Chapter Five

The arguments were not over.

Late Saturday night, when the men were just back from letting off steam in Loveland, Oliver’s carriage pulled up in front of the house and Alex, in evening dress, got out. Her voice was at fever pitch and she shook with rage.

“Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again! How could you? How could you? The most boring people, the most boring evening I’ve ever had the misfortune to spend, and that nasty little trumped up fool of a man, Henderson, all over me-it was disgusting.”

“Lower. Your. Voice,” snarled Oliver. “Or you can go to your room right now!”

“Go to my room? Go to my room? Gladly! I’d have been thoroughly happy—no, ecstatic!—to have spent the entire evening in my room, if you must know, rather than spend it with those insipid little mealy-mouthed damn fools. Go to my room? With pleasure, sir!” She marched up the path to the house.

Jesse was with the men listening at the corral while unsaddling their horses, and he could just make out her form. Alex had grown into a real beauty, like some goddess or something, he couldn’t put it into words. She was something beyond anything he had ever known, and yet it was Alex, li’l Ladilex, as Cal called her, standing there with her sumptuous hair wound into coils back off her face, pearls woven in, and wearing a shimmering evening dress. Where was the child he had known?

“We have friends,” Oliver was saying. “One must associate with one’s friends. We’re a community. We must all stick together.”

“I’ll tell you what, Uncle Oliver.” Alex turned back and jabbed the air with the fan in her hand. “You stick with them. You associate with them. You invite them to tea and dinner and have them bore you stiff. Me, I’d rather associate with the punchers any day of the week. I’d prefer having a two-minute conversation with any one of our men rather than sit through an evening of listening to that moronic Henderson woman talk about her English china, and her crystal imported from Ireland, and her tablecloths from Malta and godonlyknows what else! As if all of their petty bourgeois accoutrements would impress me!”

“I’m telling you now, Alexandra, if you don’t behave—”

“If I don’t behave? If I don’t behave? What will happen that hasn’t already happened to me, Uncle Oliver, you tell me that!” And she marched into the house.

They had to reach an arrangement, a compromise: they both knew that. Despite what she had said about leaving for a boarding house, Alex really wanted to live at the ranch, she loved it there; it was the only place she had ever felt was home, a safe haven from the world. She adored the Yosts, loved the punchers and had good friends among the men. Oliver had too many other matters to occupy him now than to have to keep dealing with his headstrong niece. Alex realized a bargain would be made.

They struck a deal. Alex would have free run of the ranch as long as she told someone exactly what her plans were. If her plans changed, she had to let someone know so, hopefully, they would always have a general idea as to where she had gone. In return, she promised Oliver to attend social occasions, but no more than two a month, other than Church, and including hostessing dinners at the ranch—and she would act pleasant and ladylike throughout. She could wear her pants outfits on the ranch with the addition—at Oliver’s request—of a sidearm for protection, but not in town unless there was good reason.

So when Jesse came to call for her at 5.45 on the Monday morning, a much happier Alex rushed down the steps. Rose, contented to be serving Her Ladyship once again, dashed after her, handed Jesse two sacks packed with meals for the trip, and caught Alex to give her a hairbrush. Seconds later Rose re-appeared just in time to shout Alex wasn’t wearing any shoes and what was she thinking? Jesse took the shoes, handed Alex into the wagon, threw the shoes in after her, and they took off.

Loveland was the preferred town for shopping and entertainment. Built in David Barnes’ wheat field around a train station when the line was put through between Denver and Fort Collins—eventually going on to Cheyenne—it was friendlier and more welcoming to the cow punchers than the more developed Greeley to the east of the ranch. Greeley was a dry town which would make any working man avoid it, and it had fencing around the town perimeters in order to keep the cows out, an idea which never sat very well with the punchers.

Jesse and Alex entered the store as Sheriff Amos Dunn said, “Yeah, I hear the Darcy Brothers are running wild over by Evans’ place.”

“Well, would you look at that?” exclaimed the shopkeeper, Mr. Bender, a rotund balding man with eyeglasses perched on his nose. “Could that possibly be little Lady Alex? Aren’t you all growed up.”

