“That was a condition for giving the interview. One of many conditions.”
“I don’t know why Miss Hart would agree to print such lies.”
“She felt she was owed a good story. She says I haven’t given her anything worth printing lately.”
Norma sniffed. “She should be a novelist if she wants to tell stories. I don’t see anything I’d consider news here.”
“The news is that May Ward agreed not to tell Fleurette the truth, which is to say that I’ve found a way out of the mess you put us in.”
Constance didn’t expect any gratitude from Norma over that and didn’t get any. “I never put you in any mess.”
“May Ward wouldn’t have spotted me in a hotel lobby if you hadn’t insisted on?—”
“I thought we agreed not to speak of Freeman Bernstein again,” Norma put in.
“You’re the one reading the paper.”
Constance had come home to see if they’d had word from Fleurette—and there was one postcard, telling nothing they didn’t already know and promising to be home in a few days. Constance also wanted to square her story with Norma so that they could have some hope of not arousing suspicion when Fleurette did return.
“Fleurette will want to know all about your visit with Mrs. Ward,” Norma said.
“With any luck, she won’t know anything about it,” Constance said. “May says that the girls don’t bother with the papers and only read magazines. If she does see it, Mrs. Ward has promised to say that I behaved entirely within the bounds of my profession and that Freeman Bernstein is to blame for the entire misunderstanding.”
“We’re counting on an awful lot of people remembering how to lie to Fleurette,” Norma said.
“I’m counting on Fleurette being too self-absorbed to notice what anyone’s saying if it doesn’t pertain directly to her.”
“Then it might work.” Norma went back to the stack of letters she’d been reading. “I’ve fallen behind in your correspondence. Here’s a man who runs an African lion ranch in Arkansas. He says women make better lion tamers, as long as they have the nerve to stand up to the lion.”
“Stand up to it?”
“Yes, apparently, if a lion attacks, the thing to do is to stand your ground. You’re to roar right back at it and wave your arms in the air. A timid person runs, but that’s what finishes them. A lion will always win a footrace.”
“It doesn’t say that,” Constance said, and snatched the letter from her, but it did.
“Here’s one you might consider,” she said, taking up another.
Dear Under-Sheriff Kopp,
I suppose you will be promised to someone else by this time, but if you’re not, mine is the best offer of its sort you will get so you might as well take it. Out here in Nevada the sheriff spends his time chasing down claim jumpers and horse thieves as you might expect, but there is the more ordinary breed of criminal as well, including girls who, from time to time, must be locked up for their own good and the general health of the men in this town. I’m sure I don’t need to explain that further, for a lady sheriff knows all about social hygiene and the ruinous diseases that are the natural result of sin and debauchery.
I’ve made my jail impervious to scorpions and rattlesnakes, which is no easy feat, but it must be done if I am to persuade a woman to give herself to me in marriage and to take charge of a woman’s duties at the jail. As the sheriff’s wife you would see to the cooking and the laundering and a bit of farming, which would be no extra trouble at all, as we harbor only 25–30 men at a time plus a girl or two. Our inmates hardly eat a thing, nor do they expect much in the way of pressed trousers, which is to say that looking after their meals and such wouldn’t be any more work than a wife’s ordinary obligations.
I had a housekeeper tending to all this but she’s dead now and I took it into my head that rather than put the expense on the taxpayers of hiring another, I ought to find a wife. We don’t see a lot of women in Duckwater, but there you were in the newspaper and I knew this would be a much better place for you than that jail in New Jersey.
Send a line at once that I may make ready to receive a wife—
Your ever-hopeful intended,
Sheriff Q. R. Greenville
“I wish you wouldn’t read them aloud,” Constance said.
“Dear Mr. Greenville,” Norma pronounced as she wrote. “It brings me great displeasure to inform you that Miss Constance Kopp is an abysmal cook who cannot manage to put toast on the table for her two sisters, much less feed a couple dozen criminals, nor is she to be trusted with laundry or, for that matter, the planting of potatoes or the overseeing of a few laying hens. In fact, I find little to recommend in her for matrimony, as she is neither tender nor sympathetic, she cannot manage a bank-book, and her looks have already gone. I’m afraid she would disappoint in every way. Please take comfort in the fact that I intercepted your letter in time and saved you the regret and heartache that an association with Miss Kopp would inevitably bring.”
“That’s just fine,” Constance said. “Answer the rest along those lines.”
60
MINNIE WAS POCKETING shortbread at the refreshment table when Ruby came rushing up to her. Ruby was pale and pretty, and when she’d been crying, it showed. Her face had the shattered look of a handful of crumpled rose petals. “Where’s Edna? Quickly, I have only a minute.”
Minnie looked around and saw her across the room. Ruby ran over and Minnie followed.
“Edna!” Ruby gasped. “Listen to me.”
She took Edna’s arms and pulled her away from the other girls. Minnie stood nearby, unsure if she was allowed to listen.
“Daddy won’t let me go,” Ruby said. “He’s absolutely set against it. He said he never knew we were serious about it or he wouldn’t have allowed any of this to go on as long as it has. And I’m not the only one. He’s going around to all the other fathers and, one by one, the girls are being told to stay home and knit.” Her voice broke when she said it, as if knitting were the worst punishment she could imagine. It would’ve been funny, if Minnie hadn’t felt so sorry for Edna.
“The whole program’s done for. They’re going to announce it tonight. All the money we’ve raised is to be turned over to the Red Cross. That’s the end of it.”
Edna’s face was a mask. Her little mouth was set in a rigid line. Minnie wanted to go over and put an arm around her, but she didn’t dare.
“Oh . . . I suppose it’s better that I didn’t have to hear it announced in front of everyone,” Edna said in a monotone. “It was good of you to tell me first.”
“But that’s not all of it!” Ruby said. “I came to tell you that my passage is paid for, and Daddy doesn’t know about it, so he won’t try to get the money back. You might as well take it. You can leave in a few weeks!”
“But—what am I to do on my own? I can’t just go without a group.”
“Oh, of course you can. There are so many groups. Just go to Paris and appeal to Mrs. Wharton. She’s running all kinds of relief programs.”