It was a day in the first week of December. The last snow had melted in the places where the sun struck, but there were still streaks of white in the lee of fences and buildings. The sky had been clear and overcast by turns all day. Toward evening the sun came out once more in bright gladness, though there was a gray bank to the northwest that heralded more bad weather.
Serena, tiring of the overheated confinement of her rooms, left the bed where she had retreated for comfort and began to get dressed. Now that she was so near her time, she had only one outfit, a kind of shirt and dressing sacque she had made from her old dresses. It didn’t look too bad as long as it was covered by the fur-trimmed cape Ward had given her. It didn’t look too good either, she told herself wryly, but at this point she had ceased to care.
Exercise was what she needed to clear the cobwebs from her mind, perhaps a brisk walk. Well, maybe an ambling stroll; it was all the same thing. She had seen no one lately, not even Consuelo. The Spanish girl had been in bed for a week with a fever and forbade Serena to visit, fearing she would catch it from her.
Serena needed to get out, to take some action to banish the lethargy she had fallen into lately. It could not be good for her child, this brooding inactivity, this preoccupation with her problems, with death and the possibility of dying.
Fully recognizing that fact, she turned in the direction of the cemetery when she left the Eldorado. It had been some time since she had visited Lessie’s grave. She had simply lacked the energy until now. Somewhere she had heard that it wasn’t unusual for a woman to feel this driving buoyancy before her child was born. It seemed unlikely. The baby was as much affected by the fresh air as she was from the way he was thumping her in the ribs, but she had felt nothing that would indicate delivery was going to come any sooner than the middle of the month. With a shake of her head and a small smile, she pressed her fur muff to the bulge of her stomach as she moved with slow majesty along the sidewalk.
The cemetery was deserted. Making her way to the mound that marked Lessie’s grave, she noticed footprints frozen in the mud leading to it. A headboard of plain white marble had been erected though it bore neither dates nor surname, only the simple legend “Lessie.” Before it on the raw earth lay what Serena at first took to be a red paper rose, so stiff and brittle was it. On closer inspection she saw that the flower was real enough, only frozen.
A red rose, symbol of love. Who had laid it so gently there? A man, from the looks of the tracks he had left. Was it Lessie’s Jack, the drummer who had given her a few brief weeks of happiness? Or was it some forlorn miner she had given herself to for a night, a night he remembered longer than she had?
No matter. Someone had loved her. The sight of that rose lying on the cold earth stabbed past Serena’s carefully erected defenses. Tears rose in her eyes and flowed in warm paths down her cheeks.
Was Ward lying somewhere under the frozen ground? Was it possible that the strength and force of him could be forever stilled, that the light and intelligence could be extinguished in his green eyes? If not, then why didn’t he come?
He was dead. She would never see the tender mockery of his smile again, never watch a laugh crowd into his eyes, never feel his arms about her, or tell him that she cared. Worse than these things, he would never see his child.
Enough. Grief was a luxury she could not afford. Soon her baby would be born and she had not yet decided what she would do. Arrangements would have to be made. As much as she might prefer it, she could not bring the baby into the world without help; she did not want to risk endangering it.
Lessie had lost her child, a stillborn babe. That small death had set her free of the wagon train, free of Elder Greer and his wives, but at what price? If her child had lived, would she still be with the Mormons, still alive? Still unhappy?
Lessie had not loved the father of her child, had found no pleasure in his arms. It was incredible, after what had passed between Ward and herself, that she could acknowledge both.
Or could she? Perhaps it was an illusion brought on by her condition, a determination to lend some sort of respectability, no matter how remote, to the event. Or perhaps she was merely influenced by her situation, alone, without family or close friends. She had needed to attach herself to someone, and the man who had forced her to share intimacy, the one she had lived with in close quarters, was the most likely target for her starved affections. If he were to put in an appearance tomorrow, it was likely she would feel nothing.
