Calamity

by Libbie Hawker

  For one thing. Bill harbored other grim considerations, which made him shy of boarding inside Deadwood. He never spoke his worries aloud, but I could guess well enough. Even at a distance, I could feel Deadwood vibrating with the same queasy tension we found in every settlement along the trail. Bill was no coward, you understand—I won’t hear a word against him, even to this day. He was sensible; he thought it better to keep us all out of danger in the first place, rather than fighting our way out of the pickling brine.

  We set up camp a good half mile beyond Deadwood in a shallow wash. A muddy trickle of water still ran among parched and sun-baked boulders, but plenty of willows grew among the boulders, too, and the shade was nice. Many a pleasant hour I spent lying on my bedroll at midday, soothed by the cool, water-scented air below the willow boughs, watching their thin, gray leaves paint pictures against the sky. In those happy hours, I idly picked out among the ever-shifting shapes the profile of Wild Bill, or a brief image of him on horseback silhouetted against the hot blue sky.

  We made a short trek into Deadwood at least once a day, where the fellas took any odd job they could scare up, and I danced the liveliest of reels with sharp, intense men at every saloon and pool hall the town had to offer. Folks was willing to pay a few coins for the novelty of dancing with the notorious Calamity Jane, famed swaggerer and swearer of Dakota Territory—but I did nothing else to earn my pay. For one thing, Bill wouldn’t have approved. I had no great wish to spoil his image of me, now that I had gained his respect. For another thing, I had no desire to poach in the rightful territory of the fine ladies who occupied those pool halls and taverns. I had renounced my former profession, but I still felt something of a sisterhood with the kindlier whores—and feared the mean ones enough to give them no grief. Besides, if I had stopped dancing even for a minute, I would have been too tempted to wet my throat. The livelier I danced, the more the boys paid me, and the less chance I had to smell whiskey on the air.

  While me and the boys brought in cash, Wild Bill set about taking meticulous stock of our goods. By the end of our first week in Deadwood, he had worked out a list of all the tools and supplies we lacked. Then he hunted up and down the streets, seeking to fill the holes in his inventory. Every evening at sunset, we converged on our camp site among the willows, each of us weary to the bone. We pooled our money in Bill’s hands. Then we settled around our fire to listen to Joe’s fiddle, slapping mosquitoes and dreaming of the vast riches yet to come—the certainty of our success, the brilliant future we could all sense waiting somewheres just head.

  One night, Bill was late returning to camp—so late that I began to fret, for the fire had almost burned itself out and the night felt close and pressing, still uncomfortably warm with the day’s remembered heat. The longer Bill stayed away, the more worried I became, till I dropped out of the talk altogether and sat huddled with my knees drawn up to my chest, staring into the guttering flames.

  Timothy watched me a minute. Then he said, “You all right, Calam?”

  “Fine,” I answered. “Just tired. Long day at the pool hall.”

  The boys looked at one another, then at the empty space where Bill ought to be. I could feel them all staring at me, weighing my silence. They must have puzzled out my secret by then, but they was gentle enough not to mock me for my hopeless love.

  Eventually, the boys took to their beds—but I remained awake, wondering if I ought to head into town and scare up Bill Hickock, and picturing all the ways I might find him if I was fool enough to try. Knocked out cold in an alley, the victim of some damn, drunken idiot still smarting over Custer. Or worse, knifed in the chest by the same sort of damn, drunken fool. I might find Bill too drunk to walk, despite his admonitions against liquor—and then what would I do with him?

  What really held me back, though, was a growing, howling suspicion Bill that had occupied himself with a girl. For though Bill claimed to disapprove of whoring, he was only a man—and I ain’t never met a man who will hold out terribly long. He might berate himself the next morning, but once the urge takes him, he’ll forget all about his lofty morals and dive right into the first bed he finds. What pained me most about the possibility wasn’t the thought of Bill as a hypocrite. I could forgive him that. What hurt me was the images that kept running through my head—me busting down a crib door to find the man I loved taking pleasure in another girl’s embrace. I couldn’t bear such a scene, when Bill hadn’t yet touched me—and seemed likely never to touch me a-tall.

