"It just might. Hand it over here, and I'll work on it while you build up the fire." It galled him to let Rye wait on him like this, but movement still made his head spin and darkened his vision.
* * * *
The next morning he used the cane to get to his feet. If he leaned heavily on it, he could walk, in a matter of speaking. How long he would be able to walk was another thing entirely. I'll go until I drop. Pa would be disappointed if I gave up.
Pa? He tried to put a face with the name, but none appeared.
Rye piled the venison quarters on the now raggedy hide and tied the ends of the rope around the bunched-up corners. Making loops in between, he put it on like a harness that he slipped his arms through.
Mister calculated what was on the hide weighed nearly as much as the lad. He silently cursed his weakness. No boy of thirteen--Rye had, on questioning, admitted his age--should work that hard. No lad that young should have been sent into wilderness to find meat for his family's table.
"Pap converted to the Brethren after Mama passed on," Rye said in answer to his question, once they'd crossed the creek and were following a mostly level path where two branches came together. Horse Creek he'd named it. The Brethren of Virtue's ranch was two miles beyond the confluence, up the north fork.
"The Brethren, they don't hold with marriage. Father Jacob says a man shouldn't have to cleave only to one woman. Pap don't care, but some of the men, they don't like it that Father Jacob has first call on the women's services."
Mister wasn't sure Rye understood what those services consisted of, but he said nothing. "How long have they been hereabouts?"
"Four years, last August. Pap and me, we came out two years ago, 'cause his brother was here. He likes it fine, but it ain't the kind of place I want to stay, once I'm growed up. I want to see the world, Mister, not stay out here where nothin' much happens."
"Don't let them stop you, lad." Mister knew he'd seen his share of the world, for he'd memories of tall buildings, a wide, brown river, long lines of silver rails stretching into the distance, and cattle spread as far as the eye could see across grassland as flat as a dinner plate.
"I won't. Soon's I'm sixteen, I'm takin' off. By then Pa should have paid up his share of the settlement and I won't have to help him out."
Further questioning revealed that everyone who joined the Brothers of Virtue had to work off a debt, and Rye had volunteered to hunt--"I'm a better shot than anybody else"--to help pay his father's.
Mister kept his mouth shut, but he wasn't thinking too kindly toward Father Jacob by the time, a day and a half later, when he hobbled into a clearing he was pretty sure he'd seen before.
It was a good thing he was about wore out, for when the white haired man who seemed to be the boss jumped all over Rye for taking so long to get home, Mister was sorely tempted to kick him where it would hurt the most.
"We'll doctor you 'til you're able to travel on your own," Father Jacob told him, once they were inside the big barn that housed both livestock and people. "We're not a rich settlement, so we'll expect you to pay your way, just as any new pilgrim would."
"I'm obliged," he said, wishing he were in better shape. If he were, he'd give the man a lesson about what Christian charity really meant. "No honest man walks away from my table hungry," he remembered someone saying. Once again he saw the quiet, solemn man with long-seeing gray eyes and hair like gold in the sunlight. I know him. I've known him all my life. Who is he?
* * * *
The taciturn man they called Deed brought a tray to her room sometime before noon the day after they arrived. Callie hadn't ventured out of the room she'd chosen, even after her head cleared, for she didn't want to rile her father. She'd examined the alleyway behind the big house as best she could from the high, narrow window. The house wall went straight down, with no protrusions she could hold onto. From what she could see, a kitchen window looked directly out on where she'd land if she let herself down with a rope made of sheeting. She'd be docile and obedient for now, until she got a chance. Just one chance.
Sooner or later she'd get out of here and make her way back to Merlin.
"Don't eat it all at once," Deed said, when he handed her the tray. "That's gotta last you 'til tomorrow."
After the first bite, she decided it would last her a lot longer, even as hungry as she was. The meat was overcooked and dry as a piece of well-tanned leather. The bread was moldy, the potatoes only half cooked. Only the beans were palatable, even though they were overcooked to the point of being mushy. She told herself to think of them as soup, and was able to swallow them.
