Authors: Jo Goodman
Ramsey picked up the paper between a thumb and forefinger and shook it out gingerly, as if it might come suddenly alive and turn on him. When nothing like that happened, he held it with both hands and began to read. “This is from Smith College. You have been accepted. Ann, this is splendid.”
The envelope dropped as she threw up her hands. “It is not splendid. I do not want to go. What I want is for you to promise me that you will stop making application on my behalf to
any
school.”
“But, Ann. This is Smith.”
“Father, I know. I can read. In fact, I read so well that I can study here on my own. I do not have to go anywhere.”
Quill watched as Ann lowered her hands to her sides.
Because her father was looking up at her, he did not see her fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt, but Quill did and gave Ann full marks for showing backbone in spite of her apprehension.
“I have been giving this considerable thought,” she said. “What I am proposing is not the whim of a moment or a consequence of our argument last night. I believe it is entirely possible for me to acquire a most excellent education here. I have thus far, with the assistance of a governess, tutors, and of course, Aunt Beatrice, been the recipient of a fine education, and it was you who adamantly opposed me attending the school you built, staffed, and continue to fund in town.”
Ramsey looked over at Quill. “Tell her. Tell her why it was not appropriate for her to attend the school I built, staffed, and continue to fund.”
Quill was grateful for Ann speaking up before he had to.
“I do not want to hear Mr. McKenna’s opinion on any matter since it merely echoes your own.” Under her breath, she said, “Bootlicker.”
Quill pressed a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat to cover his chuckle. Ramsey, he noted, was equally amused and trying hard not to show it.
“Mind yourself, Ann,” said Ramsey.
Quill was aware he did not tell his daughter to apologize, probably because he was not sure she would. Quill harbored similar doubts.
Ramsey put down the letter. “Tell me about this proposal of yours.”
Ann blinked. It was the only outward sign she gave that her father’s turn of thought surprised her. “I have already begun to outline what I believe is a curriculum equal or superior to that which I might receive at any of the women’s colleges. I can say that with confidence because I based my curriculum on the liberal arts studies offered by the various schools. I do not fool myself into thinking I can complete such an ambitious course of study on my own. Aunt Beatrice says there must be discussion, and I agree. I must be
challenged to think in new ways about what I read. It will open my mind to experiencing the world in a different light.”
“Experiencing what world?” Ramsey wanted to know. “I thought you were not going anywhere.”
“Not now. Not at this moment, but someday. And when I do, I will have a deeper appreciation for the adventure of it.”
“All right. Let us say that I approve your curriculum—and before we go any further, my approval of your curriculum is not negotiable. You must agree to it. I insist.”
“I cannot do that. That would give you license to alter my studies in a way I might find abominable. We would arrive at this impasse again, both of us unhappier than we are now.”
That gave Ramsey Stonechurch pause. He stared at his daughter, his world, as if he were seeing her in a new light. “Are you unhappy, Ann?”
Tears came unbidden. She was successful blinking them back, but her chin trembled. “I don’t mean to be,” she said. “I try hard not to be.”
“Is there someone?” he asked. “Someone you don’t want to leave behind?”
Ann’s mouth opened a fraction. She gaped at her father and the flush was back in her cheeks.
Before she could speak, Ramsey said, “Mr. McKenna thinks there might be a young man keeping you here.”
Quill actually jerked in his chair. He glared at Ramsey in the brief moment he had before Ann rounded on him. His first thought was to defend himself. His second thought was to let it go. He went with his second thought.
“My father should be flattered that you think him young, Mr. McKenna, because I can assure you that he is the only man I do not want to leave behind.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Stonechurch, if I misspoke.”
“If?” she asked haughtily. “
If
you misspoke? You most certainly did. I know that is precisely the sort of notion that would provoke my father to pitch a fit. How dare you compromise his health by entertaining that idea aloud and in his presence? As a lawyer, I thought you would know better
than to make your case with no supporting evidence, and the reason I know you have no evidence is because what you suppose is not true. There is no young man.”
“Ann,” Ramsey said gently, “please calm yourself. Mr. McKenna knows he was in error. Don’t you, Mr. McKenna?”