  But despite my fears about pretty whores, I soon reached such a state of despair that I was willing to brave the town, even if I did half expect to find Bill in another girl’s arms. It just wasn’t in Bill’s nature to stay away so long, without a word… And when I did find him, I intended to scald him for making me worry so, even if he was slumped over in an alley with a knife sticking out of his guts. I rose abruptly from my place beside the fire and stalked off through the willows, gritting my teeth against my fear. Then I spotted Bill making his way toward me, a dark figure slinking through the night, picking his way between boulders and patches of scrub.

  I went to him eagerly, my whole body prickling with relief, though I moving with great care so as not to wake the other boys. My feet had begun to tingle and my knees to quake; I didn’t quite trust my legs to hold me upright. Bill stopped at the sound of my approach, waiting for me in the dark. I found him behind a dense patch of willows. The scraggly growth screened us from the camp, in case any of the boys awoke.

  “Where in Hell have you been?” I whispered. “I been sick with worry. I thought you got yourself killed.”

  I had expected Bill to chuckle, then to rib me some. That was our way, after the long trek to Deadwood and the bond it had forged between us. Instead, he looked at me steadily in the faint starlight. I drew myself up rather defensively, for I could see that pity had returned to his eyes.

  “You know, Calam.” He spoke in a slow, reluctant way. “You know… last year, I went and got myself a wife.”

  I stood there. For longer than I care to admit. Staring at him. His revelation had stolen the breath plum out of my body; I couldn’t do nothing more than gape at him, and wonder why I was still on my feet—why I hadn’t fallen over dead from grief and loss.

  After a spate of my silence, he said, “Right after I came back from Dodge’s expedition. I figured it was time.”

  “Oh.” That was the best I could manage, just then.

  “I guess she’s about to have a baby. Any day now, if it ain’t come already.”

  I nodded.

  “Thought it best to tell you,” Bill said. “Thought you should know.”

  I progressed rapidly through shock, disbelief, rejection of the whole damn idea. Then I settled into calm acceptance. I didn’t want to know the woman’s name; I didn’t care. Or that’s what I told myself. There had never been any real hope that Bill would come to love me, and I knew it—had known it all along, from first sight of him riding behind Sheridan. So what if he had gone and married his fool self off to some woman? Some woman who couldn’t possibly love him as much as I loved him. Nothing had really changed between Bill and me. I would still love him just as powerfully, just as doggedly, even if he had a dozen wives.

  “Where you keep her?” I was pleased that my voice sounded so causal, unhurt.

  “Just outside Fort Laramie.”

  “Does she mind an awful lot, you going off to prospect in the Black Hills?”

  “Not a terrible lot. She told me she was looking forward to getting rich and building a big, fancy house inside Laramie proper. Said to bring back plenty of gold and she’d forgive me any long absence. She’s a good enough girl, but she’s the type who can look after herself. I don’t think she’ll miss me much till I come home.”

  “I’m the type of girl who can look after herself.”

  “I know you are, Calam,” Bill said gently.

  “Well,” I said, trying to make as if the news had already blown right past my hea
rt, “what were you up to so late in town? Now that I know you gone and married yourself off like a fucking blind idiot, I guess it’s even less likely you was dallying with a whore.”

  Bill laughed, low and quiet. “Never that. Ain’t never been my way.”

  Of course it hadn’t been his way. Beautiful as he was, Bill had no need to pay for affection. I could see it now—could see what a shameful fool I’d been all that past year, riding around the prairie and yearning for Wild Bill Hickock as if he would ever have any cause to love me—as if he would look twice at me when the most respectable and upstanding of ladies would gladly tumble right into his lap, without his needing to trip them first. I thought, but didn’t dare say, Your wife must be surpassingly beautiful. Why would such a fine-looking man bother to marry unless the bride was as delicate and rare as a china doll? Standing there before him, with my heart falling down into the pit of my stomach, I thanked God for the dark of night. In the dark, Bill couldn’t see me so clearly—couldn’t see my bigness, my ugliness, the dirt ground into my skin. The last thing I wanted just then was to know for a certainty that Bill was comparing me to the astonishing beauty he had left back in Wyoming Territory. His wife.

