Flame

by Margaret Tanner

  “Well, cover your eyes and count to a hundred.”

  “A hundred?”

  “Yes. If you find me there’ll be a reward.” She gave a low seductive laugh. She was a despicable creature, having sunk to such depths of depravity, it frightened her. They turned me into this. I’m fighting for survival now. If she got caught Alex would probably kill her. Fear gagged in her throat.

  “All right. One two, three.”

  She melted into the darkness, and made it to a side gate. It was locked. Frantically, she searched for another way out.

  “Twenty-five, twenty-six.”

  Desperation gave her the strength to climb over it and drop to the ground. A tree branch hit her in the head causing her to see stars, but she was still able to run off. She had to get as far away as possible before her absence was discovered. Retribution would be swift and deadly if they caught her.

  Where could she go? The drugged fog had lifted from her brain, her head ached, and she was shaking. Head for the river, a voice screamed inside her head, and without hesitation she did so.

  Deliberately she ripped at the frills and flounces on her gown and snagged them on a bush near the river, in the hopes any pursuers would think she had fallen in and drowned.

  She had to get a change of clothes as she couldn’t be seen wandering the streets in a saloon girl’s gown. She came to a narrow foot bridge. There was a roaring in her ears. It was so loud her eardrums nearly exploded. A drunk had pushed her into the river here. The memories came flooding back. Her name was Laura Prentice from Ye Old English Tea House. Would it still be there? How long had her mother paid the rent for?

  She kept running until it hurt to breathe and her heart slammed against her rib cage. Stopping for a moment, she glanced around. Nothing seemed familiar in the blackness, although distant lights were visible. A town perhaps? She left the road and took what was hopefully a short cut across country. She could feel the roughness under her feet, and slowed to a brisk walk so as not to trip over unseen rocks or fallen trees. Her pursuers would be on horseback. No way would any rider risk his mount on this rough terrain in the dark.

  As dawn lightened the sky, she found herself not far from the shop. Darting down an alleyway, she picked up her pace even though she was exhausted from the miles she had traveled. Once she arrived at the shop she would be safe. Could change into respectable clothes, hide for a day or so, until the search died down, then leave, never to return.

  She made it to the shop and the sign, Ye Old English Tea House, remained. She hurried to the woodshed where a spare key was always kept. Fumbling around in the semi-darkness, she finally found it. Hurrying out of the shed she made it to the back door and with trembling hands unlocked it and went inside, bolting the door behind her.

  After lighting a lamp, she glanced around. The place was dusty, obviously no-one had been here since she left to see Mother off on the first leg of her journey back to England.

  If I lie low here, I can work out the best thing to do.

  The cupboards still contained food, so she could easily stay here without going out. No-one at the Gold Anchor had known her real name or where she had come from. Mason Falls was several miles away from Yankton.

  With the money she had stolen from the cowboy, and some that was hidden under a loose brick at the side of the fireplace, and a few pieces of her mother’s jewelry, she could start afresh somewhere far away. Maybe Pa’s ranch.

  ****

  The sound of glass smashing brought Laura back to the present. Her situation here and now was nearly as dire as when she had been at the Gold Anchor. Sneaking to the door, she listened. No sound came so she carefully opened it and peered out.

  She could see little. A gust of wind alerted her to the fact that the front window had been smashed. She dared not go out and check the damage, even though it was likely no-one would still be hanging around. The cowards had obviously thrown something heavy through the glass before running off.

  Her past had obviously caught up with her. No more procrastinating she had to leave tomorrow and never return. Go so far away no-one would ever recognize her as Flame, who had worked at the Gold Anchor saloon.

  If she went to Pa’s ranch, she would be safe. Would it still be there after more than two years? She had the title to it, so surely by law it was still hers.

  There again, England maybe? She couldn’t afford it, didn’t have the time to plead with her mother to send money for a ticket, even if she would agree to it, and that was doubtful. She had always felt she was a burden to her mother, who had been as out of place as a rose in the desert on Pa’s isolated ranch. Lady of the manor would have been more to her liking. How could two people who were so unsuitable, marry each other?

