearl repeated the name, not to commit it to memory, because she knew she would not forget it, but because she liked the sound of it. After Charlie went into his study, she led the visitor through the parlor doors and announced, “Papa, you have a visitor. Mr. Frank Curry. He is here about molybdenite.”

  “Ah,” Charlie said. “Has anybody found a use for it yet?”

  “That’s why I’ve come to see you, sir.”

  Charlie shook hands with the young man. As he sat down, he nodded at the chair in front of his desk. Pearl stood quietly to one side, hoping her father would not notice and she could stay, but Charlie dismissed her with, “Would you close the parlor doors when you leave, my dear?”

  Frank bowed a little to Pearl and said he was glad to have met her, but by the time Pearl had closed the pocket doors, Frank was sitting on the chair, talking with her father. She had been piecing when Frank knocked on the door, so she picked up the sewing and took it upstairs, seating herself in the little rocker in the hallway, the chair where Nealie once sat with her own sewing, looking out the long window at the mountains. Pearl did not quilt then but held the scraps of fabric in her lap until she heard the screen door close an hour later and glanced out to see Frank Curry walking away. He paused by the lilac hedge, but he did not look up at the window, and Pearl was glad. What if he had seen her sitting there, hoping to catch a glimpse of him?

  * * *

  Pearl did not mention Frank Curry at dinner. Had she done so, Charlie might have wondered at her interest and stopped the young man from returning. She yearned to know what Charlie thought of him, of course, and even considered asking her father about molybdenite in hopes the conversation would turn to the man who had brought the mineral to their attention. But she held her tongue.

  Just as Pearl was sure her father had forgotten their afternoon visitor, Charlie himself brought up the subject of Frank Curry. Mrs. Travers had served him a bowl of pudding, and as he picked up his spoon, Charlie said, “You were right about that fellow who was here, Pearl. He came to see me about molybdenite.”

  Pearl toyed with her spoon, then dipped it into the chocolaty custard, while she carefully considered her words. “So he said.”

  “What’s molybdenite?” Mrs. Travers struggled with the word, tried it several times, before giving it up.

  “A mineral with no use as far as I can see,” Charlie replied. Some of the pudding slid off his spoon onto the tablecloth, and he wiped it with his napkin.

  “Leave be,” Mrs. Travers told him. “I’ll spot it out.”

  “Darn spoon.” Charlie grabbed the utensil again and held it the way he had in the boardinghouse days, like a pickaxe. “Whoever invented these dabs of spoons? Remember those big ones you used to have, Lidie? A fellow could get half his meal on one.”

  “Many did. They were all I had, and not much smaller than a gold pan.”

  The conversation veered off into a direction Pearl did not want, and she feared her father had forgotten his remark about molybdenite, so she said, “Didn’t the man who was here tell you what it was used for? Molybdenite, that is. He seemed awfully interested in it. I have to say I’m curious about the metal.”

  Charlie scraped out the dish and said, “I’m sorry I wasted your pudding, Lidie.” Then he turned to Pearl. “Oh, he is. Frank Curry claims he has the market all sewed up, that is, if there is a market.” Charlie laughed. “He’s a likely fellow. I told him to stop by anytime he was in Georgetown, and I’d be happy to talk about mining with him. But I said I’d as soon invest in a pile of dirt as a molybdenite claim. That was why he was here, of course. He’s looking for investors. I’d get a better return from a sandbox.” He looked a little smug. “Folks around Leadville call the stuff molybedamnite.” Charlie chuckled as he pushed back his chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I want to see a fellow…” That was what he always said when he left to visit the saloons. The two women watched as he went into the hall and took down his hat, then left the house. After he was gone, Pearl and Mrs. Travers sat at the table, finishing their dessert.

  “You didn’t have much to say about Mr. Curry. Did I get his name right?” Mrs. Travers asked.

  “I believe so,” Pearl said.

  Mrs. Travers studied the girl. “It seems to me if I were Charlie Dumas’s daughter, I wouldn’t say much about a man I fancied, either.”

  “Oh, Aunt Lidie, you do go on.”

  “And you blush just like your mother did. It was Nealie’s burden—and yours, too. I saw you color when your father said the young man’s name. Lucky for you he didn’t notice.”

  Pearl looked down at her pudding, hoping she wasn’t blushing at that moment. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Your father puts a stop to any likely man who comes calling. He believes none of them is good enough for you.” That reason would do for both of the women, because
neither was the sort who delved into the complexities of the human psyche.