Alex smiled politely and gave Mrs. Bender a hug. “It’s so nice to be back.”

“Well, it’s just lovely to see you, dear,” Mrs. Bender responded with a squeeze.

Sheriff Dunn tipped his hat to Alex. “Better get back to work. Nice to see you again, Lady Alex. Welcome home,” he said as he left the shop and the bell tinkled behind him.

Alex stood there awkwardly for a moment. The shop had not changed one iota; there were the barrels of flour and grains, the large tins of coffee and other beans, the jars of preserves and the canned goods. She eyed the gun racks and the bolts of cloth, the stacks of men’s work wear and the produce from local farms that made tempting displays. Realizing word was probably out as to, not only her return, but her recent past, she stood with Jesse for an awkward moment then excused herself to go to the bank. “You might want to have a look at my list,” she told Mrs. Bender, handing it to her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The bank was a musty affair with teller’s grilles along the right hand wall and the manager’s office at the far back. A young woman sat at a desk in front of the door to the office. Working conscientiously, her head bowed over some papers, she was attired in a plain work skirt and white shirtwaist, yet Alex knew men would find her blonde hair and clean features appealing.

“May I help you?” She smiled up at Alex.

The woman’s name was engraved on a plaque on her desk: Miss Nancy Roderick. For a moment, Alex forgot why she had come. Something bothered her, something she couldn’t remember. Finally, she stuttered out she would like to see the manager.

“May I ask what your business is with him?” She was still smiling at Alex patiently.

“I-I’m Alexandra Calthorpe. From the Double F. I want to open a bank account please.”

“Oh, Miss Calthorpe.” The woman stood and faced Alex. “Mr. Calthorpe’s niece, isn’t it? I’ll see if Mr. Conway can see you.”

Nancy Roderick went through the door with a brief tap on the glass. Alex couldn’t be bothered to correct her about her title, but stood there patiently until Nancy came back out, an elderly man following on her heels.

“Lady Alexandra, isn’t it?” The man extended his hand. “Herbert Conway. Come in, come in.”

Conway showed Alex into his office and directed her to a chair in front of his desk. “I understand you wish to open an account with us? That’s fine.” He searched for something in one of his desk drawers. “If we could just fill out this form,” he went on, handing her the sheet he had pulled out.

The paper was quite simple: name, address, birth date, opening funds, occupation. “My opening funds, I guess you’d call them, are going to be wired into the account from New York.” At least that is what Jonathon Sturgis had told her if the paintings ever sold.

“Oh, that’s fine.” Mr. Conway pushed a pen and ink toward her. “How is your uncle these days?” he asked, sitting back in his chair.

“Very well, thank you,” mumbled Alex as she filled in the form. She handed it back to him.

“Now, let’s see.” Conway pushed some glasses up on his nose. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Oh, dear. No, this won’t do.” He put the paper down and looked at a startled Alex. “I’m afraid, my dear, a young lady must be at least eighteen to open an account with us.”

“Eighteen? That’s ridiculous,” she stated, her hackles rising. “I’ll be eighteen at the end of August; it’s only another few months.”

“And we will welcome you back then. With open arms. But for now, I’m afraid the only way you can open an account is with a letter of permission from your guardian or a male counter-signatory over the age of twenty-one. Did you bring a letter from your uncle?”

“No. I mean, if I had known I would have but—”

“Well, no problem. You just run along and come back with one and you can open—”

“But I want to open the account now. Today.” She stopped and stared at Conway. “Can it be any male over the age of twenty-one? Does he have to be related?”

“No, but of course you don’t want to go just asking anyone out on the street there.” Conway’s voice had a note of alarm.

“No, no.” Alex jumped up as if she’d been stung. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away!”

She ran into the shop in such a frenzy they all turned to look at her in surprise.

“What the…” Jesse started to say as she grabbed him, pulling him toward the door.

“Sorry! Sorry everyone, we’ll be right back,” and she pulled him out onto the street. “You have to help. They won’t let me open an account because I’m not yet eighteen so I need a male counter-signatory, if you please, male over the age of twenty-one to open the blasted account. Jesse, please, I have to do this—”

“Hang on, hang on.” He put his hands up to calm her down. “What about your uncle?”

