It seems strange that the LaSages would invite us for tea, then aren’t here when we arrive.” Casey peered though the yellow chez curtains that stretched inside the tall windows of the mansion.
Develyn strolled down the veranda. “You don’t suppose we have the wrong day?”
“Shoot, Devy-girl, I think we have the wrong century.” Casey smeared the dirt on the window with the hem of her T-shirt. “Hey, this is the living room.”
Develyn held her hat in her hand. “It was probably called the ‘great room’ back then. Wouldn’t it be fun to look at the whole house?”
Casey smashed her round nose against the window. “I don’t think there’s any furniture.”
“Not after one hundred years.” The wooden porch squeaked under Develyn’s tennis shoes. “I’m going to try the back door. There has to be another way in.”
“It has a big staircase. I can see that. This house is so totally out of place. How in the world did they get all the materials back here in 1890?”
“I suppose if you have enough money, you can do anything.”
Casey glanced back out into the canyon. “But why here?”
Develyn licked bitter yellow dust off her narrow lips. “If they needed to hide out from anyone, this would be the place.”
When Casey glanced up she had dirt on the end of her nose. “You make it sound like international intrigue.”
“That beats a story about successful sheep ranching. As long as we’re pretending, we might as well have some adventure.”
Casey leaned against the window again. “Did you ever live in a house with a wide, curving stairway?”
“I’ve lived in a two-story house, but the stairway was rather boring.”
“I lived in a barn loft for two years, but I had to climb down a ladder or rope,” Casey murmured.
Develyn strolled the veranda to the north and left Casey at the window. Casey is so matter-of-fact. Living in a barn loft and climbing down a rope? She makes it sound so routine and ordinary.
Finding a clean spot on her T-shirt, Dev rubbed the window.
This must have been the kitchen. It’s twice the size of mine in Indiana. It looks a lot like Quint and Lindsay’s. But there is nothing in it except that island and a cookstove … at least I think that’s a cookstove. Empty kitchens look bigger.
She hiked around to the west side of the house. Fifty feet behind the house, wild rose bushes sprawled and clung to the side of the canyon.
They must have jammed the house against the cliff to break the wind. Or to keep anyone from sneaking up on them. It’s strange to see rose bushes out here. But they cover up the canyon wall … the rock is broken and jagged, but it all looks smooth covered with roses.
I’m sure this whole canyon is beautiful in the spring when the creek runs full and the meadow is green. I wonder how far it was to the neighbors? And who does a French countess visit with, anyway? I wonder if she was ever lonely and cried herself to sleep at night? I’ve spent way too many nights crying myself to sleep.
The wide back door had eight panels, all with cracked and peeling white paint.
Lord, I haven’t cried myself to sleep since I came to Wyoming. I like that. Not that my problems have disappeared. I still feel guilty about Spencer’s death. I’m still worried about my Delaney. I still don’t know if I will spend the rest of my life alone. But I don’t lie awake at night staring at the dark ceiling. I hope the countess enjoyed Wyoming as much as I do.
Develyn studied the weeds in the backyard.
I wonder if she had a manicured garden? That looks like an archway in the roses. An archway to what? Maybe it’s just a façade to convince her she had a bigger yard. Did she stroll out here in the summertime and pretend she was in Paris? OK, maybe not Paris … but it must have reminded her of something. You can’t just move to a foreign land without shaping some of it like home. But if she had been in Mexico … and Martinique … I wonder where her home was?
The veranda stretched to the back door, then the house jutted out. The round glass door handle felt cold. It was so slick Dev couldn’t tell if she turned it, or if her hand slid over it.
Without any sound, the door jerked open.
A gauze-draped woman glared at her.
Every hair on Develyn’s body stood straight up. She fought to breathe. “Oh, my word! Oh, Lord Jesus …” she cried.
“If you’re applying for the maid position, come back when you are properly attired,” the woman growled, with a raspy voice, then slammed the door.
Develyn hugged herself hard to try to keep from shaking all over. Her teeth chattered. She felt tears flood down her dusty face.
I don’t want to be here, Lord …
The door flung open again.
