Wherever You Go Page 2

  Mary smiled. “Well, just tell him I insist. I’ll see you after the performances.”

  Kate leaned forward and kissed Mary’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re happy for us.” She hurried from the staging area and back to the arena.

  “Are you really all right?” Lizzy asked.

  “I’m fine. Really. Shocked, but fine.” Mary watched Kate disappear back into the stands. “I teased her about taking our wedding date so the plans we’d made wouldn’t have to be undone.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m honestly happy for them. Owen needed a wife. Since his folks died and he had the farm all to himself . . . well, he needed someone.”

  Lizzy tugged at a loose button on her sleeve. “Still, it can be hard to have it actually happen this way, what with your sister marrying him.”

  Mary shrugged. “I’ve always seen Owen as a brother, so maybe it’s exactly as it should be. Now he’s really my brother. At least, my brother-in-law.”

  “So long as you’re going to be all right. You’d best hurry. You’ll be on in five minutes. I need to find Agnes and ask her to secure this button.”

  “I saw her and Brigette heading to the dressing room earlier.”

  “Then that is where I must go, and you must dazzle the audience with your greatness.”

  Mary looked at the clock and nodded. “Indeed. The show must go on.”

  two

  Christopher Williams didn’t know when he’d enjoyed anything as much as this all-female wild west show. He’d seen Buffalo Bill Cody’s show and even traveled for a time with him in 1898 so the magazine could run a serial on him and the performers, but this show had them beat for charm. The ladies were just as lovely as Brookstone promised and ten times as talented as Chris had expected. He was especially taken by the female sharpshooter, Mary Reichert. Watching her shoot in the contest with the local man had been a fun diversion, but observing her talented main act had left him wanting to write an article, if not a series of articles, on her. Perhaps on the entire troupe. Of course, he’d have to talk his editor into the idea, since that wasn’t the reason he was in town.

  Due to his editor’s interest in spiritualism, Chris had come to Topeka in order to do a story on the Bethel Bible College and Pastor Charles Parham. This story had been planned since the previous New Year’s Eve incident that had made public the supposed miracle of speaking in tongues. From what he’d learned, there’d been a watch night service to usher in the New Year and pray for wisdom and guidance. A woman named Agnes Ozman had asked to be prayed for and afterward began to speak in Chinese. Although from what Chris had been able to learn, no one knew for certain it was Chinese. However, they did attest that for three days Agnes could not speak any English but could only write in Chinese characters. Chris had done his best to interview anyone who had witnessed the actual affair. He had hoped to speak to Agnes herself, but Miss Ozman, who wanted to be a missionary to the Chinese, was said to be in Omaha doing the Lord’s work. He found the entire matter rather absurd.

  Still, he would write up the story using the best of his information and let his editor do with it what he would. Thankfully, one of Agnes’s best friends had a nice photograph of her that they were willing to give him. That, along with photographs he’d arranged to be taken of the former school—and ones he’d obtained of the pastor involved—should suffice for the magazine article. He’d leave it up to the readership to decide if a true miracle of God had taken place.

  As the wild west show concluded, Chris was already formulating the story idea he would pitch to his editor. This would be a series of articles. Stories that would stimulate the heart of Americans both male and female. His magazine, My America, looked for unusual bits of Americana interest, and nothing could do that as well as the Brookstone Wild West Extravaganza. Of this, Chris was certain. His magazine readers would love learning about the all-female wild west show, and he personally wanted to learn more about the lovely Miss Reichert. She was incredible, and he’d met many an incredible woman.

  Chris made his way through the streaming lines of people and then cut away to slip back into the realm of the performers. The corridors were littered with crates that had contained props and targets for Mary Reichert’s sharpshooting and that of her counterpart, Alice.

  He reached down and lifted a small glass orb from the crates. It was delicate—like one of his grandmother’s beautiful knickknacks. Mary and the lovely young woman who shot solely on horseback using a bow and arrows had used the orbs for proving their shooting prowess. He put the ball gently back in the crate, then headed toward a gathering of people.

