By the time Arte got back to the train station it was nearly dark. The ladies, assuming that they would be finding other sleeping arrangements for the night, or hopefully be in their new homes by morning, had neglected to start a fire or set up camp. As time passed and Artemus didn't return, Jim and Walter had finally encouraged them to head into the depot where they collected around one of the pot belly stoves, looking homeless and forlorn.
More than a few of Salt Lake City's leading citizens had passed by them with looks of disdain, muttering things about homeless saddle tramps and encouraging them to find their way to the red light district where they belonged, away from the good Mormons of the city.
It wasn't until Wini had snapped that if there were so many good Mormons, how could there be such a thriving red light district in the first place, that they were left alone.
When Arte rushed breathless into the station, after finding the wagons deserted, each of the 13 women snapped frightened looks his way, their worst fears apparently coming to fruition.
Arte stood stock still in the doorway of the station, looking over the shocked women and his surprised partner, before he straightened his vest and coat, cleared his throat and relatively calmly gestured for Jim to follow him outside.
"Arte, what the hell is going on?" West whispered once they were far enough from the door to be ignored by the station master standing on the edge of the platform.
Arte handed Jim the telegrams and didn't say a word until Jim had read them.
"For all we know The Wanderer is already here, or coming here , with every enemy we've made in the past two weeks on board. Worse still that cheap clown at the "Brides For A Better Utah" office-"
"What!?"
"That's...what they call themselves." Arte explained. "That porkish bum Solomon told me it might take two days or more to contact their husbands..."
"And of course the Better Brides Bureau-"
"Brides For A Better Utah-"
"Whatever, doesn't plan to provide a place for them to stay in the meantime."
Arte shook his head sighing. "I'm sure there are boarding houses here but that's going to cost them more than they have."
Jim thought for a minute then asked. "You don't happen to have any of those contracts with you anymore?"
"Of course not, he took them...like a bill of sale on goods delivered." Arte paused then asked, "Why?"
"I never did get a good look at the fine print. Maybe there is something useful we could exploit."
"Naomi made copies." Arte said.
"Why didn't you tell me that?"
Together the two Secret Service Agents returned to the building, Arte gathering the girls together to explain the situation in as positive a light as possible, while Jim took Naomi back to the wagons to retrieve the copies.
The news brought mixed reactions from the girls and they formed a quiet committee discussing the situation amongst themselves.
Arte found himself distracted by the black, chalk covered arrival boards hanging above the ticket counters and after a moment walked over to the man standing behind the metal grate.
"Excuse me, suh." Arte said, slipping inexplicably into a deep southern accent. "Would you mind tellin' me if a certain train arrived here in the past two days?"
As the man turned, starting to lift a lip in disgust at the dusty, trail worn traveler before him, Arte slapped something metal down on the counter that resounded profitably. The clerk's attitude changed quickly as he watched Arte's hand.
"A..uh..train sir? The express? Or are you inquiring about the Number 12. She runs through twice daily."
Arte leaned in, drawing his coat back until his right hand perched on his hip, his left hand still covering the object on the counter.
"This train is particular. A 4-0-4, coal burner. A big, colorful loco-." Arte said embellishing the line. "Pullin' a hopper, varnish and equine car."
The clerk smiled, before he looked to Arte's left hand expectantly. With a mincing grin Arte pulled his right hand from his pocket, slapping a second, equally as pricey metal object onto the counter.
"That magnificent creation of engineering and craftsmanship, sir." The clerk beamed. "...has been parked on a siding behind our round house for several days."
On the outside Arte was still the unflappable, smooth southern gentleman of breeding and wealth, delighted to hear the news of his favorite train already in town.
On the inside he was re-rethinking the retirement plan.
"Ah thank you..." He said, giving the clerk a knowing wink before he lifted his hands.
To the clerk's crestfallen look he said, "I found those washers outside on the track. You'll see that they get to their rightful owner, won't you? That's a good boy."
As he turned away from the counter he caught Jim peering in the window, waving frantically for him to join him back outside. A trolley had pulled up to the station and was unloading Chinese workers who flocked around Gordon, impeding his exit. By the time he made it out the door Jim impatiently dragged him to the side.
"The Wanderer is here, Jim." Arte said, jumping in before Jim could say anything, giving him a long, mildly terrified look.
