Chapter Three
Some days, it was harder to concentrate than others.
Roman leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain and from his vision, but he knew the only real cure for it was a break, and that wasn’t something he felt he could afford.
He was just one man trying to go up against larger stock brokerage firms in the country, and if he lost momentum, those bigger companies would snatch up his prospective clients before he could lift a finger to stop them.
He'd first become involved with the stock market at the age of fifteen, when he left his mother and siblings behind in Albany and went to New York City to find work. He’d always felt as though he’d abandoned them, but in truth, there weren’t sufficient jobs in Albany, and he needed to find a way to support his family.
He’d walked the crowded city streets for three days, knocking on doors and approaching people on the sidewalk, asking anyone and everyone who might be hiring.
A few kindly souls had pointed him to restaurants where he might get a hot meal in exchange for washing dishes, and one woman even directed him to an agency that helped homeless youth.
While he appreciated these people and their efforts, and he certainly appreciated those hot meals, what he needed was consistent work with consistent wages, and he finally found that one afternoon when he turned the corner and ended up on Wall Street.
His first impression of the place was that everyone seemed to be terribly important, or at least, that’s how they thought of themselves.
For the most part, the men all wore black suits and black hats, looking as though some sort of funeral was being held that involved everyone in that area of town.
He overheard a few conversations that rose and fell in pitch, matters of great concern being discussed there on the sidewalk as though it was any other business office.
He tried approaching a few people to ask his now-standard question regarding available jobs, but no one would even make eye contact with him.
That was, until he caught the attention of a man getting into a carriage in front of a tall building.
“Excuse me, sir,” he’d said, pulling his hat from his head as he approached. “I’m new in town, and I’m looking for work. Do you know of anything I might be able to do? I’m strong, I’m a quick learner, and—”
The man raised an eyebrow. That simple gesture was enough to bring Roman up short, and he couldn’t finish delivering his prepared speech. It had been so long since someone had even acknowledged him.
“Can you read?”
“Um . . . Yes, sir. I read quite well.”
“And can you do arithmetic? I suppose you can—generally speaking, those who can read also know their numbers.”
“Yes, sir. My mother taught me both, and I’ve attended some school as well.”
“Hmm.” The man looked him up and down. Roman knew he was a bit worse for wear.
He’d been sleeping on a cot in the corner of the orphanage—he’d been sure to let them know he wasn’t an actual orphan when he applied for a place to stay.
He was grateful not to be out on the street at night, but he did look rumpled, and he knew that wouldn’t impress a potential employer.
It was the best he could manage, though.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the man to pass judgment on him.
After another long moment passed, the man nodded.
“Go inside this building and tell the woman at the front desk that you’ve been sent to sweep up.
When I return this afternoon, we’ll discuss what sort of worker you are and what else you might be able to do.
” Then he was gone, the carriage disappearing into the mass of other vehicles crowding the street.
Sweeping the floor led to running errands, which led to carrying confidential messages, and Roman worked his way into a highly trusted position within the company.
When his mentor passed away, he decided to strike out on his own and chose to relocate to Denver, a place that was springing up out of the very dirt in the west, full of promise and new possibilities.
He’d brought his mother and siblings along—they too were ready for a fresh start, and he’d purchased them a home while he preferred a small apartment over his office.
The wild ambitions he’d harbored as a fifteen-year-old had somehow all come true as though he’d planned it in detail, although he would have to give credit to providence and some amazing luck over the years.
And hard work—a great deal of hard work.
It wasn’t easy going up against larger companies as an independent, especially in something like the stock market that was mistrusted by so many.
He was exhausted, but he knew he had made a difference, at least for his family.
They were provided for, and he’d never again see his mother beg for work or crusts of bread.
A tap on his office door made him blink. “Yes?” he called out.
Louise, his secretary, stuck her head into the room. “Your one o’clock appointment just sent a message that he won’t be able to make it today. I’ve put him on your calendar for next week.”
“Hmm. Well, that gives me some extra time to finish here.” He motioned to the papers on his desk.
