by Toombs, Jane
Grinning, Rhynne turned to the two teamsters, saying, “Inside, inside,” and they pushed the piano toward the door, the miner walking sideways beside it still playing it. When they’d shoved and pulled the instrument into the saloon, Rhynne shouted, “Drinks are on the house,” which was all the men needed to hear. They trooped past the sign reading NO WEAPONS INSIDE, singing, “Jimmie crack corn an’ I don’t care, Ole Massa’s gone away. . . .”
Rhynne and Selena stood alone on the porch, listening to the boisterous laughter inside.
“You sing right well,” he told her quietly.
“W.W., can I sing tonight? Now that the piano’s here?”
“You can as far as I’m concerned.”
“You mean Pamela? You know she’d say no.”
“Aren’t you of an age to make up your own mind? I personally believe in the efficacy of presenting nay-sayers with a fait accompli. Once an egg’s broken, like Humpty Dumpty it can’t be put back together again.”
“I’m afraid, W.W., of what Pamela would say. And what if the men don’t like my voice? Though I suppose I should listen to you.” She nodded toward the open window. “The piano arriving on the very day we open. You’re a wizard.”
“No, not a wizard. I’m lucky, have been ever since the day I left New Orleans. When a gambler’s lucky he has to ride his luck until it turns and when it turns he has to quit. If you don’t quit then, you’re liable to go into a slide and before you realize it, you’re through.”
“And sometimes when a man thinks he’s lucky he pushes that luck too far,” a man’s voice said.
They looked down and saw Harry Varner standing with his foot on the bottom step of the porch.
“Harry,” Rhynne called out genially. “Drinks are on the house. We’re celebrating the arrival of our new piano and the grand opening of the Empire.”
“As you well know, I don’t imbibe.”
Standing below them, Harry Varner seemed even shorter than his five-feet-three. A moonfaced man with bloodshot eyes, he wore red suspenders and had the habit of hooking his thumbs beneath them, snapping one or the other as he talked.
“You should, Harry,” Rhynne told him. “Might do you good. I hold.”
“Whisky’s the devil’s concoction.” Unsmiling, Harry Varner stared straight at Rhynne.
I’ve never seen him smile, Selena thought. Not once.
“Care to look over our premises?” Rhynne asked.
“I’ve seen them.”
“Like to try your hand at monte? Or perhaps faro’s more your style.”
“They’re games of the devil.”
“Then I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer you.”
Harry glanced at Selena before his eyes returned to Rhynne. “You’re going to make a nice bundle with your drinks and your card games. Men’s persuasions unfortunately being what they are.”
“I expect to turn a fair profit. I deserve one. I’ve got a big investment in the Empire.”
“I heard tell your store’s not doing too well,”
“It’s only the first day, Harry. I’m a patient man.”
“I concede patience is a virtue.”
“As is charity. Faith, hope and charity, these three. And the greatest of them is charity. At times I think you could stand more charity, Harry.”
Varner harrumphed. “Even the devil can quote scripture.”
“And we all hope and pray it will help lead him to righteousness when he does.”
“You don’t really need the store, Rhynne. Soon you’ll be looking around for more space for your hotel. You could easily tear out the wall and expand into where the store is now. You know and I know Hangtown’s not big enough for two stores selling the selfsame provisions.”
“And you were here first, eh, Harry? Sort of squatter’s rights?”
“I was about to say something like that, yes. I was here first.”
“Listen!” Rhynne swept his hand in a great arc encompassing the town around them. “Tell me what you hear.”
“I hear Jessop’s wagon hauling a load of logs. I hear chopping where they’re building Felton’s cabin down by the church. I hear shouts of drunken revelry from inside the place where you worship Mammon.”
“You’re wrong,” Rhynne said softly. “This isn’t my place of worship. When I want to be near my maker, I go among the young. They’re still unspoiled. Or I go into the forest. ‘Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.’ Harry, you’re a sly devil yourself. I was about to reveal a truth to you and now see how you’ve derailed me.”
