Saratoga Sunrise Read online

  He pushed aside his sympathetic feelings toward Sara and reminded himself that she was the daughter of his enemy. He must stick to his plan, with one modification.

  And it was Montague Fordice who gave him the idea.

  He would cultivate a friendship with Sara and use her to get close to her father. If he were in her company on a regular basis, he would be better able to find incriminating evidence on Bond Peterson. Undoubtedly, Bond, the doting father, wouldn't be too far away from his daughter.

  Jack didn't care if she was betrothed to Fordice either. The attention he would pay to Sara would probably aggravate the man. Jack smiled. That would be an extra bonus.

  Jack congratulated himself on the idea of getting to Bond through Sara, then felt a pang of conscience that he quickly dismissed. Although he didn't want to hurt her, if need be, he would. After all, Bond Peterson hadn't cared about the hurt he had caused.

  Because of Bond, his father was in prison and his mother was a recluse.

  Sara Peterson might very well get hurt, but he'd try to make sure that didn't happen. But if it did, she was young and rich and would soon forget.

  However, his mother, once a leading lady of Saratoga society, would never get over the scandal. Nor would his father.

  He thought back to those horrible days. If only his mother had summoned him back from Cornell sooner. After his father's trial, the family's mineral water business started to fail. Jack had to prove his father's innocence, and fast, before the bank took the house and the business. Then what would happen to the last of his mother’s sanity?

  If only he had known a year ago. If only his mother had told him.

  Jack heard noises behind him and turned to see three men helping Fordice to his feet. A skinny little man in an impeccable frock coat dusted off Fordice's clothes with a small hand brush. Must be his valet, Jack thought with sympathy in his heart for the poor man who had to serve Fordice.

  Fordice wiped his sweaty face with a rumpled handkerchief and glared at Jack. "I'll kill you for this, Summers."

  "Better men than you have tried, Fordice."

  "Do you know to whom you are speaking?"

  "A strutting peacock?" Jack replied. The dandy's face became even redder, and for a moment he thought the man might faint on the train platform or have a heart attack.

  "Why...you...you...stable hand!"

  "If that's the best you can do as far as name calling is concerned, Fordice, I suggest you get out of my way. I have work to do at the stables."

  "You haven't seen or heard the last from me!"

  Jack chuckled. "Unfortunately, I suspect you're right about that."

  # # #

  The sight of the United States Hotel on Broadway never

  failed to send a rush of excitement through Sara. It was a

  monstrous building that went on for a half-mile. Sheltered from

  the afternoon sun, ladies and gentlemen rocked on the piazza that ran the length of the hotel as they sipped lemonade or iced tea.

  Children played nearby under the watchful eyes of an assortment of parents, governesses and nannies. Carriages lined the street as porters scrambled to get the arrivals of the recent train settled into their accommodations.

  Another season at Saratoga. This would be the season that would change her life. Sara could feel it. She hoped that the waters would help Aunt Trixie's arthritis as well as her own twisted leg.

  Sara wanted to continue riding while she was here, the way she did when she was at home. Of course, she'd have to hide her identity here at The Springs. It would be scandalous if anyone knew she was riding astride. But she had to keep Seawind ready for the Travers, the biggest race of the season. The race that would change her life.

  She felt whole again when she was on a horse. It was as if she could use the horse’s legs as her own, and she could walk and run like she had before.

  Her father waved to the three hotel proprietors who

  scurried out to meet the Peterson carriage. "Welcome Mr.

  Peterson...Miss Sara! How wonderful to see you again, too,

  Miss Beatrix!" Those rocking on the piazza halted and stood

  to see who was arriving.

  "Who's arrived so far?" Bond asked one of the hotel proprietors, and Sara knew that her father was eager to talk business as soon as he was able. He always said that more business deals were made in one Saratoga summer then elsewhere throughout the entire year.