"Oh...good." Jim said, his voice rising a few pitches. "Arte, all of these contracts are worded differently. It would take hours to go through them."
"We can't leave the ladies here for hours, and we are walking targets as of two days ago."
"A'art'e?"
Both men turned to look down at Squirt as she came running from around the side of the building, clearly having been without supervision. Covered head to toe in soot she had her drawing pad in one hand and a large lump of coal in the other.
"Squirt...what!?"
"You know, Arte, I remember that dress as being yellow when I bought it." Jim said, irritated.
Kneeling in front of her, taking the piece of coal from her hands, Arte groaned. "Only took her an hour to get it black as-"
Arte froze, his eyes going wide, staring at the piece of coal in his hands. A second later he snapped his gaze up to his partner.
"Jim...how long do you suppose it will take to dye 15 dresses black?"
"I have no ide- now wait a minute, Arte."
As he slowly rose, his eyes dilated with adrenaline, Arte smirked and slapped his partner's shoulder exuberantly.
"By God Jim, it'll work."
"What will work?"
"I noticed it when I was riding through town. Surely they wouldn't turn away fourteen of their own."
"Arte..."
"Ha ha! Jim, it's brilliant. We can get the brides safely to the convent-"
"Convent!?"
"As long as we avoid attracting attention to ourselves we can steal back The Wanderer all in one day."
"Arte..."
"We've got to get started or we'll be at it all night." Arte turned away from his partner, then turned back, hefting the black lump in his hand. "Do you think the coal will work?"
Jim opened his mouth, throwing his hands to the side, about to remind Arte that he still hadn't explained anything.
"Oh, never mind." Arte left his partner and Squirt standing on the platform and jogged back into the station. He was about to go to the girls with his plan when he noticed the Chinese workers filing out the back of the room.
After a few seconds of thought he grinned and followed the workers out the door.
By the time he finished describing what he needed and discussing payment in pidgin Cantonese and Chinglish, the conversation had taken them all the way to the workers' camp and it was almost midnight.
Arte still had to explain his plan to the women, and convince them to each give up one of their dresses, Gerte and Katherine would have to spare two. He was leaving the Chinese camp, working up a convincing soliloquy in his head when he noticed the line of women marching towards him, each with a bundle of cloth in their hands. Behind them Jim was driving one of the wagons, the large soup caldron and one of the two 2-gallon coffee pots sitting on the wagon seat beside him. Walter was driving the second wagon, and Gerte the third, with Wini driving their buggy.
Arte beamed at the sight, watched the slow accepting smile grow on his partner's face then went to each of the women in turn, taking them exuberantly into his arms and planting a delighted kiss on their cheeks. Even Gerte obliged him by stepping down from the wagon seat so that he could reach her face.
The following morning the contracted members of the Brides for a Better Utah Wagon Train existed no more, and a weary but determined group of novices faced the morning sun as they boarded their wagons, prepared to arrive at The Sister's of the Holy Cross convent in time for morning mass.
With the novices was a small family, a man and his pregnant wife, and their Indian servant girl in tow. Weary travelers with no place to stay, on which the young nuns had taken pity.
They made their way through the city, humble open wagons filled with wide-eyed innocent women of God dressed entirely in black with roughly constructed wimples.
The eldest of the nuns was a square-jawed, brown-eyed, broad chested woman with long bony fingers. She was exceedingly vocal, calling out in her exuberant voice for the girls to bless the passersby with a hymn every five minutes. Some of the very same women that had been shunning them the night before, were now casting blessings in their direction as they went about their morning duties.
Sister Agatha Gregory, peering out from behind her glass-less bifocals, kept a wary eye on the streets around them, making certain that there weren't suspicious Italian or Chinese characters following their slow progress through Salt Lake City. Behind her on the driver's seat of the second wagon was Sister Josephine, a woman of perfect comportment, the most fascinating blue-green eyes, and an unfortunately retched disposition.
She had in fact been in a terrible mood all morning prompting Sister Agatha to continuously shout loud encouragements back to her throughout their journey, reminding Josephine that 'this too shall pass' and their trying journey was nearly ended.
Nothing Sister Agatha said seemed to help Josephine's foul mood however. The third wagon, covered with the traditional canvas, belonged to the poor beleaguered family. The wife and mother showed obvious discomfort with her hand over her rounded belly, and the husband drove the wagon with a weary and trail worn second nature.
