Decorum

If, in traveling, any one introduces himself to you and does it in a proper and respectful manner, conduct yourself towards him with politeness, ease, and dignity; if he is a gentleman, he will appreciate your behavior—and if not a gentleman will be deterred from annoying you; but acquaintanceships thus formed must cease where they began.

—Decorum, page 31

Francesca stood on the steps of the Caprice and inhaled deeply. The opiate of fresh air, crisp as a starched pleat, filled her lungs with the heady scent of earth and pine. As the train made its way across the seemingly unending sweep of Canadian plains, she could feel the pull of the mountains. Like gravity, once in the Rockies’ grasp, Francesca’s spirit was helpless to resist.

With each westward mile her wonder grew at how the tiny fragment of earth that was New York could chain her to so restricted an orbit of a single set of people. Even in Toronto she still felt the tug of the American East and struggled daily to break free of its associations. She could not bring herself to jot but a few words in the journal Vinnie had bought her, confining her remarks to “weather hot” and “roast pork fine” while Vinnie flooded the Lawrences with notes and postcards and chronicled each day’s minutia. New York held no one with whom Francesca wished to share her thoughts. She left to Esther the decorum of keeping the Jeromes apprised of their journey’s progress. Besides, she told herself, she had brought her childhood friend with her; no need to confide her feelings to a bit of paper. Amused and a little envious, she looked on as Vinnie sent the Lawrences a telegram on their last day in Toronto, her eagerness spilling out over a dozen words.

Now, with the Rockies within reach, she was impatient to shed the remaining vestige of New York. In Banff, the Caprice would be uncoupled from the other cars and moved to a siding to await the next eastbound train back to New York. The train was at the last of the Canadian Pacific Railway’s dining stops before the final dash to Banff.

“I must admit,” said Esther’s voice behind her, “I shall be sad to lose the Caprice. Apart from its amenities, one doesn’t appreciate one’s privacy until it’s gone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Francesca mused aloud. “We’ll be in the mountains after all. What more does one need, really, besides a decent bed, decent food, and a bit of hot water now and then? I might even give up the food—not all of it, but you know what I mean, the cordon bleu business—if I could be surrounded by a landscape unlike any other as part of a steady diet. The solitude—that’s what is so powerful.”

“Solitude and privacy are vastly different things,” said Esther.

“You’re quite right, of course,” Francesca continued, “but to be in a place where one can achieve some inner solitude. That’s what I hope I can carry with me.”

Francesca could not bring herself to add, “to New York,” and all it represented.

“I take your point, my dear,” said Esther. “There is much to be said for a still center in oneself, but for the moment I will leave the philosophical side of our journey to your care and settle for a little privacy.”

“Privacy is all well and good,” said Vinnie as she joined them, “but I for one can’t wait to see who else might be traveling to Banff. With all the comings and goings at each stop it’s hard to tell who might be going as far as we are.”

The three ladies alighted and began to walk down the platform toward the substantial log structure that comprised the dining room and kitchen, with guest rooms on the second floor and construction underway on a new wing. Another varnish was moored on a nearby siding, nearly as large as the Caprice, with a green-and-black lacquered finish trimmed in gold. It bore no frivolous moniker, but a coat of arms with an inscription—Nec spe, nec metu. Without hope, without fear. A dark, well-built young man of medium height, presumably a servant, was gathering sundry sporting gear on the vestibule.

“Well,” said Vinnie in a low voice to Francesca as another man emerged carrying a collection of hunting gear.

He was somewhat older than the first, in his forties perhaps, but striking in appearance and command, with olive skin and black eyes. His hair was close-cut about the ears and neck, nearly all silver gray save for a thick wave of dark brown across the crown, which he was covering with a Tyrolean-style hat. The loden-colored European tweeds clothed a slim, muscular form and the knitted stockings below the buckled knickerbockers showed legs well used to exercise. Francesca, whose ear for languages was good, placed their speech in the eastern part of Europe—a Slavic language perhaps or a German dialect she did not recognize. As the two men descended the steps and made their way toward the platform, Francesca saw the same crest emblazoned in some fashion on cases and gear they carried. Stopping to let the ladies pass, the tweedy gentleman gave them a brief, courteous inclination of the head and his servant gave a slight bow. Was it her imagination, or did the gentleman’s eye seem to single out Francesca? What an attractive man.