That night, as hunger gnawed at her belly, she pondered her options. She could continue to resist her father's orders subtly. He probably would beat her regularly, but she didn't think he'd put her in one of the second floor bedrooms for simply being recalcitrant.
She could obey his every command, and come to hate herself. Worse, she'd soon become used to slavish obedience, as she had once before, and before long she'd forget all desire to escape.
No, I won't. Not as long as there's a chance I can get back to Merlin.
Or she could put her skills to work and take over the kitchen, for whoever was there now would likely be a better hostler or housepainter. I'll give it another day, or maybe two. By then they'll be so tired of food like this that they'll give me the run of the place. Even Pa.
About the time she'd forced herself to eat supper, even if it was only the bread she'd scraped the worst of the mold off of and the rest of the now cold, mushy beans, she'd decided to make her offer tomorrow. I don't think I could eat another meal like this one.
She heard voices downstairs and went to the door, to press her ear against it. When Deed had left after delivering her food, he'd locked it behind him. On her father's orders, she was sure. Now she wondered if it had been to keep her from running off or from asking questions. Those voices belonged to women, and they didn't sound unhappy to be here.
What did you expect? This is a bawdyhouse, so there's bound to be bawds.
Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor. With her forehead against the door, she rocked her body back and forth, back and forth.
Merlin, where are you?
For most of the night, she heard distant laughter and an occasional yell. Near morning silence fell and she was finally able to sleep. When her father opened the door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
He tossed a purse on the bed. "Your man's dead."
She stared at it, not wanting to touch the dark-stained leather.
"Don't believe me? Pick it up. Look inside."
With a shaking hand, she obeyed. The brass closure opened easily. Inside was a folded-up paper, a piece of leather with strings attached, and a frayed, dirty ribbon that might once have been red.
She knew what the leather was--an eyepatch. Merlin always carried a spare in his purse. Tears clogged her throat as she unfolded the paper. On it was written in an elegant hand, "Anybody finding this purse should send it to Emmet Lachlan in Boise City, Idaho Territory. He'll pay a reward for word of what happened to me. Merlin Silas Lachlan."
Carefully she folded the paper and returned and the eyepatch to the purse. Fingering the ribbon, she wondered if it belonged to one of his sisters. She tucked it inside and closed the clasp.
"You had him killed, didn't you?"
"Of course. Nobody takes what's mine. Give me the purse."
"No. And if you try to take it away from me, I'll find a way to kill myself. You said you had plans for me. Fine. But they'll not do you much good if I'm dead too."
He stared down at her for a long time. At last he nodded. "You'd do it to, just to spite me. Never mind, then, But tomorrow you'll move down to the second floor."
Until this moment, she hadn't really believed her own father would set her to whoring, no matter what she'd said. With her final acceptance of his monstrousness, she got mad.
"No, I won't. You won't make me into a whore. I will kill myself firs
t. And I'll kill any man who tries to rape me."
His fist smashed her cheek and she sprawled across the bed.
"No woman argues with me. You'll do it, girl, even if I have to give you to Frisco first, to tame you."
"You'd be a fool," she said, fighting to keep her voice even, her tears contained. "I'm worth more to you than any whore."
"You're worth damn little. I'd planned to sell you as a virgin, but you--you and that dullard cowboy--spoiled my plans. You cost me a bundle, girl, and I'll work you until I get it back."
Elbowing herself upright, she glared at him. If she backed down, if she showed even the slightest sign of weakness, he'd win. "You are a fool. Do you think I wasted all those years with Mrs. Flynn?"
At her first words his arm had drawn back, ready to strike her again. She held herself ready, but he hesitated. "No woman calls me a fool, but we'll settle that later. What do you mean, wasted?"