Many on the streets of Salt Lake City that morning would recall watching this peculiar parade pass by, remembering the look of sanctifying grace on the faces of the nuns, even the most unfortunate of them, and feeling pity for the family that followed in their wake, their covered wagon filled near to bursting with personal effects.
When the wagons finally arrived outside the convent the singing voices of her fellow sisters had attracted the attention of the mother superior and she had already sent an emissary to the gates to welcome them in. The three wagons pulled into the inner court, parking three abreast.
Sister Josephine set the newly repaired brake on her wagon and looked to Sister Agatha who had parked her wagon in the middle.
"Arte I don't like this." She said.
"Sister Josephine," Agatha enunciated, giving Josephine a powerful, meaningful glare. "Let's try not to forget ourselves or all shall be lost."
Josephine sneered in a most unladylike manner and Agatha ignored her, turning to the nuns in each of the wagons.
"Ladies...bring comfort to our sisters with a quiet song and revive yourselves with prayer while I bring our humble needs to the attention of the Mother Superior."
The Indian child in the family's wagon began to giggle and got a similar glare from Sister Agatha before the woman stepped down from the wagon seat, her voluminous habit billowing around her.
As they watched Arte march into the convent, his every mannerism reflecting the character he was portraying, Lilly and Milly stood in the back of their wagon either side of 'Sister Josephine.'
"Do you really think it will work, Mr. West."
Jim turned to look at them, annoyed at the wimple that was effectively blocking his peripheral vision. He'd fought all night with Arte to let him play a priest instead. Somehow he'd lost.
"Arte's pulled off more complicated cons than this. The real problem will be getting out..." With our eternal souls intact, Jim thought.
They were waiting no more than ten minutes before Arte returned, directing Jim and Walter to drive their wagons around to the back where there was a large livery stable. Climbing into the driver's seat of his own wagon, Sister Agatha took up the rear, giving calming admonition in response to the excited chatter coming from the women.
While a handful of the Sister's of the Holy Cross attended to the oxen Arte, Jim and Walter helped the girls down from the wagon and directed them toward a small iron grille gate that would lead to a walled-in garden.
The minute he was inside the shelter of the stone walls Arte whipped off his wimple. Directing the girls to file into the convent via a wooden door down one of the stone paths, Arte counted bodies.
As soon as Jim saw him, sans disguise, he whipped off his own.
"Arte what're you doing? What happened to 'never break character'?"
"I'll explain in a minute, Jim." Arte promised then followed Walter, Winifred and Squirt into the convent. The hall they entered was long and devoid of decoration. Arte's voice echoed as he quietly told Gerte to lead the way to the left. "That will bring you to the commons area. They'll be preparing breakfast for us."
As the girls filed past Jim waited, glaring at his partner, silently demanding an explanation, and a da- a darned good one at that.
From across the way Arte grinned at him, devilishly, but said nothing until the hall was empty.
"You won't remember her, Jim. I knew her long before I met you. But the mother superior at this convent happens to be a very dear friend of mine from long ago."
"Did she recognize you?"
"No, not until I dropped the act anyway. She's a good woman. She'll happily look after the ladies until their husbands come for them, and has even offered temporary beds for Walter's family, and you and I, until we can get out of here."
"And..uh...will that plan require being a nun?" Jim asked.
"I can't see why.." Arte began then shook his head in disapproval as Jim ripped the black skirt and blouse off as quickly as he could.
"I can't stand it when you make me dress up like a woman, Arte! And this time a nun!"
"But black is such a becoming color."
"Oh...shut up."
After breakfast had been served each of the ladies were led to the rooms they would be sharing during their stay. The convent was relatively small, but had many rooms and canvas cots to offer, and once the brides had been permitted to gather bedding from the wagons, they declared it most satisfactory.
Having worked all night the ladies then quietly made their excuses and went to bed.
Jim and Arte met with the mother superior shortly after the morning meal had been completed.
"James West, this is Mother Mary Angela Gillespie, formerly Eliza Maria Gillespie. Mother Angela, my friend and partner James West."
Jim bowed, smiling to the Mother Superior, who despite the worry and laugh lines around her eyes, and the habit that hid most of her features, was still quite lovely. He sat in the chair to which the Mother Superior gestured, Arte joining him in a similar chair. The three sat in a small but well-appointed office at the northern most corner of the church.
