He pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s late,” he noted.
“Yes.” Still she refused to look at him. But she wore her hood down as they made their way slowly back to their lodgings. Approaching the stairs, she veered toward them, but he drew her back with a tight grip on her elbow.
“Come with me. We’ll tuck Willy in together.”
Her throat filled. Her heart hammered. But she couldn’t say no. “All right.”
The saloon was silent, dark, a bleak reminder of its former gaiety. Agatha was glad she didn’t have to see into it in the dim glow of the lantern. Willy’s wretched little cubicle was enough. She’d never been into it before and compared the stained wooden floor, the yeasty scents that permeated the room, to what it must be like at Waverley—bright windows and a high bed and more than likely a fireplace in each bedroom.
He shucked down to his woolen underwear and handed her each piece of clothing. She carefully hung them up for morning and smiled as she watched him leap onto his cot, shivering, the trapdoor of his underwear momentarily flashing into view as Moose appeared and leaped up, too. The room was drafty and far from warm. She felt the cold in the marrow of her bones, especially in her left hip, when she knelt down to Willy’s outstretched arms.
“G’night, Gussie.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Oh... oh... the smell of him. She would never forget the smell of him, the little-boy smell she’d come to love. And the fleeting touch of his precious lips.
“You’re comin’ t’ the train with us in the mornin’, ain’t... aren’t you?”
She smoothed the hair back from his temple with one thumb and took a long, loving look into his heartbreaking brown eyes. “No, sweetheart. I’ve decided it would be best not to. The store will be open and—”
“But I want you to come.”
Agatha felt Scott go down on one knee beside her, his thigh pressing against the thick draperies of her skirt. He rested one arm around her waist and the other on Willy’s stomach, looking directly into the child’s eyes.
Beneath his left arm he felt the trembling disguised by Agatha’s loose pelisse.
“Listen, sprout,” he said, forcing a grin, “y’ didn’t forget about Moose, did y’? She’ll have t’ be takin’ care of Moose now, won’t she?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Willy dragged the cat close. “I’ll bring Moose down just before we leave, all right?”
She couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.
“Well, g’night,” he chirped, too young to realize the full import of last times, finalities.
She kissed him, letting her lips linger against his warm cheek. Scott kissed him, bending his dark head so close his shoulder brushed her breast.
“Sleep tight, sprout,” he said throatily, then stood and reached for Agatha’s elbow. Her heel caught in her bustle as she rose, and her hip sent out a shot of pain as she struggled clumsily to her feet. His hand tightened securely and guided her up.
When the lantern was out they moved through the dark to the rear door of the saloon, Scott’s hand still clutching her arm. Up the stairs... slowly, reluctantly, counting the fleeting seconds until they reached the rough wooden landing. She moved to her door and stared at the knob unseeingly.
“Thank you for the supper, Scott.”
He stood close behind her, uncertain of his ability to speak if he tried. His words came out deep and throaty. “May I come in for a while?”
She lifted her face. “No, I think not.”
“Please, Gussie,” he begged, this time in a racked whisper.
“What purpose would it serve?”
“I don’t know. I just... God, turn around and look at me.” He turned her by an elbow, but she refused to lift her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Oh Gussie, don’t cry.” He squeezed her elbows fiercely.
She sniffed once and swiped beneath her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to help it lately.”
“Aren’t you really comin’ t’ the station tomorrow?”
“I can’t. Don’t ask it of me, Scott. This is bad enough.”
“But—”
“No, I’ll say my good-byes here. I won’t make a fool of myself in public!”
He dredged up the words that had been haunting him all through the painful good-night downstairs. “Willy should be stayin’ here, with you.”
She pulled free of his touch and half turned away. “It isn’t only him, Scott, and you know it.”
She felt his surprise in the tense moment of silence before he swung her back to face him so abruptly the hood of her pelisse struck her ear. “But why didn’t you...” He glowered down at her, holding her again by both arms. “You’ve never said anything.”
“It wasn’t my place. I’m the woman. Oh... I’m sorry, Scott.” She turned her head sharply aside. “I shouldn’t have now. It’s just... I’ll m... miss you so much.”
“Will you, Gussie?” he asked with wonder in his voice, holding her in place and letting his gaze roam from her hair to her chin, then from ear to delicate ear. “Will you really?”
“Let me go,” she entreated.
He drew her a fraction closer. “Let me stay.”
She shook her head wildly. “No.”
“Why?”
“Let me go!” she cried, whirling from him, stumbling toward the door.
“Gussie, wait!” Just as her hand reached the knob she was spun around and lifted bodily. Her pelisse twisted, binding her feet, catching one arm within its folds. The other groped for something solid and found his neck. Her feet hung a foot off the floor. Her trapped elbow dug into his ribs. They stared into each other’s eyes while denial and arousal warred within them, colored by the awareness that in the morning a train would bear him away from her forever, along with the child she loved.
“Please, don’t,” she begged in a jagged whisper.
