Ivy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the portrait. It just didn’t seem real.
“This isn’t what I see when I look in the mirror,” she said at last.
“Oh? What do you see?” Mr. Baker asked, laying the picture down on the surface of the stool.
“I see someone very plain, very uninteresting,” she replied. “But this . . . I don’t know how you did it, but it’s sort of magical.”
“You’re not plain, and you’re certainly not uninteresting,” he told her. “Miss Ross, there’s something about you that has spoken to me since the first time we met. I wouldn’t feel that sort of . . . fascination, I suppose I could call it, if you weren’t an incredibly special person.”
“That’s a very broad assumption. You barely know me.”
“And the more I get to know you, the more I’ll believe that’s true.” He straightened his shoulders. “But as things like that take time to prove, let’s deal with the business at hand. It’s time for the frame.”
Ivy watched as he loosened the back of the frame and slid the portrait inside, then tightened the frame back up. When he flipped it over, she couldn’t believe it—it was even more beautiful, and she hadn’t thought that was possible. Especially not when it came to a picture of her.
“And now for the easel.” Mr. Baker set the easel in front of the window, then placed the portrait on it. It was the perfect height for anyone walking past to see, and Ivy felt tears welling in her eyes at the thought that everyone in Creede would see it and recognize her and realize that she actually was pretty and not just a dowdy waitress.
“I think it needs something still,” Mr. Baker said, surveying it critically. “I think some fabric draped over the easel would look very nice, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, it would. Do you have any?”
“No, but I noticed earlier that Mrs. Jackson has a nice selection. Would you like to walk over to the general store with me?”
“I would, but first, let’s eat lunch. Meat pies aren’t very tasty cold.”
“Oh, lunch! I’d nearly forgotten, but yes. I am hungry.”
He offered her the stool, and he sat cross-legged on the floor. She laughed. “And when will you be getting some furniture?”
“After I’ve brought in some business. That reminds me—Mrs. Morgan asked me if I’d take a portrait of her with her sons. She’ll be my first official customer.”
“Oh, that’s good news. I like Mrs. Morgan—she comes in from time to time.” Ivy folded back the top of the basket and began lifting out food. “Meat pies, mashed potatoes, and cherry pie. I bottled the cherries myself last year.”
“Sounds delicious. And I’m so glad you brought dishes.”
“I figured, if you didn’t even have chairs, chances were, you didn’t have dishes.” Ivy gave him a smile, heartened when he returned it. She was looking for any signs that Catherine might be right, and she was finding them everywhere she looked.
“Miss Ross,” he said after he’d taken a few bites, “I wonder if I might call you Ivy.”
“Why? I mean, yes, but . . . why?”
“Because I’d like to get to know you better, and I’d like to know you as Ivy. It suits you.”
“And am I allowed to call you Caleb? It’s only fair, you know.”
“It’s most definitely fair.” He looked up at her, and his expression grew serious. “Tell me why you only see yourself as plain.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, she took another bite of her meat pie, hoping to buy herself some time while she chewed. “My mother wasn’t the sort to pay compliments,” she said at last. “We were never told that we looked nice—she’d focus on whether we were neat and clean. If we did a good job at school, we were only doing what was expected, and there was no additional praise beyond that. I don’t mean to say that she was unloving—she loved us in her own way, and she wanted good things for our futures, but she wasn’t very demonstrative.”
Caleb rested one elbow on his knee. “What if that changed?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. She passed away—it’s too late now.”
He shook his head. “I mean, what if someone else came along who did compliment you? Who did praise you when you did well?”
“I’m not sure how I’d respond. It would seem so strange to me.”
“And that’s why you were so hesitant to let me take your picture. You didn’t feel as though you deserved it.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t that better than being conceited?”
“It’s better, but it’s still not ideal.”
“And what, pray tell, would be the ideal?” She meant to sound lighthearted, but she sounded pointed, and that wasn’t at all how she meant to come across.
He didn’t seem to notice, though. “I think everyone should have a healthy balance of self-confidence and humility. Except for you, though.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why do I get this exception?”
“Because you should wake up every morning with complete knowledge that you are beautiful and charming in every way.”
That was far more than she expected. “Mr. Baker . . .”
“Caleb.”
“Caleb, I hear what you’re saying and I appreciate your words, but . . .”
“But they’re making you uncomfortable.”
“Yes, they are.” She was grateful that even though she felt her footing slip out from beneath her, she could still speak openly with him. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t understand why you talk to me like this. Like it’s important to you that I feel better about myself.”
“It is important to me. It’s very important.”
That wasn’t very helpful. “But why?”
“Because everyone who walks on this earth should feel as though they belong there.”
Ivy ducked her head. She didn’t know why his words hit her soul like they did, but there they resonated, and she allowed them to sit and sparkle.
“Ivy, there are two things you need to know.” He shifted a little bit, and she wondered if the floor was becoming uncomfortable. “The first is that I intend to pursue you until you tell me to stop or until we both decide it’s not right. The second . . . the second’s more complicated than that.”