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, "I could make your bawdyhouse famous, but not as one of your girls. I heard of a place in New Orleans where men come as much for the midnight suppers as for the women. I could make that good a reputation for this place."
Oh, thank you, Merlin, for telling me about that place. I was jealous you'd been there, but now I'm grateful. She choked back pain, knowing her mourning had only begun.
"I'm listenin'."
"I didn't just learn to bake. Mrs. Flynn taught me to be a cook too. Give me someone to help in the kitchen, and I'll turn out meals fit for a king." She was only exaggerating a little. In a place like Sidney, Nebraska, it wasn't likely anyone would challenge her boast.
"I'm runnin' a whorehouse, not a restaurant."
"Fine. Just remember what I said, I won't be one of your whores."
He narrowed his eyes.
She wanted to cringe away from his gaze, but held herself steady, staring back with all the stubbornness she could summon.
"Two weeks."
She held her breath.
"Two weeks to show me you can increase the profits. If you can, I won't give you to Frisco."
"I'll have a free hand in the kitchen?"
"For now. Just don't try any tricks. One customer gets sick and you're done."
"Nobody gets sick on my cooking," she said, putting all the bravado she had into her voice.
"See to it. One wrong move and you'll be just another whore." He spun on his heel and strode out, locking the door behind him.
Callie sat a long time, clutching the small purse in her hands. She wanted to cry, but no tears would come to her aching eyes.
* * * *
His head stopped spinning before a week was out. It still ached, but less every day. Ten days after he'd arrived, he was splitting the logs the men hauled down from the hills into fence rails. He was well enough to go hunting with Rye within two weeks.
Everybody worked in the Brethren's settlement if they wanted to eat. So he'd been warned before they let him inside the barn. "We're not lacking in charity," Father Jacob had said, as he stood in the wide doorway and blocked Mister's entry. "But we're a poor settlement, with no food to spare. So you'll give me your word to work off our debt to us before you leave."
Mister had wanted to tell him to go to blazes, but had been so dizzy and so shaky on his legs he'd agreed. Now he knew the patriarch had treated him no different from anyone in the Brethren. The second day he was there, he'd seen a woman rise two hours after giving birth and help with supper.
"My reckoning," the patriarch said, when Mister brought up the subject during his second week, "is that you owe us a month's work. You'll have eaten that much food by the time you leave, and you took Sister Hepsibah away from her tasks for most of two days, just nursing you. I'll expect you to honor your promise. Stay until the next moon wanes, and I'll send you off with my blessing."
Mister agreed, but silently vowed to take Rye with him when he went. The lad's father was crazy as a hoot owl, and no fit parent for him.
I won't force him to come along, but I'll offer him a choice. He'd be better off on his own than he is here. Sooner or later some critter is going to catch him unawares and that'll be that.
Great God, how can his own father not see the danger?
* * * *
"I swear to God, Callie, I'm sorry I ever took Lem's word about this place. It's like being a slave or something."
The fragile-looking blonde woman at the kitchen table used a moistened forefinger to pick up a crumb from her plate. "I was better off at Tilly's, even if I was at the bottom of the pecking order. She paid us every two weeks, and gave us a paper to show where the money came from." Lily's teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Not that I ever could read it, but Celeste, she read it to me. Here I haven't seen a cent, and it's been three weeks since we opened."
If anybody had told Callie a month ago she'd be friends with a whore, she'd have called them a liar. Three times over, for she was friends with Lily, Aggie, and Rose.
"What do you suppose Lem would do if we all up and quit?" Aggie got up to pour herself another cup of tea.
"Set Frisco on us, I reckon." Rose sounded resigned. "Let's face it, girls, we were fools."
"We're gonna be fat fools if Callie don't quit feedin' us so well," Aggie said. "Let's go, ladies. Doors'll open in half an hour."
