Relic

by Renee Collins

  “We are experiencing hard times here in Burning Mesa, Miss Davis. Indeed, there are many good men who would gladly take the jobs you describe, but alas.”

  “It can’t be…”

  “Might I accompany you back outside?” The Haciendo offered his arm, and I was so distracted by the bad news about work that I accepted it. We stepped back out into the heat and sand and sunshine of the street.

  The Haciendo swept a brisk look at Mr. Connelly. “Fetch the carriage.”

  Mr. Connelly turned me a quick glare before stomping off, leaving us in silence. The Haciendo cast his gaze out over the town and shook his head. “I am sorry. These are hard times for all of us.”

  I broke away, dizzy with the disappointment the day had become. “I should go.”

  “Go where?”

  “I apologize again for what happened in the refinery. If you’ll excuse me.”

  I turned to leave, but he gently gripped my arm. “Wait.” His eyes searched my face. I could see thoughts flickering behind them, but then a casual smile passed over his lips.

  “You know,” he finally said, “I think perhaps I do have a job for you. If you will take it.”

  I opened my mouth to chastise him again, but he set a preemptive hand on mine. “A most respectable one, I assure you. Complete with room and board.”

  “What kind of job? You said there were none.”

  “I’m creating a new one,” he said with a smooth smile. “As you may be aware, The Desert Rose is, in fact, an establishment for food and drink. That is its primary purpose. We work our bartender too hard, and I’ve long wondered if we didn’t need a hostess of sorts. Someone to serve drinks when needed, bring out food, clean a little. It’s honest work. And I promise you double what any other job might pay.”

  “Why would you offer this to me? Do you think I’ll give in after a while and become one of your other employees? Well, I won’t. Never. I can tell you that right now.”

  The Haciendo smiled. “I believe you.”

  “Then why?”

  “You have spirit,” he said. “A quality I greatly admire.”

  His smile remained, but I noticed the faintest twitch in his gaze. There was more, something he wasn’t saying.

  I started to refuse, but something held me back. The offer was tempting. Honest work at double the wage I could earn anywhere else? If I could even get a job anywhere else.

  But looking again at the Haciendo, I hesitated. I barely knew him. How could I trust him? Besides, I didn’t like his employee, Mr. Connelly. Taking the offer was out of the question.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not the kind of girl you’re looking for.”

  He analyzed me, a smile curling the side of his mouth, then pulled a large ring from his coat pocket and slid it onto his pointer finger. My breath caught, and a hint of that same, strange heaviness of earth magic tugged inside me. Dryad bone could be polished spring green like that, but it wasn’t usually found in these parts. It must have been purchased from a costly foreign market.

  The Haciendo dug a small seed out of the pocket of his red silk vest and held his ringed hand over it. On the palm of his hand, it trembled, then burst into a green coil. The coil stretched until a rose blossomed there in his hand. A desert rose. He smelled it, then tucked the stem in the hair above my ear so smoothly that I didn’t have time to stop him.

  “If you change your mind, do let me know.”

  It was a trick he’d doubtless charmed many girls with; he probably kept the seeds and ring in his pocket for just such a thing. But even still, color rushed into my cheeks. Noticing this, the young Haciendo flashed an easy smile.

  At that moment, Mr. Connelly arrived with the carriage. The Haciendo stepped inside. “By the way, I don’t believe I ever told you my name. How rude of me. I am Álvar Castilla.”

  He tapped his fist once on the inner wall of the coach, and the carriage drove off in a cloud of dust and sand.

  I spent the entire day scouring Burning Mesa for a job. But again and again, I was turned back out on the streets with the same answer: no work.

  When I dragged myself back to St. Ignacio’s that night, Ella was already lying in bed, her back turned to me. She’d hardly spoken to me in the last three weeks. I sat down on the creaking little mattress and stroked her shoulder.

  “When are we leaving this place?” she asked, still not looking at me. “I wanna go home.”

