Angel

Chapter 29

With a population of over three hundred thousand, St. Louis was right up there with Philadelphia and New York City in size. Though Catherine preferred Chicago for their annual shopping excursions, they had come to St. Louis twice over the years.

Their last visit had been back in ‘75, not long after the completion of the East Bridge, which crossed the Mississippi. The suburbs had expanded greatly since then. In fact, the whole city had grown noticeably in the past six years. But Catherine was a creature of habit. Wherever they went, she always stayed in the same hotels, which were usually the best the cities had to offer, not necessarily the newest.

So Cassie had assumed they would be staying at the same hotel as they had before, and that was where she had asked the detective from the renowned Pinkerton agency to find her. She only hoped he could do so without alerting her mama to what she was up to.

Catherine hadn’t mentioned seeing a lawyer again, but Cassie knew she would just as soon as she got bored with her shopping. That would give Cassie about a week, maybe two, to decide what she was going to do about a divorce. Of course, there was nothing really to decide. She had to get one. She had no reason not to now. Just because she might like to stay married to the husband she’d unexpectedly gotten didn’t mean she could.

He’d have something to say about it, and none of it would be nice. Her mama would have a fit, too, if Cassie even hinted that she liked Angel enough to keep him. All the reasons would be trotted out why he wasn’t suitable for a husband. Cassie didn’t want to hear them. She already knew them, and they had nothing to do with feelings.

The old-timers in the city were predicting snow any day now, but the sun continued to shine. It didn’t warm things up much— St. Louis in January was more what Cassie was accustomed to in winter than Texas was— but it made getting around the city much more pleasant than snow would have. And they didn’t have far to go. It hadn’t been hard to find the most highly recommended dressmaker in town. She still happened to be Madame Cecilia, the same one they’d used before, and her shop was located only a few blocks from the hotel. They’d even walked there a few times when the wind wasn’t too brisk.

This afternoon, for the fourth visit and last fitting, Catherine hired a carriage. Cassie would have preferred to walk, since she didn’t feel like participating in her mama’s usual chatter. She was brooding again. They’d been in the city for five days now, but the Pinkerton man hadn’t arrived yet. Cassie was already thinking up reasons to delay their departure if he still didn’t show up during the next week.

Finding Angel’s parents was no longer just a whim. It had become quite important to her for the simple reason that if she was successful, she’d have a valid excuse not only to see Angel again, but to talk to him. And she wanted that. She could always see him, after all. She imagined she’d be going to Cheyenne a lot more than she ever had before, just to catch glimpses of him. But he wouldn’t talk to her unless he had to. She knew that. Even if it wasn’t because he wouldn’t want to be bothered, which he wouldn’t, he’d be thinking of her reputation. They were both well known in their town. There’d be talk of the scandalous sort if she were seen in the company of Cheyenne’s notorious Angel.

“You’re moping again,” Catherine remarked a block away from Madame Cecilia’s.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“All right, I miss Marabelle.”

The ranch hands whom Catherine had brought with her to Texas, in case she needed a show of force, had taken Marabelle home with them, since fine hotels frowned on putting up pets of that sort. And it was only a half lie of the evasive kind that Cassie had just told. She did miss her pet. She simply missed Angel more.

“I know I wired for our private sleeper car to be transferred here,” Catherine said, “but we don’t have to wait for it if you want to go home already.”

“No!” Cassie said a bit too forcefully. She quickly amended her negative response. “I mean, I can get along without her for a few weeks, and vice versa.”

“I’m not so sure about the vice versa,” Catherine remarked. “You weren’t the one who had to chase her halfway to Denver the first time you visited your papa, and explain to all those good folks along the way that they weren’t hunting a wild panther, but my daughter’s pet, who didn’t know enough to stay home where she didn’t scare people half to death.”

Cassie grinned, remembering the long, vituperative letter that had accompanied Marabelle to Texas in the large cage Catherine had been forced to have made for her so she could ship her to Cassie. Marabelle had tried to follow Cassie, but had lost her scent after the first train stop across the Colorado border, not halfway to Denver as her mama had exaggerated. But Catherine had most definitely been put out with both daughter and pet at the time.

“She stayed home okay last summer when we went to Chicago,” Cassie reminded her.

“We were gone only ten days that time, and she was locked up tight in the barn with a constant companion in old Mac, to keep her from ripping up the walls.”

Cassie took exception to that. “She doesn’t rip walls, Mama. But if you want to talk about walls and pets, let’s talk about Short Tail, your sweet elephant. Do you think the barn will still be standing when we get home?”

