Chapter Two
Denver, Colorado
Anastasia Smith didn’t mean to create a bottleneck for those alighting from the train behind her.
However, when she reached the platform and caught sight of the Colorado mountains without a window obscuring her view, she stopped, overwhelmed.
They were simply the most majestic things she’d ever seen.
“Excuse me, young lady,” came a deep voice over her shoulder. “If you could please move to the side . . .”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stepped out of the way, and the man brushed past. He hadn’t seemed to notice the incredible view in front of them—he was likely in a rush. She would hate to be so busy that she didn’t have time to appreciate nature’s splendor when it rose up in front of her like this.
“I do believe we’ve lost her again, dear.” Leola Smith’s voice was filled with humor.
“If we ever had her to begin with,” Anastasia’s father replied, sounding less amused.
“Come on, my dear. Your father wired ahead for a carriage to meet us at the station, and I’m sure the driver is wondering where we are.” Mrs. Smith tucked her arm through her daughter’s. “And I’m also sure these good people would appreciate it if we weren’t holding up traffic on the platform.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Anastasia said, following her mother’s lead and moving even farther to the side. “But have you ever seen anything so glorious in all your life? I need to come back here to this very spot with my paints and try to capture all this loveliness.”
“I hope you don’t mean this exact spot,” Mr. Smith said. “It’s quite in the way, as we’ve just seen.”
“Well, a spot very nearby,” Anastasia corrected herself. She wished her paints weren’t packed away so snugly in her trunk. Her fingers were itching to get busy.
“We’ll come back here soon enough,” her mother assured her. “After all, this is your trip—you’re choosing our destinations, and we’re merely following you around.”
“And I chose well, didn’t I?” Anastasia flung out both arms to indicate the entire vista. “Although, I have to admit it was mostly accidental. I saw a pencil sketch of this place and thought it might be nice, but I had no idea it was going to be like this.”
“I would call that a happy accident, then.” Mrs. Smith gave her daughter a warm smile. “Come along, then. I’m eager to check into the hotel and wash this travel dust off my face.”
“And I’m ready for my supper,” Mr. Smith added.
Just as Leola had suggested, their hired carriage was waiting for them, and within moments they were seated comfortably on velvet seats and enjoying the slight breeze as they rolled toward their hotel.
Anastasia had expected to be exhausted by this point in their journey—after all, they’d spent three days on the train with only the bare minimum of breaks and very unsatisfactory meals.
Yet for all that, she found herself invigorated as she took in the sights.
Denver was still a young town—that was plain to see, as the buildings looked fresh and new.
But despite its youth, it had so much to offer, and she couldn’t wait to explore.
When they arrived at the Inter-Ocean Hotel, Anastasia’s eyes grew even wider. “Oh, what a beautiful place,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely.”
Leola tugged her husband’s sleeve. “James, are you sure? It must be so expensive.”
He shook his head. “Never you mind, dear. Never you mind. Some things don’t matter as much anymore.”
Anastasia wasn’t sure what had just passed between her parents.
They’d been acting a little strangely since the beginning of this journey—well, since they’d first suggested the journey, to be completely accurate.
They’d called her in to the parlor, told her how proud they were of her recent graduation from Vassar, and announced that they would be taking a cross-country trip to celebrate.
They’d never done anything of the kind before, but as they said, there was a first time for everything, and they were looking forward to it.
She’d wanted to ask a million questions, but she hadn’t felt it was the right time.
Would it ever be the right time, though?
She felt even more awkward now than she did when the questions first arose.
They were shown to their room, which had a large sitting area as well as a bed. Leola immediately went over to the window and looked out. “Such a charming city,” she said, her eyes shining. Then she fingered the lace curtain. “Oh, these are very nice. Much nicer than I was expecting from a hotel.”
“This is the main room, and there’s a smaller room through here for the young lady.” The bellhop motioned to a connecting door. “Supper is served in one hour.” He gave a slight bow and then left.
Their trunks had been brought upstairs immediately when they arrived, and Anastasia knelt in front of hers to unbuckle the straps.
“Oh, yes, my dear. Let’s take out our gowns and shake out the wrinkles right away,” Leola said.
“That’s a good idea, Mother, but I was actually going to unpack my paints,” Anastasia replied, feeling a bit silly. Of course the gowns should be the priority—they’d been squished up so long, it would be a miracle if they didn’t need a good ironing before they could be seen in public.
James laughed, shaking his head. “Tell me, my girl—do you think about anything but art?”
Anastasia pretended to consider it. “I sometimes think about lemon tarts. In fact, I may even paint a lemon tart the next time I’m studying still life.”
“And I believe that answers your question.” Leola patted her husband’s shoulder as she passed by, her navy silk gown draped over her arm.
“While you’re unpacking your art supplies, my dear, I’ll take care of all the gowns, all right?
And your father’s suits as well. It would be best to know right away if we need to reach out to a laundress to help put ourselves to rights. ”
James cleared his throat. “Perhaps . . . perhaps you could both wait just a moment before we become too involved with the unpacking.” His tone had shifted quite suddenly.
He was no longer jovial, but pensive. And at the station, he’d seemed somewhat irritated.