Serena clenched her hands inside her muff. Suddenly she was chilled. Why was she standing here tormenting herself? With one last glance at Lessie’s grave she turned away. The cemetery was behind her, hidden beneath the crest of the hill, when it occurred to her that at no time had it crossed her mind that the rose could have been put there by Lessie’s husband, the Mormon elder.
The lights of the Eldorado shone bright through the foglike mist of low-hanging clouds. As Serena neared she could hear the tinkle of Timothy’s piano in a ragtime tune. The sight and sound were more than welcome. It had been a long walk, more, probably, than she should have attempted. Her footsteps were dragging as she neared the double doors with their colored frosted-glass panes.
As she stepped into the noisy brightness of the barroom, she shivered a little in reaction to the warmth after the cold outside. The place was fairly empty for this time of day; only a few tables were occupied. There was to be a special burlesque show tonight a few doors down the street, a sultan’s harem direct from Egypt, or so the fliers said.
Pearlie stood at the bar. She pulled herself erect and swept toward Serena with a hard look about her carmined lips. She was dressed in black from the aigrette held by a diamond clip in her bright auburn hair to the flounce stiff with sequins on the hem of her gown. She stopped, barring Serena’s way a few feet inside the room. With her hands encased in opera-length gloves on her hips, she demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To my room.” The other woman’s belligerent attitude made Serena uneasy, but she allowed nothing of it to show on her face.
“You don’t have a room,” Pearlie sneered. “Not any more.”
“I’m tired, Pearlie, and I really don’t feel like arguing tonight. If you will just step aside—”
“Not likely. I’ve stepped aside for you my last time. I’m telling you that you don’t belong here any more. Ward is dead, and this place is mine to do with as I like. I’ve taken on a new partner, and this evening I moved into the rooms upstairs. All that’s left for you to do is get out!”
“You’ve heard from Ward? You know he — he’s not coming back?”
“If he were coming he would have been here by now.” A swift desolation crossed Pearlie’s features. The light-blue irises of her eyes were almost extinguished by the enlarging of her pupils with belladonna. They were overbright with the glitter of unshed tears. “He’s never been this late.”
“You haven’t heard from him,” Serena said dully.
“You don’t hear from dead people! Now turn around and take yourself off. I don’t want to see you again.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Serena glanced past Pearlie to where Otto was pushing back his chair from a rear table, moving toward them.
“That’s no affair of mine. I just want you out of my sight. I’m sick of looking at you and your belly!” The last word was said on a gasp. Pearlie’s face was white with grief and rage, and her hands were clenched into fists.
“Hey, Pearlie, what’s going on?” a miner yelled from one of the closest tables. There was a low murmur of voices and Serena caught several sympathetic glances cast in her direction.
“I’m taking over the Eldorado. It’s my place again, and I’m cleaning house, getting rid of the trash!”
“Wait a minute, Pearlie.”
“Keep your nose out of my business, friend!” she snapped. “Otto!”
“Here, Pearlie.”
“It’s a good thing. Earn your pay. Get her out of here.”
The woman flung around. “Ward’s gone and I don’t have any use for his leavings. If you want her, you’re welcome. If not, keep out of this unless you want to deal with Otto!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Serena said with a lift of her chin. “I’ll go. If you’ll just let me get my belongings—”
Pearlie swung back. “I threw everything of yours I could find into that old trunk. I don’t think you’re in any shape to lug it around, and I’m not in any mood to wait for you to pack it all nice and neat. You can send for it, but I’m warning you, if it’s still here two days from now I’m burning it!”
“You can’t do that.”
“Can’t I? Otto!”
The young miner got to his feet. Serena looked from him to the bulky prizefighter who had stepped around Pearlie, moving toward her with his teeth bared in a grin and his long arms swinging. Compared to Otto, the boy was no more than a stripling. He would be hurt for nothing.