Catherine gave her a sour look. “I’m beginning to think that man was a bad influence on you.”

“What man?” Cassie asked innocently.

“You know which one,” Catherine admonished sternly. “Your impertinence is getting worse.”

“I thought it was getting better.”

“You see what I mean?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Mama, if you haven’t noticed lately, I’m all grown up. When are you going to stop treating me like a child?”

“When you’re sixty-five and I’m dead, and not a day sooner.”

If Catherine hadn’t sounded so serious, Cassie wouldn’t have laughed. “All right, you win, Mama. I’ll keep my impertinence to myself. But could you at least not call me baby in public?”

Catherine’s lips twitched slightly. “As long as we’re making allowances, I suppose I can manage—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Their driver suddenly hauled back on his reins, stopping the carriage and jerking them both nearly out of their seats. A large delivery wagon had come out of a side street and moved in front of them, apparently intending to turn in the opposite direction they were headed. But traffic was heavy going in the opposite direction and its driver couldn’t move out into it, so he ended up stuck where he was, blocking their path.

Their driver was angry enough at the near accident he’d had that he started yelling. The other driver looked over at theirs and flipped him a rude gesture, at which point their driver retaliated with a string of curses at the top of his lungs.

Catherine’s face went red-hot at some of the words coming out of his mouth that could be heard half a block away. “Close your ears, Cassie,” she admonished and tossed a dollar on the driver’s seat. “We’ll walk.”

“But this is just getting interesting,” Cassie protested.

“We’ll walk,” Catherine repeated with more force.

She really was embarrassed. Cassie found that amusing, especially since she’d heard worse out of the cowhands on the Lazy S, and words nearly as bad out of her mama when she was upbraiding those same cowhands about something. But then that was one of Catherine’s eccentricities. Unlike Cassie, who only wore her Colt on the ranch, Catherine was never without here — except when she headed east. Then she turned into a model of fine etiquette and elegance befitting a high-society matron, with an attitude running in the same vein.

It was worth a little teasing. “You know, that wouldn’t have happened if Angel were here.”

“You’re boasting because that man scares people just by looking at them?” Catherine said incredulously.

“I guess I am. That trait of his would come in handy on occasion. Imagine how easily you’d get rid of the Misses Potter if Angel walked into the room.”

Catherine snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. He’d be scared off by those two chatterboxes.”

“Then there’s Willy Gate who harangues you every Sunday with his Civil War stories, and you’re too softhearted to ignore him.”

“He was a hero — and you wouldn’t happen to be hinting that Angel would be nice to have around, would you?”

Catherine’s look was so stern, Cassie chose not to answer. “We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry,” she said as she moved ahead on the crowded sidewalk, leaving no chance for further teasing — or hinting.

A few minutes later they arrived at the dress shop, just in time to be delayed entering by another arrival, that of a well-dressed young gentleman and his overdressed lady friend. The man was so handsome, Cassie couldn’t help staring at him. Catherine didn’t notice that, but she couldn’t help noticing that, after a brief glance at them, the man so dismissed them from his mind that he didn’t even hold the door open for them, but followed his companion into the shop.

“Some people have no manners.”

Catherine had said it before the door closed behind the man. He heard and turned to give her a disdainful look that had her cheeks glowing. Cassie decided she’d better not mention that that wouldn’t have happened, either, if Angel were there.

But their conversation on that subject was too recent, and Catherine glowered at her, warning, “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’ve a good mind to complain to Madame Cecilia,” Catherine continued, “and take our business elsewhere.”

“It’s not her fault,” Cassie protested.

“Isn’t it? When she schedules our fitting at the same time as that loose woman’s?”

“What makes you think she isn’t a lady?”

“I know a man’s mistress when I see one,” Catherine replied huffily.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Mama, you’re getting all upset over nothing.”

“Am I?” Catherine countered. “When you’re still thinking about that gunfighter?”

So that’s what this was all about? Cassie should have figured her mama wouldn’t get that heated up over a little rudeness when they’d encountered much worse before in big cities.

She gave in to avoid an argument. “So I won’t mention him again.”

“Good. And now I think I’ll show that ill-mannered fellow some rudeness of my own— Wyoming style.” And as she walked into the dressmaker’s shop, Cassie heard her add, “I wish to hell my Colt wasn’t packed away.”

Cassie wished Angel didn’t have to be packed away, too.