  Tompkins' eyes brightened. "William Henry Vanderbilt is in his usual spot on the piazza. I saw Judge Hilton and Richard Canfield with him. John Rockefeller and J.P. Morgan just left for a walk. Nellie Bly, the reporter from the World is in the lobby as we speak, and Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell are expected soon."

  "Are the bookies here yet?" Bond asked.

  Sara knew that question was coming. Her father needed to know who were considered the favorites to win the races.

  "Some are here. Irish John Cavanaugh's here. So are Big Store and Johnny Walters. The Boy Plunger and Fashion Plate have been seen down at the stables looking at Henry of Navarre, the McCelland horse. They've all been waiting for Seawind to arrive and well as Bravo Joe," said Perry, referring to Montague Fordice's horse.

  Bond nodded. "Wonderful. No doubt they want to get an idea of the odds just as much as I do." He stared at the front of the hotel. "It will be good to see everyone again. I have some business to discuss with Morgan, Brady and Vanderbilt."

  "May I add that everything is being readied for Sara's engagement party," said Gage. "Chef Morris just needs to go over the menu at your convenience."

  "I'll leave that up to the ladies. Bea and Sara will take care of that."

  "Very well, Mr. Peterson," Gage replied.

  Tompkins snapped his fingers and three porters appeared. "Your usual cottage is ready Mr. Peterson. We wouldn't think of letting it to anyone else. Let me escort you personally."

  Bond held out his arm and assisted Sara and Beatrix down

  from the carriage. "I'm sorry to keep you ladies out here in the sun. How inconsiderate of me. Shall I call for some maids to help with the unpacking, Bea?"

  Beatrix smiled. "You ask me that every year, Bond, and every year I tell you that I'd rather do it myself."

  "I know, but I thought I'd offer anyway. We don't want all

  those vultures on the verandah to think that Bond Peterson has

  fallen on hard times and can't afford maids for his favorite ladies." He shook his head and frowned. "I simply don't know why you won't let me bring the servants."

  "Oh, Daddy!" Sara chuckled, knowing that everyone else brings at least fifteen servants. "You know we like to do things for ourselves at the Springs. We have enough servants at home. At least in Saratoga, we are finally alone.”

  “I know, honey, I know. But I just don't understand it."

  Bea waved her hand. "You know we don't care what people think. If we need some help, we'll ask for Clara, Sara's friend."

  Bond nodded as Sara and Beatrix each took a proffered arm and walked up the steps of the grand hotel.

  The marble floor of the lobby glowed in the reflection of

  the huge crystal chandeliers overhead. Hundreds of handsomely

  dressed men and women milled around. As her father went to sign the register, Sara moved toward a large gathering of people in the corner of the room to see what the attraction was.

  "It's Nellie Bly, the newspaper woman,” whispered a woman in a light green satin hat and matching dress. Pink plumage cascaded from her hat down her back. “She's here to do a story. I heard her say that this town has gone mad with the mania of gambling."

  "I see," Sara replied. It probably wasn't right, but she often asked Porky or Mike, her Saratoga friends, to place a dollar bet or so on her horses for her. She felt that she was showing her support for their stable by betting that they would win. And she had accumulated a tidy sum from betting on her horses. After one final bet when she would let it all ride on Seawind, she'd
be the owner of her own stables.

  "Ready, daughter?"

  Her father's deep voice woke her from her reverie. "Yes,

  father."

  Aunt Trixie took her hand. "I've made arrangements for a light lunch, but after that I think you ought to lie down for a while, Sara."

  "There was a time that I would argue with you, Aunt Trixie,

  but my leg is bothering me more than usual today."

  "Can you walk, honey? Do you want me to carry you?" Bond

  asked.

  Sara saw the sadness that appeared in his eyes whenever they talked about her handicap. "Oh, no, Daddy. I can make it to our cottage." She wasn't in that much pain, and she'd die before she used a wheelchair or had to be carried by her father.

  "Actually, I think she'd rather be carried by that handsome

  groom you hired, Bond," Aunt Trixie teased.

  “Nonsense!” her father bellowed. “She’s going to marry Monty.”

