Golden Chances (Borrowed Brides 1)

“Then it’s settled,” Mrs. Colson announced. “Faith’ll take the sewing money and go to Washington and get this job.”

“No, it’s not settled, Mrs. Colson.” Faith hated to dampen their excitement, but these wonderful women had to understand the consequences. “There will probably be hundreds of applicants—women who are better qualified than I am. I may not get the job.”

“You’ll get the job,” Aunt Virt predicted. “You have no other choice.”

“Even if I do, I’ll have to take Joy and go to Wyoming for a year. Who will take care of things here?”

“We will,” Aunt Virt said. “I’m sure we can learn to manage on our own for a year, especially with the bonus money you’ll be able to leave us.”

“That’s another thing,” Faith began, far from convinced. “What if the bonus isn’t enough?”

“You’ll just have to get enough,” Agnes said. “Bargain. You’re good at it.”

“I just don’t know.” Tempy sounded hesitant. “Do you think you can do it, Faith? Do you think you can lie about your qualifications?”

Faith put aside the trousers she was hemming and walked over to Temperance. She put her arms around her aunt and stared into the gray eyes in the expressive face so like her own. “Aunt Tempy, I’ll do anything I have to do to see that this family survives. Our men gave their lives for the survival of our way of life. I think the least I can do is lie if that becomes necessary. We need money, and I’m the only one of us qualified to get it. Why, I would work for the devil in Hades if that would provide the money we need.” Faith stood up, straightening her back. “At least, I’m going to try. I have to.”

“All right, Faith.” Tempy leaned her forehead against Faith’s. “If you think it’s best, we’ll help you. You’re the only hope we’ve got at the moment. Go to Washington and do your best.”

“Yes, please Faith,” the others chimed. “Go to Washington.”

The small group of women looked at her with hope shining out of their eyes. Faith wanted to feel as confident as the others. It had been a long time since she’d seen hope in their faces.

Faith realized, even if her dear ladies did not, how many other women desperately needed jobs to feed their families. She knew that landing a plum of a job like the one in the newspaper advertisement would be the answer to the prayers of many southern households. Her chances of being chosen out of a multitude of younger, more attractive women would require a miracle.

But a year in Wyoming, a year far away from war-ravaged Richmond… Faith sighed as butterflies beat a wild tattoo inside her stomach.

Chapter Two

Faith walked six blocks from the Washington station to the Madison Hotel on the most miserable day of the year. Sodden from the icy rain, her skirts wrapped themselves around her legs, slowing her pace. Crystal droplets clung to her lashes and coated the tendrils of black hair peeking from beneath her drooping bonnet. Her feet were numb with cold, her shoes and stockings soaked after trudging through the muddy river Washington residents called streets. Sneezing repeatedly, Faith hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the Madison Hotel.

The massive brick structure glowed with care and money. Ivy flourished, clinging tenaciously to the red walls. Faith stood in the stinging rain and stared. It had been a long time since she’d entered a fine hotel and had never done so alone. Her father or Hamilton, her older brother, had always accompanied her. A southern lady never traveled without a chaperon and never dreamed of entering a hotel without one.

Faith recalled her upbringing with a sad smile. Since the war began, she had done a lot of things southern ladies didn’t do. This was just one more example. She bit her lip, straightened her back in an imitation of Aunt Virt, and marched up to the entrance of the hotel as if she owned the place.

A uniformed concierge in a long, jade green overcoat adorned with gold braid stepped forward to open the door. Faith nodded regally in his direction and strolled into the opulent foyer. She paused for a second, summoning her courage, then walked to the registration desk and informed the clerk on duty that Mr. David Alexander was expecting her.

The clerk looked her over, up and down. Faith did not flinch under his haughty scrutiny. She had seen the same scornful expression on hundreds of faces since the war. She knew he thought she lacked the necessary commodity for prompt, efficient service. Money.

Faith’s gaze cooled to a crisp, slate gray as she stared through the insignificant clerk.

“I’m afraid Mr. Alexander is occupied at the moment, miss,” the clerk informed her.

“Madam,” Faith corrected, “and he’s not too busy to see me.”

“He’s very busy. He can’t be bothered.”

“Surely, that’s for Mr. Alexander to decide,” Faith said. “Shall we go ask him?” She stood her ground.

He shrugged and rang the bell for the bellboy. “Escort madam to Mr. Alexander’s suite.”

“Yes, sir.” The bellboy started toward the stairs with no more than a mere glance to see if Faith followed.

He led her up the stairs, down a corridor, and into a suite of rooms at the end. “He’s down there. At the table.”

Faith slumped against the wall. A quick glance at the line of women waiting to enter the sitting room confirmed her worst suspicions. The place was literally wall to wall with women of all ages, shapes, and sizes.

Faith took a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t. The atmosphere was thick with the clashing odors of washed and unwashed bodies, fine soaps, and cheap perfume, layered with the contrasting smells of fried food and rancid grease. Her stomach heaved, threatening revolt.