Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  Laurel’s eyes rolled heavenward.

  “Not being as thoroughly familiar with these attributes as I am, Mrs. Tungsten, you wouldn’t know how inspirational they are to a man like me. I’m willing to go through hell”—and he certainly was—“to join myself—bond, if you will—to experience and revel in her divine being.”

  He clasped Laurel’s hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss, and Hortensia’s hand flew up to cover her heart.

  “I had no idea how committed you were, Mr. Rafferty.”

  Chance’s devastatingly handsome grin set Laurel’s toes to curling and even brought two splotches of color to Hortensia’s pasty complexion. “Dedicated and determined as I’ve never been before.”

  * * *

  The enormous spruce tree gracing the center of the gambling parlor made Laurel’s breath catch. There had been no Christmas tree at Mrs. Costello’s. The league didn’t hold with wasting money on unnecessary and useless items. “Why, bringing a tree indoors is just foolishness, plain and simple, that’s what it is,” Gertie had said.

  Laurel, standing in the Aurora’s doorway, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she stared at the gaily decorated evergreen, felt grateful that Chance didn’t feel as Gertie did. The satin garters and costume jewelry hanging from the branches told her that Flora Sue and Crystal had lent a hand in the decorating of it. And they’d done a splendid job. She only wished she’d been there to help.

  Bertha shouted with joy when she caught sight of Laurel, then admonished, “Shut the door, honey. You’s letting all the cold in and the heat out.”

  All eyes turned in Laurel’s direction, and she felt suddenly self-conscious to be back at her former place of employment. Did they blame her for their lack of business? Chance had told her that profits had been slim. And she knew the girls relied on tips to supplement their meager wages.

  “Well, Lordy be! Howdy-do, Miss Laurel.” Jup rushed forward, his toothy grin almost lighting up the room. “You sure is a sight for these tired old eyes.”

  When the piano player engulfed her in his spindly arms, Laurel knew she’d come home.

  That feeling was brought to her full force when Percy perched on Bull’s shoulder, squawked excitedly, flapped his wings, and said “Repent ye sinners. Angel’s back!”

  The room erupted in howls of laughter, and none laughed harder than Chance, who came forward to take Laurel in his arms. “Welcome home, angel. As you can see, you’ve been missed.”

  “Let that child go, Mr. Chance,” Bertha called out as she sliced ham for the buffet. “Miss Laurel needs to eat. She’s scrawny as a bird.”

  Chance tipped up her chin, staring into eyes swimming with unshed tears of happiness. “I know I’m starved, angel. How about you?”

  His wicked grin told her that he wasn’t talking about food, and she felt a familiar fluttering in her midsection. For when it came to Chance her hunger knew no bounds.

  * * *

  “Everyone’s delighted you could come this evening, Laurel,” Augustus said between bites of his sandwich. “But I thought you’d be tied up with your temperance meeting tonight.”

  “Miss Willard came down hoarse, so it was canceled. I tried to act disappointed and concerned, but I was secretly overjoyed. I guess that was wicked of me, wasn’t it, Reverend?”

  “One has to follow one’s heart, my dear.” He set down his plate. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

  She crossed the room with him, wondering at the mysterious smile lighting his face. She’d never seen him so happy and relaxed before, and she guessed that Crystal had a great deal to do with his new demeanor. “I admit you’ve piqued my curiosity, Gus. Did Chance go and buy another one of those lurid paintings?” Glancing across the room to where the now infamous nude hung, she shook her head. “It’s no wonder those women want to shut him down.”

  Gus chuckled, pointing to the empty space where the stereoscopic device used to be. “He sold it, Laurel. Chance finally sold the thing to Mort Fines.”

  She could hardly believe her eyes. “But why? He was so determined to keep it, even after we had that terrible row.”

  “God works in mysterious ways. Apparently at church service last Sunday, Chance injured himself on one of the pews. You know how rough and splintery those boards are.”