  A pause hung between us. At the time, I was too distracted by my turmoil to notice the awkward air, the tension lingering around Bill while he weighed his next words with care. I didn’t notice then—but all the countless times I have relived that moment, I have taken note, and wondered at the feeling.

  Finally, Bill said, “I ain’t been seeing any girls in town, Calam. Truth is, I’ve taken up playing faro to earn a little extra money for the expedition.”

  I recalled the first time I’d seen him, sitting cool and unmoved outside Boss’s tent, among boys who had ribbed him for his good looks. Faro game, cards held easy in one hand, all the confidence of long experience. The way he held his cards put me in mind of my pa. A bone-deep certainty. Knowing he would win—or believing he would win, at least, even when luck wasn’t on his side. Always that same belief, the endless knowledge that fortune would favor him. Next time, if not this time.

  A queasy suspicion rose inside me. My chest felt so tight, I could hardly draw a breath. I said, “You play cards a lot?”

  Bill shifted on his feet, turned his face so he didn’t have to look at me. “Some.”

  “It’s more than ‘some,’ Bill. I can tell.”

  “You can’t tell a thing, Calam.”

  “Hell I can’t. You think I ain’t seen shit like this before?” He scowled at me over my coarse speech, but I was beyond caring for his high ideals. What was the point now in trying to make myself into a woman Wild Bill could love? “I should have known it when I first met you,” I said. “Known it just by the way you held your cards. And this seals the deal: you slinking back to camp so late, any reasonable person would have thought you dead. You’re hooked on games, ain’t you?”

  “No.” The way he said it most certainly meant yes.

  “Damn it, Bill! I worked in pool halls and hurdy-gurdies long enough to know what’s setting right before my eyes. And if that long experience wasn’t enough to convince me, I can compare you easy enough to my pa. It’s all over you—the gambler’s look. I can see it now. God help me, it’s a wonder I never saw it before. You got some real nerve—riding me over my whiskey, telling me I ought to give up drinking when you’re hooked just as strong.”

  Bill took offense. He didn’t like being compared to a drunk—not one bit—but I knew full well how apt the comparison had been. He rounded on me, stepping up like maybe he might consider throwing a punch—though I knew he would never do such a thing. Bill wouldn’t have struck any woman, not even a big, mannish creature like me.

  He said, “Faro never hurt any man, except to lose him money. Nobody loses his dignity playing cards, the way you—yes, you, Calam—lose your dignity when you’re down in a bottle.”

  “Faro never hurt a man, like Hell,” said I. “My pa died for a game of faro. Faro’s the reason I ended up an orphan, all alone on the trail with no one but me to look after my little brothers and sisters. Faro’s the cause of all my woes, far as I’m concerned—and all my disagreeable characteristics, too, for I never would have taken up this life if my pa hadn’t been killed over a damn fool card game. Whatever faults you find in me—whatever you lay at my feet, Bill Hickock—you best take those complaints to faro’s door, not mine.”

  “All right,” he said, gesturing with his hand as if to coax me to silence. “Careful now, or you’ll wake the boys.”

  “I don’t care if I do. Off gambling into the night—imagine! Betting away all the money we raised for our claim, too, I wager.”

  Even in starlight, I could see how Bill’s face darkened. “I can get it back. All of it.”

  I groaned. “So you have lost our money. How many nights you been out gambling, Bill?”

  “Not many.”

  “Which means all of ’em.”

  “Not all, and you’ll make me real angry if you keep up this harangue, Jane.”

  “Bully. You won’t get half as mad as I am right now. I thought I never could feel anything but good towards you, Bill. Now I see I was wrong. Terrible wrong. You put our expedition in danger and you blew money we all worked damn hard to earn. And you ain’t concerned yourself a-tall with the dangers—the men who might come after you.”

