She turned back to the room and pulled out the newspaper again, smoothing the creases with trembling fingers.
What harm could there be in simply writing a telegram? Not to accept the position—she couldn’t do that, not without knowing more—but perhaps simply to inquire. To imagine, for a few precious moments, what it might be like to have choices again.
She pulled out a sheet of writing paper from the small supply she’d horded away. Her pen hovered over the blank page as she considered her words.
To Telegraph Office, Walnut Springs, Montana Territory:
INQUIRING ABOUT HOUSEHOLD POSITION ON RANCH STOP EXPERIENCED WITH HOUSEKEEPING STOP PLEASE RESPOND WITH STARTING DATE IF POSITION STILL AVAILABLE STOP REPLIES TO VIRGINIA CITY TELEGRAPH OFFICE ATTENTION MISS R P FULL STOP
She stared at the words, her heart hammering. Miss R. Prescott—not Ruby Starling. No one at the telegraph office knew her by that name, so the reply would sit until she came to fetch it. And using her real name felt like shedding a costume, like stepping out from behind the emerald silk and stage lights into something true.
Was she exaggerating by saying she had experience with housekeeping? She kept her own room well, and she and Mama had always cooked for themselves in the little stove downstairs beneath their rooms. She could learn quickly, so surely she’d be able to pick up any other skills needed.
Tomorrow she would find a way to slip to the telegraph office to send this during the afternoon, when Vincent was busy with his other business ventures. She had enough coins saved from the tips customers sometimes pressed into her hand—money Vincent didn’t know about— hidden away in the false bottom of her jewelry box.
But what if Vincent found out? What if he intercepted the reply? The telegraph office wasn’t far from Murphy’s, and Vincent had friends everywhere in Virginia City. Men who owed him favors, who would tell him if Rose Prescott started receiving mysterious messages.
She crumpled the paper and tossed it toward the small waste basket, but it missed and landed on the floor beside her chair. The sight of her initials, written in her own careful script, lying crumpled and discarded made something fierce rise up in her chest.
She was tired of being afraid. Tired of Vincent’s watchful eyes and calculating smiles. Tired of singing other people’s sorrows while her own dreams withered away like flowers in a drought.
Rose smoothed out the telegram and read it once more. The words looked small and uncertain on the page, but they represented something larger—the first step toward a life that might be her saving grace.
CHAPTER 3
The responding telegram arrived two days later.
Rose stood in the narrow alley behind Murphy’s Saloon, her hands trembling as she unfolded the response from Walnut Springs. The morning air carried the scent of pine from the surrounding mountains, but she barely noticed, her entire attention focused on the message:
POSITION AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY STOP ROOM AND BOARD PROVIDED STOP WAGES FIFTEEN DOLLARS MONTHLY STOP REPLY WITH ARRIVAL DATE IF INTERESTED STOP MEET AT WALNUT SPRINGS CAFE FULL STOP
Fifteen dollars. More than she’d seen in years. But it was the word immediately that made her pulse quicken—as though whoever had placed the advertisement understood that some situations required swift escape.
She read the telegram three more times, committing each word to memory. No mention of a family name, no specific details about the ranch’s location beyond Walnut Springs.
The anonymity should possibly concern her, but instead it felt like Providence. If she didn’t know who was offering her this lifeline, Vincent couldn’t discover it either.
“Ruby?”
Vincent’s voice from the saloon’s back door made her jump. She quickly folded the telegram and slipped it into her skirt pocket, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Just working to memorize that new song.” She forced lightness into her tone.
“Come inside. We need to discuss tonight’s performance.”
She followed him back into the dim interior, but her mind remained fixed on those precious words: Position available immediately. The telegram felt warm against her leg through the fabric of her pocket, like a secret flame Vincent couldn’t extinguish.
“I’ve been thinking about that new arrangement,” Vincent was saying as they walked through the narrow hallway. “Something with more…appeal for the gentlemen who frequent the back tables.”
Rose made the appropriate sounds of agreement, but her thoughts already raced ahead to practicalities. She’d studied the map in the telegraph office, the one with the stage routes drawn in dark lines. She’d have to get off in Butte and find other transportation to the little town of Walnut Springs. That might be better though. Harder for Vincent to track her.
The stagecoach to Butte left twice weekly—Tuesdays and Saturdays. Today was Thursday, which meant she had two days to plan her escape if she chose Saturday’s departure. She had enough to cover the cost of the stage, but barely more for the remaining travel. She would need to bring food to eat along the way.
Two days to gather her courage and what few belongings she could carry without arousing suspicion.
“Ruby? Are you listening?”
She blinked, focusing on Vincent’s pale eyes. “Of course. The new arrangement.”