  She nodded, suppressing her smile. So, Chance had gotten a splinter in his butt! Of course, he’d have been too embarrassed to mention it. And then he’d had to put up with Hortensia’s inquisition. . . . She shook her head. Poor Chance. “I can’t say I’m sorry it’s gone.”

  “Chance took the money from the sale and started a church-building fund. We hope to start construction come spring.”

  “Oh, Gus! That’s wonderful.” She clutched his arm. “I’m so happy for you . . . for both you and Crystal.”

  A look of total contentment passed over his face. “I’ve never known a woman like Crystal before, Laurel. She’s wonderful.”

  “So when are you planning to make an honest woman of her?”

  “I’ve asked her. Believe me. But she thinks she’ll be sullying my reputation by marrying me. I told her that was nonsense, that I would quit the clergy if need be, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I admit to being a bit out of my league where women are concerned.”

  Laurel pecked him on the cheek. “Leave Crystal to me. I’ve always been able to talk some sense into her. I think she’ll listen to me.”

  “I’m not certain, my dear, that someone doesn’t need to talk some sense into you.” At her wounded expression, he added, “Laurel, I admire you for what you’re doing to help the ladies of this town. But I caution you to look into your heart and search your motives for your actions.

  “I’m not saying that what you’re doing is wrong, but I wonder if you’re following your head instead of your heart. Think about it, my dear. We all love you and want what’s best for you.”

  Augustus walked away to join Crystal, and Laurel took time to ponder his advice. Her feelings had been mixed from the beginning on whether she was doing the right thing. She hated bringing unhappiness and discord to her friends at the Aurora. They’d become as much a part of her life as her own family. But they also abetted the drinking and gambling that ruined the lives of so many.

  And though at first she’d joined the temperance league merely to spite Chance, she’d since had the opportunity to observe the many good things they did for people—for children like Bud Foley.

  Just last week, Will Foley’s boy, Bud, had been brought to the hospital with a broken arm. Caused, his mother said, by his father, who had come home in a drunken rage and beaten the child senseless. The league had stepped in immediately, offering refuge to both Bud and his mother, and had even taken Mr. Foley under their wing for counseling on his addiction.

  What was the answer, the right choice to make? She couldn’t just abandon her work; it had become too important to her now. But how could she abandon her friends? They were important, too.

  “You look awfully sad on such a happy occasion, angel.” Chance came to stand before her. “And I think I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

  “Not champagne, I hope. It was difficult enough convincing Hortensia that I was coming here to offer counsel and spiritual guidance. I doubt she’d be too pleased if I returned to the hotel drunk and howling at the moon.”

  Chance laughed. “Your intolerance for alcohol has given me many amusing and titillating moments, but it’s not drink I’m referring to.” Reaching behind his back he retrieved a sprig of mistletoe and held it above her head. “I believe you’re standing under the mistletoe, angel. And I’m sure you know what that means.”

  Laurel’s heart began to thump louder than the sprightly tune Jup was pounding out on the piano, but uncertainty clouded her eyes. “I really don’t think we should, Chance.”

  “But it’s tradition, Laurel. You wouldn’t want to break with tradition, now would you? And it’s only one little kiss, though I’d be pleased wit
h a whole lot more.”

  It was hard to argue with tradition, and with a man who had dimples. “One kiss, and that’s all. Or I’ll report you to Hortensia Tungsten.”

  A look of mock horror crossed his face before he drew her into his arms. “One kiss, ” he promised, touching her lips with the tip of his tongue, leaving her breathless. “Just one little kiss.”

  But it was much more than a “little” kiss, and Laurel knew she was lost the moment his tongue pressed into her mouth, the moment she tasted the brandy on his lips, the moment her heart took flight, her legs grew leaden, and her body cried out for so much more.

  It was one little kiss, but it meant everything to her.

  CHAPTER 18

  “They’re coming! The goddamn bitches are coming,” Al shouted over his shoulder as he sighted the group of women marching down the street. “Get ready. We won’t let them get the best of us this time.”