A brown face and familiar long black braid greeted her. “Whoa, for a second there, I fooled you, didn’t I?”
“Casey! You scared the life out of me!”
Cree-Ryder glanced down at Develyn’s jeans. “Are you sure that’s all I scared out of you? These curtains make a good shawl, don’t you think?”
“This is not funny, Casey.”
“Now, Ms. Worrell, stop being such a schoolteacher. You’ve been saying that I’m not adventuresome, that you wanted to do something exciting, right?”
“I didn’t want to be that excited.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in and look around.”
Develyn stepped into a small room with empty floor-toceiling shelves. “How did you get in?”
“I used my best attribute.”
“Which is?”
Casey wiggled. “I threw my hips against the front door and it popped open. Sometimes it’s good to be built like a quarter horse. Not often, but sometimes. It’s a dusty mess in here.”
“I am sure under this blonde hair coloring, my hair is now— thanks to you—totally gray.”
“I don’t want your life to be so boring.”
“Boring? I was only teasing, and you know it.” Develyn tried to hold back, but couldn’t keep from laughing. “I haven’t had a boring minute since I met you.”
Casey grinned. “You braggin’ or complainin’, Devy-girl? Look at this? What do you think this is?” She pointed to a large deep shelf with ropes hanging alongside it.
“It’s a dumbwaiter. You pull those ropes and the shelf goes up like a little elevator to the upper floors.”
“No foolin’? You mean, like breakfast in bed and all?”
Develyn wiped thick dust from the dumbwaiter and studied her finger. “I suppose so.”
“Hey, that’s cool.”
Following Casey, Develyn strolled through the kitchen with a twelve-foot ceiling. The great room was bare, but it was lined with rich dark paneling and a gigantic rock fireplace. “Oh, my, this must have been quite a room in its day.”
With daylight dying outside, each room turned musty, dark, and empty.
Casey headed for the wide mahogany staircase. “Wow, this is the kind of stairway Miss Scarlet would descend. I wonder how Countess LaSage felt as she scurried down this sucker.”
“I don’t imagine the countess ever had to scurry anywhere.”
“I think she scurried out of Mexico when the French were driven out.”
Develyn laced her fingers in front of her rib cage. “Maximillian von Hapsburg was executed in Mexico in 1867. Napoleon III had pulled the French troops out before then. They didn’t build this mansion until the 1890s. They were up to something for those twenty-five years. Perhaps they ran contraband out of Africa.”
“Oh, so the schoolteacher is coming out. I prefer something more refined. Perhaps there was court intrigue. Or supporting the wrong side in the revolution.”
“What revolution?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Casey grinned.
“I just wonder how old she was when she moved to Wyoming. I will have to Google this next time I’m online.”
As if practicing karate, Casey led the way, slicing through occasional cobwebs. The second floor consisted of six large, empty rooms.
“This one leads out to the tiny balcony over the front door.”
“That makes this the ladies’ parlor, the sitting room,” Develyn explained.
“Many houses from that era were built this way. The ladies in the house would sit here and read or sew as they awaited dinner.”
“Where would the men be?”
“Down in the drawing room, the one with all the shelves, smoking pipes and cigars.”
“Devy-girl, did you ever smoke a decent cigar?”
“I’m not going to fall for that bait.”
“I think this is the biggest house I’ve ever been in.”
“I’m still amazed that it survived this well. Other old buildings we’ve seen in Wyoming are about to fall over,” Develyn added.
“With that rim of the canyon so close to the house, it gets dark here early.”
“Yes, and they must have had only kerosene or oil lamps. All this natural gas so close, but undiscovered.”
“That’s just like me!”
“Natural gas?”
“Great value so close, yet undiscovered.” Casey marched through the rooms again. “Listen, Ms. Worrell, I do have two serious questions. How in the world do we get out of this canyon before it’s pitch dark?”
“And the second question?”
“How did they get up to the third floor? There’s no stairway.”
“Perhaps the stairway collapsed.”
“If it did, there should be some ruins, or a hole in the ceiling where it used to go through … or something.”
“There has to be stairs somewhere.”
“You find them.”
