Ben looked around and saw the congregation had thinned considerably. He picked up his hat from where it lay on the pew and set it on his unruly thatch of carrot-colored hair. “You want to join me at the hotel for dinner? My wife had to make a call on Bob Washburn this morning and she told me that she expected to be there a spell. I’m on my own. We can talk about this idea you have for Clay there. I’d like to hear more.”

  “All right. I’d like that. Thank you.”

  After making their farewells to the minister, Roen and Ben headed diagonally across the wide main street to the Butterworth Hotel. Ellie’s greeting was equally enthusiastic toward both men, though Roen thought her green eyes sparkled a bit more brightly when she regarded her son. She was a handsome woman in her fifties, and all indications were still there that she had been even lovelier in her youth. She had a warm smile and a lively energy that transcended her fine features and made the most curmudgeonly of hotel guests uncommonly good-natured.

  Ellie seated them next to a window that faced the side street and their respective homes. The house Roen rented from the sheriff was a pleasant two-story frame home painted white with blue shutters, while the house next door where Ben lived with his doctor wife was similarly constructed but butter yellow from the top to bottom.

  Ben took off his hat before his mother cuffed him for wearing it to the table. Grinning cheekily, he hooked it on the spindle of the empty chair on his left. Ellie told them the specials, they ordered, and then she left them alone.

  Ben leaned back and stretched his long legs under the table. He looked askance at Roen. “She likes you. I can tell. Maybe you already noticed that her good opinion goes a long way around here. She accepts you, folks accept you.”

  “I did notice. And, well, I like her.”

  Ben nodded. “Most days I like her just fine, especially when she remembers not to hug me within an inch of my life in public. It’s not dignified, I say, but that point is lost on her.”

  “I imagine your mother harbors worry and pride in equal measure every time she sees you, and probably just as often when she doesn’t.” Roen looked pointedly at Ben’s holstered weapon. “Your position in Frost Falls is not precisely without hazard. Have you had occasion to use that?”

  “My Peacemaker? I have.”

  “There you go.”

  Ben’s blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Has Ellie been talking to you?”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but your mother talks to everyone.”

  “You know what I mean. About me. Has she been talking to you about me?”

  Roen was saved from answering by the arrival of a young woman carrying a pot of coffee. He moved his cup and saucer a few inches to the side to make it easier for her to pour and thanked her when she’d finished. She offered a small smile that was as timid as her downcast, almond-shaped eyes and then moved to Ben’s side to pour.

  “Mornin’, Fedora. Smells like the coffee’s fresh.”

  “It always is for you.”

  He chuckled and raised his cup to Roen. “There are benefits to having my mother here.” He looked up at Fedora, who was standing at his elbow waiting for his approval. Taking a careful sip of the hot brew, he told her it was excellent. She left as silently as she’d come. Ben watched Roen’s gaze slide sideways as he watched her go.

  “You’ve met Miss Chen, haven’t you?” asked Ben. “Or should I have introduced you?”

  “No, I know who she is.” He picked up his coffee cup but didn’t drink. He regarded Ben over the rim. “I’m not sure she’s spoken above a dozen words to me in all the time I’ve been coming here. I’m fairly certain she avoids my table. That she attended me today has everything to do with you. At first I thought she was merely shy, and that’s part of it, but I’m coming to the opinion that it’s more than that.” He took a mouthful of coffee that was pleasantly warm all the way down and set his cup aside. “I’ve been wondering if I’ve done something to offend her.”

  “The truth?”

  “Please.”

  Ben also set his cup down. He said candidly, “Your presence here offends her.”

  Roen’s dark eyebrows arched symmetrically as his head reared back a fraction. “Here? In this hotel?”

  “Here. In Frost Falls.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s not you specifically. It’s who you represent.”

  “Northeast Rail?”

  “More generally the railroad. Any railroad.” Ben nodded as he watched Roen’s features clear of confusion. The penny had finally dropped.

  “Because she’s Chinese,” Roen said flatly.

  “Good. You noticed. I was beginning to question your powers of observation.”

  Roen’s mouth twisted sardonically and allowed that to speak for him.

  “Sorry,” said Ben.

  “You’re not.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “That’s more like it.” Roen lifted his cup and drank. “I take it Miss Chen’s family came here when the Central Pacific was hiring.”

  “Hiring,” Ben repeated without inflection. “That’d be the word they used. The fact that they paid a wage is all that kept it from being slavery. That’s not a widely held view, but it’s my view. It’s a sure thing that Fedora has the same perspective.”

  “She was born here?”

  “Yes, not in Frost Falls, but in the country. Her grandfather and father came here back in the sixties. Her grandfather was killed working for the Central. Her father survived, married, and raised his family somewhere in Utah until they were all but driven out. They resettled in Colorado; Mr. Chen took up with the railroad again, this time the Union Pacific, and now with his two sons. The way I understand it is that a few years later, Fedora was the only family member to survive an outbreak of influenza that ran rampant through the railroad community.”

  Roen exhaled slowly. The tightness in his chest eased only marginally. He said quietly, “It must have been extraordinarily difficult for her.”

  “Yes.”