  Pearl’s face lit up with spite mingled with anticipation. “The girls are ready upstairs, sugar. Shall I give them the signal?”

  “Damn right! Those bitches will know after tonight not to target the Silver Slipper again.” He had a little surprise for Laurel Martin and her band of harpies. No one made a fool of Al Hazen.

  “I hate demonstrating in front of the Silver Slipper,” Gertie whispered to Laurel as they neared their destination. “That horrible man spat on me the last time we came here.” Nervously, she wiped her cheek, remembering.

  Laurel’s breath clouded the frigid night air as she said, “Al Hazen is a pig, but we can’t allow him to intimidate us, Gertie. He likes to bully women, beat them up. It makes him feel important.”

  The bawdy music from the saloon drifted out into the street, and the band of women raised their voices to be heard above the din. The first strains of “Onward, Christian Soldiers” were barely out of their mouths when the first missile hit Laurel smack in the eye. She screamed as the remnants of an overripe tomato slithered down her face and the front of her coat.

  Before the women could take cover, the customers from the saloon poured out of the building, hurling rotten vegetables and epithets at them.

  “Take that, you harridans!” one of the men shouted as he threw a cabbage at them.

  “You frustrated bunch of virgins,” a drunken cowboy claimed, testing the weight of an apple he palmed.

  “Get outta here, you bitches!” Hazen ordered, stepping out on the wooden sidewalk in front of his place. “Beat it. You’re not welcome here.”

  “We’re not ready to leave, Mr. Hazen,” Laurel shouted, wiping her face, and bringing an exasperated moan from her co-workers, who were eager to depart.

  Minerva tugged at Laurel’s skirt. “Please, Miss Martin. Let’s do as he says and get out of here before they shoot us.”

  Ignoring her, Laurel shouted, “We’re not afraid of you, Mr. Hazen. Your intimidating words won’t scare us off.”

  “No?” An evil grin materialized beneath his mustache. “Well, maybe this will. Let ’er rip, girls.”

  The upstairs windows suddenly opened and screams and giggles of pure delight filled the air. Before the temperance women could flee, a putrid shower of human waste rained down upon them from ceramic pots and brass spittoons the whores held upended in their hands.

  Laurel nearly gagged at the thought of what was presently adorning her hair and clothing, but she stood fast, shaking her fist in Hazen’s direction. “You haven’t seen the last of us,” she threatened. But when she looked about her she saw that the other women had fled.

  The group of men on the porch laughed, then went back inside to resume their amusements.

  Standing alone in the dark street, Laurel knew real fear for the first time in her life. That fear was compounded by the sight of a large, burly man who stepped out of the shadows and came toward her. She couldn’t see his face, but she thought she saw the glimmer of a gun barrel in the light of the streetlamp, and she gasped, shivering in panic.

  Suddenly the man melted back into the shadows, and she heard a sound behind her. Turning, she saw Chance running toward her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Having heard from several of his patrons what was occurring at the Silver Slipper, Chance had run the short distance to Hazen’s establishment.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he yelled at the sight of the bedraggled temperance worker—his supposed intended. Sniffing the air a few times, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Is that smell what I think it is?” She smelled worse than the inside of a horse barn in the middle of a summer heat wave.

  Laurel, who had never been so happy to see anyone in her entire life, wasn’t the least bit offended by Chance’s reaction. “I’m so glad you’ve come.” Holding out both arms to hug him, she ran forward, then stopped suddenly as the horrified look on Chance’s face finally registered.

  “I guess I’m not too appealing at the moment.”

  “That bastard will answer for this, angel. I promise you that.” He stared at the windows of the saloon, knowing full well, that Hazen was peering at them from inside. “You hear that, Hazen?” he shouted. “We’re not done by a long shot.” But the only response was silence.

  “Don’t waste your breath on him, Chance. Hazen’s like a snake. He only strikes when he thinks no one’s looking.”