“I’m sorry,” he said just before his lips covered hers. The shock of his open mouth sent a current straight to her core. Her own opened and their tongues meshed—glorious, succulent, shattering. It was nothing like the other kiss they’d shared. This one was greedy and fated, desperate and clinging. He washed the interior of her mouth with his tongue, then, turning, made a soft noise in his throat as he pressed her against the wall. Even while he awakened a deeper yearning than any she’d imagined, she begged him silently to stop. Even while her own throat emitted a sound of passion, she willed him to relieve her of this torture before her heart burst.
She tore her mouth free. “Scott, if I—”
His mouth stopped her protest, stopped the soft open lips that threatened reason. She felt the flowering of passion as a gentle tug at her innards, an involuntary response plucked to the surface by the insistence of his tongue. Hers could do no less than answer, twine, explore, excite. New, delightful things happened in her body until she jerked her head back sharply and gasped for breath.
Her head hit the wall. Her captured arm ached. She couldn’t reach the floor.
“Put me down,” she begged.
He let her slip, freeing his hands. They threaded about her waist, inside the pelisse, learning the feel of her ribs inside their cage of steel and laces. His lips chased hers, but she rolled her head, avoiding further kisses that robbed her of ordinary sense. “If you have any feeling for me at all you’ll stop.” Her arm worked free and she captured his face in both hands, holding his head still. “You’re making it harder,” she whispered fiercely.
With his body bracing hers, he suddenly fell still. His eyes, only deep shadows, raked her face. A shudder of remorse quaked in him and he sagged against her. “I’m sorry, Gussie. I wasn’t goin’ t’ do this. I was only goin’ t’ walk you t’ your door.” His hands left her ribs and, outside her cape, drew her lightly against his chest. With a sudden slump he spun them both about, leaning back weakly against the wall, bearing her weight.
“I don’t want to go,” he said thickly, looking up at the starless sky, with her head
nestled just beneath his chin.
“Shh!”
“I don’t want to take Willy away from you.”
“I know.”
“Jesus, I’m goin’ t’ miss you.”
She rested her temple against his chest and tried to swallow the knot of love in her throat.
“S... Scott...” She pushed away, stood on her own again, and lay both palms on his vest. “It’s still not proper, I’m still the... the woman. But there’s something I must say or forever regret not doing so.” She lifted a gloved hand to his jaw and looked at his lips as she said it. “I love you. No...” She waylaid his response by touching his lips. “It isn’t necessary. It would only make life more unbearable without you. Just take care of Willy for me, and send him back whenever you can. Promise?”
He clasped the back of her hand and removed it from his mouth. “Why won’t you let me say it?”
“You would only do so because you feel sorry for me. It’s not reason enough. Promise me,” she reiterated, “you’ll send Willy back.”
“I promise. And I’ll come wi——”
This time it was her lips that silenced his before he could speak the lie. Once he left her he’d forget all about this night, when parting seemed so terrible. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him once—just once as she’d dreamed of doing, holding his head, pressing her breasts against him, and feeling his arms take her—full length, nothing disguised.
“Good-bye, Scott,” she whispered, pulling away. And in a flash she was gone, leaving him bereft and confused.
Inside, she turned the key in the lock, then fell back against it, listening.
“Gussie?” he called softly.
She clamped her upper lip between her teeth.
He rapped softly. “Gussie?”
After the third appeal went unanswered, she finally heard his footsteps cross to his own door.
That night was like a dress rehearsal for the ordeal of saying good-bye to everybody the following day. They came down, one by one, and each parting was harder than the previous one, until finally the one who poked his head around the door was Willy. He came last, after all the clunking and thumping of suitcases and packing crates had stopped next door. He was dressed in his Sunday suit again and clutched Moose against his shoulder.
“Gussie, we gotta go. We’re nearly late.”
“Come here, darling.” She turned on her swivel seat before the sewing machine. He came into her arms, throwing one arm around her neck, the other maintaining a death grip on the cat.
“Scotty says t’ tell you he’ll write.”
“You must write, too, as soon as you know how. I’m sorry I can’t keep you.”
“I know. Scotty says I hafta remember that you love me.”
“I do...” She held his face in both hands. They were both crying. “Oh, I do. I’ll miss you terribly.”
“I w... wish you was m... my mother,” he choked out.
Clasping him tightly to her breasts, she vowed, “So do I. I couldn’t love you more if I were.”
“I love you too, Gussie. Take good care o’ Moose for me and don’t feed him no milk. It gives him the trots.”
“I won’t.” She laughed pitifully, taking the cat from his shoulder as he pulled away.
He paused uncertainly, clasped his hands behind his back, and shrugged. “Well... see ya.”
She rested her face against the cat’s warm fur but couldn’t force a sound from her throat. Willy spun to Violet, waiting with tears running down her cheeks. “Bye, Vy’let.” She bent down for a swift kiss. Then he sprinted toward the door, paused, and turned, holding the knob. “Bye, Moose,” he said, then ran.
