by Gwen Bristow
He was right. The day was blazing hot and the saloon was packed. By midnight Garnet and Florinda were so tired that their eyes were hazy. But they were aware that Captain Brown had been standing for some time at Garnet’s end of the bar. He had stood quietly, always with a drink in front of him but taking his time about swallowing it. He said very little. But as long as he stayed there, the boys did not get too rowdy. When Silky and José were finally helping the last customers down the front step, Garnet gathered up the remnant of her strength and went over to him.
“Thank you for being here,” she said.
“Don’t try to talk,” Captain Brown said smiling. “Get some rest.”
He said good night then, and went out. Florinda, who was standing at the bar with her head sunk upon her hands, murmured appreciatively, “That’s a real gent you’ve got there, Garnet.”
Garnet agreed with her. She had grown very fond of Captain Brown. In the bluster of Los Angeles his quiet friendliness was as bracing as a breeze on a sultry day. His father, he told her, had for some years been doing business with the bank where Mr. Cameron worked. Mr. Brown was an importer of laces and other luxury goods from Europe. There had been two sons in the family, and the plan had been that the older son should go into business with his father, while the younger went into the army. Captain Brown, the younger son, had gone to West Point. But his brother had died, and Captain Brown had asked to be put on the army’s inactive list so he could carry on the family business. He had been called back to duty at the outbreak of the war, but he expected to return to civilian life when the country no longer needed him.
He had arranged for Garnet to send a letter home, in a bag with some military dispatches being sent by way of Mexico. She could use only one sheet of paper, and the commanding officer had to read what she wrote. But at least it was a way of letting her parents know that Stephen had been safely born and she was in good health.
Later in July the Mormon battalion was mustered out. Some of the men re-enlisted, and the army sent them to San Diego. Here, with their customary energy, the Mormons went to work. They whitewashed houses, shod horses, made carts, and set up a bakery; and altogether they made themselves so useful that the people of San Diego sent a petition to Governor Mason asking him to use his influence to get the Mormons to stay in California for good. Most of the Mormons, however, shook their heads. They had been sent West to be ready for the new Mormon colony that Brigham Young was starting, and this was where they wanted to go.
The Mormons who did not re-enlist set out for the new colony at once. They filled their pockets with seeds of crops that grew in California and so were already adapted to conditions this side of the Great Divide. They came by the saloon to say goodby, and Garnet and Florinda wished them luck, though Florinda added admiringly that she didn’t think they would need it.
Now and then Captain Brown came into the saloon when Texas was there. But Captain Brown always managed to look the other way, and Texas gave no sign of recognizing him. Texas was in good spirits these days. His main interest seemed to be Stephen. When Stephen had his first birthday Texas brought him a marvelous confection that his landlady Señora Vargas had made out of beaten egg-whites, sweetened with panocha and crisped in the oven; and now that Stephen was old enough to play with toys, Texas spent a lot of time making playthings for him—a rattle, a set of straw animals, a soft woolly ball that would not hurt him if he dropped it.
Texas was a great help to Garnet, telling her how to take care of Stephen and what to give him to eat. Isabel was a comfort, for Isabel had brought up three children of her own; but Texas was a doctor, and an American. He could understand—as Isabel could not—Garnet’s tremors about feeding a baby in a land where she could not get milk for him to drink. Like most California mothers, Isabel thought of cow’s milk merely as food for calves. She made Stephen a gruel of cornmeal and beans and squash and any other vegetables that happened to be available, all cooked together and strained. In a little while she was flavoring the gruel with beef-juice. Garnet was frightened, but Texas soothed her. California babies thrived on this fare, he said. To her relief and surprise, Stephen thrived on it too.
In September a wave of hot air blew in from the desert and they had the hottest weather Garnet and Florinda had felt since they came through Cajón Pass. The nights still had a harsh dusty coolness, but from sunrise to sunset the town trembled in a tawny glare. The heat felt heavy, and lay like a weight on their necks. But even so, such weather had its good points. As the men had come in during the fogs to drink something to warm them up, now they came in to drink something to cool them off, and the cash-box tinkled sweetly under Florinda’s caressing hands.