Casey and Develyn circled the rooms two more times, then returned to the central parlor. “This room on the south side must have been the main one,” Dev said. “It has the dumbwaiter. Maybe they never finished those rooms upstairs.”
“Then why the curtains on the windows? And even if unfinished, there would be a stairway someplace. No one would haul building materials this far for a façade … would they?”
“Oh, you know the Countess LaSage. She always seemed a little strange.”
Casey waltzed around the empty room. “Do you remember the time she showed up at the costume ball dressed as an eggplant?”
Develyn slipped her arm into Casey’s. “Or how about the time she fired her entire kitchen staff because of burnt toast?”
“Speaking of burnt toast.” Casey waved her thick black braid. “How about the time she appeared as a ghost at the back door and scared the heebie-jeebies out of that blonde choregirl!”
“Choregirl? Don’t get personal,” Develyn said.
“The dumbwaiter!” Casey shouted.
“The dumbwaiter, what?”
“That’s how they got to the third flour. It’s like a citadel in a castle, the fortress within a fortress. Does the dumbwaiter go up from here?”
Casey and Develyn scampered to the open cupboard with ropes. When Casey tugged on the rope, the shelf rose higher and higher.
“It does go up!” Casey exclaimed.
“I’m sure they could transfer goods from every level. But it’s not an elevator.”
“But it could be a temporary one.”
Develyn pulled off her straw cowboy hat and scratched the back of her head. “What are you talking about?”
“One of us should get in there while the other one cranks her up to the third floor.”
“What?”
“Come on, Dev, how many times do we get a chance to take our life to a new level?”
“Is that what that saying means? Just who do you think should crawl in that hole?”
“Naturally, the strongest one should pull the ropes and the lightest one ride.”
“You want me to risk my life in a tiny coffin held up by one-hundred-year-old rotten ropes?”
“I want you to have the joy of discovery.”
“What am I going to discover?” Develyn folded her arms across her chest.
“Fabulous jewels … or … dead bodies … or both!”
“I don’t think I like this, Casey.”
“You know it has to be this way. I can’t crawl in there. I’m just too, eh …”
“Yes, and you’re too much of a wimp to pull me up. The only way we’ll find out what’s up there is for you to hop in.”
“Or we could leave and just assume it is as empty as the rest of the house.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you.”
“To me?”
“Devy-girl, you know for a fact all winter long you’d lay awake in your king-sized Indiana bed and …”
“Queen-sized …”
“… and say to yourself, ‘If only we had checked out that third floor. My entire life would have been different. If I had only listened to that attractive and very charming African-Irish-Mexican-Native American bronze bombshell.”
“That’s what I’m going to think all winter long?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure of it.”
Develyn hiked over to the dumbwaiter and peered in. “Casey, this is beyond crazy.”
“Of course it is. What’s your point?”
“I could hurt myself. What if the ropes break?”
“You can only fall one floor. That’s no worse than jumping off the roof of your house. Everyone’s done that.”
“I never did that.”
“What do you do on Halloween in Indiana? Anyway, trust me. You won’t get hurt.”
“Why is it that every time I’ve been told, ‘trust me,’ I’ve been hurt?”
“That’s because of the people you used to hang around with. Now that you have raised your quality of friendships, you will have to develop more trust.”
Develyn pointed to the shadows in the yawning mouth of the dumbwaiter. “What if there are spiders up there?”
“Yeah, well, if you just want to speculate on the unknown … what if Leonardo DiCaprio is up there waiting for you with champagne and caviar?”
“Eh … DiCaprio doesn’t do it for me. He’s way too young.”
“Would you prefer Mel Gibson with grande-breve latte and a low-carb Subway sandwich? Or Sean Connery with Ensure and a bowl of Jell-O?”
“I’ll take Mel.”
“There you go. Hop in, Ms. Worrell. Mel awaits you.”
“Do you promise me nothing totally gross will happen?”
“I cannot imagine anything disastrous.”
“I can.” Develyn crawled into the dumbwaiter and tucked her knees under her chin. “What am I supposed to do when I get to the third story?”
“Holler down what you see.”
“You want me to lower the dumbwaiter down and pull you up?” Develyn asked.