“I don’t think I ever heard a man talk more and say less than you do, Rhynne.”
“What I was trying to point out was that there’s building going ‘on all around us. Hangtown’s growing. There’ll be room for both of us here, Harry, if you’ll be patient.”
Varner repeated slowly, “The town’s not big enough for two stores.”
“I can recommend a teamster with reasonable rates if you’re planning to move on.”
Harry kicked the porch step with his boot. “This pine makes fine kindling. Once a fire gets started there’s no stopping it. A fire could burn you out, Rhynne. I’d hate to wake in the night to the clanging of the bell and find the Empire aflame.”
“Harry, if I didn’t know you for a simple God-fearing man, I’d suspect you were trying to tell me something. That you were speaking in parables. Knowing you, though, I realize you’re just chatting with me, passing the time of day.”
“You can think what you like. Some folks think because I’m short they can take advantage. Run all over me. I’m telling you, Rhynne, they’re mistaken.”
“When I was a youngster in New Orleans,” Rhynne said, “I traveled among men of evil and I learned evil ways, one of those ways being the knowledge of the game of skill and chance called poker. And as the fates would have it, I became adept at the game, or thought I had, and I gathered much money unto myself from the purses of my fellow men. I became, I’m afraid, puffed up and proud.
“I went to the Bayou Hotel where men even more evil than myself lived and played this game called poker in the back parlors. Being young I entered their smoke-infested gambling hells and challenged them at this pastime at which I had become skilled. Lo, in the space of two nights and one day, I was parted from my wealth, becoming in the process a much poorer and a much wiser man. And the lesson I learned was this: Don’t bite off more than you can chew. And I pass the moral along to any who may have use of it. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Mr. Varner.”
Varner snapped his suspenders. “It’s been a rare pleasure talking to you, Rhynne,” he said. “Miss.” He nodded to Selena, who looked away.
“Likewise,” Rhynne said.
They watched Varner walk off along the street in the direction of his grocery.
“Did he mean he’d actually try to burn down the Empire?” Selena asked. “Do you think he would?”
“Man is capable of infinite evil, Selena.”
“Mr. Rhynne!” She tugged at his sleeve impatiently. He looked down at her with his dark eyes.
“Not with me, Mr. Rhynne, don’t play your games with me. Talk straight.”
“Selena, you constantly surprise me. What a woman you’ll be one day. I hope I’m around to see you then.”
“I am a woman.”
“No, you’re on the brink of becoming one. To be a woman you must have loved and lost and learned to love again.”
“Wordsworth?”
“No, W.W. Rhynne. To answer your question straight out, Selena, yes, Harry Varner’s capable of burning down the Empire, or trying to at least. If he was pressed hard enough he’d be capable of burning this town down. He’s a Sunday Christian. In return for his obeisance and his tithing, God is supposed to give Harry Varner a twenty-fold return. If Harry doesn’t get it, he’ll claim the dealer’s stacked the deck. In this case, I’m the dealer.”
Selena walked to the edge of the porch and looked up at th
e sun shining through wispy cloud remnants scattered across the great arch of the California sky. “Oh, Rhynne,” she said, “why must men be so petty and mean-spirited in such a glorious country? On such a glorious day?” She stood on tiptoe, her arms reaching upward as though to touch the sky.
He looked up and down the length of her body, half-smiled, then sighed and turned on his heel. “I’m needed inside,” he said, leaving her abruptly.
Looking after him, Selena put her hands on her hips. They had told her in San Francisco that W.W. Rhynne was an evil man. Her mother had warned her time and again about him. But he didn’t seem evil to her. Devious, perhaps, yet he worked hard, he was careful and patient. Quick to correct her though equally ready with a compliment. Certainly not evil. Selena frowned. She was a little, just a little, she told herself, disappointed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Selena waited until her mother was asleep before she slipped from her bed to put on her new pale green gown. Although she couldn’t see the dress in the darkness of the cabin, she knew the snug bodice flattered her. The neckline dipped in a bold vee. She was saved from immodesty only by a lace chemisette covering her from breasts to throat.