During the heat wave Garnet caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hale one morning, riding past the saloon in their usual splendor. She remarked that she thought anybody who had a chance to stay in the country during weather like this would have been glad to do so, but Silky set her right. Charles’ rancho was east of Los Angeles, he reminded her. With every mile eastward you got farther from the sea and nearer the desert, and consequently the heat increased. So no wonder Charles had taken refuge in town.
It was also during this breathless September that Garnet had her first glimpse of Estelle, the woman who conducted the bawdyhouse six doors down from Silky’s. Though Estelle’s place of business was so near, Garnet had never seen her. She herself almost never left the saloon except in the morning, and at that time of day Estelle’s house stood silent with the shutters closed. She had never seen Estelle in the saloon. The men who came to the bar sometimes had girls with them, but not often. As for Silky, though he frequently went a-courting he had never had any feminine visitors. Silky was careful to keep his business and personal interests apart. Garnet was astonished, therefore, one afternoon when she came down after the siesta, to find Silky talking to a woman who sat with him at the kitchen table.
Garnet had come down the stairs with Stephen in her arms. His gruel was keeping warm on the hearth-stove, ready for her to feed him before going to the bar for the afternoon. As she opened the door to the kitchen, she heard a woman speaking.
“… it’s a shame, Silky, I tell you it is, bad for business and everything. But I swear to God, it’s so pitiful.”
She had a jangly tin-spoon sort of voice, and her accent was like that of some of the bullwhackers on the Santa Fe Trail. There were so few women in Los Angeles who spoke English that Garnet gave a start of perplexity. If she had not had to feed the baby she would have gone away without interrupting them. But Stephen was hungry, and since she had already opened the door she thought if they were talking about private matters she would stay only long enough to get his pot of gruel and leave them. As she took a step across the threshold she heard Silky say,
“And you’re sure you can’t get him out?”
“I ain’t got the heart, Silky!” the visitor pled. “I swear to God I ain’t got the heart.”
Then Silky caught sight of Garnet, coming into the room with her baby in her arms. He sprang to his feet and bowed to her, so low that his forehead nearly touched his knees. Garnet did not know what to make of him. Since he had grown used to seeing her every day Silky no longer thought it necessary to show off his high-flown manners for her sake. But now he was twirling his mustache and speaking his absurd stagey lines, and while he said his piece Garnet got a good look at the stranger who sat by the table.
The woman did not look old. But she had the look of an object that had been roughly used, so that it had lost its freshness long before it had begun to wear out. And while no part of her was obviously dirty, she gave a general impression that she could have been improved by soap and water.
She had sagging bright pink cheeks, the same color as the big pink velvet rose that she wore tilted at one side of her head. Her hair was the color of a brass door-knob except where it was darker along the parting, and over her ears she wore bunches of curls that were a still brighter shade of brass. Her dress was silk, printed with
large pink flowers. The heat of the day had put big rings of sweat in the armholes. The hem was dusty, and her slippers—black with pink rosettes—were dusty too. She wore a lot of ornaments: swinging gold earrings, a gold necklace, rings and bracelets on both hands, besides a leather gun-belt that was dingy from lack of polishing. The look of her made Garnet conscious of her own smooth hair and her crisp dress of green and white gingham, and she felt a twinge of distaste. But as Silky sprang to his feet the strange woman turned her head, smiling at Garnet and Stephen with a friendly curiosity. She had large brown eyes and a good-natured smile, and Garnet noticed with surprise that though she did look cheap and common and second-hand, she was in her own way an attractive person. As the two of them observed each other, Silky was speaking his lines.
