We’re finally making progress.”
Eugenia laughed at Mason’s obvious enthusiasm. “If you can call taking a building apart progress.” The existing depot building housed an express office on the east side, a ticket office and women’s waiting room on the west. Today the western half was being moved a few hundred yards and placed on the opposite end of the neighboring hotel to make room for the new depot. “It’s not very exciting to photograph.”
“Are you still thinking about what people will say a hundred years from now?” The twinkle in his eye told Eugenia that Mason found her preoccupation with the future amusing.
“You know I am.”
When she’d been sorting through the contents of two old trunks in the attic, Eugenia had found a household management book that must have belonged to one of her ancestors. In addition to a few recipes, it included hints on how to make candles dripless, reminders to bring in pails of water when a freeze was expected, and suggestions on how to sweeten the smell of the privy. What would the author think if she could have seen Eugenia’s home with its electric lights and indoor plumbing? And if that much had changed since the eighteenth century, what wonders would the twentieth bring?
“I hope someone finds our book in 1986 and sees what life was like here.”
“I’d like that, too, but I don’t imagine your father would be pleased to hear you call it our book.”
Eugenia chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Then I won’t tell him.” Just as she hadn’t told him how laughter had become an important part of her life since Chauncey had left Cheyenne or how her heart raced each time she was with Mason. She most definitely had not told Papa that she’d begun to dream of a future where Mason was more than simply the man writing stories to accompany her photos.
The smile Mason gave her made Eugenia wonder if he’d read her thoughts. Surely he hadn’t! But when he spoke, his question was innocuous. “Are you taking your camera to the party tonight?”
Last Sunday had been Easter, and to celebrate the end of Lent’s solemnity, Papa and the other cattle barons had decided to host a party at the Cheyenne Club tonight. Eugenia was expected to attend such events, and since Papa wanted Mason to learn more about his colleagues, he’d received an invitation.
“I wanted to, but Papa says that would not be seemly. His friends don’t all approve of my involvement in the book, so tonight I’m supposed to be nothing more than Erastus Bell’s daughter.”
“And the most beautiful woman at the dance.”
As a blush stained her face, Eugenia ducked her head. Never before had Mason said anything like that. Oh, he’d been friendly, and she’d seen admiration in his eyes when he’d looked at her photographs, but this was the first time he’d paid her a personal compliment. It felt good, so very good, to realize that unlike Chauncey’s flattery, Mason’s words were sincere. Eugenia’s skin tingled with pleasure, and warmth spread through her veins at the thought that Mason regarded her as a woman, not simply his partner.
The pleasure she’d felt over Mason’s compliment lingered all day, and she took special pains with her toilette as she prepared for the party. Even Aunt Louisa, who considered events like tonight’s dinner and dance a waste of money, told her she looked exceptionally pretty. Now, as she descended the stairs, Eugenia saw Papa and Mason standing at the foot, looking up at her.
“I told you Eugenia would be the belle of the ball,” Papa said, his face wreathed in a proud smile. “Mark my words, Mason. You’ll have to fight the other young bucks to get a dance with her.”
Eugenia caught her breath at the prospect of being held in Mason’s arms. She hadn’t been certain Papa would approve. In the past he’d insisted Eugenia dance only with men he considered potential suitors. Perhaps he was being more lenient now that he’d given Chauncey permission to court her. Whatever the reason, Eugenia would not squander the opportunity.
She extended the heavy cardboard booklet that Aunt Louisa had pinned to her gown. “My dance card is empty, Mr. Farling.”
If Mason was amused by her formality, he gave no sign but withdrew a pencil from his breast pocket. “May I have the pleasure of the first waltz, Miss Bell?”
It was indeed a pleasure, Eugenia reflected an hour later. She had waltzed dozens, perhaps hundreds, of times before, but never had it felt like this. The touch of Mason’s hand on hers, the warmth of his palm on her waist, the sparkle in his eyes as he gazed at her all combined to make it a dance she knew she would never forget.
Though it was their first time waltzing together, she and Mason moved like longtime partners, their steps perfectly matched. With no need to concentrate on the patterns of the dance, Eugenia was free to revel in the pleasure of being in Mason’s arms. If only the dance could last forever.
“Is something wrong, my friend?” Jeremy Snyder motioned Mason toward the table in the farthest corner of the bakery, the spot where they’d spent many an hour talking about everything from Jeremy’s paintings to Mason’s articles. Though Mason had never been here with Eugenia, when she’d said it was one of her favorite places, he’d decided to explore the Mitchell-Hathaway Bakery. As Eugenia had promised, Esther’s baked goods were exceptional, but what brought Mason back was his growing friendship with her husband. Jeremy had become the older brother Mason had always wanted.
Right now that older brother substitute saw too much.
“I didn’t know it was that obvious,” Mason said as he accepted the mug of coffee Esther placed in front of him.
“Maybe not to others, but part of being an artist is assessing people’s moods. You look troubled.”
That was one way of describing it. “I’m afraid I’ve done something foolish.”
“You never struck me as a foolish man.” Jeremy shook his head slowly.
If only that were true. “What else would you call having inappropriate feelings for a woman?”
For a moment, Mason thought Jeremy was so shocked that he could not respond, but it appeared he was merely collecting his thoughts. “Do you love this woman?”
That was the question. “I’m not sure. I think of her all the time, and I’d do anything in my power to make her happy.”
Jeremy nodded slowly. “That sounds like love to me. So, what’s the problem?”
“Her father would never approve. He hired me to do a job, not court his daughter.”
“So, we’re speaking of Miss Bell.”
Mason nodded, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of the woman who’d captured his imagination the first time he’d seen her. “She’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, but I have nothing to offer her. Besides, Chauncey Keaton claims they’re practically betrothed. How can I compete with a man like that? He’s rich and well connected.”
“And you’re an honest, hardworking man who loves her. Don’t sell yourself short, Mason, and don’t give up hope. If Miss Bell is the right woman for you, God will show you the way to win her.”
Mason must have looked skeptical, for Jeremy continued. “Believe me, Mason. I know what I’m talking about. I was in your shoes once and look at me now—married to the perfect woman, thanks to God’s goodness. It can happen to you, too.”
“I hope so.”