  But if Aunt Trixie only knew how true her statement was! Sara felt a telltale blush heat her cheeks as they began the long walk to their cottage.

  # # #

  At the Peterson barn, the biggest white barn on the grounds of the racecourse, Jack Summers forked sweet-smelling hay into Seawind's stall, then poured the special feed he had mixed into a wooden trough. Seawind walked over immediately and began eating.

  "There you go, boy," Jack said, petting the horse's sleek chestnut coat. "I made it especially for you." He lifted the metal bucket and poured its contents into another trough to the side of the first. "Here's something to make that plain water taste a little better." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a green bottle and paused to read the label "Wheeler Mineral Water, Bottled in Saratoga Springs, New York." He shrugged his shoulders, took a long draw, then poured the rest of the bottle into Seawind's water. "After all these years, it still tastes good," he said sadly.

  Jack closed the bottom of the stall door, leaving the top half open for Seawind to stick his head out and enjoy the sun and fresh air. He thought he should take a walk down to the bottling plant and check on things.

  He prayed that loyal old Uncle Max, who had a penchant for Canfield's Casino, was handling the business properly, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

  A great sadness fell over Jack as he thought of his mother sitting alone in a dark corner of the parlor of the huge house on Union Street. Agatha Wheeler, once the leading lady of Saratoga society, spent her days rocking in that corner, lost in thought. She refused to leave the house, afraid she might be slighted by one of the matrons. Afraid of a giggle or finger pointed in her direction as she walked by. Afraid of being shunned by a so-called friend who had once tried to win her favor.

  Anger replaced sadness as he remembered how he had felt when he read in the Saratoga Daily Sentinel that Wheeler Mineral Water was falling on hard times due to George Wheeler's incarceration.

  He hadn't known about his father's trial nor that he was serving time at Auburn Prison. Again it bothered him that his mother hadn't his mother contacted him. He would have returned home immediately to help. He could have found the real guilty party or would have died trying.

  Now John "Jack" Wheeler, masquerading as Jack Summers with a beard and moustache, hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't be too late, and that he could clear his father's name.

  Racing season at the Springs was his father's whole life, yet he rarely placed a bet. "Just like to watch the beautiful animals, son," he would always say. "Those thoroughbred horses are beauty in motion."

  Jack knew that his father would never intentionally hurt a horse. Not ever.

  As he walked from stall-to-stall tending the other race horses in Peterson's stable, Jack resolved anew to vindicate his father and make sure Bond Peterson paid for his lies.

  He pulled the invitation to dine with the Petersons out of his back pocket and read it again. His plan was falling into place, and tonight he'd begin to charm Sara Peterson.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sara awoke from her rest eager to explore the hotel and see what had changed since last year. Arising, she put on her wrapper and went to the bath area to splash some water on her face.

  She walked in and out of the cottage's six other bedrooms, noticing the familiar mirrors, sofas and lounges, rockers and easy chairs. She smiled as she recognized the same Japanese vases scattered about and filled, as always, with fresh flowers and greens.

  Some rooms were handsomely papered with large cabbage roses above the mahogany panels, other rooms were painted a delicate beige. The crystal chandeliers glowed in the late afternoon sun.

  When she walked around the drawing room, a white piece of paper upright on the rosewood writing desk caught her eye. She read: "SARA, BEA AND I WILL BE AT THE REAR PIAZZA. JOIN US FOR A FRUIT ICE WHEN YOU AWAKEN."

  Sara hurried to get ready, noticing with relief that her leg felt less tired and she wasn't limping as much. She needed that nap and now felt as though she could run a country mile without being on the back of a horse.

  She dressed and walked out onto the front porch of the cottage, hoping that her friend, Clara Cunningham, was working tonight. They had been friends as long as Sara had been coming to the Springs. Clara lived in Saratoga, near the hotel, and they played together as children. Even though they corresponded throughout the year, she couldn’t wait to talk to her best friend in person. Clara was one of the reasons that she didn't want her father to arrange for maids or other servants. She didn't want Clara or anyone else to wait on her at the Springs. She would rather have the satisfaction of doing things for herself.