  “I only met the man today. I don’t know him.”

  “I didn’t say you were frenzied over him, but I’ve known you since ever, and I guess I can tell when something strikes you. I can’t say’s I blame you. I caught a glimpse of him as I was coming down the street. He’s as slick as a peeled onion.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Trying not to smile too broadly, Pearl looked at the older woman.

  “He is that, but I advise you not to let your father know you think that way.”

  The girl nodded. Then her eyes grew wide and she asked, “You don’t suppose he’s married, do you?”

  Mrs. Travers frowned. “I believe he’d have said so.”

  “Yes,” Pearl agreed, although she was not so sure.

  Mrs. Travers rose from the table and began clearing the dishes. Then she turned to Pearl, who was staring out the window at the lilac bushes. “I’m glad you met a man you fancy. I’m glad for it.” Then she muttered to herself, “But I don’t believe old Charlie Dumas would be.”

  CHAPTER 9

  PEARL DID NOT FORGET FRANK Curry, but as the weeks passed, she came to believe he had forgotten her and that she would not see him again. And, indeed, it was nearly six weeks before he stopped the second time at the Bride’s House, knocking on the screen door and asking for Charlie.

  “He’s away,” Pearl said, and went on to explain that it was Wednesday, and her father always took the train to Denver first thing on Wednesday mornings to go to the Mining Exchange. He would not be back until late in the evening, perhaps not even until the next morning.

  “Well, I am sorry,” Frank said. “He asked me some questions, and I should like to give him some answers.”

  “Papa doesn’t think much of molybdenite, you know,” Pearl told him.

  “I’m hoping he will after I talk to him. I have just formed the Colorado Molybdenite Company and want to tell him about it. I suppose I’ll just have to come by another time.”

  “Oh, but you’ll come in now, won’t you?” Pearl asked, surprised at her boldness.

  Frank smiled, as if he’d been waiting for the invitation. “If you’re busy—” he said, but he stepped inside before she could answer.

  “Oh no,” Pearl interrupted. “I mean, it would be a pleasure to stop dusting.”

  “You do the dusting?”

  Pearl was flustered. In truth, she enjoyed cleaning the big house as much as her mother had, and it pleased her that the two had that in common. It made Pearl feel that the house was hers, not just Charlie and Nealie’s. She was forever polishing the woodwork, making the floors shine, blackening the kitchen stove until it looked new. She liked cleaning her father’s office best, creating orderliness out of the papers and reports Charlie left scattered about. But she was aware that housework did not fit her position as the daughter of a wealthy man, and she didn’t want Frank to think her father was either poorer than thought or too parsimonious to hire the work done.

  “We can afford servants, of course, but Papa doesn’t like them running about, you see. They make him nervous. So Mrs. Travers and I keep up the place and do the cooking. It’s little enough we can do for Papa, who is so kind to us. Of course, someone comes in to do the laundry and wash the windows and varnish the floors, but we just keep things up ourselves, and it’s not hard work.…” Pearl’s voice trailed off, and she thought Frank must consider her a dullard. What man would want to engage in a conversation about housekeeping? No wonder she was thought to be poorly spoken.

  “Why, I say that’s splendid,” Frank said. “It never hurts a person to do a little work. Folks spend too much money on frivolity when they might put it to better use.”

  “On molybdenite?”

  Pearl did not realize she had been witty and was startled when Frank laughed. “You’re a very clever girl,” he said.

  No one had ever said such a thing to her, and Pearl turned aside to hide her bright cheeks. “Would you like lemonade? Mrs. Travers has just been about making it. I was going to sit on the veranda. It’s so much nicer than being indoors.”

  Frank agreed that was a fine idea and offered to help, saying, “You see, you’re not the only one who is handy about the house.” He followed Pearl into the kitchen, where Mrs. Travers was putting the lemonade pitcher into the icebox. Pearl introduced them, and Frank said smoothly, “I’ve been offered a glass of lemonade on the porch. Would you do us the pleasure of joining us?”

  The older woman smiled at the fine words but shook her head. “I’ve got slathers of sewing needs doing on the machine in my room. You young folks go ahead.” She seemed ready to say, “However…,” but Frank did not press her.

  So the two took the pitcher and their glasses out onto the veranda and sat down, Pearl making a pretty picture in her white dress, sitting on the white iron bench on the porch of the white house. She sat quietly for a moment, searching her mind for some topic of conversation. Then she asked, “Have you been playing tennis?”

