by Gwen Bristow
“You needn’t be afraid to leave it, Mr. Ives. I don’t read letters that aren’t addressed to me.”
“I have no letter for Oliver, Mrs. Hale,” he answered curtly. “Good evening.”
He turned again toward the door. Garnet bit her lip. She thought he was the most insolent man she had ever seen. John was about to go out when another shadow fell across the threshold and Florinda’s voice called,
“Garnet! Shall I come on in?” She stopped as she saw a stranger. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know you had company.”
Florinda looked very lovely in a blue dress with yellow gloves and ribbons, and a blue scarf over her hair. For an instant neither John nor Garnet said anything. Garnet was struggling to swallow her wrath. John was not moved by Florinda’s beauty; he only looked mildly surprised to see another woman who was obviously not a native. Florinda glanced from one of them to the other.
“I guess you’re busy,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll come back later.”
“Oh no, please!” Garnet exclaimed. She was glad to see Florinda. Maybe Florinda’s easy humor would loosen up this tight knot of humanity before them. “Mrs. Grove,” she said courteously, “may I present Mr. Ives?”
John bowed. “How do you do, Mrs. Grove,” he said, and Florinda smiled brightly, saying,
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”
“Mr. Ives is Oliver’s partner from California,” Garnet explained. “He arrived with the Los Angeles traders this morning.”
“Not really!” Florinda said. She came inside. Setting her sewing-basket on the table, she looked him over. “Gee, mister, you sure made a quick change! I can’t believe it—the shave, the haircut, the fine raiment! Did you bring all those clothes with you?”
John gave her his chilly smile. “No. Some of the women in Santa Fe spend the winter sewing for us. If you saw us as we rode in this morning, you will understand that we are glad to have new clothes when we get here.”
He was no more cordial with her than he had been with Garnet, but Florinda was never abashed when there was a man around. She stroked the black braid on his scarlet sleeve.
“They do a mighty fine job of it. Do you live in California?”
“Yes, I live there.”
“But you’re an American, aren’t you? Where’d you come from, back in the States?”
“I was born in Virginia, Mrs. Grove.”
“Virginia. Pretty place, I’ve heard. Never been there myself.” But even she could not help feeling his chill. She looked up at him inquiringly. “Say, really, are you sure I’m not in the way? I can come back to see Garnet any time. I live just around the—”
From outside they heard footsteps, and men’s voices raised in song.
Oh, the dust it blows and it tickles your nose
And it lasts a long, long way,
But the girls and the wine are mighty fine
When you get to Santa Fe!
With the last word came a noisy pounding on the wall beside the door.
“Hey, Oliver! Anybody home?”
John shrugged slightly, evidently not surprised, as three men burst in through the open doorway. They were all talking at once.
“Hi there, John! Well, and two beautiful ladies already! How’d you get so lucky? Introduce us. Where’s Oliver?”
They were California traders, splendid now in clothes of blue and scarlet, and they were all somewhat the worse for the wine they had been singing about. John took a step forward.
“Just a minute, boys,” he said firmly.
They paused, looking from him to Garnet and Florinda with grins of anticipation. John said,
“If the ladies will permit me, I will present three of Oliver’s friends from Los Angeles.” He spoke as though they stood in a Virginia drawing-room. “Elijah Penrose, Silky Van Dorn, and Texas.”
The men bumbled delightedly. So far, Garnet distinguished them by noticing that Elijah Penrose was clean-shaven, Silky Van Dorn wore a mustache, and Texas had a beard.
“How do you do,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” said Florinda.
By this time the men had had a good look at them. They broke into exclamations.
“God love us all! Yankees! Now would you believe it?”
They would have embraced both the girls, but John made a restraining gesture and they obeyed him.
“Please, gentlemen, stay where you are.” He indicated Florinda. “Mrs. Grove.”
Silky Van Dorn, the man with the mustache, grabbed Florinda’s hand and bent over to plant a kiss on her yellow glove. She laughed.
“Don’t mind him, Mr. Ives. I like it.”
