After the newlyweds rejoined the world, Mr. Nogales and his men began building the house. He told them it was too early to estimate when they’d be able to move in due to all the work needed to level the site and set the foundation, but the Randolphs didn’t care that there was no date. They were happy enough knowing the work had begun. Mr. Nogales’s sister, Angelica, owned a brick making operation in Flagstaff and she hired Portia to do her books, too. Carmichael Bookkeeping now had three clients. Mr. Nogales, his sister, and the Fontaine Hotel. Portia was delighted.
“I’ve decided to name the ranch the Duchess Randolph in your honor,” Kent said one morning, walking into her office at the hotel.
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No and here’s proof.” He showed her a piece of paper that had drawn on it a stylized D over an upside down R. “It’ll be the brand for our cattle. I’ll get it registered the next time I go into Tucson.”
Portia was touched by the tribute. “Can I reward you with kisses?”
“Only if I can get more than kisses later.”
“You have a deal.”
They were in the middle of the kiss when Regan’s voice interrupted them. “Lord. You two are as bad as Uncle Rhine and Aunt Eddy.”
Kent turned Portia loose and headed to the door where Regan stood. He gave his sister-in-law a peck on the cheek. “We love you, too.”
And he left to ride out to the ranch.
Smiling at her husband’s exit, Portia asked, “What can I do for you, Regan?”
“I’m ready to talk to Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine. Can you come with me?”
Regan nodded tightly.
To their credit, their aunt and uncle took the news rather calmly, Portia thought, but it didn’t mean they liked it. As Portia had done on her wedding day, they pointed out all the things that could go wrong.
“How do you know this man isn’t lying to you?” Rhine asked.
“I don’t.”
Eddy sighed. “Regan, I love you dearly and you are old enough to make your own decisions but are you sure you want to travel all that way for what might turn out to be fool’s gold?”
“If it is, I promise to come home.”
Rhine said, “I’d feel better about this if he came down to meet us and then escorted you back.”
“I would, too,” Eddy admitted.
“He’s the only doctor in his part of the territory and he doesn’t want to leave his patients alone for the length of time it would take him to get here and go back. Which I understand. That says to me how seriously he takes his profession.”
Or he could be lying, Portia thought to herself.
They spent a few more minutes discussing all the things that might go wrong, but Regan had her mind made up and so stuck to her guns.
Rhine looked upset but there was pain in his eyes, too. Like Portia he was already missing Regan. “When is he expecting you?”
“In a few weeks.”
Eddy looked stricken. “So soon?”
Regan nodded.
“Then let your uncle and me know what we need to do to help you get ready.”
“I will and thank you for not making this harder to tell you. I’ve been worried.”
“You just transferred that worry to us,” Eddy said with a sad smile.
“I’m sorry.”
“No apology needed. As I said, you are old enough to direct your own life. I just have to accept that. I don’t love you any less.”
The two embraced and Regan whispered, “Thank you.”
A few days later, tickets in hand, Eddy, her lady friends, and Portia and Kent boarded the train bound for San Francisco and the women’s conference. Regan stayed home to continue seeing to her move to Wyoming. Portia and Kent were set to stay a few days longer and she planned to be extra sweet to him for agreeing to come along.
Upon arrival, they took cabs to their hotel and rested up for their dinner that evening with Rhine’s half brother Andrew, his wife Freda and their son Little Drew.
The conference the next day turned out to be an exciting affair. Women from all over the West converged on the grove behind the local Baptist church to hear speeches, plot strategies for advancing suffrage, and reaffirm their commitments to uplifting the race. Portia had never seen such a gathering of determined, forceful, and articulate women, and it filled her with pride. She saw Ada Jakes at a table selling pamphlets. The woman looked her off. Portia didn’t care. She saw Winston, too, with a dark-skinned woman on his arm. His eyes widened at the sight of Portia but he didn’t approach her and she didn’t approach him either.
The highlight of the day was hearing the words of famed speaker Frances Watkins Harper, a force of nature for both the race and women since the days of abolition. She was in her winter years, her hair graying but her voice was still strong, her message fiery, and when she finished, an inspired Portia and everyone else leapt to their feet to applaud.
Portia and Kent had dinner that evening at a small restaurant and she filled him in on the day.
“Sounds like you had a good time.”
“Oh, I did. Mrs. Harper’s talk was so moving it made me want to grab a placard and start marching.”
“But you want to stay married?” he teased.
“Of course.”