When they'd gone, Callie wondered if she'd done too good a job, showing off her kitchen skills. After the first week she'd been cooking, Pa had decided they'd offer a midnight supper for the customers. Since then business had tripled, even though the boom Pa had counted on hadn't happened. Sidney wouldn't live up to its promise as a shipping point for the gold towns in the Black Hills until there was a bridge across the Platte.
Instead, Ariana's Palace was drawing men to town. She'd heard Pa say men were coming from as far away as Cheyenne and North Platte to patronize the girls and the dining room.
As long as I'm worth something to him in the kitchen, he won't sell me. But I've got to get away.
She laid her hands across her belly. I've got to escape.
Chapter Thirty
Late March 1876
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"What good would it have done? You didn't--don't know who you are. Knowing who you worked for doesn't change anything."
Much as he hated to agree, Mister had to. "I'm leaving tomorrow."
The patriarch nodded solemnly. "You've paid your debt as agreed. God speed."
"I'm taking my six-gun."
"You'll get no argument from me. Handguns are evil, devices meant only for murder." He turned his back and stared out the open window. "Brother Bates tells me Zachariah wishes to travel with you. I have forbidden it."
"Seems to me a boy old enough to be sent out to hunt alone is old enough to decide for himself."
"He is of the Brotherhood. They abide by my wishes."
"We'll see."
The next morning Rye was waiting along the trail about half a mile from the settlement. "I'm comin' with you."
"Fine by me. You bring any food?" Father Jacob had decreed that once Mister left the settlement, the Brotherhood no longer was responsible for feeding him.
"Nope. Pap wasn't happy at me leavin'. He said not to come back. He made me empty out my bundle, leave the biscuits and bacon I'd kept back from morning meal."
Unwilling to say what he thought of the lad's father, Mister walked on in silence.
"Pap said Father Jacob knows what's best for me," Rye said after a bit. "You reckon that's true?"
Mister thought for a while. It went against everything he believed, everything he'd been taught. But who'd taught him? "No. No, I don't believe it. A man's responsible for himself and for those weaker than him. You're still a boy, but you've been doing a man's job quite a while. I reckon that gives you the right to decide what's best for you."
"It's hard, though." Rye sounded thoughtful. "Goin' off on my own is kinda scary, but leavin' family behind, knowin' I'll never see them again, that's hard."
"May
be you should go back, stick around 'til you're older."
"The longer I stay, the harder it'll be to leave. Besides, Pap's not who he used to be. He really believes what Father Jacob says about not ownin' anything, and everybody livin' together." A stone went skittering along the trail ahead when he kicked it. "Mister? You really think they're gonna make a go of it. The settlement, I mean?"
The lad deserved an honest answer. "I don't think they have the chance of a snowball in hell. That's not farming land. If they were to run cattle, or even sheep or goats, they might make it. But farming? One bad year and they'll be close to starvation."
Now how did he know enough about farming to draw that conclusion? Tarnation, I wish I could remember!
Rye was well shut of the Brotherhood. He'll be better off with me. At least I'll take care of him, instead of expecting the other way around.
Where the north and south forks of Horse creek joined, Rye suggested they stop and set snares. Before an hour had passed they'd caught two rabbits and an unwary grouse. "We'll save these for supper," Mister said.
"I'm hungry now." Rye looked longingly at the grouse.
"Chew on this." Mister pulled two strips of jerky from his coat pocket. He'd expected to be forbidden to carry food from the settlement, and had pilfered half a dozen such strips from the kitchen over the past week. Since he'd been hunting with Rye, he'd filled their larder well, so he had no compunction about taking enough food to carry them through the first day on the road.
"How far is it to town?"
"I dunno," Rye said. "It took us five days to get to the Brotherhood, because we took a wrong turning. "I don't think it's too far, but with the creek running high, it'll take longer.
They climbed out of the Horse Creek drainage and into a wider one. "Lodgepole creek, I think," said Rye when Mister wondered aloud what it was called. "I never hunted this way. Mostly I went north and east."
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