  “Excuse me. I’m a journalist looking for Miss Reichert.”

  The older woman in the group introduced herself. “I’m Agnes, the seamstress and costume designer. What do you want with Mary?” Her tone was protective.

  “As I mentioned, I’m a journalist, and I’d like to interview Miss Reichert for My America magazine.”

  Agnes considered him for a moment, then gave a nod. “Her dressing room is down that hall on the left. Second door.”

  “Thank you.” He tipped his hat to the group. Making his way down the hall, Chris reached an open dressing room door. Inside, Mary sat surrounded by two men and two women, no doubt admirers.

  “I wonder, Miss Reichert, if I could have a word,” he called to her. “I’m a journalist and would like to interview you for My America magazine.” He extended her a card with his magazine’s information.

  Mary glanced at the card. The people around her parted to allow him access. The old man who stood at her right looked protective as well. “I would be happy to speak with you, Mister . . .” She paused. “What is your name?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s there on the card, but I should have stated it straightaway. I’m Christopher Williams, but most folks call me Chris.”

  She smiled. That was a good sign. He offered her one in return.

  “These are my grandparents, Oscar and Hannah Reichert,” she said. “As well as my sister, Katerina, and her husband, Mr. Owen Douglas.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Reichert, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Christopher extended his hand to the old man. “I’m sure you must be very proud of your granddaughter.”

  “Ja, ve’re very proud,” the old man replied, giving Chris a firm grasp. He was stocky in build, and a crown of snowy hair topped his head. His thick accent left little doubt that he was of German descent. “Our Mary is quite a talent.”

  “I agree.” Chris then offered his hand to Mr. Douglas. “Mr. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas. I’m pleased to meet you as well.”

  The formalities had gone without a hitch, and Chris began to relax. Mary furthered his sense of accomplishment as she turned to her family.

  “Go ahead to the supper club without me. Order me a thick steak, medium rare, and I’ll join you after I finish speaking with Mr. Williams.” She pulled a piece of paste jewelry from her upswept hair. For much of her act she’d been dressed in western style, but for her final performance, she had changed into a refined, tasteful look, wearing a beautiful evening gown and costume jewelry. She looked as if she were ready for a night on the town.

  Chris couldn’t look away from her. She captivated him like no one he’d ever met. She seemed not even to notice his interest, but when Chris was able to look away, he found Mr. Douglas watching him.

  “If you’re certain,” Mr. Reichert said. “But ve can vait.”

  “No. Go ahead. I need to get changed anyway. I’ll give Mr. Williams his interview and join you in no more than thirty minutes. Certainly by eight o’clock.” She kissed her grandmother’s cheek and then her sister’s before the foursome agreed to go. Then she cocked her head to one side and offered Chris a smile. “Now, what would you like to know?”

  He found himself momentarily flustered—something that hadn’t happened for a long time. At twenty-five, he was usually quite certain of himself. Mary, however, had a way of setting him off balance.

  “I . . . ah . . .” He frowned. “I’m sorr
y. I guess I’m a little star-struck.”

  She laughed, and he was even more charmed. She took his arm. “Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure I can give you enough information to please your readers and be on my way in fifteen minutes.”

  Chris said nothing. He didn’t dare. Otherwise he might have really made a fool of himself by declaring that he didn’t want just fifteen minutes with her. He wanted a whole lot more.

  “And then he asked me about the show in general,” Mary said as she finished off a large piece of chocolate cake. The private supper club had the best desserts in town, and their chocolate cake could not be beat. The moist cake was layered with milk chocolate mousse and covered in a thick dark chocolate icing, then topped with dollops of whipped cream. It was rich and decadent and entirely too sweet, but Mary loved it.

  “I go pay for our supper,” Opa said, getting to his feet. “I’ll tell dem to bring our carriage around.”

  “No, Opa. I want to pay for our dinner.” Mary stood. “You get the carriage and help Oma. This is my treat, and I won’t hear otherwise.” She picked up her little purse and smiled. “I can never repay all you’ve done for me, but this is something that makes me feel better. So you see, you must allow me to do it.”