  Training her eyes straight ahead as she approached the rear piazza, Sara held herself tall and concentrated on trying not to limp. She couldn't tolerate the pitying stares that would come her way or the feigned looks of concern from some of the ladies.

  The piazza never failed to impress Sara. It seemed like one long front porch that ran along most of the nine hundred rooms of the U-shaped hotel. The roof over the piazza was three stories high and was supported by enormous pillars. In the center courtyard was a three-acre park resplendent with colorful flowers of all varieties, gigantic elms, bubbling fountains and brick walkways. Thousands of white wooden rockers gave the guests a comfortable perch to wile away the hours and watch the continual promenade of walkers on the piazza and in the park.

  Sara knew her father's favorite spot. He waved at her, and she waved back. Aunt Trixie saw her, too, and waved. It would take her a while to get to them so Sara slowed her pace even more. Already, her leg was tiring.

  # # #

  Beatrix Bishop saw the expression on Bond's face as Sara limped toward him, and her heart twisted in pain. He was a millionaire several times over, yet he was powerless to help Sara walk the way she did before the accident. Nor could he bring his wife Rose back. The two things she knew he wanted most in the world, he would never have.

  "What I wouldn't give to have Sara whole again," he muttered as if reading her mind.

  Bea covered his hand with hers. How often had she heard him say those words?

  "I think she's walking better than ever," Bea said for the hundredth time since the accident. "Riding has done wonders to strengthen her leg, and the mineral waters will help her."

  "The doctors say she will always limp," Bond added. “And you know I don’t like her riding.”

  "Sara is a very determined young lady. You can see for yourself how much she has improved in the past few months. Riding Seawind has helped her immensely. That horse loves her and she loves him."

  Bea wiped her teary eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "Heavens, Bond, must I remind you that the doctors almost removed her leg? Thank goodness one of the surgeons had some sense."

  He took her hand that was still clutching the handkerchief, and kissed the back of it. Her heart lurched.

  "I don't know what I would have done without you, Bea. You pulled us both back from the brink of despair. When Rose died, I wanted to die, too. You made me realize th
at I had to go on living and help my daughter."

  "You know, Sara's like a daughter to me, too, and there is not a day that doesn't go by that I don't miss my sister Rose. I am happy that I could help," Bea said. She didn't want to, but she removed her hand from his. It wouldn't do for the gossips to start whispering about the spinster and her late sister's husband holding hands. It was bad enough that their tongues would wag soon enough about their staying in the same cottage together.

  "Rose and I would sit here every summer. We met here and later married here. Our little girl was probably conceived here. We even named her after Saratoga Springs," he muttered, staring blankly ahead.

  Bea felt the heaviness around her heart as she listened to the same stories Bond told whenever he felt melancholy. Hadn't she felt the same way for the past two decades? Hadn't she loved Bond Paterson first, before she introduced him to Rose? It was at the Springs when she swallowed her sadness and stood up for Rose at the most magnificent wedding the United States Hotel had ever held. Didn't she even help bring Sara into this world? Didn't she stand next to Bond at Rose's deathbed and promise Rose that she'd take care of him and Sara?

  It was Rose's last request.

  Rose knew all along that Beatrix had loved Bond from afar.

  Bea could see it in her beloved sister's eyes before Rose closed them for the last time. Rose knew and silently gave her blessing.

  "Did you have a nice rest, my beautiful daughter?" Bond asked, getting up to offer Sara his rocker. He held it steady as she quickly sat down.

  "Whew! I forgot that this walk was so long." Sara said.

  "Would you like some fruit ice, honey? I'll get you some," Bond said.

  "Yes, thank you, Daddy. Lemon, please."

  "My pleasure. Bea, how about you?"

  "Lemon sounds delightful."

  "I'll be right back," Bond said.

  Bea handed Sara her white lace fan. "So, tell me about what happened at the train station." She smiled at her niece.