by Mari Collier
Lorenz figured it was because it meant he would grow up to be a gunman and rider like that Collins fellow working for Red. Red, however, was trying to determine if Lorenz's Justine mind abilities were maturing early.
Red looked at the boy. At thirteen, he was still incredibly slender and stood about five feet seven or eight. “We'll see how you do talking with the ladies today. Then maybe in a month or so I might permit it.”
They tied their horses at the front.
“I need to meet with Madame Clarisse. You're allowed into the parlor, but no farther and no drinking. Remember these whores are fairly high-class. They don't want to hear a bunch of cussing or see you spitting or hawking anything.”
Lorenz looked at Red. He seemed to be serious. “Ah thought all whores were nothing but tramps.”
They stepped to the front door.
“No, these have a certain amount of education and expectations. That's why they are here instead of the other place.”
“I thought it wuz 'cause they're prettier.” Lorenz refused to speak like Rity wanted. She was always bossing him around.
Red grinned as he knocked at the door. “They are prettier, but that's because my customers want young and pretty.”
A dark skinned maid opened the door.
“Why Massa Red, come in. Y'all want some coffee and cream?” She looked surprised at seeing Lorenz. He was tall enough to be a man, but anyone could see he was still a boy.
“Callie, you are going to have to quit calling me that. I pay you wages.” Red smiled. “And instead of cream, put a shot of whiskey in the coffee. Where's Clarisse?”
“She's in what she calls her office, suh.” Callie pointed towards the kitchen. “Do y'all want me to give this,” she started to say child, but changed her mind, “young'un anything?”
Lorenz smiled. “How about the same as Red's?”
“No, give him a cup of coffee with cream. Anyone else up?”
“Some of the girls have wandered down, suh.”
“Good, they can keep him company.”
“Ah don't want any cream. That's fer babies.”
“And don't break the cup when Callie brings it.” Red guided him into the parlor furnished in gold, blue, and white upholstered chairs with small dark tables beside them, and a deep, white velvet sofa, a fancy table by the door, gold brocade drapes to keep gawkers away, and a maroon carpet. A maple stair wound up to the second floor. Lorenz was awed. Never had he been in a room so richly furnished. Rity was buying fancier things as she could afford them, but most were made by local tradesmen.
Two sleepy-eyed young women stood the moment they entered and curtsied.
“Mr. O'Neal, can we be of service?” the blonde cooed.
“Service, Daisy? What an odd way to put it.” The other woman was a brunette, and she smiled at Red. “You name it, Mr. O'Neal, and I can match it.” Her brown eyes sparkled at the thought.
“Why, thank you, ladies, but that will need to wait until evening. I've brought my young friend, Lorenz, and if you will, ahem, keep him entertained while I speak with Clarisse, I'll appreciate it. By entertained, I do not mean initiating him into the ways of manhood. Just sing songs or talk.”
Red turned and walked to the back.
Lorenz was red-faced. He had never been around such pretty girls. Rity didn't count. She was his sister. He felt the swelling between his legs and hoped they didn't notice.
Both young women hooked one arm around one of his and led him to one of the over-sized upholstered chairs. “Haven't you been with a woman, honey?”
Red flared up Lorenz's cheeks. “Uh, no.” He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stupid.
Daisy, the blonde, half-pushed him into the chair and plopped down into his lap. She put her arms around him. “There, doesn't that feel nice?”
Lorenz's mouth opened and he pulled in a breath of air. “Yes, 'um.”
Both giggled, and Daisy brought his hand up to her breast. As though following some deep rooted instinct, Lorenz began to squeeze. That felt good. He liked it.
The foyer door banged open and red-headed fury came barreling into the room.
“Get away from him you two bit floozies!”
Before either could move, Margareatha grabbed Daisy by the hair and pulled her off Lorenz. She used her parasol to thump the other in the chest. Both were screaming.
“Just what do you think you are doing? Mama would skin us both alive if she saw you here.”