“No! No, I want to do this today because if I get any money from the paintings I have to have a bank account number for Jonathon Sturgis to wire me the money.”

“Well…” He took a few paces. “I ain’t sure, Alex. What’ll your uncle say if he finds out I—”

“Oh, bother my uncle! He’ll never know and I doubt he’d care one way or the other. Really. Please, Jesse…”

“All right, well, I ain’t making any promises. I’ll go and talk with Mr. Conway and see what he says.”

When she saw Miss Roderick stand to greet “Mr. Makepeace,” straightening her skirt and giving him a smile, Alex at last remembered where she had seen the woman. Nancy Roderick had been Jesse’s lady friend at July 4th parties. The knowledge brought to Alex the memory of watching them dancing at those parties, Jesse laughing and smiling down at the woman he held in his arms. Jealousy stirred in her. She tried to understand this feeling but couldn’t cope with it and brushed it aside.

The two were shown into the office again where Conway laid another paper in front of Jesse. “It’s important for you to understand, Mr. Makepeace, if Lady Alexandra here is overdrawn, the responsibility will rest with you.”

“I won’t be overdrawn,” Alex assured them. “I’m trying to save money, not spend it!”

Jesse looked at her with some amusement. Mrs. Bender had read Alex’s shopping list and Jesse wondered if Alex knew how it added up. “It’ll be fine,” he confirmed.

Jesse filled out his form and Mr. Conway explained how Alex would get a bankbook to show her deposits and withdrawals but every time she withdrew any money it had to be counter-signed by Jesse and stamped by the teller. She grinned from ear to ear when they handed her the book and showed her the account number written at the top with her name, and she barely skipped all the way back to the shop.

“Jesse’s in love with Nancy, Jesse’s in love with Nancy,” she teased.

Jesse stopped dead and turned to her, hands on hips. “Alex,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear that one more time. I’m tellin’ you now. She’s a fine woman but I ain’t seen Miss Roderick for years ’ceptin’ at the bank. Now, don’t you go startin’ no rumors, ya hear?”

Seeing how serious and annoyed he was, she knew to stop. Yet she couldn’t help saying, “Yes, Mr. Makepeace!” Inside her, however, there was an amount of relief.

“All right now, so you wanted ten cotton bandanas,” Mrs. Bender said. “Any particular color, dear?”

“Oh, no, any old thing will do.”

“What do you need ten for, Alex?” Jesse asked.

She looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “Well, they get dirty really quickly, Jesse. How often do you change yours?” She waited for an answer but he only rubbed his head. “Anyway,” she went on, “I’ll probably wipe my brushes on them.”

“Eight pair of denim pants? Are these for you?” Mrs. Bender inquired in a tone that showed some disapproval. “Now, dear, you know they don’t make no pants for women, don’t you?” She looked at Alex over the top of her half-rim glasses.

“Well I suppose a boy’s size would do. Have you got those new ones from Mr. Levi Strauss with the watch pocket out the front?”

“We do, but we’ll have to see if we have a boy’s size that fits. They’re seven dollars each. Is that all right?” Mrs. Bender shook her head but didn’t voice the censure she would have liked to. She was there to sell things, not to tell folk what they should or should not buy.

“I suppose.”

“Here.” Mrs. Bender pulled out a pair from a stack. “Go try these on behind the curtain there in the storeroom.”

Alex tried on denim pants and boys’ shirts and asked Jesse to find a gun for her on her uncle’s orders, while Mr. Bender pointed out cartridge belts that would go around Alex’s waist at least twice.

“I can’t wear that.” She grimaced. “They’d make me look like some Mexican bandito from the Wanted posters.”

Jesse laughed and Mr. Bender said, “I think I can cut the belt down and move the buckle if you don’t mind waiting?”

“Boots?” Alex went on.

“Oh, dear, no.” Mrs. Bender shook her head. “I doubt…well, let me do an outline of your foot and take the instep measurement and we can see if we can order some in for you.”

