Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  “That’s all in your past. After you’re fully recovered, which Bertha assures me will be quite soon, Chance is putting you to work at the Aurora. You’ll be expected to serve drinks, talk to the customers, and nothing else.”

  “Did Augustus . . . Reverend Baldwin have something to do with that?” Crystal asked, wondering how Al would react to her defection. No doubt he’d try to make good on his threat to kill her; he’d threatened to do it often enough. But she didn’t fear him so much, now that she had friends. Now that Augustus Baldwin had come into her life.

  “I believe Gus spoke to Chance, but Chance had already decided you weren’t going back to the Silver Slipper. Chance paid a visit to Al with the intention of beating the living daylights out of him.” Crystal’s eyes widened. “But the coward had already left town—on business, he was told.” A sigh of relief slipped through Crystal’s lips.

  Hazen’s departure had allowed Chance’s temper to cool somewhat. He rarely spoke of killing the man anymore, only of tearing him limb from limb. Laurel thought that was a great improvement.

  “You’ve all been very kind. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “Posh! Don’t be silly.” She dismissed Crystal’s gratitude with a flick of her wrist. “I’ve enjoyed having you around. Flora Sue’s about the only female friend I’ve got around here, and she’s been preoccupied with Rooster Higgins.” It seemed that Flora had transferred her attentions from Gus to Rooster this past week, and Laurel was vastly relieved, since Gus seemed to have taken a shine to Crystal, and vice versa. Oh, they’d both tried to hide their attraction, but everyone had noticed how their faces lit up whenever they were in the same room together.

  It was the same way she felt whenever she was with Chance. A heart-pounding, palm-sweating feeling, accompanied by strange tingling sensations centered low in her abdomen.

  Some would call it lust, but she preferred to think of it as a love affliction. One, she hoped, that would not prove fatal.

  There hadn’t been any more amorous encounters with Chance since Crystal’s illness, and Laurel hadn’t quite decided if she was relieved or regretful about that. Chance’s kisses and caresses were an addiction and she was finding it difficult to live without them.

  “What’s that letter you’ve got clutched in your hand?” Crystal asked, noting the white vellum envelope. “I know it can’t be for me.” There was a touch of sadness in the woman’s voice, and Laurel wondered how one so young could have already experienced a lifetime of grief and heartache.

  Forcing a gaiety she didn’t quite feel, Laurel replied, “I nearly forgot. It’s from my sister Rose Elizabeth. I figured if you were bored enough, you might enjoy hearing it. Rose’s letters are always entertaining, and I’m sure this one’s no exception.”

  Crystal’s face lit with pleasure and she clapped her hands together. “Yes, please. I’d love to hear it. You’re so lucky to have such a close-knit family.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if you’d had to share a bed with the two of them. Rose Elizabeth used to hog the covers something terrible.”

  Crystal sighed, wondering what her life would have been like had she had siblings. She urged Laurel to read the letter.

  “ ‘Laurel, my dear,’ she begins,” Laurel said, laughing aloud at Rose’s mimicking of the Englishman’s way of speaking.

  “ ‘His lordship, the Duke of Disaster, otherwise known as Alexander James Warrick, the Duke of Moreland, still resides on our family farm, much to my very great annoyance and disappointment. I’ve tried every way I can think of to convince the duke that he’s ill-equipped for farming, but he refuses to listen to anything I have to say on the matter. Apparently a woman’s opinion is considered trivial where he comes from. Isn’t that appalling?!

  “ ‘The man is arrogant and extremely rude and relishes ordering everyone about. But I’ve reminded him on countless occasions that the British lost control of the colonies some time back, and we Americans aren’t interested in following British suggestions or instruction.’ ”

  “Oh, my,” Crystal said, shaking her head. “It sounds as if your sister is courting trouble. I’ve had occasion to entertain some of those British gents, and I can tell you firsthand that they’re virile as all get-out. I doubt the duke’s going to listen to anything Rose has to say about his leaving. They’re used to gettin’ their own way in just about everything. And I do mean everything.”