  “We can’t go home. You know that.”

  I heard a little sniffle and realized she was crying. My heart sank.

  “We’ll start a new home,” I said, squeezing her arm. “You’ll see. I’ll get some work and find us a nice new place to live.”

  Even as I spoke the words, they felt like an empty promise.

  Ella sniffed again, pulling away from my touch. “Jeb wouldn’t have us stay in this lonely old place.” She was silent for a moment before adding in barely a whisper, “Why couldn’t you pull him up?”

  Her words were like a knife in the gut. We’d been through it before. I’d explained how Yahnuiyo, the Apache warrior, couldn’t have lifted both of us, how Jeb made him take me instead. But I knew those explanations meant little to Ella. She wanted Jeb, not me. And it was my fault he was gone.

  I stepped away from the bed. My vision blurred with tears as I stumbled blindly down the hall, the stuffy mission air suddenly seeming to choke me. I found my way out into the courtyard and pressed my back to the cool adobe wall. Staring up at the stars, I tried to breathe.

  Ella was right. I wasn’t as good as Jeb, and I certainly could never replace Mama and Papa. Maybe if I were older or skilled or smarter, I could give Ella the home she needed. Heavy-hearted, I twisted the rose Álvar Castilla had given me between my fingers. A warm night wind carried the flower’s sweet scent across my face. It was time to accept my situation for what it was and do whatever it took to survive.

  I sighed deeply. Tomorrow I would take the job.

  Chapter Four

  Late at night, The Desert Rose took on a solemn mood. Most of the men had either drifted home—drunk and broke—or had slid upstairs to lay down their money for a bit of “feminine company.” A few stragglers played cheerless rounds of poker, sipping their whiskey with furrowed brows. The room smelled of men and alcohol and cheap perfume, but at least the crowds were gone.

  I wiped the empty tables with a white cloth, reveling in the peace that had come at last. The only sound was “The Red River Valley” drifting from the saloon piano, jingling on the air like warm memories. Eddie, the piano player, was a dark, quiet man who didn’t fit in here. We shared that in common. He played the popular ditties and tunes as he was paid to do, but once in a while he’d start making the most beautiful, sad music I’d ever heard. Music so sad it made me think of Mama and Papa and Jeb until I wept.

  Leaning on the edge of the piano, I asked him to play me one of those.

  Eddie glanced around the room. “There’re still customers, Miss Maggie. I’d better give them some cheery tunes, seeing as how they’re probably tired and broke.”

  “Please,” I said. “It’ll help me clean up this mess.”

  It had been an especially raucous night. Adelaide Price had starred in the musical revue, and she always drew a big crowd. Then a large group of railroad workers showed up to make an already full house even fuller. They were passing through town to replace the centaur relic in the engine of the locomotive, a task for which they demanded plenty of fanfare and special privileges. When their foreman commandeered the saloon’s last three bottles of dragon whiskey, however, folks decided they’d had about enough, and a brawl broke out. Now, broken bottles and cards were scattered everywhere.

  Eddie scratched the back of his neck but then smiled. “Okay. One song. Just for you.”

  He understood me. I figured he must have seen his share of sorrows, too.

  As I bent and scrubbed the floors, the melancholy music filled me. I thought about my parents and my poor, sweet brother until I ached
all over. It had been more than a month since they died, but the pain hadn’t much gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse, given my present circumstances: working long hours here at The Desert Rose, sleeping in the back room attached to the kitchens. It was no place for Ella, so the nuns at St. Ignacio had generously agreed to keep her there. I sent them all of the money I got from work and visited whenever I had the chance, but it still didn’t feel like enough. The days in between passed in long stretches of quiet loneliness and drudgery. In those moments, I missed Mama and Papa and Jeb more than I could bear.