While Alex was removing her button-up shoes, a young woman entered the shop. It was Sara Beth, the Bender’s daughter. Alex had never had warm feelings for this girl, who in turn had never seemed to have a nice thing to say to her; she was pert and pretty and blond with a retroussé nose which Alex thought, somewhat unkindly, made her look a bit like a pig.

Sara Beth closed her parasol and smiled at Alex. “Why, what have we here? Lady Alex, as I live and breathe. How nice to see you again.”

Alex nodded hello as Sara Beth went to the counter and got her apron back on, then fetched down a stack of newspapers.

“Oh, yes, Jesse,” Mrs. Bender said as she did the outline of Alex’s foot. “You mustn’t forget the London Times for Mr. C.”

“No, for sure,” Sara Beth smirked. “Such interesting news.”

In that instant, Alex knew. Her blood ran cold as she pulled her shoes back on but Sara Beth was already reading out loud.

“‘Lady Alexandra Elizabeth Maria Calthorpe—my, but don’t we have a lot of names—daughter of Frederic, Duke of Faringdon, was today found innocent of the attempted murder of her former husband, John, Lord—’”

“That’s enough!” snapped Mr. Bender coming out from the storeroom. “Leave it alone now, Sara Beth, leave the poor child be.”

Jesse put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, but she moved to the counter to face Sara Beth. “I’ll have all of them. I’ll buy the lot,” she said.

“Oh, but I’m afraid they’re all spoken for. These are special order; the gentry want their news from England.”

“It’s all right, Lady Alex,” Mrs. Bender said soothingly. “We can tell them these didn’t come in. We’ll destroy them if you like. We only ever get a Friday edition and some issues never reach us anyways.”

“No, I’ll pay for them. I’ll take them all. Put them on my bill. Please. Really.” She stood there watching as Sara Beth gave her a last nasty look and went upstairs.

“Now, let’s see. I won’t charge you for the boots until I find out if I can get them. Have to send to Denver for those. Same with the paints you asked for, though I have the linseed and turps here for you. That’s one dollar each for those. Ten bandanas at fifty cents apiece is five dollars, eight pair of denim pants at seven dollars each is fifty-six dollars, and eight shirts did you say? At four dollars each, that’s thirty-two. The Colt’s ten, the belt two and the box of ammunition is two.” She added up. “That’s one hundred and nine dollars. Shall I put that on the Faringdon account, dear?”

“You forgot the papers, Mrs. Bender.”

“Oh, really dear, it’ll be—”

“I insist,” Alex said quietly. “I need them. For papier maché. Really.”

Mrs. Bender looked at her a moment, then wrote down, “Eight imported newspapers at one dollar fifty each is twelve dollars so that makes a grand total of one hundred twenty-one dollars.”

“Right. I only have a hundred dollar note.”

“Bill,” corrected Jesse. “It’s a hundred dollar bill, Alex.”

“So I’ll have to leave off, let me see—” Alex took out the crumpled bill from her reticule.

“Well don’t you want to put it on the ranch account?” Mrs. Bender asked again.

“No. It’s mine. Can we take something off, please? A pair of pants and a shirt perhaps?”

“Well that leaves you with one hundred ten dollars.”

Jesse slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

“No. I was going to get a hat as well, Jess.”

“I thought you hated hats!”

“Yes, silly frou-frou ones with bows and ribbons. I need a Stetson for riding—even if it will put a line on my face.”

He sighed. “Alex. Just put the purchases on account like ever’one else and when your money comes in—”

“Can you please take off another pair of pants and I’ll owe Jesse three dollars.”

Hope’s Hats was on a side street. Jesse and Alex walked there in silence, Jesse nodding briefly to people he knew. He opened the door for Alex, trying to read her face, but there was only a small frown to show anything amiss. The bell jangled as they went in and Mr. Hope stepped out from behind a curtain.

“Ah, Mr. Makepeace. How nice to see you again.” Mr. Hope rubbed his hands together in expectation. “And I see you’ve brought along a young lady to give her opinion.”

“Actually, Mr. Hope, we’re looking for a hat for the young lady.”

“Well, you know we don’t sell ladies’ hats.” The man waved his arm at the displays. “I suggest you go on over to Hannah Tuggy’s—”

“This young lady would like a Stetson, Mr. Hope.”