“Ah, Mrs. Hale, what a pleasure it is to see you looking so well, like a rose sparkling with dew on a spring day! And the little one, so fine and strong, such a joy to his doting mother—”
“Glubble glubble,” said Stephen. “Glubble bam.” Stephen had smelt a whiff of his gruel on the hearth-stove, and he wanted it, and he wanted it now, and he wanted no nonsense beforehand. Screwing up his face he began to cry. At the same time he dug his hand into his mother’s hair and drew out a lock, thereby destroying the neatness of the whole. The woman at the table said, “Ah, poor little fellow!” She smiled at him and waved cheerily. “He’s all right,” Garnet said, still not sure who the visitor was. “Just hungry, and cross because of it.” At that instant she heard footsteps on the stairs. Florinda was coming down, intending to have a cup of chocolate in the kitchen as usual before opening the barroom for the afternoon trade.
Just over the threshold she stopped, her hand still on the door. Her eyes moved swiftly in surprise as she saw who was there. Florinda was wearing a clean calico dress printed in a design of tiny blue flowers on a gray background, with a little white collar at the neck. She had brushed her hair till it shone like eggshell satin, and her skin was glowing from having just been scrubbed with cold water. Even the leather holster at her belt had a well-rubbed sheen. Altogether she looked so fastidious that she made the hot room seem cooler the minute she came in. Garnet knew how much work it cost to keep clean in Los Angeles, because she had to make the same effort herself. She knew also that while Florinda’s efforts were caused partly by self-respect, they were also prompted by the reward of good business. On these blistering days, when the men saw the fresh unwilted look of the girls at the bar they went out and told their friends that Silky’s saloon was the coolest place in town. But all the same, Florinda did look exquisite and the other woman did not, and the thought flashed through Garnet’s mind, That’s the difference between a courtesan and a streetwalker. As she thought this, it dawned upon her that this caller must have come from that place nearby.
All this had gone through her head in an instant of time. Stephen was fussing tearfully for want of his afternoon meal; Florinda stood holding the door-latch with a hand in a neat fingerless mitt, gray to match the gray background of her dress. She was exclaiming in a voice of reproach,
“Silky, you promised!”
Estelle glanced down, turning one of her rings around her finger. But she gave a shrug and glanced up again at Florinda, a faint touch of humor on her lips. She was not embarrassed, but Silky was. Having nothing to say, Silky took refuge in words.
“Indeed, Florinda, I regret profoundly that you or Mrs. Hale should be discommoded in any fashion! But this, I assure you with all my heart, this is an exigency, a most distressing imbroglio—”
“Is that so?” said Florinda. “Well, bless my soul.”
Garnet bit back a wild impulse to giggle. Stephen was pulling at her hair again and she could not stop him, for she had to hold his feet lest he squirm down and kick the gun she was wearing. Florinda let go of the door-latch and put her hand on Garnet’s elbow.
“Come outside with me, Garnet,” she said. “Please.”
Garnet was glad to comply, for Stephen had begun to feel very heavy. She went with Florinda back into the dark little hall where the staircase was. Florinda shut the door. Garnet sat down on a step, putting Stephen beside her and sighing with relief as she got the weight of him off her arms. Trying to make some order out of the wreckage of her hair, she asked, “Is that woman the Estelle I’ve heard about?”
“Yes,” Florinda said shortly.
“What is she doing here?” asked Garnet. “I suppose I shouldn’t be angry, or shocked either, but—”
“Maybe you aren’t, but I am. He told me he wouldn’t.” Stephen was still fussing, so Florinda added, “Wait here and I’ll bring his porridge. Also I’ll find out what’s going on. Silky’s not going to speak plain English if you’re in sight.” She started to open the door, but paused and looked over her shoulder. “Garnet, what’s an exi—exige—what is it?”
“An exigency? It means an emergency. A tight spot.”
“And what’s an imbroglio?”
Garnet was laughing. “That means a mix-up.”
“Well, well,” Florinda said respectfully. “I wonder how it feels to know so much.” She opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”
She reappeared almost at once, bringing the pot and a spoon, and a towel to protect Garnet’s dress. At sight of the spoon Stephen popped his mouth open like a baby bird. Florinda went back into the kitchen, and Garnet set about feeding him.
From beyond the closed door she could hear the other three—Florinda’s low, carefully trained speech, the jangly tones of Estelle, and Silky’s voice, which was deep and rather pleasant when he was talking naturally. They all had a good deal to say, but they did not sound angry.
