by Lucy Evanson
John shot his hands into his pants pockets and dug around, coming up with nothing. The bartender snorted and turned back to his conversation with the waitress.
“Let me get one for you,” Cora said. She withdrew another coin from her purse and laid it on the bar. “Henry, can you get him a whiskey—”
“Brandy!”
“Oh, okay, a brandy then,” she said. “It’s on me.”
The bartender looked at her closely for a moment, then shrugged and reached for a dusty bottle on the back bar. He uncorked the bottle and poured a healthy shot, then took the coin and tossed it into the cash box behind him.
“Now maybe you can do me a favor,” she said, once the bartender had gone back to the other end of the bar.
“Just a second.” He picked up the glass and held it unsteadily as he looked at it; even from his seat Nathan could see the liquor sloshing against the sides of the glass, threatening to leap out at any second. John set the glass down on the bar again and leaned over to inhale. As the brandy fumes filled his lungs, he smiled broadly. Then, in a flash, he picked up the glass and drained it dry in a single gulp.
“Now what were you saying?” He turned and leaned back against the bar, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Something about a favor?”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah, a favor. But I want you to promise to hear me out, okay? Just let me say everything, and then you decide. Deal?”
“Sure thing, honey.”
Cora leaned close and began to speak quietly in his ear. The man’s face was like a tableau of emotions as she whispered. He at first had the pleased expression that you would see on any man’s face if a beautiful young woman had just bought him a drink and then sidled up to nestle against him. Then lines appeared on his forehead as his eyes widened, and the smile melted away as his jaw dropped lower. He nodded a couple of times as she continued speaking, then a look of pure confusion spread over his face and he pulled away to look at her.
“What?”
She leaned in again and whispered.
“Married?!” he nearly shouted, throwing back his head as he burst out laughing. Nathan could see the rotten teeth in the back of his mouth.
Cora’s cheeks were burning brightly. “Would you keep it down?” she hissed, slapping him on the arm.
“Honey, I am not the marrying kind,” John said. “But how about we pretend we’re married?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her back over to him; now it was his turn to whisper in her ear.
If Nathan had any doubt about what sort of things he was saying, it became clear in a second. Cora’s eyes blazed as she ripped her arm out of his grasp, and she slapped John hard across the face. The crack of her hand across his cheek shot through the room, drawing even the miners’ attention.
“How dare you talk to me like that?”
John, now even more unsteady on his feet, raised one hand to his face and looked around, finding all eyes upon him. He turned back to Cora, straightened up and cleared his throat.
“Why would a whore be surprised when somebody speaks to her like a whore?” he said. Then his hands shot up to Cora’s shoulders and he pushed her hard, sending her onto her backside on the grimy, sticky floor.
Nathan was on his feet in a flash. He could see from Cora’s face that she was stunned, though John simply leaned back and rested his elbow on the bar as if nothing had happened. Nathan moved to help her up, taking her arm just as she was struggling to her feet on her own.
“Are you okay, Cora?”
She looked at him and searched his face. “Do I know you?”
“No, I just heard him call you Cora,” Nathan said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She looked down and saw that he still had her by the elbow. “Would you let go of me? I don’t need your help.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I said I’m fine.” She whipped her arm away and turned back to the bar just in time to see the bartender grab John by the collar.
“I don’t want to see you in here again,” he growled as they walked; he was holding John like a kitten by the scruff of its neck, and he barely paused at the door before pushing him roughly out into the street. “You come back here and you’re going to have trouble with me. You got that?” He let the door close, drowning out the truly imaginative stream of curses that John had aimed his way, and came over to Cora.
“How come I always have trouble when you come in here?”
“What, you’re blaming me for what he did? Didn’t you hear what he called me? Didn’t you see him push me?”
“I saw everything,” he said. “And if I remember right, you’re the one who bought him a drink in the first place. Maybe you should reconsider the company you keep.”
“Save it, Henry,” she said. She turned and noticed Nathan still standing there. “And what are you looking at?”
Nathan decided that it would be better just to keep his mouth shut, though he could have answered truthfully, a beautiful woman. She was so close that he could now see her eyes were a deep blue; put together with her light blonde hair, it was like she was made of sunlight and clear sky. He shrugged and returned to his seat in the corner.
Cora went to the bar and grabbed her purse, then stomped out of the bar without looking back. In a minute the normal ambience of the bar had restored itself, with the low buzz of conversation only interrupted by rowdy laughter from the miners and the occasional snore from the old man across from Nathan.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. It was too bad he had met her only tonight, when he was practically on his way out of town. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much say in the matter. Both his wallet and his stomach were empty, and that was a combination that man couldn’t survive for long.
“You gonna order something?”
He looked up to see the waitress standing in front of his table.
“You either gotta order something or you gotta go,” she said.
“Let me think for a minute,” Nathan said. She turned to make her rounds among the other tables, and he again searched his pockets for money, gathering every coin he could find.
“Well, what’s it gonna be?”
