Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  She had not lost her touch. The horses were a little fresh, trying their best to pull her arms out of their sockets, but she could handle them. The greatest danger, it appeared, was that she might split the seams of her gloves.

  While she was dressing earlier, a destination for her drive had occurred to her. She would go and look over the work being done on the home for women, see what progress was being made. By the timetable Nathan had given her, it should be nearly finished. She had been longing for ages to see it. Nathan had described it to her, and accepted several suggestions she had made for improvements, promising to see they were carried out, but that was not like being able to see for herself, to get into the thick of it. She was grateful for the care she had been given in her illness, but she felt stifled. She was tired of being told she was too frail, too delicate, to do what she wanted.

  The phaeton climbed a hill, rounded a curve, and gathered speed on a straight stretch of road. It crossed a bridge over the creek that ran in front of Bristlecone, climbed another hill, and Cripple Creek was revealed, spread out over the hillsides covering six hundred acres.

  How it had grown in the scant two months since she had seen it last! It looked as if it had increased a third in size. Shacks, canvas tents, houses, and stores straggled along every draw and staggered up every slope. Cripple, as long-time residents, those who had been there more than a year, called it, was really booming. There had never been any doubt of it, of course, but seeing the changes brought the fact home.

  The street where the home was being built had been nearly empty when Nathan had bought the land. Now it was being crowded on all sides with houses hastily thrown up of green lumber. The building that stood on the block Nathan had described to her was no different, simply because that was the only kind of wood available with any speed. Lumber could be shipped in, but it would take months.

  Serena pulled up before the large, square house. It was two stories tall with four gable ends, each framed in carpenter’s-gothic woodwork. It had a wide front porch that extended all the way across the front, and double doors with insets of frosted glass. It had been given a wash of white with touches of green on the trim. On a brass plaque beside the door in gothic script was the legend: Serenity Home for Women.

  Serena wrapped the reins around the handle of the carriage whip in its holder, loosened her driving apron, gathered up her purse and climbed down. As she tethered the team to a chokecherry bush, she saw where holes were being dug and poles laid out on the ground for a fence. White pickets were what she had specified, and they were there in a bundle tied up with wire, propped against the house. Smiling a little, she picked up her skirts to mount the steps to the porch. Nathan had kept his word to the letter, without stint.

  Above her the front doors swung open. A woman stepped out onto the porch, while two more stood just inside. After the brightness of the sun, it was difficult for Serena to see under the dim overhang of the roofline. It was an instant before recognition came.

  “Consuelo!”

  The woman turned slowly to face her. Clad in a burgundy-red walking costume piped in black, she was an elegant figure. “Hello, Serena,” she said, her face set, unsmiling.

  “It’s — nice to see you again.” Serena ascended the last of the steps, coming to a halt a few feet away from the others.

  “Yes,” Consuelo said, then turned to the women waiting with perplexed smiles inside the doorway. “Sister Elizabeth, Sister Gloria, permit me to introduce Mrs. Nathan Benedict, the lady who is responsible for the home. Serena, these are sisters of Our Lady of Mercy. They have been chosen to administer the services of the trust Nathan has established in your name for the Serenity Home.”

  The Spanish girl had spoken her new name with deliberation, as if it was necessary to take the pain of hearing the syllables into herself, and yet her expression gave away nothing. Serena swung to the nuns, noticing their black habits and white veils for the first time, an indication of her distress. Greeting them, she wondered why she had not been told of this arrangement. She had expressly stated that she preferred the place to have no religious affiliation.

  “You are puzzled, and who shall blame you?” the first nun, Sister Elizabeth, said in a soft voice with a Germanic inflection. “Come in, my child, and we will explain to you just how we came to be here while we enjoy a cup of tea. We have facilities for that now, though not for much more.” She turned to Consuelo. “And you also, my dear?”

  “Thank you, no. I must be going.” The Spanish girl shifted the net bag she carried to her other hand and lifted her skirts.