Before long she heard Isabel come up on the porch. Garnet took Stephen outside and told Isabel to take care of him.
José had opened the saloon. Garnet would have liked a cup of chocolate before going to work, but she was pretty sure that she was not wanted in the kitchen right now. So when she had gone up to her room and combed her hair again, she went back through the stuffy little hallway and into the barroom by the side door. Several customers were there already. As she poured their drinks, one of the men asked her if she had ever been to New York, and without waiting for her to answer he began telling her all about it. In the midst of his description Florinda opened the door. The boys exclaimed and called to her. Florinda waved back brightly, saying, “I’ll be there right away. Will you come here a minute, Garnet?”
Leaving José in charge, Garnet went back to the kitchen. Except for herself and Florinda the room was empty now. Florinda had put on a pot of coffee, and she filled cups for Garnet and herself. “Look, dearie,” she began as she sat down. “Please don’t be mad with Silky.”
“I’m not mad with him,” Garnet assured her.
“Promise?”
“Yes.” Garnet began to laugh again. “Honestly, Florinda, I don’t have to be treated as if I were made of glass!”
“Of course not, dear. But let me tell you how it is with Silky.” She gave Garnet a look that was half humorous and half earnest. “You see, you’re a—how do I say it?—you’re a chaste woman.”
Garnet listened, wondering what was going to come next.
“You’re the first chaste woman,” said Florinda, “that Silky has had around him since his mother died.”
Garnet frowned slightly, puzzled as to how she should interpret all this. “When did his mother die?” she asked.
“When he was ten or twelve years old,” said Florinda. She gave Garnet a confidential smile. “You know,” she commented in an undertone, “I rather suspect Silky’s family was kind of genteel. But they died and left no money, and there wasn’t anybody to take care of him. And when a kid is turned loose on the town, you know how it is—no, I guess you don’t.”
“No,” Garnet agreed, “I guess I don’t.”
“Well, anyway,” Florinda went on, “Silky’s mother was a good woman. And so are you. And of course too, you’re a mother. And the sight of a sweet pure y
oung woman with a baby in her arms, it does something to a man like Silky. I think it touches the last morsel of goodness he’s got left in him. Because of course, dear, Silky is a thief and a liar and a scamp of every description. If I didn’t keep watch on the books he’d cheat you out of half you earn here. But he respects you, Garnet, I mean really he does.”
This was too complex for Garnet to grasp it all at once. She asked, “But what has this got to do with Estelle?”
“I know it seems mighty roundabout,” said Florinda. “But I had to explain a little. Silky respects you, and when I brought you here he told me that neither Estelle nor any of her girls would come inside this building while you lived in it. That’s why I was so surprised to see her today. I was mad besides.”
“I’m not mad,” said Garnet. “I’ll tell him so if you want me to.”
“I wish you would. Because really, she had to see him. Something had happened and she had to tell him about it.”
“What was it? Or is it none of my business?”
“Yes, it’s your business. It’s—it’s what I’m about to tell you.” Florinda stopped and took a sip of coffee.
Garnet was alarmed. Florinda did not often speak jerkily. “I’m not going to make a scene,” Garnet promised. “So go ahead and tell me. Is it bad?”
“Yes, dear. I’m so sorry. It’s Texas.”
For a moment Garnet could not say anything. She swallowed and made herself speak steadily. “What’s happened to him?”
“He’s had a fall,” said Florinda. “A bad fall.” She hesitated, then gave a shrug. “I don’t know why I’m trying to say it so delicately. You’re no such apple blossom as you used to be. Texas was down at Estelle’s. The usual reason, I suppose, I don’t know of any other reason to go there. He was drunk. Maybe he was too drunk to see where he was going, maybe he slipped because he was lame. He’s dying. And Estelle—she knows it will hurt business, having a death in the house. But he’s all broken to pieces and he’s been in dreadful pain and delirious. He’s easier now and in his right mind, but he can’t stand to have anybody touch him. It would be like cutting him up with a blunt knife if they carried him out and put him into a cart and took him home, and she says she just can’t do it.”
