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Bertha stomped down the stairs. “I’ve had it. Five days stuck in this house with nothing to do and no one to talk to.” Twice she’d tried conversing with Moira, but the woman was securely encased in James’ side and would have nothing to do with her. Yesterday, along with her couch and matching chair, her trunks had finally arrived. The couch’s fabric was as ostentatious as the rest of the furniture in the house, but instead of the red James seemed to gravitate to, these were green. Not a lovely deep green, but a bright green hurting her eyes. But at least it was hers until James said it wasn’t.
Her afternoon had been taken up with unpacking her trunks, hanging her clothes, and putting her various knickknacks around her bedroom and sitting room, trying to make them homey. James would hate it, but then he didn’t have to use the rooms, did he.
Now, with nothing to do and too many hours to fill before bedtime, she’d had enough solitude. She stood before James’ office door and, with shaking hands, rapped on the wood. After a few moments, the lock clicked, and James threw open the door.
His scowl probably wouldn’t bode well for her. His face was red, and the smell of brandy hit her in the face. “Didn’t I tell you never to bother me?”
Taking a chance, she stepped around him. The air in the room was hazy with cigar smoke. “No, you didn’t.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “What you said was the room was off limits and I was never to enter it when you weren’t home. You’re home, aren’t you?”
“Don’t get smart with me, woman.” The floor shook as he went around her and sat behind his desk. He flicked the ashes of his cigar into a gold dish, took a puff of it, and blew the smoke in her direction. “What is it you want?”
“I want to get out of this house.”
“And do what? You’re useless.”
It was time to appeal to his ego. “What will the important people of this town think when you don’t bother to introduce your wife? When you keep her locked up in your house? They may think I’m crazy.” She sat on a chair only slightly less rickety than the one in his bank office. “Why, they may think I’m ugly.”
James chuckled and swept a hand at her. “Well . . .”
Bertha gritted her teeth before going on. If only she had the nerve to retaliate his comments. Tell him he was a fat, pompous, ridiculous figure of a man. “You don’t want to have people think you don’t have good taste, do you? People may pull their money from your bank if they believe your wife is crazy, or you don’t have the means to keep her in fashionable clothes.” She could nearly hear the wheels turning in his head.
“I see what you’re doing, Bertha. Don’t think that I don’t. You can’t fool me.” He tapped the tip of cigar against the gold dish again. “But you’re absolutely right. It’s time I take you to lunch. We can discuss how best to present you to the important people in town. Maybe have a gathering here.” He frowned. “Of course, we’ll have to wait until you have a chance to decorate and plan a meal with Moira.”
Bertha cringed. Spend time with Moira? She’d rather eat nails, but if it meant she’d become part of Deadwood’s upper crust then she would. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, James. Can we go to lunch tomorrow?”
James stared at her then put the stubby cigar out. “I don’t see why not. I’ll come by at eleven to escort you to Oyster Bay. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the food and atmosphere there.” As if he forgot she was present, which was a technique he used to demean her, he turned his attention to the papers on his desk. After a few minutes, and without looking up, he flicked a hand in her direction. “You’re dismissed.”
Seconds after leaving the room, the lock on his office door clicked. What in heaven’s name did he have in there he didn’t want her to see? Didn’t matter. As long as she was getting out of the house, she didn’t care. She went to her sitting room and closed the door. Of course, there was no lock, but she’d hear if James left his office and came down the hall. With his weight there was no way he could walk lightly. The floorboards would creak beneath his feet. Maybe it was time she dropped a few pounds so she could sneak around the house.
The days were longer, so there was no need to light a lamp. She slid the secretary away from the wall, pulled a bag from a hole in the back of it, and slid the piece of furniture into place. She sat in the chair she’d placed facing the window, opened the bag, and grinned.
Two days ago, after James had gone to work and Moira had left to shop or whatever she did when she left the house, Bertha had decided to rearrange the room. Jonathan had told the delivery men where to place everything, so moving the furniture to new places fed her need to defy him. Funny thing was, except for questioning why she’d put the high-backed chair facing the window and its back to the door, he hadn’t said a word about the new arrangement.