“No way. You aren’t going to get me in there!”
“Not even for DiCaprio?” Develyn teased.
“Not even for DaVinci.” Casey tugged on the dusty, rough hemp ropes.
The little closet darkened, the air stagnated and the pulleys squeaked as Develyn lurched upward.
I don’t like to be confined. You know that, Lord. In the middle of the boonies of Wyoming I crawl into a box smaller than a coffin. This is insane. This is not working. I’ve got to get out of here. Right now!
Just as Develyn kicked her feet forward, the squeaking stopped. The dumbwaiter slammed against the top beam. Her feet forced a cabinet door open, and twilight broke across her. She crawled out into a huge room that looked as if it encompassed most of the entire third floor.
It’s furnished! This room … this suite is still furnished!
She heard Casey yell something, but it was so muffled she couldn’t distinguish the words. There was a thin layer of yellowish dust over everything in the room.
She surveyed a high bed with tall white posts trimmed in gold, wardrobe closet, dressers, a sitting desk, and big leather chairs. A silver and black dress with full skirt hung, yellow-dusted, on a wooden peg in the far wall. She found oil lanterns, a cherry-wood pen set, with black ink … long dried. Oriental rugs spread across the wooden floor. Pewter-framed photographs stood as a witness to former occupants. On the wood paneling at the far side was an oval oil portrait of a beautiful dark-haired lady in royal attire. Develyn tiptoed over and studied the brass plate at the bottom of the frame.
Lord, I feel like I’m intruding. This is the countess’ private room. These are her things. This was her life. It’s like a time machine. I halfway expect her to walk out of the closet and ask what I’m doing here. What am I doing here?
She heard bangs and shouts from the second floor.
Casey! I have to find the stairs.
A polished mahogany door on the west side of the room revealed a steep staircase. Develyn crept down the darkened stairs. The only light came from the open third-story door behind her. When she reached the bottom, she groped the wall and found a cold brass door handle. She turned it slowly and flung it open. “Ta-Dah!” she hollered.
A strong arm slapped around her shoulders, threw her against the wall. A hunting knife waved in front of her nose. Then the strong arms dropped away from her.
A wide smile appeared. “Devy-girl, you scared me to death.”
“I scared you? Casey, where did you get that knife?”
“I always carry a knife.”
“Where do you carry it?”
“Don’t ask.” Casey peered up the stairway. “Is Mel Gibson up there?”
“Not hardly.”
“Are there spiders?”
“I didn’t see any.”
“What is up there?”
“You’ll have to come see. Why didn’t we find this doorway?” Develyn asked.
“The door handle must have fallen off. Or got stolen. With recessed hinges, it just looks like the paneling.”
“All her things are still up there,” Develyn whispered.
“I believe so.” When they reached the room, Develyn waved her arms. “Just look at everything.”
Casey shoved her cowboy hat back. “Is that her picture?”
Develyn folded her hands in front of her, like a schoolteacher on the first day of class. “No, I believe that is Empress Eugenie. She was the …”
“… Scottish/Spanish royal who married Napoleon III, and went into exile with him to England after he was defeated by Otto von Bismarck at the Battle of Sedan on September 2, 1870,” Casey finished.
“Eh … yes, I think so …” Develyn murmured. “How did you know that?”
“I watched Jeopardy a lot when I was a kid.” Casey stalked around the room. “Wow, is this cool or what?”
“Miss Cree-Ryder, I think you’re a straight-A student hiding behind a rough-and-tumble wilderness girl routine.”
“I didn’t get straight A’s,” Casey shrugged.
“It wouldn’t have surprised me …”
“I got a lousy B+ in trig on my last quarter, thanks to good old Mr. Whitney.”
“Tough subject?”
“Nah, I seldom needed to crack a book. I think it had something to do with letting the air out of the tires of his old VW … and the dead raccoon in his trunk.”
“You did that?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s just say he deserved it.” Casey strolled to the dresser. “Shoot, he probably deserved to be in jail.” She plucked up an ivory-handled brush and blew dust clouds off it. “Maybe we should finish looking around. Because I still don’t have a clue how to get us out of this canyon, a fact that doesn’t seem to concern you at all.” She brushed her bangs and grinned in a dirt-filtered mirror.
