"And how was your night at the opera last night?" she asked, trying to "pretend" to be truly interested.
"Magnificent, my Eugenia," he purred. "The crowd gave a standing ovation to the performers."
Eugenia frowned, making her full lips droop into a more noticeable pout. "When are you going to take me to your opera house, Frederick?" she asked, working with the lace on her petticoat that was exposed below the hem of her dress.
Frederick laughed deeply, then wiped his brow with a folded handkerchief. "It's too soon," he said. "When your voice lessons are complete, then I shall present you to the public."
Eugenia was proud of what she had accomplished. The voice teacher had succeeded well in teaching her the correct manner in which to speak, but he had lacked in the area of teaching her the ways of being an opera singer. Even now, her voice ached from the strict rehearsal of the day before. She could still hear the scratching of her voice as she had tried to reach the higher notes. No, she knew that she wasn't meant to be a singer. But, Frederick wasn't prepared quite yet to take no for an answer. It seemed all he had on his mind was opera music. She watched in disgust as he rose and walked toward his victrola. She knew that at any moment she was going to have to listen once again to the opera Tristan sung in German. How she hated it. She hated the fact that she couldn't understand one word being sung. And this, too, made it impossible for her to become an opera singer. She was finding it very hard to learn the German language. Her tongue seemed to endlessly get in the way.
"Ah!" Frederick sighed. He threw his head back and shut his eyes as the first notes reverbated through the high-ceilinged room. "Such magnificence I've never heard," he said, tapping his cane on the floor, keeping time with the music. "This was indeed Wagner's masterpiece," he added, walking back toward Eugenia. She noticed how alive the music seemed to make him, his eyes sparkling, and his face growing more flushed than it normally was.
She turned her eyes toward the fire as he sat back down beside her. "I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you, Frederick," she mumbled, pulling her knees upward to clasp her arms around them.
"And how will do you that, my dear?" he asked, leaning up, eyeing her closely.
"I cannot learn opera," she said, afraid to hear his next words.
"It takes time," he said, placing a hand on her arm. Again she hated his touch, the wetness of his pudgy fingers.
"But, you don't understand," she said further, moving her arm away from him, knowing that he always noticed her withdrawal from his touch. She was glad when his full figure relaxed back on the cushions of the chair once again.
"And what don't I understand?" he asked.
"I don't even like opera," she hurriedly answered, smiling sheepishly in his direction. She could see his eyes enlarge and grow bulgy. And she was amazed at how his cheeks could blow up like balloons when he grew enraged. She knew that he might even strike her with a blow from his cane at any moment.
When Clarissa entered the room, Eugenia breathed more easily, glad for the interruption.
"May I serve tea, Frederick?" she asked, holding her hands stiffly before her. Eugenia hadn't been able to figure out their relationship. Clarissa had said that they had been together for years and had even come from Germany together. But yet there was an apparent stiffness between the two of them when they spoke, even though they were on a first name basis. But, also, Eugenia knew that this was only while in her presence. In the evenings, while hearing Frederick's bath being poured in the bathroom adjoining hers, she had heard much…
"That would be fine, Clarissa," Frederick grumbled, pulling a small-lidded compact from his vest pocket. Eugenia's eyes widened as he put what appeared to be a white powdery substance on the tip of his forefinger, then sniffed it up inside his nostrils. Always after that, he would appear to be more calm, even glassy-eyed. She had begun to wonder if it wasn't some type of drug, making her remember the drugs that had been administered to her at the Old Homestead Parlour, and the effects they had had on her.
She watched in further silence as Frederick fitted his fingertips together, leaned his head back and shut his eyes, sighing deeply. Knowing that he wouldn't be talking for a while, Eugenia went to the long shelves of books and chose one for herself. She knew that she would have to wait awhile until Frederick would leave for the day, now that he was apparently in another world. She settled herself back down onto a comfortable chair and began to read, watching occasionally out of the corner of her eyes as Frederick would let out a deep rumble from his chest. She then knew that he was in a deep sleep.
"Has he fallen asleep already?" Clarissa said, entering the room once again, leaning down in front of Eugenia to hand her a saucer with a tiny, fragile teacup perched on it.
"Yes. As always, after we have a disagreement," Eugenia said, failing to mention the powder that she had seen him sniff up into his nose.
"I worry about him," Clarissa said, her thin brows furrowing. "I thought your being here would make things more easy for him. But just your presence hasn't been enough."
Eugenia shifted nervously in the chair and closed her book. "What do you mean, Clarissa?" she asked weakly.
Clarissa sat another filled cup down beside Frederick. "I can't say right now," she answered. "Maybe one day soon you will know."