  Listlessly, Laura made herself a cup of tea. Her stomach couldn’t cope with food right now.

  What had made her change her plans and re-open the shop? Arrogance? Stupidity? Now, if the crazed women of the town’s Temperance Society didn’t get her, Alex or someone from the Gold Anchor might. The most frightening part was that these women knew she had been called Flame. How could they find that out unless someone from the Gold Anchor told them? More frightening, Alex must know her real name.

  Laura nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud, urgent knocking came to the back door. “Open up, Miss Prentice. It’s the sheriff.”

  On trembling legs she stumbled over to the door, unbolted and inched it open. Peering out, she spotted the sheriff, one booted foot resting on the step, his hat pushed back from his forehead.

  “Sorry, you frightened me.” She stepped aside to allow him entry.

  “Thank you for getting someone to board up the broken window. I didn’t go out, but I heard him banging away.”

  “Only doing my job.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No thanks. I’ve got bad news.”

  “What is it?” She wrung her hands.

  “It’s not my business to condemn women for their lifestyle, although I’m surprised at you….”

  “You know where I’ve been for the last few weeks? What I’ve done?” Fear and disgust rose in her throat until her mouth felt bitter with the taste of it.

  “Some drifter was shooting his mouth off in the saloon about a red-haired, green-eyed whore from the Gold Anchor in Yankton. That you?”

  In a few faltering sentences she told him the whole sordid tale, only leaving out about stealing the cowboy’s money, because it sounded too contemptible.

  “Yeah, well, I sympathize with you, but you still need to get away from here as fast as you can. The Gold Anchor people have posted a reward for you. They’ve accused you of stealing a large sum of money from the owner.”

  “I didn’t. I swear it.”

  “I believe you. They’re no good varmints, but until they actually break the law here, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “I’m not a bad person. What happened to me was a nightmare.”

  “There’s no time for recriminations now. I’m sorry for what happened to you. Those low down skunks deserve to swing for it, but they haven’t actually broken any laws here. The thing is, they know who you are, and where the shop is. God alone knows how, but they do. They are probably waiting until daylight to pounce.”

  “They forced me to….”

  “Can you prove it? It would be your word against several of theirs. Get out of town, go somewhere well away from here and start afresh.”

  “If only I could, but I’m ruined.”

  “I’ll help you leave here, it’s the best I can do.”

  “Thank you. I was foolish to have re-opened the shop. I should have packed my things and left straight away.”

  “Do you know Henry Atkins?”

  “The man with the limp?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. I can get him to take you to the stage depot. He drives a covered in wagon, so no-one would see you.” He rubbed a hand across his stubble covered chin. “That way you could take a trunk with your things in it,
rather than just a carpet bag.”

  “I actually know Henry’s children. They used to come here at closing time and I would give the poor little mites any left overs.”

  “I know you did, so does Henry, that’s why he’ll help you. People don’t care about wounded soldiers once a war is over, especially if they fought on the losing side.”

  “He was wounded in the war?”

  “Yeah. Gettysburg apparently.”

  “There are a couple of bags of flour and sugar here, a shame to waste it. Furniture also.” She waved her arm about. “Henry can have it.”

  “Pack your trunk tonight, I’ll get him to come over at first light. He can get you out of town, and I’ll meet you near the stage depot and see you safely on the coach.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  He nodded. “Oh, sign a piece of paper saying you give everything left here in the shop to Henry. Makes it legal. We don’t want the poor man getting accused of theft.”

  “I’ll never be able to repay your kindness, Sheriff.”

  “Be safe and live a decent life,” he said gruffly. “That will be thanks enough. Oh, another thing. I know you used to wear those black dresses and lacy aprons at the shop when your mother was here. Might pay you to dress in black. If you have a black bonnet with a veil on it, like some women in mourning wear, it would help disguise you.”