“We’ll use the secret trail up the back of the canyon.”
“What secret trail?”
“There is always a secret trail out of a box canyon. Didn’t you ever watch those B westerns when you were a kid?”
“What’s a B western? Ronald Reagan was president when I was a kid.”
Develyn studied the dress hanging on the wall. “You know what, Miss Cree-Ryder? We ought to stay here tonight.”
“In this house?”
“In this room.” Develyn opened a bright red and green Chinese fan in front of her face. “I don’t think the countess will mind.”
Casey picked up a glass lantern and sloshed the oil. “Do you have a match?” She tugged open a drawer. “Oh … here!” With a flip of the wrist the long stem match was lit, then the soaked wick of the lantern. “We didn’t exactly come prepared for an overnight stay. We really need to go.”
“Casey, you’ve always been so negative. Even when we were little girls, you never wanted to sleep in the tent in the backyard.”
Casey laughed. “I love it! What a hoot you turned out to be, Ms. Worrell. I would have liked to have grown-up with you around, provided we were closer in years. Actually, I was born in a tent.”
“You were?” Develyn pulled open a dresser drawer and surveyed the neatly folded silk scarves.
“Over at Wounded Knee, in South Dakota.”
“You mean, during the siege and all?”
“The official siege started February 27, 1973, and lasted seventy-one days. I was born after that. Mother got there too late, but said she was going to camp right there until the baby was born. I think it caused a ruckus, but the government was shy about doing anything. I was born in a teepee.”
“OK, so maybe the tent camping thing was a bad joke. But let’s just stay here. Will your truck and trailer be alright out there on the prairie?”
“Sure, it’s a trailhead, and there are always some rigs parked there in antelope hunting season.”
“How about the horses?”
Cree-Ryder jammed on a huge hat full of silk lilies. “What do you think?”
“Oh, it’s you, honey. By all means, wear that to the royal ball.”
“Yeah, right.” Casey pulled off the hat. “We could picket the horses in the backyard and toss the tack on the porch. Uncle Henry will wander around, but he won’t go anywhere without mama.”
Develyn scooted across the room and grabbed Casey’s arm. “Let’s do it.”
“Devy, there are two small problems. First, we don’t have any clothes to change into. We’ll get hypothermia or something if we don’t put on something dry. I don’t know about you, but my clothes are still splashed.”
Develyn tugged open a huge wardrobe closet door. “No clothes? Hmmm. And the other problem?”
“We don’t have any food, sweetie. Why don’t you phone Quint and have him parachute down a care package from the Imperial Dynasty in Casper?”
“I am not calling Quint for anything,” Develyn snapped.
“Is that what this is all about? Hiding out from Quint?”
“No. Well, not entirely. I’m not hiding. I just don’t mind having something else to do.” Develyn peered at the dresses in the wardrobe. “Did you ever want to pretend you were a countess?”
Casey waved her black braid at Develyn. “Why do I get the feeling you will be the princess and I will be your lady-in-waiting?”
“No, we are sister countesses.”
Casey pointed to her dark brown skin. “If we are sisters, then our mama has been fooling around.”
“Casey, this is just pretend. No one can see us, so we can be sisters if we want.”
“Well, sis,” Casey grinned, “which one of us goes out to tend the horses?”
“That’s your job.”
“Why?”
“Because you are younger, and I have to fix up our room. I’ll shake out the quilts and dust a bit.”
Casey headed toward the stairs. “Perhaps you can ring for the servants to send up supper in the dumbwaiter.”
Develyn had three lanterns burning, including one at the top of the narrow stairs, when Casey returned. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s raining,” Casey reported.
“How are the horses?”
“Uncle Henry stomped up on the back porch, so My Maria and Popcorn followed him. They’ll be OK. I slapped the hobbles on them. If it stops raining, they will probably eat the tall weeds in the backyard.” Casey surveyed the room. “You’ve been a busy countess.”
“I shook out the comforter, then swept and dusted, but it’s still musty.” Develyn pointed at the far wall. “I discovered that cupboard is full of firewood.”