If only she had a crinoline. Pamela had sent for one but it hadn’t yet arrived and she hadn’t found anything she could use in its stead. She didn’t quite dare to borrow her mother’s only remaining petticoat. The lack caused the green gown to outline her hips in a manner that made her feel both uneasy and daring.
She eased open the door—a piece of canvas stretched over a wooden frame—and went out into the cool night. The town lay silent around her except for distant shouts and singing from the Empire. When Pamela had insisted they have a cabin of their own, Selena had objected, wanting to live at the Empire as Rhynne did. Pamela had been firm and now, listening to the distant tumult, Selena admitted her mother had been right.
Holding her skirt off the ground, she started up the path beside the muddy road, the air around her sharp with the scent of sawn pine. The valley and nearby hills had been denuded of trees to build Hangtown.
Footsteps came toward her. Selena retreated into the shadow of a cabin as a man, muttering to himself in a gruff and slurred voice, lurched down the path. “Hangtown gals,” he sang, “Hangtown gals,” repeating the words over and over as though he didn’t know the rest of the song or maybe was satisfied with just the first two words.
Selena drew back as he came near her hiding place. He stumbled, cursed, then went on without looking either right or left, intent only on finding his way home. As soon as he was gone Selena hurried on, the noise growing louder as she neared the Empire. The road swung to the left and she saw the hotel.
In the daytime, the Empire was a dowdy matron. Now, with two torches flaring outside the entrance and with the lower windows glowing a deep red, she was an enticing lady of the evening, luring men with the promise of forbidden delights.
While Selena watched from the road, the door opened and two men appeared. Abe Greene, Rhynne’s barman, held a miner’s arm twisted behind his back and was shoving him across the porch. When the miner tried to grab the rail, Abe hurled him down the steps to sprawl in the street. Then he shouted something Selena couldn’t hear and went back inside. The man got up, brushed himself off, and wandered into the night.
Selena almost turned to flee back to the cabin. No, she told herself, she was no longer a child, no matter what Rhynne thought. Drawing a deep breath, she walked quickly past the store and around to the hotel’s small back stoop. She opened the door and had to step back as she was assailed by the stench of smoke and stale liquor. She blinked and peered inside. Though the oil-lit chandeliers burned brightly over the gaming tables and the bar, the periphery of the room was shadowed, making it seem much larger and grander than she knew it was.
She was beginning to cringe from the curious eyes of the men when Abe Greene spotted her in the doorway. “Miss Selena,” he said, coming toward her from behind the bar. “What are you doing here?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Rhynne, Abe. Please tell him.”
Abe nodded, turning away, and Selena stepped outside and waited. In a few minutes Rhynne appeared in the doorway, hat on, wearing a red vest beneath his frock coat, a cigarillo in his hand.
“You asked after me, Miss Selena?” He was not surprised at seeing her--he looked almost as if he’d been expecting her.
“I’ve come to--to sing,” she told him hesitantly.
“Are you sure you want to?”
Just then voices were raised behind him. A man cursed. Rhynne glanced over his shoulder but after a moment the voices subsided and he looked down at Selena again.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to go home and be tucked safely in bed?” To Selena, the words sounded like a challenge.
“No,” she said, angry now. “I’m here to sing. I can sing, you know.”
“Not looking like that. Not here.”
She glanced down to see if her dress, put on so hastily in the dark, was in disarray. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I look,” she told him.
“That lace what-do-you-call-it”—he flicked at the chemisette with his finger—”makes you look like a lady schoolmarm.”
Her hand came up between her breasts. “I’d be practically unclothed without it,” she said. She pictured herself without the chemisette, the deep V of her neckline revealing the paleness of her skin against the soft green of the dress. Did she dare?
Rhynne smiled at her as though he read her thoughts.
