Shrugging her shoulders, she sighed. What did a home-body like Genevieve Trafton know about reading a man’s mind? The one definite certainty in all this upheaval was that she refused to share her kitchen with Jethro’s wife. That remained out of the question. The immediacy of her situation kindled the bleakness anew. Maybe it was time for her to spread her wings and fly like the birds she so envied. Perhaps she was not as stuck as she believed.
The next day, Genevieve dressed to go to town. Her sister had taken pity on her a few years ago and sewed five fashionable dresses to fill her wardrobe. The family joked that Grace was born with a needle in her hand. The young girl had completed the task, targeting her skilled efforts to secure any man for the eldest Trafton daughter. Unfortunately, the gift of love had not worked in Genevieve’s favor. Murmuring aloud, she grabbed her favorite one from the group, and held the buttery-hued gown close against her body. The sunny color sparked a fire within her blue eyes. She fastened her unruly hair, which seemed to have a mind of its own, in braids on the crown of her head, and plunked a hat on top to hide the rebellious strands.
Looking in the mirror, she felt satisfied with her appearance. Men who preferred young scatterbrained females over ones slightly seasoned and knowing their own minds were a sorry lot indeed. Genevieve didn’t need a husband. Perhaps the life of a spinster was her destiny. Today, she couldn’t help but be encouraged with the prospect of not cow-towing to a man’s ego for the rest of her days. Especially if they were all as disloyal as her brother Nick.
After dropping off her shopping list at the general store, she allowed herself to roam the streets, immersed with window shopping and dreaming of things beyond her control. On Chain Bridge Road, she came upon a rather understated building with a large sign posted out front. Stopping, she read the advertisement. Female agents wanted to join the National Pinkerton Detective Agency. Had she read that right – they needed gun-toting females?
Genevieve’s heart jumped within her chest, and she moved a hand to still it’s pounding while an idea seized her spirit. A Detective? That was extremely close to the description of a sheriff’s job. Could she do that? The advertisement did specify females to apply for the position.
As she stood and pondered the question, a man rushed by nearly toppling her over. He caught her before she fell over the edge of the boardwalk. For a brief moment, their eyes connected, hers flaring with anger and his showing surprise.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. My mind was elsewhere, and I missed seeing you.”
“Interesting – I suppose my skinny frame of late has made me invisible.” Her voice carried a touch of mockery, for she did not consider herself horribly skinny, but then who could tell when hidden under this humongous dress.
The man scanned her from head to foot, removed his hat, and bowed slightly. Genevieve did not miss the glint of tease in his comment. “Skinny reminds me of my half-grown sister with long dangling braids and legs the size of a tiny branch. Not my evaluation of the lovely lady standing before me.”
He couldn’t see her legs. Whatever was he on about? Those kinds of comments always turned her off men. He was not a spring-chicken – she’d guess around thirty. Old enough to know that a decent woman did not expect to be teased in such a fashion. But to his credit, she’d been the first one to mention skinny. Genevieve tried a more mature approach. “Do you work here, sir?”
“I do,” he said. “And who’d be asking?” His voice took on a defensive tone. She suddenly felt like the intruder, perhaps a spy that a Pinkerton agent might be concerned about.
“Genevieve Trafton. I noticed the help-wanted sign and was considering applying when you so rudely pushed me aside.”
“Again, I apologize.” He opened the door and shuffled to the right to usher her inside. She couldn’t stop herself from taking a closer look. Tall, kissed by the sun, and a smile that would leave any woman wanting more, radiated from him. “Please, don’t let me hinder your progress. I’m late, and Archie Gordon does not like to be kept waiting.”
She brushed by him without another word and stopped to survey the reception room. The décor was professional and inviting, but not overdone. It smelled manly, of leather and old furniture, but filled her with a tantalizing sense of liberty.
The man, who had not bothered to introduce himself, covered his head again, and said, “Good luck. Not sure Marianne needs office help, but you’d sure be eye-candy for us hard-working agents.”
Genevieve bit her tongue. Providing eye-candy for a man was not her goal for a future job. He’d obviously not read the ad, for work behind a desk was not even in the offering.
The man waved to the woman behind the desk and shouted a cordial, “Good morning, Marianne.” Before he disappeared behind the door of an adjoining office, he added, “Take care of the little lady here.”
Inhaling deeply, she wondered how she’d moved from viewing a sign outside into this place of business, all in just a few short moments. A job? Maybe the Good Lord was providing a much-needed push from her all too comfortable nest. Yes. She sought adventure and would apply to become a lady Pinkerton agent.