  By the time I swept the final bits of broken glass into the dustpan, my eyes stung with tears. I carried the pan outside, hoping to hide my sorrows in the shadows behind the saloon. The sight of the night sky, so vast and shimmering with stars, did my heart some good. In a childish way, I liked to imagine my family up there, keeping an eye on me. But even still, as I gazed at the perfect sky, listening to Eddie’s sad, beautiful music, I felt alone. So very alone.

  “Lovely evenin’.”

  The voice jarred me out of my thoughts, nearly making me fling the pan of broken glass from my hand.

  It was a male’s voice. Sounded like a young buck, about my age. He stepped from the dark into a panel of orange light the windows had cast on the dirt. He was tall and lean with fair hair and a wide smile.

  As he came closer, however, the smile faded. “Say, what’s wrong?”

  I realized that tears still wet my cheeks, and I swiftly wiped them away. “Nothing.”

  “You were crying. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He made a look of playful, exaggerated distress. “Did some varmint trample on your heart? Tell me where he is, and I’ll give him a what for.”

  This made me laugh a little. “It’s nothing like that. But thanks, anyway.”

  He grinned, and I felt a flicker of heat in my face. I didn’t recognize him; he certainly wasn’t one of the regulars. And I’d never seen him around town. He was probably one of those railroad workers and would be leaving for Tucson at first light.

  “Did you break something important?” he asked, motioning to my pan. “Is that why you’re upset?”

  “You really want to figure this out, don’t you?” I said, both amused and exasperated.

  He stepped closer. “A man doesn’t like the sight of a pretty girl crying.”

  I tried to laugh dismissively, though it sounded more like a cough.

  “I’m Landon,” he said, bending his head to try and meet my eye. “Landon Black. What’s your name?”

  His attention put me off sorts, and I shifted to the side. “I need to get to work.”

  “Now don’t be like that,” he said. “I only want your name.”

  I put my free hand on my hip. “What’s it matter to you? I know you’re one of those rail workers, only passing through for the night. What do you care what my name is or why I’m crying?”

  “Does a man need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?”

  “I’m not a pretty girl.” I made a move to leave. “And you’re no man.”

  “I’m eighteen,” he said, stepping in my path. “A man by anyone’s reckoning.”

  I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned, folding his arms.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You give me two more guesses as to why you were crying. If I win, I get to know your name.”

  A smile pulled irrepressibly at my lips, and when I didn’t refuse, Landon must have taken it as a yes. “Let’s see now,” he said, folding his arms and tapping his chin with one finger, analyzing me. “You say your heart wasn’t broken, but maybe you broke a heart and you feel bad about it. That’s it. A girl like you probably breaks three hearts a week.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Flattery is the devil’s trick, stranger.”

  “Ah, so she’s a Sunday School goer. A Sunday School goer working in a saloon? Aren’t you a puzzle.”

  “I sweep the floors and wipe tables,” I said defensively. “I ain’t one of the girls, if that’s what this is all about.”

  He held up his hands. “Didn’t think it for a minute.”

  My pride was still ruffled. “I need to get back to work, now that you mention it.”

  “Wait,” he said, jumping in front of the door to block me. “Don’t leave. I’ve got the answer. I know why you were crying.”

  I folded my arms. “Oh, you do?”

  The smirk faded from his face. This close, I could see sincerity suddenly pour into his pale blue eyes. Without a word, he took the pan full of glass from my hand and set it on the ground. Then he stood directly in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.

  “You lost someone very close to you.”

  My stomach tightened, and I took a step back. “How did…?”

  “It’s easy to recognize a sorrow you’ve felt yourself.”

  His words halted me in place. I stared at him, trying to figure this boy out.

  “Who did you lose?” he asked, filling the silence.

  It wasn’t proper to speak of such things, especially not to a stranger. But in spite of this, a reckless feeling flashed through me. I wanted to confide in Landon. Maybe it was because I knew I’d never see him again—he’d be gone forever on the morning train. Maybe it was sheer loneliness—I hadn’t really talked with another person aside from Eddie since I came to Burning Mesa. And I certainly hadn’t talked with anyone about my loss, about my guilt at having survived. The weight of it had been slowly crushing me from the inside.