“And the other lady, John?” asked Texas, the bearded one.
“If you will give me a chance,” said John, “I’ll tell you. The other lady—” He paused to make his words emphatic. John might be an iceberg, but he was no fool. He was used to drawing-rooms, but he was used to less elegant places as well, and it had taken him only a second to grasp that there was a difference between Florinda’s breeding and Garnet’s. “The other lady,” John told them clearly, “is Mrs. Oliver Hale.”
Again they all burst out talking at once. Garnet could not tell which of them was saying what.
“Mrs. Oliver Hale! Hear that, boys? Now what do you think! Oliver’s gone and got himself a beautiful wife! Where’d you come from, Mrs. Hale?”
They were surprised, but they were not, as John had been, shocked. They laughed, they thought it was great, they were just plain delighted about it. They said they knew Oliver had some good reason for going home last year. They wanted to know if he had been secretly engaged all this time or if he had just found her by lucky chance after he got there. Garnet tried to answer, but they weren’t listening. They were so happy to see two American women that they were bubbling over, and they wanted to do the talking themselves. Garnet laughed too. They were merry with liquor, but she liked them. This was what she had expected the California traders to be. Letting them talk, she tried to straighten them out in her mind.
Silky Van Dom was bowing to her, his hand over his heart. She received his homage and nearly burst out laughing at him.
No wonder his friends had nicknamed him Silky. He had a most elegant mustache, waxed and curled up at the ends; he had wise dark eyes, and a hooked nose, and a general air of cool, calculating shrewdness. Silky looked like the city villain in a melodrama, the one who was going to woo and then abandon the country maiden. To complete the picture, Silky should have had a black cloak and a jeweled dagger. Actually, he had on a bright-colored Mexican suit, and instead of a dagger he had a pistol in a holster at his belt, but she would not have been surprised if any minute now he had stepped back, twirling his black mustache and hissing, “Now, me proud beauty, you’re in me power-r-r!”
But it was too early in the play for that. Hand on his heart, like the villain in the first act, Silky was purring, “Ah, madame, you cannot know what pleasure your presence gives to an exile from home! Oliver is a fortunate man, one chosen of the gods indeed!”
Garnet bit back her giggle and tried to offer him the platter of fruit. But Florinda, wiser in these matters, had already picked up two bottles of Oliver’s best wine, and was saying,
“Here, gents, have a drink on Oliver, why don’t you? If you’ll just reach me those cups from the end of the table—that’s it, Mr. Penrose, thank you. No, don’t try to hold them all at once. Just set them down—there, that’s right, and I’ll pour.”
“Charming,” murmured Silky Van Dorn.
Mr. Penrose was not murmuring anything. His eyes glassy with liquor and adoration, he was gazing at Florinda. Garnet guessed that he was not used to women of easy sophistication like hers. Penrose was a strong square block of a man, whose Mexican clothes made him look like a boy absurdly dressed up for a school pageant. He would have looked perfectly right if he had been wearing overalls and pushing a plow along the furrows of a farm. You would have glanced at him from a stagecoach window
, saying, “Backbone of the nation,” or some such words. Florinda poured the wine into the pottery cups. Penrose picked up his cup, his eyes blissfully on her, and gathered up his courage to speak.
“Thank you, ma’am, and here’s to you, Mrs. Grove.”
“Florinda,” she invited him. “That’s my name, you might as well use it if we’re going to be friends.”
Penrose beamed at the honor. “Why yes ma’am, Miss Florinda, thank you ma’am. Where’d you come from, Miss Florinda, if I ain’t making too bold to ask?”
“New York. Ever been there?”
“New York!” Penrose echoed with awe. “Why no ma’am, I ain’t been there. Ain’t never been east of Missouri. New York, fine place, I bet.”
“Why yes, Mr. Penrose, it’s all right if you like big cities. Myself, now, I think I like the country best. I certainly did like Missouri when I came through.”
“Did you honest, Miss Florinda?”