  There was a pregnant pause. “You don’t think the duke will try to seduce my sister, do you?” Laurel asked.

  “Honey, I’m saying that if it hasn’t happened already, it probably will. Those Englishmen are animals. Why, on one occasion I’d prefer to forget, one of my customers, who said he was an English earl, bit my backside. I couldn’t sit down for a week. And they call themselves gentlemen.” She shook her head. “I never had any miner bite my butt before.”

  Blushing, Laurel continued:

  “ ‘Folks here in Salina are pretty taken with the duke. He’s flashed quite a bit of money around town, and he even made a donation to Pastor Bergman’s church fund. I thought that was a pretty underhanded thing to do, but then I put nothing past Alexander Warrick.

  “ ‘Though he’s threatened to evict me on several occasions, I’ve made myself indispensable by cooking his meals and educating him about the farm. Though it galls me to do both!

  “ ‘I’ve written to Heather to inform her of my situation here on the farm, but have not had a reply yet. I’m sure she’ll be quite put out with me.’ ”

  Laurel’s eyes rolled heavenward. That was an understatement!

  “ ‘Hope you are well and happy and that your difficult Mr. Rafferty isn’t . . .’ ” Laurel stopped and looked up to see Crystal’s eyes bright with mischief.

  “Aren’t you going to finish reading about your Mr. Rafferty?”

  “She’s just responding to a comment I made about Chance being a bit difficult, that’s all.”

  “I bet you called him a royal pain in the ass.”

  “I did not!”

  “Come to think of it,” Crystal said, smiling, “it’s your sister who’s stuck with the royal pain in the ass, not you. You’re just stuck with a sweet scoundrel. Ain’t that right, Laurel honey?”

  “And you’re sweet on the Reverend Augustus Baldwin, and don’t try to tell me any different, Crystal Cummings. You get giddy as a schoolgirl whenever he comes by to visit.”

  Her hands flying to her cheeks, Crystal couldn’t contain her laughter. “We’re a pair, aren’t we, honey? You’re stuck on a man who can’t abide decent women, and I’m entertaining thoughts about a man who obviously requires one.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Having heard from Jup that Al Hazen was still out of town—no doubt, hiding beneath the rock he’d originally crawled out from under—Laurel decided the time had come to sneak over to the Silver Slipper to fetch the remainder of Crystal’s clothing.

  Chance had expressly forbidden her to go anywhere near the saloon, fearing Hazen’s impending return—the animal had a business to run and couldn’t stay away forever—and had sent Whitey to fetch Crystal’s things two days before. But Whitey had brought back totally inappropriate attire for a woman on the mend—a woman who needed to impress a preacher.

  Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Laurel paused at the foot of the stairs. The bottom step creaked loudly as her foot came down, but no one was around to hear it, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  On tiptoe she crossed the Aurora’s gambling parlor. She had just reached the front door when an irate voice that could only have been Chance’s said, “Where do you think you’re going, angel? It’s not Sunday, so I know it’s not church where you’re headed. And why are you walking on tiptoe?”

  He leaned over the bar, his eyebrow arched in question, motioning her toward him with the crook of his finger.

  Chance thought Laurel looked guilty as hell, and too lovely for words in the blue taffeta gown and matching bonnet she wore, and he
felt a familiar tightening in his loins.

  Laurel gave an irritated sigh. Does the man have eyes in the back of his head? “I need to go out for a while,” she explained, an innocent smile on her face.

  He vaulted over the bar with the agility of a mountain lion and looked just as fierce when he came to stand next to her. “Where?”

  She swallowed. Lying wasn’t one of her strengths. Rose Elizabeth was the best liar of the three Martin sisters, a real fabricator of truths.

  Rose had once convinced Euphemia Bloodsworth that she was dying of a rare blood disease and wasn’t expected to live out the year. This coming from a woman who looked as robust as a horse.