They finished their meal, and after paying the check, they left the eatery and took a slow stroll back to the hotel. The route took them past many shops and businesses and even at that time of the evening, the walks were crowded with people. Her excitement for the day notwithstanding, Portia glanced up at her handsome husband and decided she loved being married. Waking up in the morning with him by her side filled her with more happiness than she ever thought imaginable. She knew no marriage was perfect, and that there would be times they’d disagree, argue profusely, or be so annoyed they’d want to be alone for a period of time, but for now she was content.
“Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Randolph.”
“Just happy.”
“Good. No new bride should be unhappy.”
She was about to say more when she noticed a woman about her aunt’s age walking towards them dressed in the height of fashion. Her ensemble was the color of emeralds and was as beautiful as it was costly. She was next to a distinguished-looking older gentleman attired in a nice brown suit. From the way her gloved hand rested so lovingly in the crook of his arm, they gave the impression of being married, too. As the couple neared, the woman’s brown eyes locked with Portia’s and they both stared at each other in shock. The woman quickly looked away and she and the man passed by without a further glance, but Portia’s heart was pounding so riotously, she stopped.
Kent asked with concern, “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have. My mother just walked by us.”
He swiftly turned around. Portia eventually turned, too, but the couple was no longer in sight. She didn’t know if they’d been swallowed by the crowd or stepped into one of the shops. What she did know was that Corinne Carmichael, the woman who’d mailed her daughters to Eddy and disappeared from their lives was alive and well.
Later as she talked to Eddy about it at the hotel, Eddy asked, “Are you sure it was Corinne?”
“Positive. And from the shock on her face, she recognized me as well.”
Eddy sighed. “I’d like to find her but I can’t imagine how we’d go about that.”
“Frankly, the way she averted her eyes, I don’t think she’ll want us to find her.”
“You’re probably right, but I wonder what she’s been doing all this time and why she never sent us so much as a word in the fifteen years since she gave you girls to me. Women don’t normally get up one morning and decide to abandon their children. You and your sister deserve at least an explanation.”
Portia agreed. Watching Corinne look away when they passed each other felt like being stabbed in the heart with a red-hot poker, bringing back the painful memories of all the nights she’d cried in the dark after arriving in Virginia City and how unloved she’d been made to feel.
Eddy was pacing and looking genuinely upset. “I want to find her and shake her until her teeth rattle.”
Portia understood her aunt’s anger and the desire for answers. Corinne’s short two-line letter to Eddy simply stated that the new man in her life didn’t want to provide for two children that weren’t his own. That her mother had agreed to such an outrageous directive only added to the hurt. Was the gentleman with Corinne the same unfeeling man, or someone different who had no inkling of her past? It was yet another question needing an answer.
Eddy stopped pacing and from the tense set of her lips, Portia knew she’d come to a decision. “Whether Corinne wants to be found or not, she owes you girls an explanation, and if I have to hire an army of Pinkertons to bring that about, that’s what I’ll do.”
“But, Aunt Eddy—
“No, Portia. What good is being married to a wealthy man if you don’t use that wealth? We’ll hear from my sister, and it will be soon. Count on it.”
Later, as she lay in bed in Kent’s arms, she tried to tell herself she was all right but knew it was a lie. “Eddy’s going to hire the Pinkertons to find my mother.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She rose up to look into his face. “I’m not sure. On one hand, she made it perfectly clear on the street today that she doesn’t want any contact from me, but on the other hand, I keep wondering what would make a woman abandon her children the way she did. I know she said it was the new man in her life, but there has to be more, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, darling, but I do know I don’t like seeing you in pain this way.”
She settled back into his embrace. “If we have children, I’ll never do that.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Portia thought back on her mother’s plan to sell her virginity, and the horror of who she might have become as a result made her eyes sting with tears. She almost told Kent about it but decided to keep it to herself; she was horrified enough for them both.
“While you and the other women were plotting to take over the world, I got you something.”
Corinne was momentarily forgotten. “What?”
“Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”
She did so and heard a small rustling and then felt him lightly take her outstretched hand. What felt like a ring was gently pushed onto her finger and excitement grabbed her.
“Open your eyes, please.”
When she complied, the thin gold band on her finger sparkled in the light of the lamp. “This is beautiful, Kent.”
“Do you like it?”
She turned her hand this way and that. “I do.” Wedding rings were becoming more and more popular with married couples. “But I don’t have one for you.”
“You can fix that when Carmichael Bookkeeping makes its first million dollars.”