  “What a good idea. Mother dressed like that for Pa’s funeral.”

  “Play the grieving widow until you get to safety. Have you got some place to go?”

  “Yes. Pa had a ranch in the Black Hills, I could go there and lie low for a while.”

  “Could work.” He stroked his chin. “Is anyone living there now?”

  “I’m not sure, my Pa owned it outright and he left it to me in his Will.”

  “Sounds ideal.” He prowled the room. “Do you have money?”

  “Yes, I’ve got a little put aside.”

  “My advice is, don’t take the stage directly to where you aim to go. Too easy to track you that way. Get off at Apache Junction that will give you three different routes to choose from.”

  “Yes, good idea, thank you.”

  “Be ready for Henry by five o’clock and you’ll be out of town before most people are up and about. I’ll tell him where to wait for me.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be ready. Is there anything you’d like to have from here?”

  He stared at her.

  “A small gesture of thanks for all your help.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I’ve got pretty English bone china if your wife would like a few pieces.”

  He hesitated.

  “I can’t take it all with me. Henry’s lot wouldn’t use it. Well, he can sell it, but I’d like to think a few pieces would go to someone who would enjoy them.”

  “You could take a few of your favorite pieces with you.”

  She gnawed her lower lip. If only she could. The crockery and baking trays would be harder to replace than clothing. Much of it had come from England, and would be irreplaceable.

  “Please let me give you something.”

  “All right, thank you kindly. The wife would like it.”

  Laura found a box and packed a pretty white teapot sprinkled with pink rosebuds with four matching cups, saucers and plates. Don’t drop it, they’re fragile.” She handed it to him.

  “The wife would have my hide if I did. I’m sorry about this Miss Prentice, I really am. You should have gone to England with your Ma.”

  “It’s too late now.” Pride stopped her from saying she hadn’t been wanted by her mother or new husband. It was terrible being so alone.

  “Goodnight, Sheriff, and thank you.” She saw him out and bolted the door behind him.

  What to take was the problem. At least packing up would take her mind off the fear of trying to escape from such a diabolical position.

  Yes, the widow’s weeds were a good idea. No-one would expect a grieving widow to be chatty. She could sit alone in a corner without raising suspicion. More importantly, it would cover her hair. Perhaps she could pretend to be in mourning when she arrived in Forked Creek, the nearest town to Pa’s ranch.

  If she said she was a widow there, it would mean changing her name, which could throw up difficulties, although mourning the loss of her betrothed would be reasonable. Perhaps he died a few weeks before their wedding? Dropped dead at the altar? No, that was too drastic. Killed in an accident a few weeks before the wedding was good. Charles, would be his name.

  She hated lying, Pa used to always say, you can watch a thief but you can’t watch a liar. Well, she was both, and a fallen woman as well.

  Don’t think like this or you’ll end up driving yourself insane. You’re a victim of treachery and betrayal. It was hard trying not to be bitter at the hand fate had dealt her.

  As she started packing her clothes, her gaze alighted on the saloon girl dress and with a cry of anguish she snatched it up and tossed it into the fire. She picked up the waistcoat, but somehow couldn’t consign it to the flames. Rubbing her cheek against it she scolded herself for being a sentimental fool, nevertheless, she folded it neatly and placed it in the trunk. If only she knew the cowboy’s name, maybe she could one day return it with the money she had stolen from him. What must he have thought when he woke up to discover what she’d done? He would have had every right to call her a low down, thieving whore.

  Chapter Four

  Next morning as the sun rose, she was packed and waiting for Henry. She had forced herself to nibble on a pancake, had even wrapped a couple in a muslin cloth in case she needed something to eat later on. As if she wanted to eat. If she never tasted food again it would be too soon. A ridiculous notion because if she didn’t eat she would get ill, something she couldn’t afford.