Anastasia didn’t know what to make of this.
Her father was usually quite balanced in his moods, tending to remain mellow when others around him were upset.
“What is it, Father?” she asked, coming to his side.
“There’s something . . . something I’d like to speak with you about, Anastasia.”
“Are you sure, James? Is now the right time?” Leola’s voice now held a small tremor. Oh, so Anastasia wasn’t the only one who’d been looking for the right time to hold a difficult conversation. She took a deep breath, wondering what was going on, knowing she was about to learn all about it.
“Sit down, sit down.” James motioned to the padded chairs in the room, which had been situated to face each other.
Anastasia sat across from her parents and studied their faces.
She knew every line and every wrinkle, every smile.
She’d sketched each of them dozens of times as she practiced her skills.
These expressions were unfamiliar to her, however.
“Anastasia,” her father began, “we’re so very proud of you and all you’ve accomplished throughout your years of schooling, and we wanted to show you just how proud we are by bringing you on this trip.”
“She knows that already, dear,” Leola said, nudging his arm.
“Of course, of course.” He swallowed. “That’s not the only reason we’re here, though.
We thought it would be nice to spend some time together before .
. . Well, we all know that the future’s uncertain, don’t we?
You could be married soon, and get so busy that you don’t have time for us anymore, and by that time, it could be too late anyway . . .” He trailed off, looking lost.
“Father, I’m confused. I’m not getting married soon—I’m not even interested in anyone. And what do you mean, it could be too late?” Anastasia looked back and forth between her parents. “Please just tell me. Whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure there’s a way to fix it once it’s out in the open.”
“Not this time, my dear.” Leola looked at her husband, who nodded. “You see, your father . . . your father has cancer. The doctor doesn’t know how much time he has left, and so we decided to make the most of every possible moment.”
Anastasia had been sitting upright in her chair, spine straight as she’d been taught at Vassar. Now she slumped back against the seat, all the strength pulled out of her. “Cancer?” she repeated.
“Yes, my dear. But I don’t want any moping about on my account. I’ve lived fifty-five wonderful years. I have no enemies and no regrets. I don’t know half a dozen men who could say as much.”
“So, when you got sick last month and went to the doctor . . .” Anastasia thought back, trying put together the pieces of this puzzle. What had she missed? Why hadn’t she been more aware?
“That’s when he told me.”
“You’ve known about this for a month?”
“Yes.”
“And you waited all this time to tell me?”
He lifted a hand as if to fend off her protest, but dropped it back to his lap. “How do you tell your daughter that you’re dying?”
She had no reply. Her emotions warred inside her—feelings of betrayal that she hadn’t been told immediately, feelings of sorrow that she would be losing him, feelings of gratitude that he was choosing to spend this remaining time with his family, creating memories that would carry them forward even in their sorrow.
When she was able to speak, she said, “Do you know how long it will be?”
He shook his head. “We really have no way to know.”
“But it’s certain?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “All right, then. We will face this bravely, as we’ve faced every other thing that has been put in our path. That’s a favorite saying of my father’s, you know.”
He chuckled. “He sounds like a wise man.”
“Oh, he is. He’s the wisest man I know.” She gave him a smile, even though her eyes were pooling with tears.
Leola wiped her own eyes with a handkerchief. “Goodness. I’m certainly glad we’ve discussed this, but that wasn’t easy by any measure. It’s so very difficult to consider . . .” She coughed to hide a little sob.
James reached over and patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, my dear. It’s all right. But do you know what is first and foremost on my mind?”
“What is it?” Leola asked.
“I would like to know what’s for supper. I may be terminally ill, but it has not yet affected my stomach, and our lunch today was hardly satisfactory.”
“Agreed,” Anastasia said. She rose and shook out her skirt. “Why don’t I go down to the dining room and see what I can find out? I know they aren’t serving for another half hour, but surely they’d be willing to drop a hint.”
“Before you’ve even washed up?” Leola asked.
Anastasia hadn’t given her appearance a moment of thought.
She just needed a chance to collect her thoughts somewhere out of her father’s line of sight.
She didn’t want him to see her upset, not when he was so bent on remaining stoic.
“I’ll wash up twice as well when I return,” she said lightly.
“I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the room before her mother could object any further.
Once in the hallway, she paused and leaned against the wall, allowing her shoulders to sag.
It was natural, of course, for one’s parents to die, but James Smith had always appeared so much more alive than the other men she knew, most likely because he was so passionate about things.
That did seem to give people an extra spark.
She didn’t know what the world would look like without him in it.
She knew she and her mother would be provided for—she’d often heard mention of her father’s will and how he had outlined his estate.
But what of the long, quiet nights by the fire when she missed playing chess with him? What of the hole he would leave?
Voices coming from the other end of the hall reminded her that she wasn’t nearly as alone as she would have liked.
A hotel wasn’t the place to go when one wanted solitude.
She headed for the dining room, intent on her errand.
She couldn’t do much for her father’s situation, but she could tell him what to expect for supper, and she could wash up and put on a new gown and enjoy that meal with him.
And they would take each day as it came and be grateful for the blessing of being together as long as it lasted.