The furniture was heavy, but she’d managed to slide the secretary over the carpet and away from the wall. In the process, she found an opening in the back. From the front, one would never realize there was space between the back and the front. Fortunately, the opening was empty and was a great place to hide her knitting. Then, using a pair of scissors, she cut a hole in the chair’s armrest where it would be hidden by the cushion.
So, when James was working ‘hard’ in his office, and Moira had left for the day, she removed the bag, took her place in front of the window, and knitted scarves and mittens. No matter what her husband said about helping others, and no matter how hardened her heart had become, the desire to knit items for others was still strong. The stash of yarn she’d brought with her was hidden in an opening she’d cut into the bottom of her mattress.
With the chair’s high back to the door, and a place to shove her knitting if James should come into the room, she could shove her yarn and needles into the opening in the side of the chair and say she was enjoying watching the birds. Just to be on the safe side, she always had a book beside her to open quickly. Before retiring, she hid her knitting bag in the secretary. Eventually, she’d have to find someplace to donate her hats, scarves, and mittens, but with winter many months away, she didn’t need to worry about it yet.
After a few hours, it was getting difficult to see by the light through the window. She stuffed the bag in the back of the secretary as she heard the lock turn in James’ door. She eased the piece of furniture against the wall, returned to her chair, and opened the book, quickly turning it right-side up as he entered the room.
“Time to retire, my dear.” He stood behind her chair and squeezed her shoulders. “I expect you in my room in fifteen minutes.”
Knowing what that would mean for her, and with his voice laughing behind her, Bertha raced up the stairs, not in anticipation of a lovely evening making love, but in fear of what he’d do if she wasn’t ready in the time allotted.
****
Bertha winced as she came downstairs. Not a single hair was out of place, not a wrinkle on her clothes. Her white gloves were spotless, and her small purse matched her bonnet. Except for the hidden bruises and the pain between her legs, she knew she looked perfect—or as perfect as she could be which wouldn’t be perfect enough for James.
“I hope that’s not what you’re wearing. You look like a frump.”
Why should it surprise her he would find something wrong? No, ‘you look lovely, dear’ or ‘your dress was a perfect choice.’ “Why, James.” She affected a southern accent; one she knew he detested. “I’ll just run my little ol’ self to my room and change.”
With a grip on her elbow, he opened the front door. “I certainly hope you keep your sassiness to yourself, Bertha Mae. I’d hate to have to remind you of your place.”
“Don’t worry, my dear, I wouldn’t think of embarrassing you.”
Instead of rushing her along like he usually did, he kept them at a casual stroll, nodding here and there to people he seemed to know. He didn’t bother stopping to introduce her, so maybe he was simply putting on a show for strangers, hoping they’d realize how important he was and put their hard-earned gold in his bank.
Without warning, James slowed, then stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The muscles in his arm tightened. He stretched his lips in a straight line.
“James, what’s wrong?”
He nodded to two men walking toward them. “Those, two, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Mr. Iverson? What’s wrong with him? He was a perfect gentleman when he escorted me to the bank.”
“Huh. Looks can be deceiving, my dear. Iverson is not the man he pretends to be.”
Well, that was the pot calling the kettle black.
“And King Winson cheated on a purchase of land I wanted.” He squeezed her arm so hard she flinched. “I know he cheated, and I intend to find out how. And I know his friend has to be just as bad.”
Both were extremely good looking. Tall, slim, young. Jealousy was probably more at the root of James’ animosity than if Mr. Winson had actually cheated. More than likely, it was James who had cheated and was angry he was found out. “Mr. Iverson told me he was a lawyer. What does Mr. Winson do?”
“Besides cheat important men like me out of land? He has a ranch of some kind outside of town and a restaurant in town.”
“Is that where we’re going to eat?”
James huffed a breath. “Not likely.”
The men stopped before them and tipped their hats. Mr. Iverson smiled at her, setting her heart tripping over itself. “Mrs. Woods. What a joy to see you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Iverson.” She knew it probably looked ridiculous for a woman her age, but she flicked open her fan and glanced at the man over the top and couldn’t suppress a giggle. Any woman, no matter how old, would giggle or sigh at such striking men. “I want to thank you again, Mr. Iverson, for escorting me to my husband’s bank the other day. J.W. appreciates it, too, don’t you, James?”