  “Then accept our gratitude once more for doing our shopping for us. We will remember you in our prayers.”

  “Thank you, sister,” Consuelo repeated and turned away.

  She was going to leave with this cool, distant atmosphere between them. Serena held her ground, barring Consuelo’s passage. “We have much to talk about. I wish you would come and see me.”

  “At Bristlecone?”

  The amazement in the other girl’s voice was plain. Serena lifted her chin. “Yes, at Bristlecone.”

  “Nathan won’t like it.”

  “For the moment, it doesn’t concern him.”

  Consuelo tilted her head, a light in her dark eyes for the first time. “An intriguing statement. I think I must see what it means, if you are certain?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “I’ll send a message first. There’s no point in embarrassing either of us any more than need be.” Refusing a second request to stay, the Spanish girl moved down the steps and was soon lost to sight.

  Due to the disturbed state of her mind, it was some minutes before Serena took real notice of what the nuns were saying, or the rooms they showed her. What caught her attention was the pallet on the floor in the room designated as a nursery. On it lay two babies sleeping peacefully, one sucking gently on its thumb.

  “The mother of the little girl on the right came three days ago while the workmen were still in the house. The men sent word to Mr. Benedict, not knowing what else to do. He had heard of us and our predicament. Sister Gloria and I came out to serve the church with the understanding that a place had been provided for us. When we reached Cripple Creek we found that only a house for the priest was available. We had been living at the hotel, waiting for funds to be found to construct a suitable dwelling, when Mr. Benedict sent to ask us to help the poor girl. She delivered her child in this room with the help of God and our hands.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She is in the kitchen, I believe,” Sister Gloria answered. “She was a cook’s helper in Colorado Springs before she got into trouble. When she lost her job, she came up here to live with her sister. The sister died of pneumonia last week. Her husband was left with a number of children. He asked the girl to marry him, and when she refused, he became abusive. She had heard of this place, so she came. I believe she will make an excellent addition to the establishment as a cook.”

  “So you see, my child,” Sister Elizabeth went on, “we are women in need of shelter, just as any other. But I am sure I speak for Sister Gloria when I say we could ask for no greater gift than to be allowed to stay, provided the church agrees, of course, and tend the lost souls who seek refuge here.”

  Serena had thought of hiring a housekeeper as a permanent figure of authority for the house. It was obvious that someone was needed to see that food was prepared, the rooms were kept clean, and some kind of order was maintained. She had not pictured babies coming into the situation so soon, but since they had, their needs had to be taken into consideration. It was possible that these two women with their kind faces and gentle voices might serve better than anyone who could be hired for a wage. Compassion was a necessary requirement for this job, and it was a commodity that could not be bought.

  “I am happy to have you here,” Serena said, her voice warm, “and more thankful than I can say that you came when you were needed. As for the future, we will talk about it again when you h
ave the permission of your church. But the other baby, you haven’t told me about it.”

  “The poor little thing was brought to us last night. It was found in an alley where some unfortunate creature had given birth and left it for dead. It is a lucky thing it was found so quickly. An hour more at the temperatures here at night, and it would have been too late.”

  What the nun meant, but was too kind to say, was that the baby had been abandoned, left to die. What kind of woman would do such a thing? Serena asked herself, then immediately countered: What kind of society was it they lived in that made the shame of bearing a baby out of wedlock harder to bear than the guilt for letting it die?

  Rummaging in her purse, Serena found her chased silver pencil and gingerly drew it out to keep the tassel on the end from becoming entangled with the trigger of her pistol.

  Over tea, she made a list of all the things the sisters would need, beginning, since they were obliged to balance their cups while sitting on carpenter’s sawhorses, with furniture. Promising to see to the most pressing of their needs immediately, and to visit often, she left the house. As she drove away in the phaeton she looked back, her heart swelling with pride in what she had accomplished, and with gratitude to Nathan for making it possible.