She grabbed Lorenz's arm and pulled him upright.
Clarisse came running into the room with Red following her. “You have no right to disturb my young ladies in this manner.”
Margareatha took her parasol and drove it into the Madam's midsection.
“Wait a minute, Rita,” Red began when Margareatha's parasol caught him in the midsection. He didn't join Clarisse on the floor, but he grabbed his stomach.
Margareatha gripped Lorenz's shoulder and propelled him out of the room, through the foyer, and out the front door. She was using the parasol to bash him whenever there was room enough or Lorenz tried to twist away.
“Not out here!” he yelled at her as they stepped onto the street.
Red appeared at the door. “Miss Lawrence, if…”
“You may take care of his horse. I'll see you later,” she raged back and continued to pull Lorenz down the street toward her house using her parasol whenever she could get in a good whack.
Inside her house she fought him into his room and used his belt on him. She failed to notice that his eyes had turned to ice and no sound came from his lips.
Lorenz knew he had endured worse beatings. He'd sworn to kill the man who had administered them and any man that tried to do that to him again. But this wasn't a man. This was Rity, his sister. He couldn't kill her, but she'd never have the chance to do this again. He gritted his teeth. He knew he would leave here. In a couple of years he would be big enough and strong enough that nobody could stop him. First he would kill Zale and then go find Mama. All he had to do was survive and he was damn good at surviving.
When Margareatha judged it punishment enough, she tossed the belt on his bed. “I expect to see you've written out your name and alphabet when I return. Mama would never have forgiven either of us if I left you there.” She banged the door on her way out, fearful that she might have gone too far.
Her mood was no better at her Poker Parlor. There were several tables downstairs, a small bar, and an upstairs with an office for doing all of Red's accounts. Placing numbers in a row soothed her agitation. When she looked up, she realized she worked through supper. She decided to ready herself for the evening and order something through her bartender.
Margareatha pinned the green plumes to her hair. The plumes swept down the left side of her head. Her dress was a dark green with a shoulder shawl. The bodice outlined every feature of her full upper figure. Doing the accounts had put her in a better mood. She left her office where she kept the accounts for Red's whorehouses, saloon, her own establishment, and Red's shipping business. She locked the door and placed the key into her beaded embroidered purse. That was slipped into a special pocket sewn on the side of her skirt. She could hear the scrape of chairs and men's laughter below. Parson was dealing already. No one knew if that was his name or whether it was the theology he spouted when too deep in his cups. It didn't matter as long as he stayed sober while dealing.
She lifted her head and saw Richards leaning against the left mahogany newel post. He straightened and smiled as she approached.
Margareatha nodded at him. She ignored him as she did most men. This one was tall, his build good but his shoulders slumped from long hours at the poker table. Bags were under his eyes from heavy drinking. His belly had a definite paunch.
He put his left arm out and grasped her waist to pull her into him.
“Miss Lawrence, you must have a drink with me, but first a kiss.”
Margareatha drove her knee up into his groin. A look of surp
rise and pain filled his face. His grasp loosened. Margareatha stepped back and drove her right fist into his soft belly. As he bent over, she grabbed his hair and tried to heave him down the stairs. Richards managed to grab the railing by the third step down and hauled himself upright.
“You bitch!” He started to double his fists when Margareatha's left caught him on the nose. She followed through with her right square on his chin. He slumped downward desperately hanging onto the railing.
By this time men were gathered at the bottom gawking upward. They had never seen a woman use her fists so effectively on a man. Margareatha gathered her skirts and stepped around Richards.
“Somebody throw him out. He's barred from here.” She descended with her head held high and took her seat at the head table.
“Morgan, you heard me. Throw him out and bring me a brandy.” She smiled at the men looking at her.
“Anyone ready for a game?”