  “I don’t cheat.” Bill was icy.

  “You don’t need to cheat to find yourself on the wrong side of a fight. All you need to do is set across the table from the wrong sort of man. You know how many fights I seen over cards? Seen men killed, too—more than just my pa. And to top it all, you had the nerve to make me swear off drink when you was hooked on something yourself! Where’d you find balls big enough for such a thing, I wonder? It’s damn sure you wasn’t born with ’em.”

  Bill sighed. His shoulders slumped a little; there came over him an air of relief, as if he was glad to have found himself entangled in this fight, and glad to have lost it. “You’re right, Calam. You are. I ain’t too proud to admit you’re right. It’s a nasty habit, and I ought to let it go—particularly now, with a family to think of. It’s long past time. Got one more game coming up, tomorrow afternoon. It should be an easy one. I’ll be able to win back what I’ve lost, and—”

  “No,” I said at once. “Back out. You can’t ease out of these things, Bill. Once something has its hooks in you, it don’t let go as easy as you think. You got to tear yourself away in one quick motion, and never go back for any reason.”

  “But the money for our claim—”

  “Find another way to earn back the money. Take up bullwhacking, like Timothy and Joe has done. You got to listen to me, Bill; I know what I’m saying. It’s been almost six weeks now since I touched a drop of liquor. I know what it takes to get free. Please just listen to me, or before you know it, you’ll have lost more than money. You’ll gamble away all your treasures in life—everything that’s really precious to you, all the things you can never get back. I saw my pa do it. Everything he cared about was gone before he could blink. Then his life was gone, too. I don’t want that to happen to you, Bill. Not to you.”

  He sighed and nodded. “I’ll heed what you say.” Then he took a gold watch from his trouser pocket, unclipping the chain from his belt. He passed the watch to me. I stared at it, the golden disc swinging in the space between us. “Go on; take it.”

  I did, slowly and with no small amount of trepidation. The watch was cool in my hands.

  “You can keep hold of my irreplaceable treasures,” Bill said, “and that way I can’t be tempted to gamble them away. Give them back when I’ve kicked the habit for good—which I expect will happen up there in the Hills, for we won’t have much opportunity for real gambling when it’s just us—the boys and you and me.”

  “Don’t put this on me,” I said. “I can’t be your conscience. I ain’t fit to be anyone’s conscience.”

  “You don’t need to be my conscience, Calam. Jus
t my safebox.”

  He slipped the gold ring from his finger, the snake with garnet eyes. I wondered whether it was his wedding band. Did his beautiful wife choose it for him? Did she have it made special? If so, she knew him well. The snake was a perfect symbol for Bill: smooth and enduring, ever-present in the dry, hot world, confident and unafraid.

  Bill tried to pass his ring to me, but I stepped back. “I don’t want it. I won’t touch it.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Calam.”

  He reached out and took my hand. Bill’s touch spread fire all through me on the instant; I thought of the man I’d met with the snake-bit ankle, the red and black lines running out from the place where the poison had sunk in. Bill lifted my hand, so he could see what he was doing. He slipped the golden snake over my thumb, and it fit there perfectly, as if the ring had been mine all along. My chest quivered. I scolded myself for a damn, unforgivable fool, but I couldn’t help feeling as if Bill had betrothed himself to me with that garnet-eyed ring. I knew full well that to entertain such thoughts would only bring me pain, in the end. But I couldn’t drive the thought away. When Bill released my hand, I turned the ring around and around on my thumb, feeling the shape of the snake and the small glittering eyes, feeling the metal warm against my skin.

  Bill leaned in suddenly. His kiss landed on my cheek so swiftly, I didn’t have a chance to savor it. He was there—then he was gone, stepping back into his private sphere, the separate world that was Bill’s alone, his atmosphere of cool confidence, his untouchable realm.

  “You’re a real good friend,” he said. Then, “We ought to get to our bed rolls and catch a little sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”