Florinda was sitting on the table, and Penrose raised himself up to sit there by her. He began telling her that she sure did remind him of his sister Kate.
Silky was lifting his cup of wine and offering a toast to the fairest ladies this side of heaven. John had taken a cup, and was holding its thick pottery handle as he stood in the background, watching the scene but not taking part in it. The other newcomer, Texas, was also holding a cup. He took a long drink from it, and came over to Garnet. She was sitting on the wall-bench, watching the others with amusement, but as Texas approached her his eyes caught hers and held them. Texas was looking at her with the wistful tenderness she had sometimes seen in the eyes of the men on the trail.
“Can’t I pour you some wine, Mrs. Hale?” he asked.
Garnet did not want any, but he so evidently wanted to do something for her that she said yes. He brought her a cup.
“It’s mighty nice to see an American lady again,” Texas said softly.
Unlike the others, who had shaved since this morning, Texas had kept his beard, but he had trimmed it neatly. His hair had been trimmed too, and his voice was as gentle as his eyes. Texas was nice.
Garnet smiled at him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted,” she said.
“Not near enough,” Texas said regretfully. “We’ll be heading back to California in three weeks. And Oliver will be taking you home, I guess, won’t he?”
“Now, Texas!” Silky rebuked him, theatrically. “Don’t remind us that we must leave these lovely ladies so soon. Let us bask in their beauty while we can.”
Garnet shook her head. “But gentlemen, we won’t have to say goodby. I’m going with you to California.”
“Are you, now!” Texas exclaimed in delight.
Silky flourished his cup, and finding it empty, filled it again. “Now that,” he cried, “is good news indeed; A joyful journey, Mrs. Hale!”
Penrose did not hear them. He was prattling to Florinda. But John heard them, and he crossed the room to where Garnet sat. Ignoring Silky and Texas, he looked down at her, and his eyes reminded her of lumps of green ice.
“Did I hear you correctly, Mrs. Hale?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you say Oliver was taking you to California?”
“Why yes,” said Garnet. She felt uncomfortable again. “We’re going to spend this winter on the rancho with his brother Charles.”
“Indeed,” said John. That was all he said.
But Texas smiled happily, stroking his beard. “You just looked so sweet and pretty, Mrs. Hale, I figured Oliver would want to take you back to civilization. But I’m mighty glad you’ll be with us. We’ll do all we can to make the going easy for you. Won’t we, boys?”
“Ah, yes!” Silky promised. “You have no idea, gracious lady, how glad we are that you’re going.”
John Ives, however, was not glad. His icy eyes went over her. He looked like a man thinking of things he did not wish to discuss. The others were exuberant; they were all talking again, so that she could not make much sense out of what they were saying, but they were having a good time. John was not having a good time. She asked him in an undertone,
“Why shouldn’t I go to California, Mr. Ives?”
“You heard what Texas said, Mrs. Hale. It’s a hard journey.”
But that was not the reason he did not want her to go, and she knew it. Whatever John was thinking of, it was something the others were not thinking of, and very likely something they did not even know about. She stood up slowly.
“Why don’t you want me to go to California, Mr. Ives?”
Her voice was not loud, but it was clear to him under the racket in the room. John answered,
“I haven’t said I didn’t want you to go. Believe me, Mrs. Hale, I have no wish to interfere with your plans.”
He turned aside again, and went over to where the wine-bottles were standing. Garnet’s eyes followed him. In this atmosphere of easy mirth, John was like an icicle on a summer day. He glanced back at her.
“May I fill your cup, Mrs. Hale?”
“No, thank you,” said Garnet.
He said nothing else. The others were paying no attention to him. Penrose was trying to hold all Florinda’s attention, but Silky had claimed a part of it. Silky was asking,
“Tell me your name again, fair lady.”
“Florinda. Florinda Grove.” She smiled at him. Florinda was as faithful to Mr. Bartlett as if she had been married to him twenty years, but when there were men in the room she could no more help flirting than she could help seeing them.