  She knew that she should turn at once for home. Knowing it, she swung the heads of her horses in the opposite direction. She would just take a turn down Bennet Avenue to see what had changed, what businesses had closed down, what had started up.

  The grays were restive from standing, or so she thought. They tossed their heads and walled their eyes, trying to get the bit in their teeth. Serena held them steady. Then she smelled it, a whiff of smoke. No sooner had she spotted the thick gray plume on the edge of town several blocks away than she heard the first shot of the signal for fire. By the time the third pistol crack had died away, the streets were full of people, all staring about, trying to see the source of the alarm. She let her team pick their way among them.

  “Will they call out the mine hands?” a woman cried.

  “They do, you’ll hear the whistles,” another called back.

  “Where are the hose companies? They’re fast enough when it comes to a race, but slow as molasses when you need them!”

  “Should we go to the reservoir? It’ll be safe there.”

  “I’m waiting till I see what all the fuss is about.”

  The fuss was about nothing. Before Serena reached Bennet, the people were turning away in mingled relief and disgust. It had been nothing more than a trash fire that had gotten out of hand. The message went from one person to another, and the smoke clearing away in the warm, still air confirmed it.

  Some men, miners on the night shift, tramps, and drunks, still stood about in wads, while others thronged the streets, heading in the direction of the saloons on the south side of town.

  Suddenly a man stepped from one of these groups. With a loping run, he caught up with the phaeton, grabbed one of the struts that held the top, and swung up onto the step.

  The unexpected movement and weight caused the horses to shy, and Serena had her hands full for a moment. One glance had been enough to tell her who had accosted her. No one else had such long arms, or moved with such an apelike gait.

  “Lookee here!” Otto said, a leer in his bleary black eyes. “Just lookee who we have here!”

  His breath was foul, and he was more than a little drunk. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them for days, and during that time used the sleeves for a napkin, and possibly a handkerchief.

  “Get down, Otto,” Serena said, her tone cold.

  “Ain’t you high and mighty, sporting around town in your fancy carriage and furs. I seen this rig of yours setting outside that house you had your husband build. Everybody in town knows about this rig, saw it come in on the train sitting on a flatcar all to itself.”

  “How interesting.”

  “I says to myself right then I had to have a little talk with you, for old time’s sake, you know.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. Get down!”

  “Huh, not likely. Not till I’ve had my say. I need a job, Serena, a nice easy job like hoist operator at one of your husband’s mines, ‘er some such.” He tried to make his tone wheedling, but it came out in a blustering whine.

  “Why?” Serena said waspishly. “Did Pearlie throw you out?”

  “Ain’t you heard? Ward’s back. He’s square in the saddle at the Eldorado again, got Pearlie eating outa his hand, made her give her new partner back his money. It was him that throwed me out.”

  “Good for Ward.”

  “You talking mighty high for a gal that whelped her bastard in another man’s bed. I bet I could tell Mr. Nathan Benedict a thing or two about his wife, a thing or two you’d just as soon he didn’t hear. I bet you could sweet-talk him into giving ol’ Otto a shift foreman job, if you was to put your mind to it.”

  Serena looked at him squarely, her blue-gray eyes shaded with contempt. “There’s nothing you can tell Nathan he doesn’t already know. Now, get down, or I’ll take my carriage whip to you the way Ward did in the Springs!”

  “You bitch! Think you so fine, pretending to be so good butter wouldn’t melt in your goddam mouth, an’ all the time you lettin’ half the men in town put it to you. Ol’ Otto ain’t good enough. Ol’ Otto can’t have any! You black-haired bitch. I’ll show you, I’ll—”

  He made a grab for the reins. As he swung by one hand, Serena snatched the whip from its holder and lashed out with it, catching him on the neck. Her second blow welted his wrist. He tried to turn his hand, to catch the lash, but Serena reversed it, and using the weighted handle, jabbed him in the chest. Her horses were trying to bolt. Ahead of her loomed a street corner. Serena swung her team hard to the right, sweeping around in a sharp turn.