Inside she was seething against all men: Red, Lorenz, and the apes who wanted to paw her and beat her into the ground. That evening she showed no mercy. Other evenings she might lose a game to throw a sop to the men playing against her. She stalked home still belittling men in her mind. It was a relief to walk into her house to peace and quiet. She checked Lorenz's bedroom to make sure he was asleep and found herself looking at a slightly rumpled empty bed.
She sank against the doorjamb whispering, “Mama, forgive me. What have I done?” He was gone. She knew it. A quick survey of the kitchen confirmed her suspicions: bread, beans, two empty lard cans, and a knife and spoon were gone.
Margareatha ran to The Sporting Palace and barged in on Red's conference with Clarisse.
“He's run off.” In mindspeak she shouted, 'We have to find him! Now!'
Red removed the cigarillo and looked up at her. “We can't do anything until morning. Did you check the livery stable?”
“No! I didn't need to. You have to go after him now!”
“Darling sister, I cannot see in the damn dark and neither can anyone else. Morning will be time enough, besides which way would he go?”
“He's gone to look for Mama.” She was screeching, not caring who she disturbed.
“How do you know?”
“Because that's what he wanted to do once this war ends.”
“There, you see. If I can't catch up to him, he might be at Wooden. I was planning on going to Texas anyway.” He used mindspeak to explain. 'My mother has sent a letter with information I can't ignore.' He didn't bother to tell her it involved a shipment of Confederate gold.
“If he's in Wooden, I'll find him. Now if you'll excuse me, I have certain business concerns that must be resolved.”
Chapter 54: The Wounded Soldier Returns
Kasper pulled the cart to a stop by the Blue Diamond Freight loading area. MacDonald's letter had stated he would be riding with the freight coming in from Missouri.
He had been wounded, and was returning home. Anna wasn't to worry as it was just a thigh wound, and the doctor had extracted the bullet. They had threatened amputation if the infection didn't heal. He had managed to keep some of the medication from the Golden One with him and then use it without the doctor's knowledge. He wasn't proud of it, but he had used his mind to make the doctor write him a discharge and a pass. Anna's letter about the hostility of the Texans had driven him homeward. He was stopping at Blue Diamond Freight as the logical place in Arles to lie low if he needed to rest.
People had stared at Kasper and Anna who was holding Mina when they drove through Arles. She had rarely visited Arles after her marriage. She had convinced Kasper to take her along. People wouldn't recognize her. Two barrels of cornmeal and one of flour had come through. It was better than nothing and he could not let Anna traipse around the countryside alone. Jackson and Jesse might be Rebs, but they wouldn't hurt Gerde or the Rolfe family. Herman Rolfe would watch over both ranches and the town.
MacDonald stepped out of the building as they approached the loading dock. He was using his cane in his right hand, cradling his Henry with his left arm, and carrying his satchel in his left. He favored his left leg as he walked. Kasper swung himself down from the large cart. Anna was fuming. She had to wait for him to come around and take Mina before she could climb down. MacDonald solved the problem by walking over to her side and taking Mina. The smile on his face and his eyes told her how much he valued them and she almost jumped the distance to be in his arms. Kasper came over to shake his hand when a shout interrupted their reunion.
“I told you all it was them damn Yanks. Git 'em.”
MacDonald turned and faced them, handing his cane and Mina to Anna. He stepped forward and braced himself. Anna shoved Mina into Kasper's hands as MacDonald swung one massive fist into the first man's face. He pivoted and brought his left smashing into the other's face. The first man had dropped, but by this time the third was at his other side and he couldn't swing around as rapidly with his bad leg. This assailant landed a blow to his cheek.
The second man shook his head and moved in, fists cocked, his right arm coming back to swing a haymaker at MacDonald.
Anna swung the cane into the back of the man's knees, knocking him downward. She lifted the cane and swung it again, clipping the man on the side of the head. He keeled over in the dirt. The red rage was in her and Anna raised the cane again, oblivious to the screams of their daughter. She cracked the cane down on the man's ribcage and raised it again, this time aiming for his head when a force stopped the cane from moving.
“My love, if ye do that, ye may well kill the man.”