“All right, Pearlie,” Serena said, keeping her voice steady with a strong effort. “Call off your dog. You may be right. I’ve stayed here long enough.” She turned away, reaching blindly for the door handle. Somehow she got it open. Before it closed behind her she heard a doleful male voice.
“It ain’t gonna be the same around here without Gold Heels.”
She felt numb. It had happened so quickly. She should have known it was coming. She might have, if she hadn’t been so reluctant to admit Ward was not coming back.
Pearlie in black, proud, flamboyant black. Who was the new partner? Someone who meant to give her free rein, apparently, since she had moved into Ward’s old rooms. Could it be Otto, a reward for faithfulness? Would that brutish species of a man sleep in the bed where she and Ward had lain together? Would he and Pearlie sport there? What a foul desecration it would be.
Surely not. Pearlie was not stupid. She would not put so much power into such a man’s hands. She valued her freedom too much to give anyone such a hold over her. There was no real reason for her to take a partner, especially after Ward had paid her off. She should have more than enough money to run the place by herself. Except that she had not been noticeably concerned with business lately, and expenses; food, liquor, musicians, doctor bills, and various payments under the table could run high for the parlor house.
What difference did it make? It was herself she should be thinking of. What was she to do? She had no money; she had left the little that remained of her hoard in her rooms when she went out. The hotels and rooming houses required payment in advance, especially for women alone, without baggage, and that was if they would accept her. Still, she had to have shelter. The poor unfortunates who tried to spend the night in the alleys and back doorways of the town at this season were usually found frozen in the morning with their hair and lashes stiff with frost.
Serena suppressed a shudder at the thought, huddling into her cloak. She looked up at the night sky that hovered so close overhead. Something cold and stinging touched her cheek. It was snowing, the icy flakes spiraling down out of the darkness.
Serena began to move, walking aimlessly along the sidewalk. Her footsteps echoed, a hard, hollow sound in the cold. She passed a two-story dance hall. Through the windows she could see the men enjoying their two-bit whirl on the floor. The lively music stopped and there was a rush to the bar for the drink that went with the taxi dance. On the top floor, the lamplight inside the cubicles opening onto the three-sided balcony cast the wavering shadows of those occupied inside onto the thin curtains that covered the openings.
Farther along she caught the hot oil, cornmeal, and spice smell of Mexican cooking. The thought of a hot bowl of chili con carne made her mouth water. She had not eaten since noon. That, with her long walk, must account for the weakness in her knees.
She must not fall. The sidewalks were so uneven in the dark. There were steps as the street rose, ramshackle things with warped boards that sagged in the middle and had only half enough nails on the ends. The coating of fast-thickening snow did not help matters, nor did the fact that she could not see where she was putting her feet over the bulge in front of her.
Whistles and cheers, the clatter of applauding and wail of flutes and drums indicated she was nearing the burlesque theater where the sultan’s harem was performing. It was brightly lit, surrounded by buggies, buckboards, and saddle horses. A sheriff’s deputy standing with his arms locked behind him in an on-duty stance nodded to her, though he did not speak. Serena knew a brief urge to appeal to the man, but resisted it. Where could he take her except to jail? She could not stand that, and she had heard enough of the corrupt ways of the local bigwigs to fear she would be no better off. Kindness was not something she could expect, nor could she depend on being left free of molestation. Failing that, she might be locked into a frigid cell and forgotten. That was not what she needed.
There was only one place she could go. She had known it all along. As much as she hated the thought of imposing, there was no other choice.
The noise of the theater died away behind her. A vending cart met and passed her by in the street, trailing after it the aroma of warm, buttered popcorn. A dog howled, the mournful sound far-floating in the night. The saloons grew farther apart and stopped altogether. The last parlor house with a red silk shade over the door was passed. The sound of merrymaking died away, leaving a hushed quiet. The sidewalk ended and Serena stepped into soft, quiet snow.