The furniture was arranged such that the stained glass windows coming to a point at the corner of the building, were the focus of the room.
"The work was done in Georgia, and sent here via the first train over the transcontinental railroad. This part of the building was only just recently finished three years ago. As you can see the light is magnificent during the morning and evening." Mother Angela said, smiling at the streams of color filling the room before she finally sat.
"I was explaining to my partner how we met." Arte began, making little effort to hide the mischievous smile.
Mother Angela chuckled. "Perhaps then, I should tell the story so that we avoid any unnecessary embellishments."
"Your very life is an embellishment, my dear lady." Arte said grinning.
"You see, Mr. West I was once very deeply..enamoured with Artemus. I first saw him in a performance in Georgetown."
"Ah," Jim said. "Shakespeare?"
"Hardly. It was a traveling medicine show." The Mother Superior chuckled, her voice a pleasant alto gravel that fit her quiet humor well. "They'd been chased out of every town prior and were desperate to make steamboat fair for a trip to New Orleans."
"We were...hardly desperate." Arte clarified.
"It was 1842, and all I remember is watching a young, curly-haired man with a violin and a magnificently creative mind, convince man, woman and child that the snake oil Dr. Lazarus P. Healall was attempting to sell would rid them of their every ailment. He even created sicknesses for the tincture to cure."
"Diminatol Halitonsilitis..." Arte offered, grinning. "Can still only be cured by Dr. Healall's Heal All to this day."
Jim laughed, then turned to Mother Angela. "You of course weren't fooled."
"Oh, by the medical malpractice, no. But was I taken in by his undeniable charms? Yes...if only I hadn't already been attending school at the Visitation Convent."
"When we first met, she of course did not share this with me." Arte said, squirming a little in his seat as he brushed self-consciously at the hair at the back of his neck.
"Thanks to a relation of mine, Mr. Thomas Ewing, I had gained some notoriety in upper class circles in Ohio and Washington."
"She was usually the devastatingly beautiful presence at charity balls and dinners. Since I happened to be a charity case at the time, we ran into each other."
"At the governor's mansion no less," Mother Angela continued. "Wherein he, presuming me only to be a socialite, took me out on the town for a night that would never again be repeated."
"Or publicized." Arte added.
"We kept in contact, visiting any time he was in Washington until 1853 when he left..." A curious, questioning smirk overcame the Mother Superior's face as she waited.
"On a fascinating sea voyage, James, about which you are familiar."
Surprised, and a little fatigued by the memory, Jim didn't make any comment, but smirked knowingly.
"Then I...went into the ministry, and took my vows. Eventually I was called here. Where we intend, soon, to begin building a women's college, and a hospital."
"That's marvelous!" Arte laughed.
"But for now, you gentlemen have brought new sheep to my flock."
"Unfortunately Mother Angela, these sheep have already been promised to other shepherds." Jim said.
"I disapprove of, but am familiar with, the mail-order bride craze that has been taking over the west in the past few years. In very few cases do the unfortunate ladies make solid marriages out of the arrangements. Don't be surprised gentleman if I do my utmost to discourage these young ladies before they take any fatal vows."
Jim and Arte shared a look before Arte said, "We appreciate all that you're doing for them."
"And the young family, where are they headed?"
"We were seeing them to Ogden, an unfortunate family matter. But we have to...make some arrangements in town first. If you could house them until further notice." Jim said.
"Of course."
In the brief silence that followed Mother Angela Gillespie studied the man that she had known since their youths, remembering a time when his brow wasn't clouded with concerns, his face not quite so pale. Certainly there were fewer wrinkles.
"Whatever unwelcome task you have before you, gentlemen, know that the Sister's of the Holy Cross will go with you in prayer." She said, gingerly and sincerely.
After the two men had left her office and Mother Angela had turned to other, less enjoyable endeavors, she found her mind wandering back what seemed a hundred years. To the glitter of pre-war Washington and a single night on a town that she didn't know existed until a young man with a bright smile knocked her from her ivory tower.
She smiled softly, then returned to her work, only to be interrupted by the frantic steps of one of her flock pattering down the hall before coming to a halt before her door. Before the nun could knock Mother Angela called, "Come in! Yes, Sister Martha, what is it?"
The nun seemed to wilt a little as she curtsied apologetically then admitted, "The young Indian child, Mother Superior she...she's caused something of a disturbance."