  Of course, dear Euphemia had spread the word faster than a Kansas prairie fire, and the concerned citizens of Salina had turned out in droves to visit the supposedly dying young woman. When Ezra Martin got wind of what Rose Elizabeth had done he’d paddled her backside so hard that she couldn’t sit down for days, made her give a public apology to the townsfolk, and wouldn’t speak to his daughter for over a week.

  Knowing she’d never be able to equal Rose’s silver-tongued fabrications, Laurel gave it her best shot anyway. “To the dressmaker’s?” Seeing Chance’s skeptical look, she decided that, all in all, it was not a very memorable performance. Rose was definitely not in any danger of giving over her childhood title of most convincing liar.

  “Don’t ever play poker, angel. You can’t lie worth crap.”

  “Don’t be crude. And anyway, it’s none of your business where I’m going. I’ll be back before tonight’s performance, so you needn’t worry.”

  Who was she kidding? Chance wondered. He worried about her constantly, more than ever since Hazen’s beating of Crystal.

  Rolling down his sleeves, Chance fastened the cuffs with a pair of gold links he extracted from his pants pocket. “Wrong on both counts, angel. It is my business, and you’re not going anywhere alone. Hazen could return at any time.”

  Laurel had the childish impulse to stamp her foot in frustration, or at least to give Chance another swift kick in his shins. “You’re my employer, Chance, not my watchdog. I’ll go where I please, when I please.”

  He shrugged into his coat. “Fine. Since you obviously intend to go to Hazen’s place, I’ll go with you.”

  “How did you . . . ” Laurel realized she’d been caught.

  Linking her arm through his, he smiled down at her. “Anyone who lies as badly as you ought to be paddled within an inch of their life. But since I’m such a gentleman,” he grinned, “I’ve decided to treat you to dinner instead. After we’re done performing our secret mission to obtain more clothing for Crystal . . . ?” He paused, waiting for confirmation, which she gave grudgingly, much to his amusement. “We’ll go get something to eat. How does that sound?”

  It sounded wonderful, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him. “It’s not as if you’re giving me a great deal of choice.”

  “True. But then I find that a woman tends to do better when her mind’s not all muddled up with making choices.”

  “Oooh!” she screeched, attempting to kick him, but he merely laughed, sidestepped her attack, and escorted her out the door.

  * * *

  Crystal looked out her bedroom window to the alley behind the Aurora and wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell wafting up through the open portal was foul, tainting the freshness of the crisp October day.

  The narrow passageway known as Hop Alley was strewn with empty beer barrels, broken liquor bottles, and an assortment of garbage. Rats and roaches roamed over rotting vegetables and partially eaten pieces of food. Chickens and ducks hung on poles suspended between braces, their plucked skin devoured by millions of flies.

  The sight was enough to make a body puke.

  The building backing up to Chance’s saloon was a Chinese restaurant called the Peking Duck, which served more opium than anything else to their customers, and obviously was not overly concerned with the unhealthy conditions it created for adjoining businesses such as Chance’s.

  The owner, Lee Poon, a wizened wrinkled little man who reminded Crystal of a dried apple, had visited Al’s saloon on occasion, availing himself of the whores and paying for their services with the opium he’d addicted them to.

  Fortunately, she’d never been one of the chosen, having made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t interested in anything having to do with the white powder that took away a person’s inhibitions and lulled them into a world of bizarre dreams that were more often than not nightmares.

  The knock on the door—three soft raps made in quick succession—made her breath catch in her throat. She recognized the signal as Augustus Baldwin’s. He came every afternoon at this time, and she eagerly awaited his visits like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first romance.

  Shaking her head at her own stupidity—for what genteel man of God would want to saddle himself with a whore?—she called out for him to enter.

  Though he wore a pleasant smile, he looked tired and drawn, his complexion pasty, and she worried that the tuberculosis plaguing his body had rendered him ill again.

  “Why, you’re up and about, Miss Cummings. I’m so pleased to see you’re doing better.”

  “I wish I could say the same about you, Reverend. You’re looking a bit peaked around the edges. Is your sickness worse today?”