  She paced the floor waiting for Henry and the uncertain future awaiting her. Anything was better than living at the Gold Anchor. A nautical name like that was more suited to a seaside locality, there again, paddle steamers plied their trade up and down the Missouri River. Alex had once mentioned about serving in the Royal Navy. What a pity a whale hadn’t gobbled him up, or cannon fire hadn’t blown his ship out of the water.

  Don’t get bitter or it will eat you alive. She knew it would, but couldn’t stop herself just the same.

  What would she do once she arrived at Forked Creek? She would have to hire a small wagon and horse from the livery stable to get to the ranch. What kind of state would it be in? Rundown, it went without saying, devoid of stock, almost certainly. Would the cabin still be standing?

  It had been a solid building. Pa had good carpentry skills. She didn’t doubt her ability to run the ranch, Pa had been a hard taskmaster. Even as a child, after her mother had deserted them, he had expected her to do chores. As she got older, he made no allowances for her gender, teaching and expecting her to do the work of a man.

  How shocked Mother had been when she collected her after Pa’s funeral.

  “Your hands are hard and callused like some common cowboy. How could your father let you get into such a state?” Eliza had ranted. “You will have to wear gloves when serving my customers. I have a position to maintain, a refined woman, the owner of a high class English tea house.

  “I would have been quite happy staying at the ranch.”

  “Out of the question. It’s an abomination even thinking such a thing. I married beneath my station and see where it got me? You would do well to remember that my girl, and not make the same mistake.”

  Too late now; she bit back on a hysterical laugh. No man, either high born or low born would ever want her for a wife.

  A loud knock on the door had her jumping up from the chair. She dashed to the door, then hesitated. “Who is it?”

  “Henry, the sheriff sent me.”

  “Just a minute.” She had never spoken to the man, but had seen him in the distance doing odd jobs around town. She knew several of his children quite well. Her mother had turned her no
se up at the grubby little urchins, always berating her for giving them the leftovers. She would have preferred to have thrown everything out, it was the type of woman she was. It wasn’t the children’s fault they were poor because their father was unable to do full time work, and their mother was always having babies.

  She opened the door. “Good morning, Henry, thank you for helping me.”

  “Good morning Ma’am.” He spoke with a definite southern twang. “The sheriff’s been good to me, more than I can say for most of the other folk around here, excluding you. I appreciate you giving my youngsters the food.”

  “The people around here are pious hypocrites, most of them,” she retorted.

  He was of medium height, thin and stooped, not particularly strong looking. Could he lift her heavy trunk?

  “Here’s a piece of paper signed by me, saying everything in the shop is yours, either keep the stuff or sell it. The lease runs out next month, so you have a few days in which to move it.”

  “Thank you.” He limped over to the trunk and grunted as he hoisted it on his shoulder. “What have you got in here, bricks?”

  “No, cooking utensils and crockery, plus a few clothes.”

  She watched as he limped through the back door, which he had propped open with a broken brick. She glanced around for one final check, picked up her reticule and carpet bag before walking out. This part of her life was over. Flame was dead and buried, never to be resurrected. Whatever lay ahead couldn’t be worse than what had happened to her over the last three months.

  She walked to Henry’s covered wagon and he helped her into the back where she sat next to her trunk. “Here’s the shop key so you can pick up the stuff you want. If you wouldn’t mind giving it to Mr. Brown at the bank I’d be grateful. He owns the shop.”

  “Will do, Ma’am.”

  Without further talk they were off, the horses’ hooves sounding overloud in the silent, deserted street.

  ****

  Forked Creek at last, after days of virtually crisscrossing South Dakota. Surely, four stagecoach changes would have thrown off any would be pursuers.

  Feeling stiff and sore, she walked down the main street. It hadn’t changed much. Down the end of the street was the livery stable. She would go there first to hire a wagon to get her out to the ranch. Hopefully George, who was also the blacksmith, would still be there. He was a man of few words, so wouldn’t be inclined to announce to all and sundry Laura Prentice was back in town.