“Oh, do we get to burn the place down?”
“I lit a match and it did draft up the chimney. I think it works. I think we should build a fire.”
“You didn’t find any supper?”
“No, but I found this.” Develyn swung open a closet door.
“Clothes?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t expecting us to dress up like nineteenth-century Victorian countesses, are you?” Casey laughed.
Develyn pulled out one of the dresses and held it to her chin. “Of course I am.”
“There is no way this Native-American, Mexican bod can fit in one of those.”
“How about your African American-Irish bod?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Look what else I found.”
Casey strolled over next to Develyn. “What is that?”
“A wasp-waist corset.”
“Oh, no, I like my bumble-bee waist just fine. You are not getting me in one of those.”
Develyn pulled a purple dress from the wardrobe closet. “Isn’t this the most elegant, dusty dress you’ve ever seen?”
“It will look very good on you, but you are not getting me in a corset.”
“It’s for you.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t have the … eh … curves for it.”
“You mean you are too flat-chested?”
“That’s not the way I wanted to put it, but that’s about it. Come on, let’s try them on. It will get our minds off of eating.”
Casey held the purple dress up in front of her. “OK, but I will not wear that corset thing.”
* * *
Cree-Ryder hung her damp jeans over the back of a wrought-iron dressing table chair that was parked in front of the fireplace. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve worn a dress of any kind?”
“It always feels weird when I undo my braid and comb my hair out.”
“Casey, you have to-die-for hair.”
“I don’t know if it’s Native American hair or Mexican hair … but I do like it. Do you think it’s alright if we wear the jewelry too?”
Develyn pointed to the open jewelry box. “Let’s wear whatever we want, then leave everything exactly as we found it. It has laid here for a hundred years. It’s about time someone enjoyed it, even if only for a few minutes.”
“I wonder if the countess had double-pierced ears?” Casey stabbed on two sets of earrings, then pranced in front of a tall mirror. “How would you describe this dress?”
“I’d say it’s a suit of fine imported challie, trimmed with velvet to match the color of the design. The skirt has three small flounces around the hem, each with a piping of velvet. The waist has folds of challie and purple velvet down the front, with small violet velvet bows. There are shirred pieces of the challie coming from the sides of the waist and in front with a piping of bright pink velvet,” Develyn lectured.
“How did you know all of that?”
“I made most of it up. I can’t tell you how many buying trips I made with my mother when she owned a dress shop. I’d have to sit there and listen to salesmen give their pitch over and over.”
“But not these kind of dresses.”
“No, but some things never change.”
“What are these poofy-sleeves called?”
Develyn raised her upturned nose. “My dear, those are called … ‘poofy-sleeves’!”
Casey continued to stand in front of the mirror. “Other than not coming close to being able to button it in the back, it’s OK.”
“When you go to the royal ball tonight, make sure you stand with your back to the wall. No one will know.”
“Stand against the wall?” Casey chided. “Oh, sure, that’s easy for plain white bread like you. No one will care. But the prince will want to dance with the bronze bombshell. And if he puts his hand on my back …”
“Is that a problem?”
Casey’s eyes widened. “Only if the princess sees him do it!”
Develyn bowed before Casey. She cleared her throat, then spoke with a deep voice and phony accent. “Countess, would you consent to dance with me?”
Casey curtsied, “Certainly, my lord.”
Develyn took a step forward and put her left hand in Casey’s right. Her right hand rested on Cree-Ryder’s almost bare back.
“Oh, my,” Dev giggled. “That’s quite a different style of dress, countess.”
“Yes, it’s the rage in Paris this season. It’s called LeBak Unbuttoned.”
“Well, if it has a French sounding name, it must be OK.”
They waltzed around the room several times, then over to the bed and collapsed across it on their backs.
When the giggling stopped, Develyn sat up. “Casey … this is incredible. I’m a forty-five-year-old schoolteacher from Indiana who was so close to going crazy I took off for the summer to get away from everything. My daughter barely speaks to me because she thinks my hardness caused her father to have a heart attack and die. My mother keeps insisting that I’m a total failure. Before coming out here I hadn’t had a date in two years. My entire life has consisted of teaching fifth-graders, feeding cats, and sitting in a dark living room feeling sorry for myself.”