“Florinda Grove,” repeated Silky. With thumb and forefinger, he twirled the end of his black mustache. “I don’t remember the name. But it does seem to me I’ve had the honor of your acquaintance.”
Garnet started. But Florinda laughed and shook her head.
“You’ve got me there, Mr. Van Dorn. Can’t imagine where we could have known each other. I’ve never been to California.”
Silky frowned, still stroking his black mustache, and he looked so much like the villain flattering the simple maiden that Garnet nearly laughed again. For Florinda was no simple maiden; she could parry as long as he could.
“But in New York, possibly?” suggested Silky. “Didn’t I hear you mention New York?”
“Sure, born there,” said Florinda. “But I haven’t been there for quite a while.”
“I haven’t either,” said Silky. “But I was born there too. It must have been in New York that I knew you.”
Florinda’s blue eyes rebuked him. “Can’t say I’m very much flattered, being forgotten so soon.”
“Ah, it is not you I have forgotten,” he assured her grandly. “What man could forget such charm as yours? But a man might well look at you, and be too enchanted to note the time and place.”
“Now really, I couldn’t forget a man who said lovely things like that. So it must have been somebody else you said it to the first time.” With a teasing lift of her eyebrow, Florinda switched her attention from Silky to the adoring Mr. Penrose, who was attempting to slip his arm around her. She gave him a slap on the wrist. “Behave yourself, Mr. Penrose. I don’t know you well enough.”
Silky chuckled at Penrose’s simple evidence of affection, but he was still perplexed. “Did you ever, by any chance, deal the cards in a gambling palace?”
“No, I never did. Here, Mr. Penrose, hold that cup with both hands and I’ll pour you a drink. I said both hands, Mr. Penrose.”
John glanced at her, frankly puzzled at her presence in Garnet’s lodgings. Garnet felt like telling him to mind his own business. John crossed the room to Garnet, and bent his head.
“I’ll get rid of these men, Mrs. Hale. I’m sure they are annoying you.”
“I don’t mind them at all,” said Garnet, but he had already turned on his heel. His voice cut through the babble.
“This is enough, boys. Let’s go.”
They protested. They didn’t want to go. Mr. Penrose was now begging Florinda to give him just one little kiss. John said curtly,
“That will do, Penrose. We’re going now.”
Florinda gave Mr. Penrose a little push away from her. She slid down from the table. “Run along, fellow. We’re just friends, you know. Not kissing-kin.”
“Get out, all of you,” said John.
They began to obey, reluctantly. Evidently he spoke with an authority that they respected. John continued,
“I can assure you that Mrs. Hale is not accustomed to receiving prolonged visits from gentlemen in her husband’s absence. So say goodby now, and clear out.”
They backed toward the doorway. Having reached it, they made elaborate bows and farewells. Silky Van Dorn said sadly, “You’re sending out three broken hearts, ladies.”
Garnet laughed, and Florinda waved goodby. Out in the alleyway that led to the street, the three callers burst into song again.
FIFTEEN
JOHN DID NOT LEAVE at once. He shut the door behind the others.
“I hope, Mrs. Hale,” he said, “that you were not too greatly disturbed. I’ll see that they get to the Fonda. If I were you, I should bolt the door for the rest of the day.”
He was about to go out after them, but Florinda detained him. “Is your name John?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Grove.”
“Well, Johnny, since Santa Fe seems to be bulging at the seams today, will you see me home from here?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Grove. I’ll go with these men to the Fonda, and return for you. Good evening, Mrs. Hale.”
“Good evening,” said Garnet.
He went out. Taking his advice, Florinda slipped the bolt. She turned around with a long expressive whistle.
“Whew! That seemed like old times, it really did. Say, Garnet, who’s your happy boy-friend?”
Garnet sat down slowly on the wall-bench. “John Ives? I don’t know anything about him but what I told you. He’s Oliver’s trading partner.”
“He looks like his mother rocked him in a coffin instead of a cradle. But the others are fun, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I liked them.” Garnet dropped her voice. “Florinda, that man—John Ives—he doesn’t want me to go to California.”
“Why not?”