  “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  She shook her head as she dug her heels into the muddy street, and a small piece of something Chance didn’t want to think about landed on his boot. He shook it off, then gripped her by the elbow.

  “No! I want to go back to the Aurora with you. I need to be with my friends tonight.” She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her co-workers right now. She might just be tempted to tell them exactly what she thought of their defection. The cowards! And there was still that shadowy figure to consider.

  Laurel’s request pleased Chance. He had a few choice words to say to her, and he didn’t particularly want to say them in front of her temperance-league cronies.

  Picketing his saloon and some of the others was one thing, but harassing a man as dangerous and violent as Hazen was something else.

  Laurel could very easily have gotten herself killed tonight. That thought made his stomach cramp and a searing pain enter his heart.

  It was time he put a stop to all this nonsense.

  * * *

  Bathed, and dressed in a gown she’d borrowed from Crystal, Laurel waited impatiently in her old room for Chance to return. He’d gone downstairs to fetch something for them to eat, and her stomach reminded her with every growl that it hadn’t been fed since early that morning.

  The knock on the door had her bolting off the bed. “Come in.”

  “Are you decent?” Chance stuck his head in the doorway and scowled at the sight of her. “Goddammit! Son of a bitch!”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” She looked down to make certain all her buttons were fastened; then, satisfied that they were, she hurried forward to assist him with the tray. “You’d think I’d grown two heads while you were gone, the way you’re looking at me.”

  “What you’ve grown, angel, is the blackest and bluest shiner I’ve seen in a month of Sundays. That bastard Hazen gave you a black eye.”

  At the mirror, she was shocked to see the discoloration around her right eye. “Oh, dear!” She looked as if she’d been the loser in a fistfight. She hadn’t had a black eye since Rose Elizabeth had tackled her while playing Indian attack when they were small.

  “Come here and let me take a closer look.”

  Chance’s fingers were gentle as they probed the swollen area around her eye, and she winced only once, when he pressed too hard. “Sorry.” His frown deepened. “We need to talk, angel.”

  “Can’t it wait until we’ve eaten? I’m starved.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “You always did have a large appetite.”

  Removing one of the ham sandwiches from the tray, Laurel sat down on the edge of the bed, talking between bites. “Mama a
lways said that ladies who have birdlike appetites usually have birdlike brains to go with them.”

  “If your mama knew what you’d been up to of late, I doubt she’d credit you with having too much brains.”

  “Just because things got a bit out of hand tonight is—”

  He put up his hand to forestall her argument. “Don’t mess with Hazen, Laurel. He’s bad news. I’ll take care of the bastard in my own way, but I don’t want you putting your life in jeopardy.”

  “My life was hardly in jeopardy, Chance. I was pelted with some rotten vegetables, and other things I’d rather not remember.” She’d already scrubbed her hair three times, but she still wasn’t satisfied that she’d gotten out all the stench.

  “Hazen won’t stop with flinging insults and garbage at you angel. Don’t you know by now that he’s nuts? I want you to stop harassing his place. If you have to target someone, target me. I only get mildly irritated.”

  “I appreciate your worrying about me, Chance, but . . .”

  “Dammit, Laurel!” He advanced on her, pulling her off the bed and into his arms. “You could have been seriously injured tonight. What was to stop those men from raping you . . . or worse? You were all alone in the dark when I came along.”

  Her face whitened at the veracity of his words, and she swallowed, remembering the man with the gun and how close she had come to getting killed. “I . . . I’m committed to the temperance cause.”

  “Angel,” he crooned, brushing back silken strands of her hair and placing kisses at her temples. “I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you. I . . .”

  She gazed up, hope shining in her eyes. “Yes?”

  He looked longingly at her, then gave a deep sigh of regret. He knew what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, to say what he felt in his heart: that he loved her and couldn’t imagine a life without her in it. To say those words meant committing himself to her forever, and he just wasn’t ready to do that.