  My heart beat hard, sorrow rushing fresh into it. I set a hand on the outer wall of the saloon and sank onto one of the wood crates piled out back. “My parents and my brother. Two brothers, actually.”

  “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

  Somehow, just sharing that one thing made my burden feel a little lighter.

  “And you?” I asked.

  Landon scraped a hand through his sandy hair. I recognized the pain in his eyes. Coming to sit beside me on the crates, he sighed. “My ma. This last winter. It hit Pa real hard. He…he hasn’t said but three words since.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He tried to smile, but he still looked mournful. He turned his eyes to the sky. “I thought I was the only one who tried to search for lost loved ones in the stars.”

  “Is that why you came out here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Pastor said I can speak to her through prayers, but I haven’t had much luck. Guess I’m not righteous enough.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He smiled. “You don’t know me very well.”

  “I have a pretty good sense of people.”

  He tilted his head slightly to the side. “I reckon you do.”

  I smiled, lowering my gaze. He bent his head down again to try and meet it. “So will you tell me your name now?”

  At that moment, the back door was flung open, smacking against the wall. Landon and I both spun around with a start. Tom, the bouncer, appeared from the glow of the inside lights.

  “What kind of riffraff—?” Then his eyes fell on me. “Maggie?”

  Tom had a stern face and black hair, which he wore cropped short in an attempt to mask his Apache features. I suppose he couldn’t get work anywhere else, given his race. And he only got his job here at The Rose because Connelly thought troublemakers would be more afraid of a big Apache man.

  I jumped to my feet. “Tom—”

  “What in the devil is going on out here?” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  I motioned to the pan of broken glass on the floor. “I—I had to—”

  “It’s my fault,” Landon said, rushing to his feet as well. “I kept her.”

  “You get on out of here, boy,” Tom growled. “She ain’t one of the gals. She earns her pay cleanin’, not yappin’ with the likes of you.”

  My face burned as I grabbed the pan and turned to go back inside.

  “I meant no trouble,” Landon insist
ed. “I only wanted to know her name.”

  “Find another gal,” Tom snapped. “This one’s busy.”

  As Tom pulled me back inside, I dared a look behind me. It seemed silly, but my heart sank a little, knowing I’d never see Landon Black again. He reached his arm out and seemed to say one last thing, some meaningful parting phrase, but the door swung shut behind us, and he was gone.

  “You’re in a heap of trouble,” Tom said, still gripping my arm. He was usually kind to me, and so, seeing him this mad, I knew I was in for it.

  “I didn’t mean to stay out so long. I’m sorry, Tom.”

  “Don’t try and apologize to me. Connelly’s the one spittin’ mad.”

  Connelly. My stomach knotted. He’d gotten no more polite or decent since I first clashed with him in the Relic Refinery—having him as my boss had been one of the biggest downsides of working at The Desert Rose. Gritting my teeth, I prepared for another dock to my wages, or perhaps extra hours of cleaning detail.

  Just before we entered the main room of the saloon, however, we nearly collided with Adelaide Price.

  She was dressed in a high-necked white blouse and a simple black skirt. But an evening cloak was draped over her shoulders, and for a moment, her eyes widened, as if caught in the act of something.

  “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Tom asked.

  Quick as it had arrived, the panic slid from Adelaide’s face. “Why, I was looking for Maggie,” she said, smiling. “We’d planned to take a little stroll this evening, didn’t we, Maggie?”

  She shot me a look, and I caught the slightest hint of pleading in her eyes.

  I had been working at The Desert Rose for almost a month and had made a point not to mingle with the less-than-savory characters—which was pretty much everyone except for Eddie—but Adelaide had been friendly to me from day one. I didn’t know why. Not only was she the star of the weekend revue, but she was also the belle of the county. With her sapphire eyes and hair the color of corn silk, she had more men in love with her than I’d imagined possible.