Hope was astounded. “I-I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Makepeace.”

“Seems clear enough, Mr. Hope. Lady Alex wishes to buy a Stetson. You have boys sizes right over there as I recall. Can we take a look?”

Hope looked at Jesse as if he were stark raving mad but said nothing as the two went to the hat stands holding several smaller-sized Stetsons. Alex immediately tried on a black one. She looked at herself in the mirror and then smiled up at Jess but he shook his head, so she put it back.

“How much are they?” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. We’ll settle up later.”

“You keep saying that. What if the money never comes in? What if I never sell a painting in my life?”

“Oh, ye of li’l faith. They’ll sell.”

Alex stared at him.

There had been an evening when, at age nine, Alex wanted to lasso the corral post and Jesse had helped her with that accomplishment—she wouldn’t give up until she had succeeded. He wouldn’t let her give up on the painting either. He took a light fawn colored hat sporting a beautiful silver band with a feather medallion at the front, and put it on her head, then adjusted it slightly forward. Her smile was magical. “That’s the one,” he said.

They walked to the counter to pay. “Twenty-five dollars,” Mr. Hope said rather smugly.

At first, Jesse thought the man was overcharging because it was for Alex. But Hope continued, “Silver hat band is fifteen. Handmade. Solid silver.”

“How many boys can afford this, Mr. Hope?” Alex reached across and removed the hat band. “I’ll owe you ten more dollars,” she told Jesse.

“I like the band—”

“I love the band. But I can’t afford it. I’m not a rich rancher’s son,” she added with some irony. “And don’t start telling me…” She put her hand out for the money, which he gave her, and she put it on the counter ready to walk out.

The door jangled again. “Out, out!” shouted Hope at the two men who had come in. Their dark features and mode of dress announced they were Mexicans. “We don’t serve your kind in this shop!”

“Your kind!” Alex said in disbelief, her face reddening. “Exactly what kind is that, Mr. Hope?”

“Mexicans! Thieves!”

Her eyes flashed and Jesse sighed. She turned to the men. “Que es lo que usted quiere?”

“Esta bien, Señorita, vamos a irnos. No queremos problemas.” The door closed behind them.

Alex turned to Jesse. He knew what she was thinking; he read her like a book. “Take the hat, Alex,” he said in a low voice so Hope wouldn’t hear. “We jus’ won’t come back again.”

****

“What happened to the old Indian who used to be outside the shop?” Alex asked, making conversation as they rode back to the ranch. She was eating from the lunch bag and occasionally feeding Jesse a bit.

“What old Indian?” Jesse slid a glance at her and shook the reins a bit.

“You know, the one who used to be squatting outside, begging. The one with the bracelet I always wanted. The turquoise and silver cuff. You remember? I really had my eye on that. I thought if he sold it he would have money to eat.”

“No idea. Long gone,” Jesse replied absentmindedly.

Alex turned away and sighed. She let the silence stretch for a bit before feeding him another bit of chicken. “You didn’t ask,” she said at last. “How much do you know?”

He thought of pretending he did not understand what she meant, but looking at her, he knew her need to tell was greater than his need to hear it all. “You don’t have to tell me,” he replied. “I know you were married and it’s been annulled. I know you didn’t try to kill ’im, Alex. I know you gave him laudanum to—”

“You said once we were best friends. Friends share everything.”

There had been a day, which now seemed so long ago, when he had been telling her how he had come up from Texas, aged fourteen, on a cattle drive, riding drag all the way, eating dust ’til his lungs were choked with it, and how he missed his family, missed watching his baby brother round the house while his mama did her chores. He had explained how his father had died in the War Between the States when he was six and he had become the man of the family, but they were too poor and there were too many mouths to feed at home so he left. Alex, aged eleven at the time, with tears in her eyes, asked who his best friend was, and he had replied jokingly, “Well, you are, of course,” trying to get her to smile again. They were different people then, so much younger, and neither knew what lay ahead.

“Friends don’t pry,” he finally answered. “If you want to tell me more…it’s up to you.”