Watching Clarissa walk away from her, Eugenia sipped the tea in silence. Her eyes settled back on the sleeping figure of Frederick. She had been puzzled by his comings and goings each day. He had kept her busy with voice lessons and other various interests in the house, but it hadn't kept her from wondering about his outside activities. His being home this afternoon was a rarity. He usually disappeared early in the morning and didn't return home until later in the night, after she had retired. It was very seldom that they carried on a conversation, or ate a meal together. Each day she sat at the long dining table, alone, with only the flickering of the many candles for her companions. She now wondered what Clarissa meant by her presence not being enough. Was he going to send her away? What else had he wanted her to do, but hadn't asked of her? Hadn't she pleased him by learning to speak correctly? He no longer had to correct her when they did carry on a conversation. She thought he was proud of her accomplishments. But, maybe, he had wanted to bring an opera singer into the world, a creation all of his own. And now she had told him that she hated opera. What was he going to do with her when his senses returned to him? She needed to have that walk now. To clear her mind. But she knew that if he awoke and found her gone it would only give him more reason to send her away. Completely away. Possibly out in the cold. She brushed her fingers over the softness of her dress and the fullness of her bosom. No. She doubted if she could ever live the way she had before arriving here. She would have to just sit, and wait.
* * *
Chapter Nine
The rattling of wheels from a carriage made Eugenia rush to her bedroom window. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Frederick was finally leaving. She knew that so many of the times he had seemed to disappear into thin air, suddenly not being present in the house, she hadn't seen him leave by carriage or horseback. It had been at those times that she had felt a bit afraid, not knowing where Frederick had managed to disappear to.
Like a child, she clapped her hands, watching the carriage move away from the house in the direction of town. The massiveness of the figure in the one seat could only be that of Frederick, sitting a little slumped, attired in black, and with his tall hat perched on his head, covering his sleeked down hair. And Eugenia could even see his pudgy fingers clasped onto the gold handle of his cane. She shuddered, hating his sweaty hands more than anything else about him. He had seen her withdrawal from his touch so often that he now very seldom bothered her by doing so.
"Now to get dressed for my outing." Eugenia giggled slightly beneath her breath. She still hadn't figured out how she would get past Clarissa, but she would manage somehow.
Hurriedly, she stepped out of her satin dress and went to her closet, searching. She chos
e a woolen walking suit of small, tan plaids. "Yes," she sighed. It was appropriate enough for this snowy day of December. She pulled it over her head and buttoned it up from the behind. Then she stood before the mirror as her fingers worked some loose auburn curls back into the pompadour that she now so proudly wore.
Her eyes hadn't yet grown accustomed to the "new" look. How stylishly the suit nipped at her very thin waist, only flaring at her extremely large busts, and much smaller hips. It had been so easy losing her much disliked heaviness. She even felt that she was almost as pretty as her sister Elizabeth.
"Oh, well," she shrugged. "I guess I'll do in a pinch."
Laughing gaily, she pulled her mink-trimmed cape around her shoulders and perched a round mink hat atop her curls. She grabbed her fur muff and thrust her hands inside. Then, twirling in front of the full-length mirror, Eugenia smiled warmly at her reflection.
"A picture of style," she said, but grew a bit sullen when her thoughts wandered to home once again, wondering what her Mama would think of her if she saw her now. Would she think Eugenia was pretty—or frivolous?
She went to a window and stared in the direction of the mountain. "My Berg," she said aloud, able to laugh again, realizing that there was one German word she would always be able to remember. "My mountain," she sighed once again, then fled toward her bedroom door, opening it slowly, listening, wondering which of the other twenty-five rooms of the house Clarissa could be in.
"Ah, I'm lucky, indeed," Eugenia whispered when she saw Clarissa enter Frederick's room, knowing that Clarissa's daily ritual of changing Frederick's linens had just begun, and that this ritual would keep Clarissa busy long enough for Eugenia to hurry down the spiral staircase and make a fast exit through the kitchen back door. She was afraid to leave through the front door, with Frederick's windows right above it, knowing that Clarissa would more than likely observe her escape.
Walking as lightly as possible across the highly waxed wooden floors, Eugenia made it past Frederick's door. Then holding only one hand inside her muff and her skirt and petticoats up with the other, she hurried down the winding staircase. Up to this point she had always enjoyed going down this staircase—it was so grand, making her feel like a princess—but now the many steps only irritated her. She knew that one look from Frederick's room, and Clarissa would put a halt to Eugenia's afternoon of fun.
"Finally," she sighed, as her feet made contact with the living room floor. She hurried through the living room until she entered a long, narrow hallway. She could smell the aromas of the evening meal already being prepared, smelling of roast duck and dressing. She only hoped the small Japanese cook, Kiyomasu, wouldn't tattle on her. But she doubted if he would. Eugenia knew that Clarissa and Kiyomasu were in a constant frenzy, disagreeing with each other about everything. Eugenia laughed, remembering Clarissa's favorite German nickname for Kiyomasu. She always referred to him as "klein mann" whenever they met face to face. Eugenia had looked that up in her translation booklet and had discovered that Clarissa was mocking Kiyomasu's stature in build… by calling him "little man."
Swinging a door open, Eugenia saw Kiyomasu, dressed in his usual white attire. His back was to her. He was lost in his kneading of dough, preparing loaves of bread for a week's servings. She crept on past him, then feeling his eyes following her, turned and smiled sheepishly in his direction. "Please don't tell Clarissa," she said quietly.