She laughed and threw her arms around him. “I love you so much.”
“I love you so much, too.”
When they arrived home, they were met at the door by a solemn Sylvie, and Kent sensed bad news. “How is he?” he asked.
“Almost gone but I think he’s been holding on until he can see you.”
Inside his father’s quiet room, Kent slowly approached the bed. Oliver was lying so still that for a moment Kent thought Sylvie was wrong and that he’d already slipped away, but his eyes slowly opened and a small smile followed. “Hello, Kenton.” His voice was a whisper. “How was San Francisco?”
“It was fine.”
“Good to see you.”
Heart tight, Kent replied, “Good to see you, too.”
“I’m getting ready to leave here. Glad you won’t be alone, now that you have your duchess. Glad we settled our differences, too.”
Kent knelt by the bed. “So am I.”
“You’ll take care of my Sylvie?”
“Of course.”
The eyes drifted closed and Kent panicked, but when the eyes fluttered open again, he let out a pent-up breath. “I saw your mother a bit ago. She’s still beautiful,” Oliver said.
Tears wet Kent’s cheeks.
“Hoping St. Peter will let me in the gates so she and I can talk.”
“I hope so, too,” Kent whispered.
His father studied his face. “You shedding tears for your old man?”
Kent nodded.
“I love you, too, son. More than I ever let on. Don’t make that same mistake with your own son. Let him know.”
“I will.”
“I knew you’d make it back for me to talk with you one last time.”
Kent was pleased that he had.
“Will you get Sylvie for me? I need to say good-bye.”
Kent stood.
“Good-bye, Kenton.”
“Good-bye, father.”
Dr. Oliver Randolph left the world a short while later. He wanted to be cremated, a relatively new movement touted by Queen Victoria’s surgeon, Sir Henry Thompson, so a grieving Sylvie, Kent, and Portia accompanied the casket by train to a crematorium in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, only the second such facility in the nation. At the end of the cremation process, Kent was presented with a small wooden box.
“What is this?” Kent asked.
“Your father’s remains. Some families like to spread the ashes in their loved one’s favorite place or disperse them into the wind.”
Kent didn’t know whether to be moved or repulsed. He passed the box to Sylvia. “You can decide.”
Kent was solemn for the rest of the way home. Sylvia returned to the territory with them, saying that with Oliver gone, she had no one to return to in Virginia City and would figure out what she wanted to do with her life once the sharpness of her grief softened. Kent wasn’t sure when or if his would ever soften. For a man whom he’d battled seemingly his entire life, Oliver’s death broke his heart.
Portia would remember the month of June 1885 as a time of loss. Her heart ached for her grieving husband, her still unfound mother, and for Regan. Standing with Regan and the family at the train station as she prepared to travel to her new life in Wyoming, Portia didn’t want her to go.
“Please don’t cry,” Regan said, holding Portia tight as the tears ran freely down both their cheeks.
Eddy, crying, too, stood beside a stoic Rhine. They’d resigned themselves to the choice Regan had made but were still saddened by it. Portia was, too, but knew it was necessary to let her go.
As the train pulled into the station, Eddy hugged her niece one last time. “Make sure you wire us just as soon as you arrive.”
“I will.”
Rhine held her next. “I love you, little girl. Take care of yourself. If Kent and I need to ride up and shoot this man, let us know.”
“You have my word.”
When the time came to board, she turned her ungodly amount of luggage over to the conductor, threw the family a kiss, and disappeared inside.
Grieving for her sister, Portia took solace in watching her and Kent’s house rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the old Blanchard homestead. She visited every day and savored each day’s progress no matter how big or small.
A week after receiving the wire that Regan had indeed arrived in Wyoming, Portia was working in her office at the hotel when Eddy knocked on the opened door.
“Hey, Eddy. What can I do for you?”
“This came today.”
She handed Portia an envelope. “It’s from Corinne. The Pinkerton detective I hired found her.”
Portia beat down her trembling. “Do I want to read it?”
“No, but you should.”
Filled with dread, Portia slipped the single sheet of vellum from the envelope and read. E. Do not contact me again. Have a good life now. No desire for the old. Make this clear to Portia and Regan. I repeat. Do not contact me again. C.
“I guess that’s that,” Portia said softly.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
Portia nodded. “Thank you, Eddy. I’ll move on with my life.”
“As will we all.”
After her aunt’s departure, Portia walked over and closed the door. With her back against it, she surrendered to the emotion and silently wept.