  Roen waited, but it was all Ben would say on the matter. “Thank you for telling me. It probably won’t matter, but I’ll tread even more carefully.”

  “You’re right. It probably won’t matter, but it won’t hurt. She hasn’t been here long, less than a year, and there are folks who aren’t happy about it. Some don’t want her serving them, so she’s naturally skittish. Ellie won’t have it, though there’s not a lot she can do about it.”

  “I suppose even her good opinion has its limits.”

  “I guess it does. Can’t say that it stops her from pushing at those limits. My mother has Fedora firmly under her wing, which is not bad, all things considered.” Ben’s eyes shifted from Roen to a point beyond his shoulder. “Here she comes,” he said under his breath.

  Roen didn’t know if Ben meant his mother or Fedora. The wisest course was not to inquire and risk being overheard.

  It was Fedora Chen who approached their table balancing two plates heaped with roast beef, potatoes, and carrots on one forearm and carrying the coffeepot in her other hand. She set the pot down and then carefully placed the plates in front of Roen and Ben. Both men thanked her. Her response was the same small smile accompanied by downcast eyes. She poured more coffee, swept the pot away, and disappeared.

  Ben savored the aroma of the beef as he lifted it to his mouth. He swore he could taste it before it reached his tongue. “So tell me about this conversation you had with Clay Salt. I reckon it happened when he followed you out to your work site yesterday.”

  Roen didn’t try to hide his surprise. “You know about that?”

  Ben shrugged modestly. “I try to keep abreast of the comings and goings of folks, particularly the rascals.”

  “Clay is certainly one of those.”

  “Is he? I was talking about you.”

  Roen laughed and swallowed at the same time. “You might have waited until I cleared the potato to say that. I almost choked. Your wife warned me that you like to amuse yourself.”

  “She did? Of course she did. She thinks I’m a rascal, too.”

  “True.”

  “So about Clay . . . he stopped by my office to see if I had something for him to do. I didn’t, so he said he was going to go out to where you were working and watch, see what he could learn about surveying. I told him not to pester you. Did he?”

  “No. I didn’t know he was there until I was getting ready to pack up. How did he know I’d gone out?”

  “He lives close to the livery. You hired a pack horse, didn’t you?” When Roen nodded, he went on. “I imagine he saw you leave. Truth is, I think he would have been disappointed if I’d had work for him. He was so clearly wanting to be on his way that he was twitching in his shoes.” Ben speared two carrots. “What is it that you think he can do for you?”

  “Pack and carry. Keep the horse settled. Help me sight my marks. Act as a guide, a scout, if you will. The Saunders brothers provided me with good maps, but sometimes what I’m looking for hasn’t been recorded yet. Clay indicated that he knows the area. He could be an asset.”

  “Clay would tell you he knows every crater and hillock on the dark side of the moon if he thought it would get him a job with the railroad.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’m an independent contractor. He’d be working for me, not Northeast.”

  “Close enough.” Ben paused to get Fedora Chen’s attention when she passed through the door from the kitchen to the dining room. He asked her for bread and butter when she reached the table and then spent the next thirty seconds alternately listening to her apology and promising her that her oversight did not mean she would be fired.

  “I’m not sure she believes you,” said Roen when she’d finally left, hurrying away as though hungry dogs were nipping at her heels.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t. She will, though . . . eventually.”

  They ate in silence for as long as it took the basket of warm bread to arrive accompanied by a small plate of sweet cream butter. It was not Miss Chen, but Ellie who delivered the bread and butter. She placed both on the table and then looked from Ben to Roen and back to Ben. She did not need to set her hands on her hips to communicate that she was aggrieved.

  Ellie looked around quickly to make certain she had not attracted notice. Nevertheless, she spoke in a tone not much above a whisper. “What did you say to her?” she asked her son.

  “Me? I asked her for bread and butter.”

  Ellie turned her head and arched an eyebrow at Roen. “Then what did you say to her?”

  Roen was glad he’d set his knife and fork down. He raised his hands, palms out.

  Ben said, “Not a word, Ma. He didn’t say a word.”

  “Then why is she sobbing into her apron? Mrs. Vandergrift has no patience for her on a good day, and this is not a good day. The oven’s too hot and the piecrusts aren’t flaky enough to suit her. You know who she’s blaming, don’t you?”

  “You?” Ben asked hopefully. He ducked when she swung, but he wasn’t quick enough and she caught him on the back of his head anyway. He was grinning when he straightened. “You have to stop that, Ma.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m going to arrest you for assault one of these days.”

  “Uh-huh. Behave yourself or I’ll hug you. You decide.” Ellie turned her gaze on Roen. His hands were still raised and she batted them down. She appreciated that he was struggling manfully not to laugh. “I suppose you don’t give your mother reason to cuff you.”

  Roen answered with all the gravity he could muster. He did not want this woman doubting his sincerity. “I give her plenty of reason, but I duck and run better than your son.”

  Ellie smiled. “Good for you. Now. Tell me what happened. Not you, Ben. I want to hear it from Mr. Shepard.”