He looked down at the coins in his hand. Forty-three cents. For a quarter he could either buy the cheapest meal they offered—a bowl of potatoes in broth, with a scrap of meat attached to a chunky bone—or he could get another glass of whiskey. If he ate now, he probably wouldn’t feel the pangs of hunger again for another six hours. If he got a glass of whiskey, he’d sleep it off and wouldn’t notice his growling stomach for at least eight.
“Give me another drink,” he said, sliding the coins across the sticky wooden tabletop. The waitress smirked and scooped up the money, returning in a minute with another whiskey.
Nathan drank slowly, in no hurry to head back to his cold, tiny room at the boarding house. It was only a matter of hours now before he was forced to finally give up and go back home, and he was in no hurry to do that either. Might as well stay a bit and enjoy the show. Of course, the star of the show had just departed, so that took the shine off of things somewhat.
What could she have said to the guy that set him off like that? He had said that he wasn’t the marrying kind—had she asked if he was married? Why was she even interested in a little rat like that anyway? Surely she could attract the attention of better men. Like me, for example.
He straightened up in his seat and moved over slightly so that he could see himself in the mirror that ran the length of the back bar. Not bad, he thought, running a hand over his forehead to brush his dark hair back in place. My teachers always said I was a young man with excellent prospects. At least I’m still a young man. And I’ve got a strong back and legs. Just ask Mr. Gates down at the hotel.
He laughed at himself and took a drink. It’s probably just as well, he thought. A woman like that doesn’t need me. She made that perfectly clear. A tough girl like that probably didn’t need anyone.
Chapter 3
It was a horrible thing, waking up with a headache first thing in the morning. The birds were chirping in the tree that stretched up outside her window; now bare of leaves, it no longer offered any shade and the sunlight was pouring in. Birds and sunlight, she thought. I think I’m going to be sick.
She opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of her dress, hanging on the hook on the door. It was stained and spotted all down the back; when John had pushed her, she must have fallen in the typical puddles of beer, tobacco juice and God knows what else that covered the floor. Clumps of sawdust stuck to the fabric here and there like scabs, probably hiding even worse stains. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.
She would have gladly forgotten the last twenty-four hours, but in spite of the whiskey she’d had the previous night, her memory was clear and precise. She had gotten up on Saturday morning in a good mood, full of nervous energy but confident that she’d be able to find a man willing to help her out. After all, if there was one thing that she understood, it was how to get men to do what she wanted. Usually.
As it turned out, it was a lot harder to get a man to marry you than she would have expected. It didn’t help, of course, that so many men she knew were already married, but even the single ones were easily spooked. The worse thing about it was how much time it took just to get around to asking—it wasn’t the sort of thing you could just throw out there point-blank, so she not only had to find a guy she knew, but then she had to start a conversation, try and show some interest in him, and then spring the question. She got two responses over and over: either a dumb look, as if it were so hard to understand a girl wanting to get married over the weekend; or a burst of laughter in her face. Neither did her any good as the hours slipped by.
The worst part had easily been what happened in the bar, however. By that time, she had sunk so low as to ask John Mason, and that had not gone well at all. Cora lifted her hips in bed and ran a hand over her backside. Yep, she could feel a bruise developing there, in fact.
She tossed off the covers and got out of bed, crossing to look at her dress more closely and standing at the edge of the rug to keep her feet off the cold floor. It didn’t look any better close up; it absolutely could not be worn and would need to be laundered. Her shawl was in better condition, with bits of sawdust and spots of something sticky, but as she shook it out, at least it looked like she could still wear it.
Cora took the dress and went to the closet, opening the door wide to reveal the two items hanging within: her old, worthless cloak, on the verge of throwing itself from the hanger and collapsing in a bundle of loose thread on the floor below; and her other dress. Cora swapped the dirty dress for the clean one and put on her clothes.
She was the last one to arrive at breakfast, which was how things normally turned out. It sometimes seemed like the Parker sisters never slept, so it was no surprise that they always beat her to the table. Mr. Beckett was able to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, but he still managed to make it downstairs before Cora did, nearly every single day.
She took her normal seat, mumbled a greeting to the others, and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“You got in pretty late last night,” Mr. Harper said. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She took a sip of the coffee. “I’m not going to lie to you,” she said, her voice a bit rustier than she would have liked. “I’m feeling a little rough today. I guess it shows?”
“Just a bit,” Harper said. “I’ll get you something to eat and it’ll fix you right up, though.” He stood and went into the kitchen.
“I’m not surprised you’re not feeling well, dear,” Margaret said. Cora looked over at the Parker sisters; Abby was also nodding as if she agreed with her sister already, without even having heard what she was going to say.
“Why is that?” Cora asked, bracing herself for the daily lecture. The Parker sisters were devotees of clean living, which seemed horribly boring to Cora but which apparently agreed with them. The twins had reached the age of sixty-eight last spring and were still going strong. They each had a half-cup of coffee in the morning as their only indulgence, whereas for Cora the coffee was to help recover from her other vices.