“I do,” said Quill, but what he was thinking was the lady doth protest too much. He started to rise. “I have no place here. I believe your discussion would be better served if I left.”
“Sit,” said Ramsey.
“Stay,” said Ann.
Quill regarded them sardonically, one brow arched, his mouth pulled to the side, and then he continued to the door.
“Come back here,” Ramsey said. “I am relying on your counsel in this matter.”
“Please,” said Ann. “You figure largely in my ability to accomplish what I have set out to do.”
Quill would have continued regardless of his employer’s wishes, but Ann’s appeal had his full attention. Still, he hesitated, and when he turned, it was done slowly, deliberately, and with the derisive smile still fixed to his face. Ramsey stared back at him, unmoved, but Ann had the grace to look sheepish. She was young, Quill reminded himself, and sheltered, and the grown-up airs she affected were to impress her father. He decided to return to his chair for Ann’s sake and determined he would have it out with Ramsey at another time.
Ramsey waited until Quill was sitting before he asked his daughter, “What do you mean Mr. McKenna figures into your success?”
“I would like to know that as well,” said Quill.
Ann folded her hands in front of her and spoke to her father in clear tones. “I cannot be left entirely to my own devices. I believe I mentioned that I must be challenged intellectually, and that is best done by people who bring knowledge and expertise to the subjects I intend to study. Mr. McKenna is one such person.”
Quill cleared his throat because neither Stonechurch was
looking in his direction. He was ignored, so he spoke up. “I am not one such person.”
Ramsey kept looking at his daughter, but he tipped his head to indicate Quill. “He says he is not one such person.”
“But he is.” She glanced at Quill. “You are. You are easily the most educated man in and around Stonechurch.” She said to her father, “That is no slight against you, Father, as you are knowledgeable in a great many things, but Mr. McKenna studied law at Princeton. He would be an excellent tutor.”
“I would not be,” said Quill.
“He says he would not be,” said Ramsey. “And you could go to Smith.”
“No, I cannot. I will not leave you.”
“What if Mr. McKenna could do it but does not want to? What then? He has other duties, you know.”
“I am perfectly aware. But surely you can free him sufficiently to attend to my education.”
Quill said, “I am sure he can’t.”
Ramsey was silent, thoughtful, but before his daughter became too hopeful, he shook his head. “Mr. McKenna is correct. I cannot make him available to you.”
Quill heard the finality in Ramsey’s tone, a tone that even Ann recognized as the end of the discussion. He considered what might be possible. “Katherine Nash,” he said to himself. Then more loudly, “Katherine Nash might be persuaded to tutor you, Miss Stonechurch.”
Ann pursed her lips. This had the effect of deepening the crescent dimples on either side of her mouth. “Who is Miss Nash?”
Almost simultaneously, Ramsey said, “I might not find her suitable.”
Neither Quill nor Ann paid attention to him.
Ann rested her chin on her fist as she considered Quill’s suggestion. “How do you know her?”
“We met once briefly, but I primarily know her by what I have heard from others. She is highly regarded.”
“She has a liberal arts background?”
“I would definitely say that her education was liberal.”
“All right. Do you think she will agree? Where is she now? How do we find her?”
“Leave all of that to me,” said Quill.
Ramsey rapped his knuckles on the desk. “A point of order, if you please. I
still
have not agreed to this.”
Ann bent and put her arms around her father’s shoulders. She kissed him soundly on his cheek. “Of course you must agree, Father. We understand that. I will seek you out when you return from the bank. You can review my curriculum. When you see it, I think you will understand why Aunt Beatrice would be hopelessly out of her depth but fully in support of the endeavor. If you find that Miss Nash is suitably qualified and amenable, it is likely I will only need the occasional tutor to provide assistance in very specific areas.”
She released her father and went to stand in front of Quill. She extended her arm to shake hands with him. “Thank you, Mr. McKenna. I am confident that you will persuade Miss Nash to come to Stonechurch. When you are not kowtowing to my father, it is your particular talent to be persuasive.”
Quill released her hand. “Thank you. I think.”