  “It’s as Ben said. He asked for bread and butter. Miss Chen began to apologize profusely for forgetting to bring it to the table. Your son tried to reassure her that it wasn’t a criticism and no harm was done. Ben promised her that her job was not in jeopardy.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Ellie turned back to her son. “Did she mention being fired first or did you bring it up?”

  Ben frowned slightly as he went back over the conversation. “I think I said it first. She was so distressed I figured that’s what she was thinking.”

  Now Ellie did set her hands on her hips. “The next time you think you know what a woman’s thinking, you remind yourself you have no earthly idea. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said dutifully. “No earthly idea.”

  “That’s right. You planted that notion in Fedora’s head.”

  “Is there something I can do to make it right?”

  Ellie’s hands fell to her sides. “You’re a good man, Ben, but unless you’re willing to escort Mrs. Vandergrift out of here before I have words with her, I’ll take care of everything.” She started to go, stopped, and turned back. “Is your meal satisfactory?”

  It was Roen who answered. “Better than satisfactory. Quite as good as any fare I’ve had in Manhattan.”

  Ellie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as her smile deepened. “Thank you. There’s something I can tell the cook that she will find most gratifying.”

  When she was gone, Ben picked up his fork and waggled it at Roen. “As good as you’ve had in Manhattan? You understand I’m skeptical.”

  Roen shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Isn’t Delmonico’s in Manhattan?”

  “It is, but I’ve never eaten there. Mostly I do my own cooking when I’m in the city, or if I’m having dinner with my family, well, there’s some trial and error involved there. A lot of experimentation with spices. My mother is as creative a cook as she is a painter, but the food is often more interesting than good.”

  Ben hesitated as he raised his fork to his mouth. A small crease appeared in the space between his eyebrows. “Your mother’s a painter?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Shepard.” Ben repeated the name mostly to himself, rolled it over on his tongue. “Anne Shepard?”

  “Yes. You know her work?” Roen hadn’t expected that. His mother was well known, even celebrated, in New York and Paris. But Frost Falls?

  “I do. Jackson Brewer, the sheriff before me, took his wife to Paris a few years back and sent some postcards. One of them was of a painting that caught his eye in a museum he visited. He said he liked it especially because the artist was an American. His wife liked it because the artist was a woman. I still have it. Use it as a bookmark, if you want to see it.”

  “No. I know which one it is. Children at Play.”

  “I thought it was called Hide and Seek.”

  “That’s the popular name for it. Mother simply titled it Children at Play.”

  “Huh. Hide and Seek suits it better, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I agree with you. So does my mother.”

  “It’s a clever painting,” said Ben. “Admittedly I’ve only seen the postcard, but besides the obvious children running to their hiding places, I was able to spot two more hiding in tree branches.”

  “There are five hiding. Even in the painting they are hard to see, but once found, you can’t unsee them.”

  “Any of them you?”

  “No,” Roen said. The lie was force of habit. He was in several of his mother’s paintings along with his brother, two sisters, and a cousin. She’d been interested in them as children but stopped painting each of them around the time they turned twelve. Since he was the youngest, he was last to disappear from her body of work.

  “Do you paint?” asked Ben.

  “Tried and failed. Too much detail and not enough imagination.” He marveled that he could say this as a statement of fact, without rancor. That hadn’t always been the case. “Good for practical applications like designing bridges but not for paint on a canvas.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ben, looking doubtful. “Seems like designing a bridge would take plenty of imagination.”

  Roen shrugged. “It’s mostly math.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.” Ben buttered a slice of bread and resumed eating. “Clay’s pretty clever himself, but I guess you figured that out.”

  “I did. He had a lot of questions on the way back to town.”

  “He’s a good student. If he works for you, it can’t interfere with his schooling. His mother won’t approve it if it does.”

  “I’m not surprised. Mrs. Springer spoke to me about her.”

  Suspicious, Ben cheeked his bite of bread and asked, “She did?”

  “She told me something about everyone. Cornered me in church the first time I attended.”

  Ben swallowed. “Gossip is Amanda Springer’s specialty, best taken with more than a few grains of salt.”

  “I used a shaker.”

  “Good for you.” Ben folded his bread and used it to sop gravy from his plate. “She must have failed to pump you for information, otherwise I’d have already known about your mother.”

  “I diverted her with railroad talk. Jobs. The men I’d be hiring, local and from neighboring towns. It’s just good business. She told me she owns the butcher shop. An army marches on its stomach. Likewise, full bellies build railroads. Mrs. Springer understands that.”

  “She’s a savvy businesswoman and an honest one. You can depend on her for fair prices and good product.”

  That was Roen’s sense also, but he was glad to have it confirmed. “About Clay . . . what do you suggest is the best way to approach his mother? How much of a factor is the money that Clay will bring home?”

  “Money’s never much motivated Lily,” said Ben. “Not that I’ve ever seen. She was a couple of grades ahead of me in school and smart as a whip, but she missed a fair amount because she took care of her mother—a woman who was perpetually ailing or claimed she was. I lost touch with Lily for a lot of years but caught up again when I moved from the ranch into town and became Sheriff Brewer’s deputy. She does all right for herself and her family, but I know that what she cares about is that her children get a good education and make what they can of that.”