Casey continued to lie on her back. “Is this going somewhere?”
“Well, here I am in the middle of Wyoming in an abandoned mansion, dressed up in nineteenth-century Victorian garb, having the time of my life. Doesn’t that sound a bit strange?”
“Develyn Gail Upton Worrell, your life has been like this ever since I met you.”
“Then it’s all your fault.”
“I’m the sidekick, honey. I’m just here for a few laughs, so you can rescue me from peril.”
“Rescue you?”
“That’s what sidekicks are for, Devy-girl, to allow the heroine to be brave and daring.”
“This brave and daring heroine is going to build a fire. We need to warm up this room enough to dry out our other clothes.”
“We aren’t wearing these on the ride back to the truck?” Casey pulled herself off the bed and followed Develyn across the room.
They stood by the fireplace and watched the flame pop out of the dry firewood. Casey shoved on another log.
“OK, now that we’ve played dress up, I’m still hungry.”
Develyn glanced around the room. “We just need a differ ent game. Let’s look for the hidden treasure.” “What hidden treasure?” “This room is so private no one has found it for more than a hundred years. Maybe they had a secret compartment where the letters of French court intrigue are hidden.” “Or French gold?” “Or French perfumes.” “Or French fries, or French toast … or even a jar of French dressing!” Casey plopped down on the edge of the bed. “It beats doing nothing. Let’s see, countess, where is your secret hiding place?”
Develyn flopped back on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“That fire feels so good, I’m going to take a nap.”
“And make me do all this treasure hunting by myself?”
“Do you mind?”
“Don’t expect a 50/50 share of what I find,” Casey whined.
“You may have 60 percent, unless it’s something good to eat.”
“In which case we toss it out in the middle of the floor and fight for it like dogs,” Casey chuckled.
“That sounds fair enough. But you can’t use your knife.”
“Which one?”
“You have two knives?”
“I didn’t say I had two. I just said I had more than one.”
Develyn closed her eyes. I’ve never even seen a knife fight. I’ll just let Casey win.
The hay scratched her back, but the saddle blanket made a good pillow. Develyn pulled the lap blanket up to her shoulders.
I don’t know why they always fall asleep in the hay in the movies. It’s not very comfortable. Dewayne said there are rats in the hay, but if it had rats, then I’m sure Brownie wouldn’t eat it, and he loves it.
She opened one eye and peered through the moonlight at the brown horse.
I know they say you are old, but that only means you are wise. I think maybe you are the wisest horse in the whole world. Maybe Daddy will let me take you home. I could ride you back to Indiana…. We could stop every night and sleep under the stars and I could sing, and you could watch over me.
But I don’t sing very good, Brownie. Dewa can sing good, but we don’t want him to come with us. Brothers can be such a pain. Do you have any brothers? I don’t know if horses even recognize their own family. I guess they recognize their mother … everyone recognizes his mother.
Sometimes I think my mother hardly recognizes me.
Lord, why am I such a disappointment to her? It’s like when I let my heart run where you’ve made it to run … I always disappoint her.
I can’t be like Mother.
She knows all the rules of life, and has a heart to keep them.
I don’t know all the rules. And sometimes, I don’t even want to know. Life is like the fancy silverware that grandma uses. Sometimes it’s like all my life I’ve been eating dinner with a salad fork.
That’s what I love about being out here in Wyoming and riding horses every day. There is no one to tell me how wrong I am. Lord, I love my mother. But we are so different. I hope when I grow up, she’ll be proud of everything I do.
Develyn rolled on her side. The hay didn’t poke her now. It smelled musty. But soft as an old comforter. A very old comforter.
* * *
“Hey, what’s going on up there? You’re trespassing on private property.”
Develyn sat straight up on the tall feather bed. Casey Cree-Ryder, in Victorian dress, stood at the back in the shadows. “What’s happening?” Develyn whispered. Casey pointed toward the front window. “I think we’ve been discovered.”