"Run along, Genia," Kiyomasu said, laughing. "I'm your ally in this house of crazies."
Eugenia's brows tilted upward. She hadn't ever heard Kiyomasu talk so freely of his feelings for his employers. But, of course, he only did this now, knowing he was safe in doing so, having checked behind before speaking.
In haste, Eugenia fled outside, stepping into the wetness of the snow. She at first lifted her skirt, then let it fall freely around her, not caring if its hem did get wet. The scene stretched out around her was all too magnificent. The sparkling of the snow on all sides of her almost took her breath away. And when her gaze settled on the hedge that fenced the yard, she had to laugh. It looked as though it had grown a crop of white hair, as the snow lay in soft evenness across its top.
Making her way onward, Eugenia saw the flakes begin to fall from the sky once again. Even that increased her anxiety about her outing. She loved the fresh crispness of the breeze as it blew against her face, even though she was trembling from the coldness of it. She pulled her cape snugly around her and clasped her fingers together inside her muff as she stepped up on the walkway that led her in front of the many establishments that she had only been able to observe from her bedroom window back at The Towers.
Walking slowly, she looked through the paned windows, wanting to go inside, try on, and even possibly choose a dress all by herself. So far, all that she wore had been hand-picked by Frederick.
Then one window in particular captured her gaze. It was a display of gold necklaces and rings with diamonds clustered on each, teasing the eyes in sparkling blues and purples. Frederick had given her a gift of pearl earrings and necklace, but they were nothing in comparison to what lay before her eyes now. She hadn't ever thought much about possessing jewelry—until this moment. She now knew that it had to be a part of her attire, some day, in the future. It could only enhance her lovely dresses of silk and satin.
She turned from the window and moved onward. Her eyes moved around her, marveling at the emptiness of the walks and streets this afternoon. Normally, Cripple Creek was a hubbub of activity. But today, only a few women and men hurried on by her, with their heads bent downward, against the blowing snowstorm that had suddenly increased in fury.
A lone black buggy drawn by a magnificent chestnut mare made its way through the thickening slush on the street, and a cable car clattered by, empty of people. And on the far end of this street, a stagecoach was unboarding in front of the Hillcrest Hotel.
Brushing the snowflakes from her face, Eugenia stopped and stared in the direction of the Hillcrest Hotel, remembering the first day that she had entered there, and why, and thinking that she had seen Drew. It was hard now for her to recall the one night with Drew. So many things had happened since then. As though he hadn't really truly existed. Possibly a figment of her imagination. The one thing she could recall, the knowledge that it had been a reality, was that moment of becoming a woman. That moment of heightened sexual gratification—the first time for her. It would always remain in her mind. She wasn't sure if it was a natural, decent thing for a refined lady to do, but she had been longing to have that sexual gratification once again.
Realizing that the snowstorm had become almost a blizzard, Eugenia held on to her hat, bent her head against the wind, and hurried back toward The Towers. She knew that by now she had surely been missed, but she didn't care. She would just have to show Frederick and Clarissa that she had a mind of her own, and would use it from now on, whenever she durn well pleased.
The aroma of smoke halted Eugenia's flight. She inhaled deeply and let her nose direct her to where it was coming from. Her eyes widened when she saw that the smoke was circling upward from beneath the closed front door of Cripple Creek's only jailhouse. She looked quickly from side to side and saw that no one else was anywhere near. She knew that she was the only person who was seeing this. Then the stillness of the day was shattered by loud yells coming from inside the jail.
Again, Eugenia looked around her. Almost in desperation. She wasn't sure if it would be wise for her, a defenseless woman, to enter this particular establishment. What if there were hardened criminals in there, just ready to attack her? And where was the sheriff? Why hadn't he run from the building yet?
Her heart skipped a few beats. Maybe the sheriff had become unconscious from the thickness of the smoke and was lying there in flames?
"Oh, my goodness," Eugenia said, after these thoughts. She hurriedly opened the front door of the jail, coughing wildly when a huge blast of smoke wrapped around her, burning her eyes, nose, and throat.
"In here
, lady," a man yelled loudly.
Eugenia squinted and peered through the smoke. It extended from the floor to the ceiling. But to her relief, no flames were yet visible to her eyes. She fell against a desk, then groped around to the back of it, discovering an empty chair. Then her eyes searched the floor, afraid at any moment she might see the body of the sheriff stretched out on it. But nothing.
"Damn it, lady," the same man yelled from somewhere in the jail. "Get the keys from that nail on the wall by the desk and get me out of here. I don't want to get burned alive."
Fanning the smoke away from her face, Eugenia could make out a man standing a few feet from her, behind bars. She hurried toward him, beginning to cough once again.
"Where's the keys?" this man blurted.
"I can't set you free," Eugenia argued. "You have to be an outlaw or you wouldn't be in here."
"Do you see that mattress in that next cell?" this man argued. "It's only smoldering now. From some jackass leaving a cigar butt on it. But it can set to flamin' any minute now. And I want out of here when it does."
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