  Though they’d discussed his ailment, Augustus never felt comfortable dwelling on it. It made him feel weak and frail, and less than a man. He didn’t want Crystal to think that way about him. “I’m fine, my dear. It’s just the nature of the disease, I’m afraid. Some days are better than others.”

  “Come in and sit down.” She motioned to the small round oak table that had been set with a ceramic teapot and two cups. “Bertha graciously supplied us with some refreshment.” She made an effort to speak in a refined manner, though she felt awkward doing so. Genteel words were not going to make her any less a whore, despite what Laurel said.

  Laurel had insisted that a change of wardrobe and a few etiquette lessons were all that was needed to smooth some of Crystal’s rough edges. But Crystal was of the opinion that you couldn’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, no matter how hard you tried. And she definitely had a great deal of “pork” still inside her.

  Gus took a seat at the table, waiting while Crystal filled his cup with the hot liquid. “Has Bertha said when you’ll be going back to work?”

  His question made Crystal blush as red as her hair. “I’m not going back to that kind of work again, Reverend.”

  His own face colored dramatically. “I didn’t mean to imply that you would be, Crystal. It is all right if I call you that, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “Many men have.” She was purposely being rude, though she wasn’t sure why.

  If the reverend was shocked by her statement, he gave no indication. Smiling kindly, he patted her hand, and Crystal felt both comforted and stimulated by the innocent gesture. “I’m well aware of your former occupation, Crystal. There’s no need to try to warn me that you’re not suitable company for someone like me, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “I don’t want or need your pity, Reverend. I’m not ashamed of who I am.” She felt that she needed to distance herself from his kindness. She couldn’t allow herself to become entangled with someone as decent and kind as the reverend. It just wouldn’t be fair to him, no matter how much she wished for it.

  “Nor should you be. You’re a lovely young woman who’s had herself a run of bad luck. I doubt you chose your former profession willingly. Am I right?”

  “I did what I had to do to survive. Besides, it didn’t much matter. Not after . . .” She closed her eyes, trying to block the hideous image of her drunken father.

  Aware of her uneasiness, he said, “I didn’t mean to pry, my dear. I only wanted to assure you that I’m here because I want to be. I realize that I’m much too old for you. And not very pleasing to the eye . . .”

&nb
sp; “Don’t be silly, Augustus!” Crystal blurted. “Why, you’re a very handsome man. I thought so the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  Shocked by her admission, his cheeks warmed. His tender feelings for her were multiplying rapidly. “I’m honored you think so.”

  Refilling their teacups, Crystal didn’t flinch when she said, “I can’t change what I am, Augustus, or what I did before we met. I’m a whore, and that’s the truth. I’ve been with more men than I care to think about. I sold myself for money to put food in my belly and clothes on my back.

  “I’m not proud of it, but it’s a fact that can’t be changed. I’m honored that you’d come to visit someone like me, but you should know that you’ll probably damage your reputation by doing so.”

  He threw back his head and laughed at the idea that he had a reputation worth salvaging, but the laughter soon turned to coughing and he removed his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth. “I can’t change what I am either, my dear. I’m a consumptive old fool who’s never been married, who’s never even had himself a lasting relationship with a woman.”

  Crystal’s eyebrow shot up at that. “You mean you’re . . .”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No. I’m not inexperienced. I’ve been with a woman or two, but I’ve never had what you would call a desire to get close to any woman before. At least, not until now.”

  Crystal nodded matter-of-factly. “If you’re saying you want to bed me, Reverend, that’s understandable. Men like you bed women like me all the time.”

  Clasping her hand, he drew it to his mouth for a kiss. “My dear Crystal, what I’m trying to say, and doing it rather badly, I’m afraid, is that I’d like to court you with the intention of marriage.”

  “Marriage!” Crystal jumped up from the chair. “Are you insane, Reverend Baldwin? Preachers don’t marry whores. Decent men marry decent women. It’s the way of things.”