James gave her a sideways glare and ran a hand over his face. “Uh, yeah, sure, dumplin.’”
‘Dumplin’? Who was he trying to impress? He’d never called her that unless it was to chastise her for gaining weight and beginning to get soft like the dumplings he loved.
“Not a problem.” He nodded at his friend. “This is Mr. Winson. He was supposed to be your escort, but he had a slight incident, so it was my pleasure to step in.”
Mr. Winson scowled. “Damn.” He tipped his hat again. “Sorry, ma’am. I mean darn dogs.”
Bertha had no idea what he was talking about. Did it have something to with the scuffle she’d heard when leaving the stagecoach behind?
James chortled. “Heard about your little encounter with the new teacher, King.” Woods rolled back on his heels and smirked. “Poor woman. But then what could we expect from our illustrious hotel owner? Good thing you didn’t drown her.”
Bertha’s stomach growled. She tugged on her husband’s arm. “James, you promised to take me to lunch. I’m famished.”
Mr. Winson’s eyes twinkled. “Going to my place?”
James tugged at his lapel and puffed out his chest. “Not likely. I wouldn’t want my precious to be poisoned.”
Mr. Iverson took hold of King’s arm when he’d taken a step toward James. “He’s not worth it, King. Let him go to Oyster Bay.” He turned to the couple. “Have a good lunch. Ma’am, Woods.” Without another word or glance at them, they walked down the boardwalk.
“Watch out for mud puddles and dogs, King,” Woods called out.
“James Woods. You were extremely rude to those men.”
He shrugged and guided her around men lounging against buildings, then across the muddy street. “And you acted like a simpering little fool. Batting your eyes over your fan like you were seventeen again. Made me look like a fool.”
Knowing she was safe while in public she couldn’t help responding. “If anyone made you look like a fool, it was you. Yelling out about being poisoned. Why, anyone could have heard and believed it’s true.”
James stopped in front of another wooden structure with a sign out front saying, Oyster Bay. “That was the point.”
Before they entered, Bertha said a private, short prayer they wouldn’t get sick and that the establishment served more than oysters.
The inside was noisy with men dressed in everything from fancy suits, dirty overalls, frayed flannel shirts, and scruffy boots. Thankfully, the aroma of cooking beef covered the odor of unwashed bodies. A few well-dressed women sat at tables with equally well-dressed men. Were these the upper crust people James was always going on about? They stopped at a table where two men and a woman drank what looked like wine from water glasses.
“My dear, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Seth Bullock and his lovely wife, Martha. And this is Mr. Bullock’s partner, Sol Star. They own a hardware store and several other businesses in the area.”
Bullock and Star stood and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Woods. We’ve heard so many good things about you.”
If she had been drinking some of that wine, she would have spit it across the room. James had been talking about her? “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you, and I’m happy to finally be reunited with my husband.”
Sol slid his and Seth’s chairs around the table and added two more from an empty table. “Please join us for lunch. We were just talking about business, and I’m sure Martha would enjoy talking with Mrs. Woods about something other than cattle.”
Mrs. Bullock grinned at Bertha. “You can say that again. Tell me how you like Deadwood so far.”
Under the table, James kicked her leg. It was time to do some story telling. “I haven’t been here long enough to really know, but so far . . .”
****
An hour and half later, Bertha was back in the house. It had been a brief reprieve, but a nice one. Most surprising were James’ compliments on her behavior. Evidently Mr. Star and Mr. and Mrs. Bullock were some of the most important people in town, and the way she and Mrs. Bullock got along had made James happy.
When Mrs. Bullock had invited her to tea to meet some of the other ladies in town, she was surprised James’ buttons hadn’t popped off from puffing out his chest. Yes, she’d been a success, but would that success and James’ pleasure at how the day turned out make him leave her alone?
Bertha removed her hat and gloves and placed them on a shelf above the coat rack. Probably not. Instead, he’d more than likely want to ‘celebrate’ the day’s success and she’d be as sore tomorrow as she was today. She couldn’t win no matter what she did. Knowing she had a couple of hours of relative freedom, she removed her knitting from its hiding place, took the chair in front of her sitting room window and, with the birds as her companions, went to work.