In their compartment on the train, while Scott stowed their carry-on luggage, Willy demanded, “But why wouldn’t she come?”
“She didn’t want t’ cry where everyone could see her.”
“Oh.” Still feeling blue, Willy continued studying the busy train depot, hoping Agatha would change her mind after all. “She cried when I gave her Moose.”
Scott settled into a seat, steeling himself against emotions he couldn’t afford to feel. “I know.” Though he knew it was useless, he found himself scanning the people seeing passengers off, and there were many, most of them former customers who came to wave a last good-bye to Jube and the girls.
He hated leaving Agatha this way, taking with him the memory of her tears as she ran into her lonely apartment. Outside, the wind buffeted the sides of the train, shredding the smoke from the engine, lifting the steam whistle’s lonely shriek and throwing it back along the line, an eerie accompaniment to their departure from the place he’d always called a dreary little cow town. He’d never expected to ache so when he left it. But Proffitt had brought him Agatha, and leaving her did, indeed, make him ache. A deep furrow marred his brow as he stared out the window in silence. He saw the conductor stow the portable step, then disappear inside the train. He scanned the crowd hopefully. Just as the train lurched to life he saw her.
“There she is!” he exclaimed, grabbing Willy onto his knee and pointing. “There, behind all the others! See? In her brown cape.”
She stood apart from the others, her gloved hands crossed over her breast. She wore the brown velvet pelisse with the hood up. He’d never seen a lonelier-looking picture in his life.
“Gussie!” Willy flattened one hand against the cold glass and waved exuberantly with the other. “Bye, Gussie, ‘bye!”
She couldn’t have seen them board; she’d only appeared moments before the train began moving. And it was apparent as she scanned the flashing windows that she had no idea behind which they were. But as the wild wind caught at the hem of her pelisse and tossed it aloft, she lowered its hood and waved... and waved... and waved... until all the windows had streamed past and they lost her from sight.
Then Willy was crying quietly.
And Gandy lay his head back, closed his eyes, and swallowed thickly to keep from doing the same.
CHAPTER
17
None of Gandy’s extended family seemed any less orphaned than Willy. Without loved ones or homes, and with Christmas coming on, anywhere they’d have gone would have been chosen against their will. By tacit agreement, they all went to Waverley together.
During the trip, they broke into smaller groups to share seats and berths, so Scott saw little of Jube. He spent much time wondering about her and Marcus, recalling what Willy had said. They didn’t sit together much; Jube spent most of the time with Ruby and Pearl. But in the evening, after they’d been traveling several hours, Gandy needed to stretch his legs and, strolling down the aisle, he passed them sitting side by side. Marcus appeared to be asleep. Jube’s head lay back against the seat but her face was turned toward him, and upon it Scott saw a winsome expression she’d never turned upon himself. She caught sight of Scott in the aisle and flashed him a quick self-conscious smile. Then her cheeks turned a becoming pink. To the best of his recollection, it was the first time he’d ever seen Jube blush.
Later, when he and Willy had retired to their bunks, he lay on his back behind the drawn curtains, one wrist behind his head, pondering the sleeping arrangements at Waverley. It was the perfect time to make the break. Whether or not Marcus and Jube had declared their feelings for each other, it would no longer be right for Jube to share Scott’s bed.
How was it he and Jube hadn’t talked about their deteriorating love affair? Because it had never really been a love affair. It had been a convenient arrangement that temporarily suited them both. Had it been anything more, he’d be jealous now, angry, hurt. Instead, he felt only relief. He hoped that Jube and Marcus would find in each other the perfect mate.
Wouldn’t that be something? He smiled in the dark, thinking of it. Jube and Marcus, married. Maybe they could hold the service in the wedding alcove. Wouldn’t that grand old house love to see life revived within its walls?
You’re dreamin’, Gandy. You can’t keep the group there. How will they live? Wha
t will they do? Where will the money come from? You’re a fool t’ be goin’ there in the first place. All it’ll do is revive dreams of how it was, how it can never be again. And what about Willy? You promised him things you aren’t sure you can give him. What’ll he think if you inform him that he won’t be livin’ at Waverley after all? And what kind of life will he have traipsin’ along after you and your troop, openin’ saloon after saloon across the country?
Restive, he shifted, trying to get more comfortable. But the clatter and sway of the train kept him wide awake. He raised the heavy felt shade and tied it into place with its braided silk cords, then watched the countryside shimmy away beneath the glow of a winter moon. The train traveled southwest now. All traces of snow had vanished. Beside the tracks black snakes of water reflected the moon, while trees studded the landscape. Missouri? Arkansas? He wasn’t sure. But already the flatness of the prairie had given way to gentle hills that swelled and rolled like a midnight sea.
He thought of Proffitt, the abandoned saloon, Agatha alone upstairs. She cried when I gave her Moose. A thick knot seemed to lodge in his chest as he pictured her curling up with Willy’s cat, waking up tomorrow morning and going downstairs with no Willy to barge through the door and break the monotony of her humdrum life.
The Gamble Page 33
