until she spotted a man coming toward her and asked for directions. He explained she had gone blocks out of her way, and now she retraced her steps until, at last, she recognized the Stanton mansion.
Beret stood just a moment to admire it. The house was as fine as the home in which she and her sister had once lived with their parents and in which Beret lived now, alone except for servants, for the judge was as rich as Beret’s father, perhaps richer since much of the Osmundsen money had gone to good works.
The two men, who had been as close as their wives, had had much in common. John Stanton was a fatherless boy from Fort Madison, Iowa, who quit school to work as a stableboy. A local banker had taken a liking to the lad and offered him a menial job. The boy worked hard and had been promoted—and promoted again, until not yet in his twenties, he was made assistant cashier at the bank. Too ambitious to stay in the Mississippi River town, John had migrated to Chicago, where he found further financial success. But his sights had been set higher than even Chicago, and so he had joined the Colorado gold rush in 1859, not to prospect for precious metals but to set up a bank on Larimer Street, the most important financial avenue between St. Louis and the West Coast. Using it as a base, he had financed the town’s growth, speculating in city blocks and ranchland. It wasn’t long before he was one of Denver’s first millionaires.
After a time, he tired of the financial world, for he had made as much money as he would ever need. So he turned to politics. He’d had himself appointed judge, and there was talk that he would be named a senator. Beret’s aunt had written that it was all but certain that they would be going to Washington soon. Beret was sure that the meetings her aunt had mentioned were toward that end.
Varina had met John, then living in Chicago, when he was on a trip to New York and Henry Osmundsen, a business associate, had invited him home for dinner. Varina Eliason, who was Marta Osmundsen’s younger sister, was not so much to look at, but she matched John in both ambition and hard work. John delayed his trip, and the two were married before he left New York. Beret remembered the wedding—Varina’s satin dress and a veil that fell from a crown of white roses, the tiny white slippers, because Varina was vain about her small feet, the ring, an elegant circle of yellow diamonds that Varina herself had picked out.
In New York and then in Chicago, Varina had studied the houses and the hostesses, noting what was elegant and tasteful and discarding the ostentatious and the garish, and when the Stantons moved to Denver, she set herself up as one of the city’s society leaders. While John built his financial empire, Varina established a fashionable domestic world. And although she had no intention of setting up a mission as her sister, Marta, had done in New York, Varina nonetheless lent her support to the city’s fledgling charities. The Stantons had no children of their own, and they adored Beret and Lillie. So it was only natural that when Lillie left New York, she went to Denver to live with her aunt and uncle.
As she climbed the wide steps to the front door of the house, Beret wondered what Lillie had told them about the sisters’ estrangement. Surely she would not have told them the truth.
The door opened just as Beret reached it, and the judge himself welcomed his niece, grasping her hands so tightly that he all but squeezed the blood out of them. “Beret. Our dear Beret,” he said, then choked and could not speak for a moment. He took a breath and let go of Beret’s hands and, affecting a lighter tone, said, “I’ve arrived only a moment ahead of you. What a worthless old man I am not to have greeted you earlier. Your aunt, I assume, told you it couldn’t be helped. This Senate appointment is damn complicated business. Everyone involved must be satisfied.” He shook his head, then his face fell.
Beret stood just a moment to admire it. The house was as fine as the home in which she and her sister had once lived with their parents and in which Beret lived now, alone except for servants, for the judge was as rich as Beret’s father, perhaps richer since much of the Osmundsen money had gone to good works.
The two men, who had been as close as their wives, had had much in common. John Stanton was a fatherless boy from Fort Madison, Iowa, who quit school to work as a stableboy. A local banker had taken a liking to the lad and offered him a menial job. The boy worked hard and had been promoted—and promoted again, until not yet in his twenties, he was made assistant cashier at the bank. Too ambitious to stay in the Mississippi River town, John had migrated to Chicago, where he found further financial success. But his sights had been set higher than even Chicago, and so he had joined the Colorado gold rush in 1859, not to prospect for precious metals but to set up a bank on Larimer Street, the most important financial avenue between St. Louis and the West Coast. Using it as a base, he had financed the town’s growth, speculating in city blocks and ranchland. It wasn’t long before he was one of Denver’s first millionaires.
After a time, he tired of the financial world, for he had made as much money as he would ever need. So he turned to politics. He’d had himself appointed judge, and there was talk that he would be named a senator. Beret’s aunt had written that it was all but certain that they would be going to Washington soon. Beret was sure that the meetings her aunt had mentioned were toward that end.
Varina had met John, then living in Chicago, when he was on a trip to New York and Henry Osmundsen, a business associate, had invited him home for dinner. Varina Eliason, who was Marta Osmundsen’s younger sister, was not so much to look at, but she matched John in both ambition and hard work. John delayed his trip, and the two were married before he left New York. Beret remembered the wedding—Varina’s satin dress and a veil that fell from a crown of white roses, the tiny white slippers, because Varina was vain about her small feet, the ring, an elegant circle of yellow diamonds that Varina herself had picked out.
In New York and then in Chicago, Varina had studied the houses and the hostesses, noting what was elegant and tasteful and discarding the ostentatious and the garish, and when the Stantons moved to Denver, she set herself up as one of the city’s society leaders. While John built his financial empire, Varina established a fashionable domestic world. And although she had no intention of setting up a mission as her sister, Marta, had done in New York, Varina nonetheless lent her support to the city’s fledgling charities. The Stantons had no children of their own, and they adored Beret and Lillie. So it was only natural that when Lillie left New York, she went to Denver to live with her aunt and uncle.
As she climbed the wide steps to the front door of the house, Beret wondered what Lillie had told them about the sisters’ estrangement. Surely she would not have told them the truth.
The door opened just as Beret reached it, and the judge himself welcomed his niece, grasping her hands so tightly that he all but squeezed the blood out of them. “Beret. Our dear Beret,” he said, then choked and could not speak for a moment. He took a breath and let go of Beret’s hands and, affecting a lighter tone, said, “I’ve arrived only a moment ahead of you. What a worthless old man I am not to have greeted you earlier. Your aunt, I assume, told you it couldn’t be helped. This Senate appointment is damn complicated business. Everyone involved must be satisfied.” He shook his head, then his face fell.
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