MacDonald had knocked the other two out and was now holding the cane. He found himself looking into a pair of slate grey eyes that saw nothing but the enemy. Dear Gar, he thought, she tis ready to kill. He smiled.
“Mrs. MacDonald, I still have need of this cane. Twould be a shame if ye break it.”
For a moment her eyes fixed on him, and then she released the cane and hugged him, not saying a word, just holding him as though assuring herself that he was alive and safe, and hating the clothing that kept her from touching him. For a brief moment he held her.
“Now we need to leave. I'll hold our lassie when it tis safe. Mayhap ye should be in the back of the cart and I twill hold my rifle.”
Freighters had thrown the three barrels into the cart not caring whether they broke or not. Damn Andrew for making them load the damn Yankee's cart. It seemed the damned Yankee had paid months ago and he, Andrew, was honor bound to deliver it. They felt differently. Why should it go to Yankees when supplies were getting low at Stanley's General Store?
“I advise a steady pace.” MacDonald sat beside Kasper balancing the Henry rifle on his right thigh, his finger on the trigger.
“Ja.” Kasper flapped the reins. “Yo, team, up.”
Neither man looked in the back, but Anna had pulled her shotgun up into her lap with Mina. She knew how to use it and would if they were attacked. If there had been more men in town, they might not have been able to ride out, but this was January 1863 and the South needed men.
Towns and farmlands had been depleted of young and middle-aged men. Even boys were enlisting. General Lee had inflicted heavy losses on the North, but the damn Yankees just kept coming. It was rumored that they would be using slaves to fight for their side. Weren't the Irish enough? And England still hadn't declared for the South. Instead England was talking about slavery like it was the issue. Everybody knew it was for States Rights and the glorious South to maintain her traditions.
“Should I quicken the pace a bit?” Kasper's knuckles were white, but his face was stoic with no change of color.
“Nay, ye should wait until we are a good five miles away and then stop to let me get into the back. Wait till the road curves a bit and I twill make the transfer. I shall watch to see if we are followed.”
There was no way for Kasper to know when exactly five miles had been reached, but years of living here honed a man's senses. One-half hour later he cracked the reins
against the team's back and they went into a trot. He knew they couldn't stay at that pace and within the hour, he slowed them for MacDonald to switch places with Anna.
“We twill nay camp at the usual spot, Kasper. I want ye to keep going. There tis a place further on that tis one of the false fording areas. The willows and cottonwoods grow thick there. Twill help hide the cart.”
“Do you think they'll come after us?” Kasper let worry creep into his voice.
“Oh, aye, but it twill take time for them to get up their courage. How are they for man power?”
“Most of the able bodied men have joined the Confederate forces. Those that were captured and agreed not to fight for the Union have gone to Nevada to work in the mines. Some of the freighters might be under the same terms and “officially” based elsewhere. There are people like Marshall Franklin and Elias Clifford that are in their 50s or late 40s.”
“They are still capable men, but I canna see Marshall Franklin going on a raid.”
“They hate us.” Anna's voice was hard and strong. “They chased the farmers off in parts of eastern Texas.”
MacDonald turned slightly to look at her. “How do ye ken that?”
“The cobbler, Diest, came through and told us.”
Anna felt she must confess. “I had him make both of us a pair of shoes. Mine were breaking down and he didn't know when he would come through again. If it isn't rebels, it's Comanche or Kiowa, and now there are white raiders too. The country isn't safe anymore.”
MacDonald turned back to watch the trail. “Dinna feel bad about the shoes. Ye needed them and ye are correct. I may need them ere he returns.
“Kasper,” he lowered his voice. “The people in Arles ken that it takes us about four and one-half days to make the trip. If we push on an hour longer and start an hour earlier, we can make it in less time. We twill stay at the ranch one evening and come into Schmidt's Corner the next day. Ye can tell Rolfe what has happened. If he is nay there, I twill try to find him without straying too far.”