“What could be more complicated than that?” she asked with a wry chuckle. That sounded plenty complicated to her.
“I’m apparently a suspect in the counterfeiting ring.”
She stared at him, not sure she heard him correctly. “You’re a suspect?”
He nodded. “I gave a dollar to Mr. Thurgood, who gave it to Mr. Helm, who gave it to Naomi.”
“And where did you get it?”
“I received it as change at the ticket booth in Cheyenne, but the marshals aren’t sure if they believe me.”
“They think you’re the counterfeiter? Why would you have helped them if that was the case?”
“They wonder if I’m trying to cover my tracks. I promise you, though, I’m not. I have no connection to this at all—I’m not a criminal.” He studied her eyes. “Can you trust me until this gets straightened out?”
She so badly wanted to believe him, but she also felt her insecurities rising up again. Was this why he was interested in her—he wanted her to speak in his defense? With her father being one of the counterfeiting victims, was he hoping to win Ivy over so they’d show him some leniency?
She closed her eyes, trying to bring herself back to a state of calm. Why was she working herself into such a fit? Caleb had done nothing to arouse her suspicion. He hadn’t demonstrated any shocking behavior . . . except for saying that she deserved to believe the best of herself. That was shocking, to be sure, but it wasn’t breaking the law.
Finally, she nodded. “I’ll trust you,” she said at last. “I’m struggling with myself because I really know so little about you, but what I do know, I believe I can trust.”
“Thank you, Ivy,” he replied. “And I will do everything I can to deserve that trust.”
They finished their meal in silence, as though they’d said everything there was to say. Then Caleb got up from the floor and dusted off his trousers. “Are we ready to go buy that fabric?”
“I believe we are,” she replied. The situation was weighing on her, but she could pretend to be light. He needed her support.
He locked up the building, and they crossed the street. The day was a little warmer than the one previous, and the sun had melted some of the snow and ice into mud puddles and slick spots. Caleb held her elbow while they navigated the way.
He was able to find what he wanted almost immediately—a rich red fabric that would drape nicely over the easel. It would be eye-catching from the road, and be the perfect backdrop to the portrait.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Ivy said, fingering the material. “What a good choice.”
“How much do you think I should get?” he asked.
“I’d say two yards. You want it to have a nice drape over the easel, and not look stingy.”
“Agreed.”
Mrs. Jackson cut the correct length, and then they went up front to pay. “Would you like that on your account, Mr. Baker?” she asked.
“Let’s see.” He opened his wallet, then paused. “This . . . this is very curious.”
“What’s the matter?” Ivy asked, noticing that his face had gone an entirely different color.
“I . . . I don’t think I gave Mr. Thurgood a counterfeit bill. Or if I did, it’s not the one I’m suspected of giving him.”
Mrs. Jackson was now looking at him curiously too.
“Caleb, please. What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been tracking my money very carefully because I’m on a tight budget right now. I had money of certain denominations in my wallet, and I know exactly how many coins I have. It’s supposed that I gave Mr. Thurgood a dollar bill, which he then gave to Ab Helm, which he then gave to Naomi at the Iron Skillet. But I only had one dollar left in paper money, I paid for my dinner that first night with coins, and I paid Mr. Thurgood five dollars for my building rental—a five-dollar bill.” He pulled out a single dollar bill. “This is the dollar I got in change at the ticket booth, and I haven’t spent it yet. And it’s not counterfeit.”
“So . . . what should we do?” Ivy asked.
“We need to speak with Marshal Wheeler before he gets on the next train,” Caleb replied. “And we need to talk to Mr. Thurgood and find out where he really got that dollar bill.”
Ivy’s eyes went wide. “You don’t suppose he’s the counterfeiter, do you?”
“No. I can’t imagine it. Although, the best criminals are the ones who aren’t what they appear to be.”
Mrs. Jackson nodded. “That’s true, but I’ve known Wendell Thurgood for a while now, and he’s most certainly not the criminal type.”
“Exactly. Let’s get down to the train station as quickly as we can and see if we can stop him.” Caleb headed to the door, pausing just long enough to say, “Please hold on to that for me.”
“I will,” Mrs. Jackson replied, and then Caleb and Ivy were out the door.
***
Caleb couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it the minute the marshals suggested it. He knew he hadn’t given Mr. Thurgood a dollar bill, but in the face of such intense scrutiny, he hadn’t been able to think clearly. Now he clearly remembered giving the man a five-dollar bill, and the single dollar had stayed safely in his wallet. Of course the deputies would want to question him about that quite diligently, but that was to be expected.
Ivy trotted down the street with him toward the train station. Her feet would slip from time to time and he’d steady her elbow, but she never once complained, and he was grateful for that.
They arrived at the station just in time to see Marshal Wheeler step to the front of the line to purchase his ticket.
“Marshal!” Caleb called out, as they weren’t yet close enough to talk in regular voices.