“Mmm, what a nice-looking man,” whispered Vinnie nearly in her ear. “I wonder who he is. Maybe he’s going to Banff too.”

To have her own thoughts come out of Vinnie’s mouth, and with an inflection Francesca herself would not dream of, gave the words an almost risqué quality that startled her. All ideas of attraction had been tucked away behind a convenient barricade of remorse and grief. All thoughts of Banff had been of escape and rest, never the possibility that so remote a place could offer diversions other than fresh air and exercise.

What of Connor? The friction of their encounters, in spite of their buried compliment to her, threw a wrench of consternation into her feelings at the same moment when his wit and intelligence made him fascinating. He might trouble himself to romance her, Francesca thought, a skill that remained to be seen. That the fleeting regard of a total stranger could set her thoughts dancing caused her to wonder what kind of complete fool she could make of herself and whether she really even cared. By the time she had arrived at this disconcerting notion, they had reached the dining room.

The room of rough-hewn beams and rustic paneling was filling up with passengers eager to feast on fresh local game. Vinnie made for a table for four and stood with her hands upon the back of the chair as she waited for Francesca and Esther. With Vinnie’s back to the corner, her position commanded the room. Torn between scenery and satisfying her natural curiosity, Francesca faced Vinnie, content with a view out the nearest window. Esther drew up between them and, with a nod of approval, sat on Francesca’s right. With these two ladies as her eyes and ears—and the balance between sensationalism and sense—Francesca would miss nothing. No sooner had they ordered the soup than a voluble lady of middle age could be heard approaching.

“Silly girl,” said the voice with a flat twang that grew louder with each tap of a walking stick. “I thought I asked you to save a table for me. Now they’re almost all full up.”

The reply came in a whisper that arrested movement. The room strained to hear.

“But madame rekested zee tapestry reticule and a fresh handkerchief before proceeding, which rekired a search sroo madame’s luggage.” The voice was refined but with an edge that suggested familiarity with confrontation and a disinclination to back down.

“Zere is a seat at zat table,” she continued. “I am sure zoz ladies will not mind so much to share. It appears to be zee custom, no?”

Realizing at once that they were the target of “zee custom,” the three ladies froze—Esther with eyes fixed on the sugar sifter, and Francesca with a reproving eye on Vinnie’s suppressed smile. The walking stick gave a tap of finality behind the empty chair. Francesca was surprised to find that the Amazonian voice belonged to a diminutive, buxom middle-aged woman, wearing a gray woolen traveling suit and a black hat with a short feather held in place with a cameo brooch. A three-strand pearl necklace fought with the ruffled blouse collar around the short neck. The reticule in question was of fine petit point and hung from her wrist by a silver chain.

“I’m sorry to trouble you ladies,” she said with a smile and more grace than Francesca expected, “but I seem to have been a bit slow out of the starting gate, so to speak. Would you mind so terribly if I shared your table?”

“Not at all,” said Esther, gesturing toward the empty chair. “Please join us.”

“Thank you kindly,” she returned, waving a hand of dismissal at the maid, who gave the briefest curtsey before vanishing.

In an instant, a waitress was at her elbow, proffered a menu, and waited for instructions. The woman hooked the ivory handle of her walking stick on the table, laid the reticule and gloves in her lap, produced a pair of pince-nez from her breast pocket, and glanced through the menu.

“Is the fish fresh?” she inquired of the waitress.

“Of course, madam.”

“The soup of the day?”

“Bean soup, madam.”

“Very well,” she said, handing back the menu and replacing the pince-nez. “That’s what I’ll have.”

“To drink, madam?”

“Well,” said the woman, looking at the water pitcher and three glasses on the table and frowning. “I guess it’ll be water then.” The waitress took the empty pitcher away. The woman folded her hands on the table, as if prepared to mind her own business.

“Please continue with your meal, ladies,” she said. “Don’t let it get cold on my account.” The three took up their soupspoons.

A few moments passed. The waitress appeared with a large tray and deposited the water pitcher and the soup and a glass. Francesca looked at Esther, to gauge between them whether to offer conversation. This stranger, despite the bluff manner and incongruous costume, seemed eager not to offend. Esther cleared her throat.

“Is this your first journey to the Rockies?” she asked.

“Land sakes, no,” said the woman, appearing relieved to be addressed. “Sometimes I ask myself why I’ve come, exchanging one end of the Rocky Mountains for another. Denver is my home—Denver, Colorado. So you see, I already have the Rocky Mountains on my back doorstep, as you might say.”