“It’s all these changes in the weather,” Margaret said. “It fools with a body’s natural systems.”
Abby nodded again. “Just this morning, for example, we expected it to be chilly, but when we went outside for our daily constitutional, it wasn’t cold at all,” she said. “When the body expects one thing and gets another, it’s enough to make anyone sick.”
Cora took another sip of her coffee. “Yeah, that must be it, then,” she said. “Well, that’s good news it’s not cold today.”
Margaret suddenly stuck her arm out to the side, nearly hitting Mr. Beckett in the nose, which probably would have annoyed him if he hadn’t nodded off.
“I can feel snow coming, though,” she said. “Right here in my elbow, I have a twinge. We’ll have snow in three days.” She let her arm swing back and forth a bit. “Maybe four.”
“Do you remember that storm we had back in twenty-seven?” Abby said, turning to her sister.
“It wasn’t twenty-seven, it was twenty-five,” Margaret said. “I know because Daddy had just planted the elm tree that summer, and it barely survived the storm.”
“That wasn’t an elm,” Abby said. “What’s wrong with you?”
As the twins began their first argument of the day, Mr. Harper emerged from the kitchen with a plate for Cora. She had to admit, though breakfast might not have sounded attractive a while earlier, once she had the food in front of her she realized she was starving. It was simple fare—scrambled eggs, toast, and a sausage—but it looked delicious, and she tore into it immediately.
Harper sat down at the head of the table and poured himself another cup of coffee while Cora ate. “You know, there’s no rush, Cora,” he said. “All that food’s yours; the others already ate.”
Her cheeks began to burn. “Sorry,” she mumbled through a mouthful of toast. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“I’m just teasing you,” he said. “But you’re going to make yourself sick if you keep going like that.”
Cora nodded and made a conscious effort to eat more slowly. Mr. Harper was right, of course; she could end up feeling worse and then she’d miss church entirely. She glanced behind her at the clock in the corner. It was nearly nine o’clock. Since she was already dressed, she had plenty of time. That was the good thing about having so few clothes: she never wasted time anymore deciding what to wear.
When it was time to go, she stopped upstairs for her shawl and then set out for church. The sisters had been right about the weather; the morning was almost balmy, and the sunlight wasn’t bothering her nearly as much as it had when she’d first awakened. Her head was feeling better as well; it may have been the breakfast, or the fresh air, or a combination of the two, but by the time she reached the north side of town and the church spire was in view, Cora was feeling almost normal again.
She hadn’t yet heard the bell on the town clock strike ten yet, so she knew she was a bit early, but she could see that the church doors were open. She walked up the gravel path and went inside. There were a few other people already there, but nobody she recognized. Then again, it had been a long time since she’d attended. Cora slid into the pew furthest back.
The place hadn’t changed very much since the last time she’d been there. The walls were still mostly bare, but almost blindingly white; the pews were rough-hewn wood, but sturdy; the floor was worn in places but spotlessly clean. It wasn’t fancy, but it was familiar.
The church slowly began to fill as people arrived, many of them with families, the children fidgeting and tugging at their fancy clothes as soon as they’d been seated. Soon Cora noticed the smell of food, and she turned around to see that several people had brought covered dishes, filling a long table that had been set up inside the door. She had forgotten about the monthly potlucks; Pastor
Marshall had started that when he’d arrived years ago, and apparently the tradition lived on.
“Well, now isn’t this a surprise,” she heard somebody say.
She turned around and saw her cousin standing there, holding a platter in her hands, her husband and two sons gathered behind.
“Good morning, Emma.”
“You know, I was just saying to Mike the other day that it would be so nice if Cora would finally show up to church,” Emma said. “Isn’t that right, Mike?”
“Yep, that’s right,” he said quietly, nodding as he spoke.
“Well, here I am,” Cora said.
“You know, today’s the potluck,” she said. “Did you bring a dish to pass?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know you were having that today.”
“Oh…well, I’m sure nobody will even notice,” Emma said. “I brought my cornbread. People seem to really love it.” She turned and handed the dish to her husband. “Go put that on the table and then take the boys up to save our seats.” Emma turned back to Cora and smiled. “So what’s new with you?”
“Oh, not much,” Cora said. “What about you? Anything new?”
Emma’s eyes glittered like diamonds, and her smile grew even wider. “Nope, not a thing,” she said. “But we’ll have to talk later, Cora,” she said as her family passed by on their way to the front of the church. “It sure was nice running into you.” Her voice was like a razor blade dipped in honey.
Cora sat down and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm as she watched her cousin walk up to the very first pew and sit down with her family. Nothing new. Two-faced liar. Cora slowly forced all the air out of her lungs and took another breath. There was no use getting angry about something she couldn’t change, but that still didn’t make her like it.
Shortly the church had filled nearly completely, and when she heard the town clock strike ten, the door to the church office opened on cue and Pastor Marshall stepped out and up onto the dais. He went to the podium, greeted the congregation, and took a moment to look out at the crowd before he began to speak.