“Oh, it was a compliment.” Turning, she fled the room, pausing only to slide the pocket doors closed behind her.
Ramsey Stonechurch was the first to fill the silence that followed. “What happened here?”
Quill avoided a direct reply. “What do you think happened?”
“I think I was outmaneuvered.”
“She is your daughter,” said Quill. “There is reason to be proud.”
“She was good, wasn’t she? I did not suspect that she could be so forward. I believe she must have practiced.” He did not require a response and did not wait for one. “And then there is you. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“You should not have told her that I suspected it was a young man keeping her here, and you definitely should not have commanded me to sit as if I were your pet monkey. I will reluctantly tolerate the first, but speak to me again like that, and I will be gone.”
“Seems to me you had your revenge. You forced my hand with this Calico Nash business.”
“Believe that if you like, but we both know you were considering the merits of it when Ann interrupted.”
“I was in full agreement that protection for Ann is necessary but questioning the suitability of someone like Calico Nash.”
Quill regarded Ramsey Stonechurch for several long moments, weighing his words, judging their consequence before he spoke. “This needs to be said because I cannot tell if you are denying yourself the truth or only denying it to me. Ann does not need someone
like
Calico Nash. She needs Calico Nash. Ann has provided us with the perfect cover for Miss Nash. You see that, don’t you?”
Ramsey did not respond. Instead, he raised his pocket watch, examined it, and turned the face so Quill could see. “The bank, remember? My appointment with Raymond Garrison. I need to get to the bank.”
“Did you hear me, Mr. Stonechurch?”
“I did indeed.” Ramsey stood, put away the pocket watch, and nodded once at Quill. “You told my daughter you would take care of finding Miss Nash. God help you if you don’t. God help you if she doesn’t agree. I never asked you if you were a praying man, but if you’re not, you should be.”
November 1888
Falls Hollow, Colorado
Joe Pepper looked up as the door to his office was pushed open. A blast of cold air swept into the room along with an eddy of snowflakes and Calico Nash. He rose from behind his desk as she stomped clumps of wet snow from her boots. Her spurs jangled musically. She was wearing a heavy coat with the lambskin collar turned up around her ears and a green wool scarf wrapped around it to keep the collar in place. Her black Stetson with the telltale braided leather band
was pulled low over her forehead. Her buckskin trousers were tucked into her boots. She crossed her arms and slapped at her shoulders, dislodging more snow from her coat.
“Put yourself by the stove,” Joe said. “Coffee?”
“Yes. No need to trouble yourself. I’ll get it. You get the whiskey.” She tore off her gloves, shoved them in her pockets, and held her hands out to the stove. After turning them over a few times, she took down a cup from the shelf by the stove and poured coffee. She did not drink immediately, using the cup instead to continue to warm her hands. When Joe added whiskey, she thanked him. “I don’t remember the last time I was this cold,” she told him. “I suppose I have to count that as a good thing, else I would never go out in the snow again.”
Joe nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” He stayed at her side until she sipped and pronounced the whiskey to coffee ratio a good one. He added a little whiskey to his own cup of coffee when he returned to his desk. “Have a seat when you have a mind to.”
It was several minutes before Calico set her cup down to remove her scarf, hat, and coat. She did not hang them up, preferring to lay them out on a bench near the stove where they might absorb more heat. Afterward, she took back the cup and sat down across from Joe. She sipped, enjoying the warmth as it trickled over her tongue, down her throat, and settled in the pit of her stomach.
“When did you eat last?” asked Joe.
“I’m fine.”
Joe reached for his stash of gingersnaps anyway. “Fresh,” he said, holding up the tin. “Mary noticed my trousers were getting loose and she took sympathy on me.” When he tipped the tin toward her, Calico reached in and came out with three.
“Where is Chris?” he asked. “I expected to see him on your heels. He found you, didn’t he? I sent him out to do that.”
“He did. I was in Kirkwood, staying with Edna and Walt Gravely. They’re nice folks, comfortable to be around.”
“Gravely. You brought in the man who murdered their son.”
“I did, but we don’t talk about that. They have other children, a few that are just youngsters. Sometimes I like to be around children.”