Alex looked straight ahead. He wondered if she felt spurned, rejected.

“It’s not that I don’t care,” he said as if he had read her thoughts. “I do care, Alex. It’s just…it’s none of my business. Unless you make it so, of course.”

“I want you to know,” she said at last. “I want someone who knows me…” Her voice trailed off. Of course that wasn’t it. Annie and Tom already knew, but Jess was different. Jesse would protect her in a different way, defend her somehow. She needed him to know.

“When we were in Paris…on the fateful wedding trip, we dined out with his friends—I think it was the second evening. It was a friend of his from school and his mistress who he had installed in her own apartments in Paris. She had been—well, like me I suppose—a fairly well-bred woman, maybe not an aristocrat’s daughter or what-have-you, but nonetheless well-bred. She had fallen in love with a soldier, given herself to him, and he deserted her. So there she was, a courtesan, if you like. Bound to live forevermore on the generosity of a series of benefactors until her beauty or her luck ran out. I’m telling you this because that evening I looked my alternative fate in the face. It could have been me, had I not consented to this marriage, such as it was.

“But the other side of that evening was the insult to me my husband perpetrated. The only way I can explain it is, if you took me into Miss Bea’s and asked me to have dinner with one of the soiled doves.” She looked at Jess for a moment to try to read his face but he gave no reaction. He understood perfectly. “You know me well enough that I would have nothing against the poor woman per se. My sympathy was with her completely. But the insult to my honor was…well, it was stupendous to say the least. One’s husband simply does not take one out to dine with a-a fallen woman.

“I had to leave early. I complained of a headache. John did not even see me back to the hotel.” She stopped for a while as Jesse continued to look ahead. “That was the kind of man he was, Jess. He was a drunkard, a bounder we call them in England, or a blackguard, a gambler, a womanizer. That was the man my dear father wished me to be married to for the rest of my life.”

There was a long silence until Jesse said, “You’re free now, Alex. You’re here.”

“Yes. I’m back in Colorado. And all’s right with the world,” she quoted with some amusement as she fed him a piece of apple somewhat distractedly. “But sometimes I wonder, I wonder why men do as they do to women and why women put up with it. I’m not sure what I’ll do if those damn paintings don’t sell, Jesse. I really don’t.”

Jesse headed the wagon down the fork in the road to the Homestead to drop off some supplies for Annie and Tom. Several horses were hitched out front.

“What’s goin’ on?” Jesse asked, coming in the door with Alex close behind. She went past the men to give Annie a hug and stood there with her in the kitchen area.

“Hayden’s been shot,” Tom said, referring to one of the men who had been at the Line Camp called Cattail. He was sitting at the head of the table, the punchers around him. “Charging after rustlers up on the north range.”

“Sheriff says the Darcy Brothers are out and about,” Jesse told him. “Was it them?”

“Prob’ly. Some of our men have already gone after them but if the sheriff’s aware, then I should think they’ll soon be joined by a posse.” He looked across at Annie who was visibly relieved.

Alex picked up a metal implement on the worktop by the sink and started to turn it around in her hands. It had a strange, sharp blade shaped like a crescent moon and she turned it this way and that, trying to figure out what it did. After a time, the room had gone dead quiet. Alex looked up: all eyes were on her. “What? What now?” Her questioning gaze searched all the men. “What’s the matter?”

“Heck, woman, you are about the most dang helpless…” Garrison started but he saw Annie shake her head. “Ain’tcha never seen a dang can opener before?”

“No,” said Alex with a giggle, “when would I ever have used a can opener, Garrison? Tell me that.”

“Lordy, lord,” said Reb from a corner. “Woman rides like the wind, carries a rifle, can even throw a lariat if’n she’s a mind, but put ’er in a kitch’n…”

Alex looked over at Tom who was quietly laughing. “Ah, well, you jus’ have to love ’er, useless as she is.”

“Oh, Tom,” reprimanded Annie. “She’s not useless at all.” She took a can of tomatoes sitting there and showed Alex how to use the opener.

Jesse watched her for a moment. “After the circus on Sa’day, Alex, I think the next thing you better make sure you learn to use is that new Colt.”