Louise, motherly in both appearance and demeanor, put a hand on her hip. “Or you could go for a walk and get some fresh air. I haven’t seen you leave this building in a coon’s age, not even to see your mother.”
Roman tilted his head. “And just how old is a coon?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s not young, I’m telling you that. You’ll forget what the sun looks like if you don’t go out and get reacquainted with it.”
Roman shook his head. “All right, all right—I’ll go for a walk. But only because I know you’ll tell my mother if I don’t, and I can’t possibly withstand pestering from both of you.”
She grinned. “Enjoy yourself. Everything’s well in hand here.”
He didn’t know if he’d be able to enjoy himself—he had far too much to do.
But he’d go through the motions if only to keep Louise happy.
After grabbing his hat from the stand behind the door, he headed downstairs and exited the building, pausing to blink in the sunshine.
Perhaps Louise had been right—he wasn’t used to being outside as of late.
He paused to buy a wrapped lunch from a small restaurant along the way, then crossed the street and walked down a block to the park.
There, he sat on a bench and took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax.
He had two clients to meet with later that afternoon, and if he was going to impress them both, he had to be calm and professional, not tense and snappish.
Eating would help.
He ate his sandwich quickly, all but one bite, which he broke into tiny pieces and scattered for the birds. Then he lifted his face to the sun, chuckling a little as he thought about Louise and their conversation. Time to get reacquainted with the great outdoors, he supposed.
“Excuse me, sir. I don’t mean to bother you . . .”
He opened his eyes to see a comely young woman standing in front of him, clutching what looked to be a sketchbook in her arms. She was bareheaded as though she too was getting her fill of sunshine, and her chestnut hair gleamed like polished wood in the light. This was an unexpected turn of events.
“Yes?” He didn’t mean to speak harshly, but he was afraid that he did sound a little curt. He tried again. “How can I help you?”
“It’s silly, I know, but I’m an artist—or rather, I’m aspiring to be an artist—and I wondered if I could draw your likeness. I’m not very good at portraits yet, but I’m getting better, but with only my parents to practice on, I’m moving rather slowly, and so I thought—”
He held up a hand. Best to put the girl out of her misery. “Yes, you may draw me, although why you’d want to, I’m not sure. There are several other more interesting people in the park this afternoon.”
“But none of them are as good-looking as you are. From an artistic perspective, you see. I’m looking at the shape of your nose and your forehead, the spacing of your eyes—you’re clearly the best choice.”
He’d never been called good-looking in such a non-flirtatious way before. She seemed completely oblivious to how her words might sound if he were the sort of man to take advantage of it. He was not that sort of man, though, and he chuckled.
“Well, I suppose I can’t say no to that. I’m Roman Kendall, by the way. I don’t recall seeing you around town before. Who might you be? Or should I wait for the finished product and read your signature at the bottom?”
“I’m Anastasia Smith. I don’t live here—I’m just traveling through with my parents.”
“I see.” He glanced around. “And they are . . .?”
“My father wanted to visit the museum. I enjoy museums to a certain extent, but after a while, I grow tired of looking at other people’s art and I want to get back to creating my own.”
He liked her honesty. “So, where would you like me to pose? Under that tree, perhaps? It has some nice branches.”
“I’m not interested in tree branches—I’ve painted hundreds of them. My object now is the human face, so I’d like you to stay exactly where you are. The light is perfect as it falls on your cheekbones.”
“All right. I should tell you, though, that I don’t have a lot of time today. I’m only here for a short lunch.”
“Then we’ll get as much done as we can before you need to leave.” She settled herself on a nearby bench, opened her sketchbook, and then removed a pencil from a sack she carried at her waist. “Please tilt your chin up a little, just as you were a moment ago. That was the most pleasing aspect.”
He chuckled again, then did as she asked. She was clearly not from the city—or at least, she hadn’t been raised in society. She was too open and unguarded as she spoke. All the young ladies he knew had been taught to be coy. He doubted Miss Smith even knew the word.
