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empty seat were huddled together.
    “Pardon me,” Ida said.
    They tucked their legs, allowing her passage to her window seat. As she passed, the tang of whiskey soured her stomach. The man reeked of it—which explained his capacity to sleep in this jostling conveyance.
    Ida squeezed into the small space beside the man and held her reticule in her lap. How would she bear the next two hours? Hopefully he would disembark at an earlier stop.
    She’d planned to arrive at the train platform early that morning for the last leg of her trip from Maine to Cripple Creek. She’d even spent the night at a hotel within walking distance of the depot to assure her timeliness. But who would have expected that the rains last night would have formed ponds in the roadway disguised as mere puddles? She’d headed straight for the washroom at the depot to change into dry clothing, not a task she could tend to quickly when soaked clear through her petticoat.
    Ida’s head began to ache, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to assuage it. She drew in a deep breath she hoped would cleanse her of the frustration. She was aboard now and seated. And although she found the seat lacking on many levels, it had to be more comfortable than the baggage car—her only other option. Besides, her sisters waited for her on the other end. This would be a mere tick on the clock in comparison to the near week’s worth of traveling to get to this point. She could do this.
    If she kept herself occupied. Fortunately, she’d come prepared to do just that. Ida pulled out the envelope wedged against the inside edge of her reticule. Vivian had slipped the mysterious packet into Ida’s hand before she boarded the train in Portland and told her to save the surprise for an especially tedious stretch. This was it.
    Ida opened the flap and removed a colorful, folded page obviously taken from a magazine. Unfurling the telltale newspaper-sized sheet, she recognized it as part of an issue of Harper’s Bazar . Vivian, the fashion connoisseur in the family, occasionally picked up a copy of the magazine.
    Ida studied the sheet, which only held advertisements for Pears Soap and soiree fashions. Was Vivian implying she needed a more efficient soap or fresh fashions for her new life as a businesswoman? No, such subtlety was not one of her little sister’s traits.
    She flipped the page over and found the answer. The surprise had nothing to do with advertisements and fashions and everything to do with the first article: “Women Out West” by Kat Sinclair Cutshaw.
    Ida’s mouth dropped open. Drawing encouragement from her sister’s accomplishment, she began to read.
    Kat had written about her introduction to the West, filling in a few of the blanks left in the two letters she’d sent home. And she quoted Hattie Adams, the landlady at the boardinghouse where Kat and Nell stayed before their double wedding. “Strength and wisdom are not the same thing. And a wise woman knows her limits.”
    The quote swirled through Ida’s thoughts like the autumn wind stirring leaves outside the train window. Strength would most certainly be required to accomplish what she intended. Bradley Ditmer had proven few men took women in business seriously.
    Brushing her fingers over her lips, she still felt the sour remnants of his stolen kiss. Now that she’d had miles and miles of time to think, it waspossible the experience could be a blessing in disguise. The actual business world, and in a booming mining town no less, was sure to be all the more challenging, and she’d best be on guard. She needed to be both wise and strong.
    The thought had barely formed when the train began to descend a steep hill. As the cars caught up to each other and banged their hitches together, her inebriated neighbor jerked himself upright and blinked, then leaned back, shutting his eyes again. In the process, he encroached on her already cramped space.
    Ida shifted closer to the window. Fresh air and