He turned and saw them running toward him. “Hello. What brings you down this way?”
Caleb filled him in on what he’d just figured out. Marshal Wheeler raised an eyebrow. “So, on your word alone, I’m supposed to believe that Mr. Thurgood got that dollar bill somewhere else?”
“On my word alone, you’re getting ready to head up to Cheyenne, and that’s not an easy trip. Mr. Thurgood’s office is a lot easier to get to.”
Wheeler seemed to contemplate that. “All right, let’s go talk to Wendell right now. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Baker, but I have to be fair.”
“Understood.”
As they made their way over to Mr. Thurgood’s office, Caleb prayed that the man would be in and hadn’t gone to show some property or to run an errand. Knowing he was a suspect had made Caleb’s stomach knot with worry, and the sooner the situation could be resolved, the happier he’d be about it.
Mr. Thurgood’s face was a perfect study of surprise when Wheeler asked him how Caleb had paid for the building. “He . . . well, I’ll be. He gave me a five-dollar bill, didn’t he? I asked for five dollars down, and he handed it over.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I made a mistake like that. Mr. Baker, I’m sorry I implicated you.”
“It was an honest mistake,” Caleb replied. “No harm done . . . well, no lasting harm.”
“If Caleb didn’t give you that bill, where did you get it, Mr. Thurgood?” Ivy asked.
All eyes turned back to Wendell, who slumped back in his chair as though he’d suddenly lost all strength in his spine. “I knew it,” he muttered. “I . . . I knew it, but . . .”
Wheeler took a seat in the chair right across from Mr. Thurgood’s desk and leaned forward on his elbows, looking him in the eye. “Wendell, what’s going on?”
Mr. Thurgood pulled in a deep breath. “Not long after I came to town and started dealing in properties, I was approached by a man named Thomas Wells. He told me that he represented a man who was interested in owning the properties left behind when Archibald Grady died. I was paid a fee to act as agent and purchase those various properties. I was to hold them in my name until his employer arrived from overseas to take them over himself. Well, I saw nothing wrong with that at the time, so I did as I was asked, but things had become complicated because Mr. Wells decided he’d like to court Ariadne himself.”
Ivy turned to Caleb. “Ariadne is Mr. Thurgood’s wife now,” she explained.
“I’m blessed every day that she chose me,” Mr. Thurgood said. “Mr. Wells left town sometime after that, but I’ve been expecting him to return to tie up this real estate matter because it seemed to me that his employer should have arrived by now. And Mr. Wells did indeed return late yesterday afternoon, and he gave me that dollar. He had some things that needed to go to the post office, I had a stack of mail sitting here, and he asked if I’d mail his things at the same time. The dollar was for postage.”
Relief poured down Caleb’s arms and into his fingertips on hearing this. Mr. Thurgood had just validated his beliefs, and it was clear now where the money had come from.
Wheeler sat back and regarded Mr. Thurgood. “When you realized this a moment ago, you said you knew it. Just what did you know?”
“Thomas Wells isn’t an honest man,” Mr. Thurgood replied. “When he first came in here and offered me that fee, I had a sense that something wasn’t right, but I signed the contract anyway. I asked Bernard Newell to look over the contract later, but he said it was airtight, so I’ve been holding on to those properties this whole time, feeling worse and worse about the situation. When he showed up yesterday, I was relieved, thinking it was time to sell the property back, but he told me he needs me to hold it a little while longer, and he’d be in touch.”
“And he asked you to mail some letters for him?” Caleb thought that sounded strange.
“I think he was just trying to pass me the counterfeit bill,” Mr. Thurgood replied, and Wheeler nodded.
“That’s my thought too. Mr. Thurgood, you may have just propelled us miles forward in solving this counterfeiting case. We’ll turn our attention to this Mr. Wells, who sounds like he’s fronting a very wealthy, powerful man—unless Mr. Wells is that powerful man and is hiding behind a mask of anonymity.” Wheeler stood up and shook Mr. Thurgood’s hand. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be back in touch first thing tomorrow morning—in the meantime, will you please copy down for me any contact information you have for Mr. Wells and any other details that come to mind, and I’d also like to take a look at that contract.”
“Yes, Marshal. I’ll have that ready for you in the morning.”
They stepped out of the office, and Marshal Wheeler turned to Caleb. “Mr. Baker, you’re officially no longer a suspect, and I thank you for your additional help on this case.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you in return,” Caleb said.
“I have a question, Marshal,” Ivy said. “Why would this Mr. Wells want to bring counterfeit money into Creede?”
“That’s a good question, Miss Ross,” Wheeler said. “With the way he’s making Mr. Thurgood hold those properties, it sounds to me like he’s trying to weaken the town’s economy. We’ll know more after we find this Mr. Wells and talk to him.”
Caleb would be more than interested to learn what happened next, but at that moment, it was enough for him to know that he was no longer a suspect. He felt like he could breathe again.