“That must be very pleasant,” offered Francesca.

“It is,” replied the stranger, “though I’m afraid a person gets used to his surroundings wherever he might be and might not appreciate them as much as when they were new to him.”

“That’s probably true,” said Francesca.

“I suppose that’s one of the virtues of travel among folks who are strangers to a place,” the woman continued. “They help a person to see things fresh and new, as you might say. I’m sure when I was in Europe last year I noticed ever so many interesting things that the Europeans themselves took for granted. So much more history than we have, of course, and art and music and so many refined and beautiful things to see and hear.” The woman sighed. “It was almost more than a person could take in.”

“Were you there long?” asked Vinnie.

“Yes, indeed. Nearly a year. My daughter was being married in England and we had many arrangements to attend to.” Her plain speech was modest and perhaps even a little embarrassed. They lapsed into silence at the arrival of the main course.

“I declare, one does miss home, though,” said the woman at last, her tone softened by a touch of wistfulness, “traveling for such a long time. The Alps were certainly splendid, I’m not saying they weren’t, but they were different. They did make a person homesick.”

A widow, thought Francesca, who has just married her daughter to a penniless European, perhaps with a title—a vagabond of the nouveau riche whose work is done, now that her daughter is well settled. The woman seemed to gather her wits and posed a polite question in return.

“Have you ladies seen the Rockies before?”

“No,” said Francesca. “This will be our first encounter with them.”

“You say that as if the Rocky Mountains were people,” said the woman with a little more animation. “Well, I daresay you’re right, if you’ll allow me to say so. The mountains—and the trees and the rivers—each has a character of its own, if we could just appreciate it. Some say, ‘You’ve seen one mountain, you’ve seen ’em all,’ but if that’s so, you may as well say, ‘You’ve seen one cathedral, you’ve seen ’em all,’ or one palace or one fountain, but I never found that to be the case myself. Every peak is as different as people can be.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” said Francesca, glad to see this glimmer of sentiment. “Are you traveling far—if you’ll forgive my inquiry?” Esther threw her a cautionary glance.

“Why, land sakes, of course. I’m stopping off for a time at Banff, but I may go as far as Vancouver if the mood takes me.”

“How interesting,” said Esther.

The first shift of luncheon diners was beginning to leave. A waitress, brandishing an enormous tray and a damp cloth, cleared and wiped a small nearby table and returned the condiments to their proper order.

“We’re going to Banff . . .” said Vinnie, cutting herself off in mid-sentence. The other three ladies followed her gaze, which had lighted on the sporting gentleman in tweeds making his way across the room. Before he sat, his eye caught that of the stranger at their table, to whom he gave a slight bow. This she returned with a smile and an upraised hand.

Amazed at this new factor in their acquaintance with this unknown woman, the ladies gave up all decorum, exchanged glances, and fixed their collective gaze upon her.

“Yes,” she chuckled, raising her napkin and daubing her lips. She lowered her voice and bent toward them a little. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he? His name is Sándor Krisztián Filip Király. A count, a member of the Hungarian nobility—a second cousin so-many-times removed to someone. He told me who it was, but I do so like to learn to pronounce a name properly, and I’m afraid I didn’t quite master it this time.”

“You’ve met him, then?” asked Francesca.

“Oh, yes,” said the woman. “You probably saw his varnish on the siding. He and his manservant have been here for a few days, hiking and hunting and such. I stopped off here for two days to break my journey and stretch my limbs. He’s keen on all sports. He used his varnish but came in here to take his meals. He was kind enough to take coffee with me one evening and we got to chatting.”

“How very interesting,” said Vinnie.

“Will he be staying on here for very much longer?” asked Esther.

“It looked like they were preparing to hitch his varnish,” added Francesca.

“That’s right. They’re joining this train and will travel to Banff for the sport. I understand from him that he’s climbed almost everything there is to climb in his native land and thereabouts, so he means to begin on the Rockies.” She chuckled again.

“It sounds as if we shall all be in Banff,” said Vinnie.

“It does indeed,” said Francesca with a raised eyebrow and a look at Esther.

“In that case, it would only do to introduce ourselves,” said Esther on cue. “My name is Mrs. Gray, and these are my companions—Miss Lund and Miss Lawrence.”

“Thank you kindly,” said the new acquaintance. “I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure. I’m Mrs. West—Mrs. Ida West.”