  “Ja, you must allow her to,” Oma said, patting Opa’s arm.

  The old man yielded but grumbled as he helped Mary’s grandmother to her feet. Mary took that moment to slip away and pay the bill. She hoped that by the time she finished, the others would already be loaded in the carriage and ready to go. Her time with Kate and Owen had been harder than she’d anticipated. Not because she was in love with Owen, but because she envied their happiness. They had each other, and she had no one.

  Still dressed in her finery from her last act, Mary noted the approving looks she received from the men around her. She had often been noted in the newspapers as a “handsome” woman and knew she could probably have her pick of suitors, but so far no one had appealed to her. Perhaps she was one of those strong women destined to go through life alone.

  “Mary?”

  She turned to find Owen waiting for her.

  “Here is your change, ma’am,” the supper club manager said. He counted out seven dollars, and Mary handed him back two. “Please give this to our waiter. He was generous with his time and service.”

  The manager smiled. “Of course. I’m glad to hear it.”

  She put the five dollars back in her purse, then walked toward Owen. “I thought you’d be with the others.”

  “I wanted a moment alone. I told them I would make sure you didn’t get mobbed by fans.” He smiled. “I just wanted to be certain that you aren’t upset over me and Kate getting married.”

  Mary chuckled. “Oh, Owen, I’m delighted. I always thought of you as a brother, and now you truly are. That day last year when we parted company, Kate lost no time in declaring her feelings for you. I think she’s been sweet on you for a very long time, and how wonderful that you two could finally be together.”

  “She’s amazing.” Owen’s entire face lit up.

  “So you truly love her?”

  He frowned for a moment, then nodded. “With all my heart. I never fully understood what you meant about us not being right for each other. I cared so much about you and your family that it seemed wrong that we not marry. But then, when I found myself in Kate’s company . . . everything changed. I suddenly realized that what you’d been saying was true. If we had married, I know you and I could have forced our way to happiness, but happiness with Kate takes no effort at all.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear, Owen.”

  “I will endeavor to be a good husband to her, but also a good brother to you, Mary. After all, you were wise enough to see the truth and do something about it.”

  She felt a warmth of happiness spread over her. She might be alone, but Owen and Kate were right to be together, and she could find joy in that truth. “I pray you’ll both be happy, Owen. It’s also such a comfort to me to know you’re there for Oma and Opa. I feel I am free to continue seeking justice for August, since you are there keeping watch over my grandparents and sister.”

  He frowned. “Seeking justice for him? How are you doing that? From what I read in your letters, the men you believe responsible have denied any involvement and have impeccable reputations in their community.”

  “I don’t care. The devil himself has friends and appears as an angel of light when it serves his purposes. I intend to find a way to make them pay.”

  “It sounds awfully dangerous. If those men truly murdered your brother, what’s to keep them from killing you?” Owen’s concerned expression touched her.

  “My brother was unaware of there being any danger, whereas I know what those men are capable of doing. It’s just like clearing out a pit of rattlers. I’ll go armed with foreknowledge and a good gun.” She smiled. “You know me, Owen. I can take care of myself.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I do. At least I always knew you didn’t need me to take care of you.”

  “But Kate does. Kate has always needed looking after, and now she has you. I couldn’t be happier, Owen. I hope you two are blessed with a great many children and happiness that stretches across the years.”

  They made their way out to the carriage. The evening air was heavy and humid, but the night sky was clear. When Mary saw her family in the carriage, she felt a mix of joy and loneliness. She loved them all so dearly, but she didn’t belong. Opa and Oma had each other, and Kate and Owen were together. August had always been the one who understood Mary best, and now he was gone. She was alone.

  Owen helped her into the carriage, and she wedged herself into the seat beside her grandmother. Oma took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I have missed you, but I know you’re doing vat you love.”

  Mary nodded and fought back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Oma.”