“We saw someone in that upper room!” a man’s voice hollered from the dark. “This is the central Wyoming Security Patrol. You are ordered out of the building.”
“Stay away from the windows,” Casey whispered. Develyn crawled off the bed and slid over next to
Cree-Ryder. “I was asleep. What happened?” “You mumbled a lot in your sleep.” “I was dreaming. This isn’t a dream, is it?”
“I think they are security from down at the gas refinery. Maybe they patrol this area every night. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t think I want to go down and talk to them dressed like this.”
Casey slipped her arm around Develyn’s shoulder. “I’m sure not. The back half of this dress is more embarrassing than a hospital gown.”
“Is the door down at the bottom of the stairs closed?”
“And locked.”
“Then they might not know how to get up here.”
“We seen you in that room when we drove up!” the man’s voice shouted.
Develyn leaned toward the window. Casey held her back. “Shhhh. Listen.”
“Someone’s in the house?”
Casey nodded.
“Burleigh, what did you find?”
A voice filtered up from the little balcony below them. “Ain’t no one in here, Rudy.”
“The light’s still on … you got to go up the stairs.”
“There ain’t no stairs. I’m on the top level.”
“Like heck you are. There’s a lantern lit in the room above you.”
“There ain’t no room above me. That’s just a false window into the attic.”
“Burleigh, go up there. I’m lookin’ at the lit room right now.”
“This is weird, Rudy.”
Casey leaned over to Develyn. “Let’s show him really weird. Did you ever go to church camp?”
Develyn studied her dark brown eyes. “Yes. What does that have …”
“You remember standin’ out in the forest with a flashlight so you could shine it on your face and scare the heebie-jeebies out of someone walking by in the dark?”
“I never did that.”
“You are the type that didn’t … and I’m the type that did it to your type. Anyway, let’s do it to them.”
“OK, we appear in the window and then what?”
“Turn out the lamps and let them flicker off. Then see what they do.”
Develyn nodded at the side window. “Can we wear those curtains for veils, like you did at the back door?”
“Sure.”
“There ain’t no floor higher than this one,” the voice from inside the house yelled.
“Rudy, come down here. Let me show you,” the other one insisted.
Develyn and Casey stayed out of view until they both had the thin white gauze curtains draped over their heads like a shawl.
“What’s the plan?” Develyn whispered.
“Appear at the windows at the exact same time. Scowl. Then allow the lamps to flicker out. We’ll back away, and see what they do next.”
“We’re in enough trouble already.”
“Yes, but it will buy us time. While they are trying to figure it out, we can change clothes in the dark,” Casey said. “If we are going to be arrested, I want to be wearing my jeans and boots.”
“Arrested?” Develyn shook her head. “I don’t want to get arrested.”
“Honey, it’s a little late to worry about that. This mansion visit was your idea, remember?”
They jockeyed themselves near the windows, both carrying oil lanterns.
“You see, Rudy. See that light up there.”
“And I say you can’t get up there because … ”
Casey nodded to Develyn. The ladies crept in front of the windows, each with a lantern, waist high, in front of them.
“There she is!” a man’s voice shouted.
“Burleigh, do you see that? There’s one in both windows.”
“What the … no … no …”
“Them lanterns went out. There was two of them, wasn’t there?”
“You didn’t see anything, Rudy.”
“I surely did, I saw …”
“What did you see?”
“Two gals lookin’ like … eh … ghosts … and …”
“You didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anything. You got that?”
“But … but … that one was the countess. She was a woman of color, you know.”
“We didn’t see a thing,” the other insisted again. “Do you want to go back to Gates and tell him that there are two ghost women livin’ in the mansion on a floor that has no stairs?”
“Eh, no … I thought you was going to tell him.”
“I didn’t see anything. What could I tell him? You tell him.”
“I … eh … didn’t … well, come to think of it, I didn’t see anything either.”
“And you didn’t smell that smoke coming out of the chimney?”
“What smoke?”
Develyn peeked through the darkened window at the truck taillights as they drove south along the creek bed.
“Yes!” Cree-Ryder shouted. “She was a woman of color … a bronze bombshell!”