“Wait,” she told him. She walked around the corner of the hotel and there slipped the arms of the dress from her shoulders and pulled the chemisette over her head. After rearranging the dress, she came back and folded and laid the lace on a table outside the door. She patted her hair smooth.
“All right?” she asked. Feeling his eyes on her breasts, she blushed but forced herself to stand without flinching.
Rhynne held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said. He led her across the room, past the bar and the card tables to the piano. The men stopped to stare after her. “Give me a flourish, if you please, Ned,” Rhynne said to the piano player.
The room quieted except for two men quarreling at the bar and, when someone shouted at them, they too fell silent.
Selena wanted to turn and run. Trembling, she stood facing the roomful of men. There were so many of them, drunken, sober, leering. Their flushed faces, ranged around her, closing her in, seemed to threaten her. Her head swam. When she tried to breathe deeply she coughed from the smoke.
Look at one of them, she told herself firmly, just one. You don’t have to sing to all of them, only to one.
There, that one,
He stared at her from the far end of the bar with adoration evident in his eyes. Wavy black hair, a boyish clean-shaven face. He was young, probably her own age. He was not actually good-looking, yet there was something about him that attracted her, an innocence, a vulnerability that made her want to please him. If only he wouldn’t stare so! His eyes. Were they green? They must be green.
If no one else liked her singing, she decided, he would. She would sing to him and for him.
“Do you know ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me?’” Ned asked. Selena nodded.
Rhynne threw up his hand. “Gentlemen,” he shouted. “I give you—Selena.”
The pianist began to play and, standing stiffly beside him, she sang to the black-haired, green-eyed young man:
“I heard of California gold, I thought I’d go and try it, And foolishly I left my home, I surely can’t deny it.”
The black-haired youth frowned. Didn’t he like her voice? Didn’t he like her? She faltered but went on. He wasn’t watching her anymore, had turned to the blond-bearded man beside him. What was he doing now? He’d seized the blond man by the throat and they were flailing at each other.
Abe tried to pull them apart. The boy swung at Abe. Men pushed forward, shouting and craning their necks, trying to see what was going on. Ned
played louder, Selena stopped singing, tears in her eyes. She saw Rhynne dart across the room toward the bar.
Rhynne stepped between the two fighting men, grasping each by the arm and hustling them out the front door past the gun table. “Now then,” he said once they were on the porch. “What’s this all about?”
They both tried to speak at once.
“One at a time. You first.” Rhynne nodded to the youth. “I’ve never seen you around these parts before. What’s your name, son?”
“Danny O’Lee,” the boy said staunchly. “This bastard here insulted her, he insulted the lass. Selena.”
“The mick’s a liar. I was paying her a compliment, governor, when all of a sudden this one’s at my throat.”
“You’re English Bob, aren’t you?” Rhynne asked.
“All the chaps call me that.”
“Now listen to me,” Rhynne said. “I’m not about to let myself get the reputation for running a rowdy establishment. You can have a good time at the Empire, yes. A bit of noise is all right, but brawling, no. Men don’t buy spirits or play faro when they’re fighting. I’ll decide the merits of this quarrel or else both of you are through here. Banished for good. Do you agree?”
“That’s all right with me, mate,” English Bob said.
Danny nodded.
“You first, O’Lee. Tell me what happened.”
“Like I said, I was standing at the bar listening to the young lady sing, thinking she’s singing to me, she is, when this bloody Englishman says, ‘I’d give two hundred dollars to get between the sheets with that wench.’ So I says to him, ‘Take that back,’ and he says to me, 'Take what back?’ and I says, ‘What you just said,’ and he says, ‘Fuck you.’ So I made a grab for him and that’s all there is to it.”
“English Bob?”
“I thought we’d be hearing a bit of the blarney from this lad but that’s the size of it. I was complimenting the young lady on her charm like the lad here says and for no reason at all he was at my throat.”
“Danny,” Rhynne said, “English Bob was paying Selena a compliment. After his own fashion. You owe him an apology.”