She had gone no more than a few yards when she noticed it, the sound of footsteps with the heavy thud of booted heels on the boards of the sidewalk behind her. A miner, hurrying home to a wife holding supper and waiting to scold for the smell of liquor on his breath, she told herself. There were many such who lived in hastily thrown-together houses on the outskirts of town. It was only a little way to where she turned toward Consuelo’s house. When she reached that point the man would pass on by.
The sudden cessation of the hollow thuds as the man also left the sidewalk sent a chill of horror over her. Only a little way, she repeated, only a little way.
On the left side of the houses lining the sidestreet there was no snow as yet. The fine granite gravel crunched underfoot. Serena stumbled in the shallow washes where rain had swept the pulverized granite into the rutted roadbed. Little light penetrated through the windows along here from the frugal coal-oil lanterns burning inside. Many houses were entirely dark, the owners already in bed. The snow was getting thicker. There was no feeling in her fingers, despite the fur muff she held against her, and her toes were the same. She would have chilblains without doubt, and would be lucky if she escaped frostbite.
At a grating noise somewhere to the rear along the dark street where she had just come, Serena started violently. She tried to hurry, but stumbled again in her clumsiness, staggering off balance. When she straightened again there was a pulled feeling in her lower abdomen.
In the dark all the houses looked the same. She would recognize Consuelo’s with its front porch and beveled door glass when she saw it, but she could not be certain how far she had come, or how much farther along it was.
Her heart was pounding, and there was an ache in her side. The thin air with its slicing edge of ice cut into her lungs. She threw a quick look back over her shoulder, but could see nothing. She was reminded wrenchingly of the time she had been followed in Colorado Springs. She had not felt so helpless then as she did now; her body had not been so huge and unwieldy. She had been stopped by Otto that night. Was it he who trailed her now, ready to complete in grisly fashion what he had begun so long ago? Ward had come then to protect her, whirling down upon them, a cutting carriage whip in his hand. He would not come now, not this time, not ever again.
There, wasn’t that Consuelo’s house with the fish-scale woodwork on the gables? Serena’s heart sank inside her at the sight of it. There was a phaeton with flickering sidelamps standing outside the neat iron fence, and smoke rose from the chimney, but the windows were dark. T
hat told its own story; Consuelo must be entertaining, earning her keep. How long would it be before she heard a summons? Would she bother to answer it?
The foot treads were coming closer, a steady scraping of long strides that quickly covered ground. She thought of running to the nearest house with a light, of screaming and banging on the door. Would they let her in? Would they come in time?
A shadow moved under the porch of Consuelo’s house. With a strangled cry Serena swerved in that direction. The shadow materialized into a man wearing an inverness coat and astrakhan hat, moving with purpose toward his carriage. He looked up as she came nearer.
“Serena,” he exclaimed. “What in the world—”
“Nathan,” she said, “Oh, Nathan!”
He reached out to catch her as she fell into his arms. “My dear, you’re trembling! Tell me what’s wrong.”
“A man. Following me,” she gasped. Nathan’s arms around her were awkward, but comforting. By degrees, her terror faded.
“I don’t see anyone.”
It was true. The short distance they could penetrate the snowy darkness was empty of shape or movement. Only the ghostly silhouettes of houses with their fuzzy nimbus of light at the windows took shape against the night.
“There,” he said, giving her shoulders a pat. “You must have imagined it, and no wonder. What are you doing out this time of night walking the streets, and in this weather?”
The concern in his voice was like balm. In short jerky sentences Serena answered his questions.
“This is terrible. That woman should be horsewhipped. But what am I thinking of, keeping you standing here? You should be inside, where it is warm.”
“I thought, that is, I hoped I might stay with Consuelo, just until I find something else.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Serena was aware of his deliberate choice of words, though she could not see his face.
“Impossible?”
“As you probably know, Consuelo has been ill. We thought at first it was the flu, but it turned out to be scarlet fever. The house is under quarantine.”
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 114