“So, Mr. Kendall,” she said after a moment, “tell me a little about yourself. Your face is relaxed now, but you have some worry lines between your eyebrows. You must do something quite involved for your job.”
“I’m in finance,” he replied.
“Oh, yes. That would explain it. My father says that there are two things that will make a man worry more than anything else in the world—having money and having beautiful daughters.”
“He’s not wrong,” Roman replied.
“Do you have any daughters?”
“No. I’m not married.”
“Well, when you do marry, I’m sure your daughters will be beautiful. Your jawline has a nice slope to it, as do your orbital bones—although those features are usually determined by the mother and not the father.”
“For someone who says she knows very little about drawing portraits, you certainly seem to know a lot about the structure of the face,” he said.
“I’ve studied it quite extensively. It’s the practical application that I’m lacking.”
He could hear the pencil lead moving across the paper—first in long strokes, then with short movements. He risked a glance at Miss Smith and saw the concentration on her face, how her lips moved as though she was carrying on a silent conversation with herself. “You’re just traveling through?”
“That’s right. We’re on what my mother would call ‘an adventure.’ I recently graduated, and we’re visiting some of the places I’ve always dreamed of drawing as a celebration of sorts.”
“Graduated? From which university?” He hadn’t envisioned her as a college girl. Again, her openness didn’t speak academia to him.
“Vassar,” she replied, seeming distracted. She reached for an eraser and rubbed it on the page, then drew the line again.
“Vassar? That’s quite prestigious.”
“I’ve been told that, but I don’t put too much emphasis on where a person went to school.
I prefer to talk about what they took away from the experience, not where that experience was obtained.
A smart man can learn anywhere, and a foolish person can be foolish in just as many places.
” She looked up at him, a smile on her face. “Have I shocked you?”
“Not at all. In fact, I agree with you. Would you be shocked to learn that I never even went to college?”
“A self-made man? No, I don’t find that shocking. I find it admirable as long as you conduct your business in an admirable way.”
“I do.”
“Then we’re in accord.” Her attention had been reclaimed by her drawing. He wished she’d glance up so he could see that twinkle in her eye again.
He sat there another moment, enjoying his time out of the office more than he’d ever thought he would, but then he realized the time, and he knew he had to get back. “Miss Smith, I’m sorry to say that I need to leave. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“And it’s been a pleasure sketching you.” She turned the drawing away from him when he leaned forward to look. “It’s not finished, and I never show my work to the subject until it’s finished.”
“Not even the quickest peek?”
“Not even the tiniest peek. I’m sorry, Mr. Kendall, but I must be firm.”
He shook his head, pretending to be exasperated. “I’ve known plenty of artists who have been more than glad to show off their work before it was done.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
He blinked. “You doubt that?”
“Yes. In the first place, how many artists do you actually know? I’ll grant that you know a few, but to say that you know ‘plenty’ seems like an exaggeration.
And those few might have shown their work, but to say that they were glad to do it?
More than likely, they felt pressured into doing so, and that’s never good for the artistic temperament. ”
“Very well, Miss Smith. I concede the point, and I will just let my imagination run wild in regards to your drawing.”
She gave a nod. “That’s for the best. Then you’re unlikely to be disappointed.”
“But I’m very disappointed indeed because I haven’t seen it at all, and who knows if I ever will? You’re leaving soon, I take it.”
“We aren’t sure how long we’re staying. We only arrived here last night, and while I’m not specifically studying nature right now, I’m not leaving until I’ve painted these incredible mountains.” She tilted her head to the side. “You said you had to leave, and yet you’re still here talking to me.”
“Oh, that’s right. You distracted me. Have a good afternoon, Miss Smith, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here in Denver.”
“I most certainly plan to, Mr. Kendall, and thank you again.”
Roman tucked his sandwich wrapper into his pocket and began the short walk back to the office. If that was the sort of entertainment he could plan on every time he left the office, he’d have to make it more of a priority. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a conversation so much.