  “Vill you come home in the vinter?” Opa asked as he put the team in motion.

  Going home after the show concluded in the fall hadn’t even occurred to Mary. “I’m sure to come for a visit, if nothing else.” It was the best she could offer. She wasn’t sure the farm would ever feel like home again.

  three

  Chris looked around at the train car office. Oliver Brookstone kept a much more refined office than Buffalo Bill Cody. Chris wondered if his niece had a hand in that. He’d heard that Elizabeth Brookstone had taken her father’s place in helping her uncle run the show.

  “Tell us what you have in mind, Mr. Williams,” Jason Adler said with a smile. “We are always happy to accommodate the press.”

  “I would like to do a series of stories for the magazine, My America. Are you familiar with it?”

  Jason shook his head, but Oliver Brookstone gave an enthusiastic nod. “I often enjoy your magazine, Mr. Williams. I appreciate stories of unusual people and activities.”

  “Then as you probably also know, our magazine is devoted to sharing the various events and people who are of an unusual nature, but who clearly make America a great place to live.”

  “Indeed?” Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yet, if I’m not mistaken, I detect an essence of my homeland in your speaking manner.”

  “It’s true,” Chris said, smiling. “I was born in America but raised by my grandmother in England from the age of six. I returned to America after my education at Oxford, and so find my accent rather comingled.”

  “Oxford, you say.” Jason gave a smug smile. “I’m a Cambridge man, myself.”

  Chris heard the tone of superiority but chose to ignore it. The rivalry between the schools was well known. “As I was saying, I believe our magazine would be interested in featuring a series of articles on the show. I can’t help but believe this would be a wonderful way to promote your troupe in America.”

  “And it might be equally to our advantage in England,” Jason said, looking to Brookstone. “With our upcoming trip to England later this summer, Mr. Williams could accompany us and perhaps act as
our publication liaison.”

  “I didn’t realize you were headed to England. I’d be happy to act as such an agent,” Chris replied. “I’d also be happy to introduce you to newspaper friends there. I’m sure there would be widespread interest. After all, the queen, God rest her soul, loved the wild west shows.”

  “I am quite gratified by the idea,” Brookstone said, rubbing his hands together. “I see this as a wonderful opportunity. Ah, here she is.” He rose, and the other men also got to their feet.

  “Wes said you needed to see me,” the young woman announced as she entered the office. She crossed the small space and gave Brookstone a kiss on his cheek.

  “Lizzy, this is Mr. Williams. Mr. Williams, my niece, Elizabeth Brookstone.”

  Chris extended his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Brookstone. I understand you have taken your father’s place in helping to run this show.”

  “Call me Lizzy.” She shook his hand and then took a seat at the table. “And no, I didn’t actually take my father’s place. I’m not a true partner. I just like to help my uncle put on the best show we can deliver.” She looked at her uncle as he claimed the seat beside her. “Now, how can I help?”

  Brookstone gave her arm a pat. “I’ll let our friend explain.”

  Lizzy fixed Chris with a curious gaze. He smiled at the pretty brunette. She was confident, and he liked that about her. He took the chair opposite her. “First, I must say that I am quite impressed with your abilities. I was captivated as I watched your performance in Topeka.”

  Lizzy laughed. “Well, that is the point of my act, Mr. Williams. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

  “I did, but please call me Chris. I was also taken with the sharpshooting. I interviewed Annie Oakley for an article several years ago, so I find myself particularly drawn to such acts.”

  “I can’t blame you, Chris,” Lizzy replied, seeming to try the name on for size. “Mary and Alice are wonderful.”

  “I met Mary Reichert. We spoke briefly after the show, and I was able to do a short interview with her. You see, I’m a writer for My America magazine. I’m hoping once we get to Kansas City, I’ll have a telegram awaiting me from my editor in New York approving my idea. As I mentioned to your uncle and Mr. Adler, I want to do a series of stories about the show. I believe readers will want to know all about the Brookstone Wild West Extravaganza and its all-female performers.”