  “You remember,” Frank said, and Pearl was pleased with herself for mentioning the game.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “If I had my racket with me, I would show you how it’s done,” he said. He looked across the expanse of yard. “There’s enough land here for a court.”

  “Sometimes we play croquet on the lawn,” Pearl said. “I’m not especially good at it.”

  “What a fine idea! What do you say we play a game right now? I believe you’re dressed for it, if you’ll take off your apron.”

  Pearl looked down at her skirt in embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t know,” she said, reaching behind her, untying the offending garment and thrusting it aside.

  Frank stood and reached for Pearl’s hand to help her rise. “You tell me where the set is, and I’ll put it up.”

  “We’ll do it together.” Pearl led him to a shed where the equipment was stored, and the two carried it onto the lawn. When the wickets were in place, Frank stood back to allow Pearl to go first. She picked up the mallet with the brown stripes on it and gently nudged her ball through the wire. Then she hit it a second time, the ball landing short of the next wire. Frank selected the mallet with the red stripes and whacked his ball through the wire, then on the second stroke, the ball landed next to Pearl’s. “Ah, I’ve got you,” he said. He placed his foot on the ball and struck it with the mallet, sending Pearl’s ball into the lilac hedge. When the young woman looked at him in surprise, Frank grinned. “I’m not a man to let someone win just because she’s a girl. I give no quarter,” he said.

  They continued the game, and by the time Pearl caught up with Frank, they were almost to the end of the course. She hit the ball through a hoop, and when it bumped into Frank’s, she said in a sort of apology, “I was lucky.”

  “Luck or not, you’ve got me,” he replied.

  It was Pearl’s turn to send Frank’s ball across the yard, but she hit it gently, and it rolled a few feet away.

  “We’ll have none of that,” Frank said, picking up the ball and returning it to its spot next to Pearl’s. “I may be a guest, but I’m willing to take my punishment.”

  Pearl stared at him a moment. Then she placed her foot on top of her ball and hit it with all of her might, shooting Frank’s ball straight across the lawn and under the veranda. “There,” she said, with a little thrill of excitement. “I give no quarter, either.”

  “Why, you are heartless.” Frank grinned. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Pearl won the game, which pleased her immensely, because she was not much of a competitor and generally finished last in any sport. Nor was she aware that most men didn’t like to be bested by a woman, although Frank did not seem to mind. “Shall we play again?” she asked.

  “What? Haven’t you shamed me enough? I think I’d rather celebrate your championship with a glass of lemonade.” The two returned to the porch, and when they were seated and Pearl had refreshed their glasses, Frank ask
ed, “Do you think your father would be agreeable to talking about molybdenite again?”

  “He thinks it’s worth no more than…” She was about to say dirt, but instead, she finished, “He doesn’t know what good it is. But he told you that.”

  “I would like to change his mind. How can I do so?”

  The question caught Pearl by surprise, and she felt conflicted. Of course, she wanted to encourage the man, but she was loyal to her father. It would not be right to tell Frank about Charlie’s weaknesses. But then, she thought, her father hadn’t any. “I believe he can be convinced by facts, not pretty words,” she said.

  “Of course.” He reached for the pitcher and, without asking, poured himself more lemonade, which Pearl thought was the least bit presumptuous, although she did not mind. She liked the idea that he felt at ease with her. “And what about you? How do I convince you?”

  Pearl stiffened. She thought he was playing with her. “Of what?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it? Do I want to convince you of the value of molybdenite, or do I want to convince you of something else?” When Pearl didn’t respond, he added, “I hope to convince you to let me call on you again.”

  Pearl straightened her skirt across her lap, afraid to look up. “I would like that,” she said at last. “I am always grateful for a discussion about metals.”

  “And I should hope about other things, as well.”

  “Yes.”

  Frank rose. “Then I should call on Wednesdays, when I know I will have you to myself.”

  Pearl felt faint, so she remained seated. “And you are welcome to call on Papa at any time, of course. He told me he likes you.”

  “I’m glad for that. I hope you feel the same way.”

  Pearl was uncomfortable flirting and replied, “I would be glad for a reason to put down my dust rag.”

  “Then I am happy to be of some use.”

  Frank went out then, and after he disappeared down the street, Mrs. Travers came from upstairs, because she had not been sewing at her machine but, instead, been sitting by the very window where Pearl had sat weeks before, watching Frank Curry depart. “He’s a seemly young man. Do you care for him?” When Pearl didn’t answer, she added, “I guess you want to tell me to mind my own taters.”