  Otto swung wide, lost his grip. With a strangled curse he fell backward to sprawl in the muddy street. Still cursing, he shook his fist after her as she bowled away.

  Serena pulled in her horses gradually. It was lucky she hadn’t been on the busy streets near Bennet and Myers. Of course, if she had been, Otto would never have dared jump her like that.

  So Ward was back at the Eldorado? Pearlie must never have found the courage to try to sell his interest in it, then. Serena wondered what the woman had said to him about her, about why she left. She would be willing to wager it was nothing to her credit. There was no way of knowing what ideas of her Ward might have.

  What had he thought when he found her gone? Did he know she was married to Nathan? From what Otto had said, he must. Did he know he had a son? Did he care?

  She allowed the grays to take her toward Bennet. She turned east on that main street. Despite her distraction, she was aware of the stares that followed her. Let them stare. She had nothing to hide. Ahead of her was the three-story building of red brick trimmed with green that housed the Midland Terminal Railroad depot. She swung the phaeton in a wide turn in front of it and headed back west.

  She wondered where Nathan was, and if he had seen her progression. As Mrs. Anson had said, he wouldn’t like it. He shouldn’t have bought her the phaeton, then. There was a seat in the back for a footman or a groom. She supposed that if she had wanted to follow the rules of propriety set down in the towns of the eastern portion of the country, she should have brought the stableboy with her in the guise of groom. If he had been there, would Otto have dared attack her? The young Irishman might have his uses, but it seemed ridiculous to place so much emphasis on the presence of someone so negligible. If it was a matter of reputation, she had none to lose. There was a certain comfort, at this stage, in that.

  With her back straight and her head high, Serena made a left turn down Second Street, and a right onto Myers Avenue. Amused at her own sense of excitement, she took note of the Butte Opera House, the Central Dance Hall, and the Topic Dance Hall, all nearly deserted at this hour. The buildings, some of them built in ‘92 and ‘93, had a dry desiccated look. Serena, noticing their warp
ed boards and sagging frames, caught herself thinking what fine fodder they would make for a fire, if one like that this afternoon ever got out of hand.

  There was the Eldorado, its stained-glass door shut and the interior only dimly lit by a single lantern shining through the window. The curtains at the upstairs windows hung limp over the tightly closed sashes. On the board sidewalk in front, one or two men slouched along, workers from the stable one street over from the look of them. At Pearlie’s parlor house the shades were pulled. The housekeeper was sweeping the mud from the front steps, but nothing else moved.

  Several blocks along, Serena slowed. Should she turn back, make another run down Myers?

  In sudden irritation with herself, she shook her head. What did she think she was doing, idling past where Ward lived like a lovesick schoolgirl? If Ward wanted to see her, he knew where to find her. If he didn’t, there was no point in making a fool of herself. Hadn’t Otto said everyone recognized her phaeton? What if Ward had noticed her driving by, but had stayed out of sight, letting her pass on?

  The past was dead. She should have more pride than to try to revive it. If she had any sense at all she would take herself to Bristlecone and stay there. She would set herself to please Nathan, to be a good wife to him. She would stop being so independent and listen to what he tried to tell her. She would learn what was expected of a rich man’s wife and do it, no matter how it irked her. She would be such an example of piety and rectitude that in time the good people of Cripple Creek would forget that Nathan had married her out of a saloon that supplied women to a parlor house, that she had been the acknowledged mistress of a gambler. She would train herself to be a fine lady, a life companion, a good mother, keeping after it until she had forgotten she had ever been anything else. She would grow old and gray, a sweet doddering old thing with white hair who had to be trundled about in an invalid’s chair, spoon-fed, and reminded of which grandchild was which. And one day on her deathbed she would look around her with rheumy eyes and demand to know where was the man she loved. Where was Ward?