The Chili Queen: A Novel

by Dallas, Sandra

  “I got the misery in my footses,” Welcome said the next morning when Addie came down to breakfast and found the hired woman sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, her feet propped up on a second chair.

  Addie looked at Welcome’s splayed feet, which were splatter-bare. “I got the misery myself, so don’t expect any sympathy from me,” Addie said sourly. “Where’s my breakfast?” She was sore that Ned was enjoying himself, rambling over the countryside with Emma, while she had to stay behind and work. In fact, Addie had slept poorly for stewing about it. She had all but forgotten that getting Emma away from The Chili Queen had been her idea, not Ned’s.

  Welcome moved her feet to the floor and covered them with her long, striped skirt, but she didn’t get up. “I already fixed breakfast for him and her. Flannel cakes. Then I mixed up the flapjacks again for them girls, but I might as well have fed them chicken heads, pigtails, and parsnips for all the thanks I been given. I didn’t hire on to cook breakfasts three times a day, particularly for them as does not appreciate it. Not nary a lick more will I cook this morning, no.”

  “Where’s Ned?”

  Welcome looked at her glumly. “Oh, I tied them up some eatments in a checkidy cloth and put them in a carryable basket, and they lit a rag, going Lord knows where, him in another clean shirt and her all Jenny-Linded up in a riding dress. They left hours ago. If you ask me, there’s deviltry about.”

  “I guess I didn’t ask you, did I?” Addie replied. “And what do you care?”

  Welcome shrugged.

  “Are you going to get my breakfast?” Addie asked.

  “No, ma’am, I am not.”

  Addie sighed. “You ever going to mind me?”

  “I’ll move on if you ain’t happy. Just say the word.” Welcome grinned and gripped the table to push herself up. “But I’ll fetch you bread and jam. She brung a jar of quince jam in her trunk, handed it to me this morning and said give it to you. I wouldn’t let those girls have it. I ought to crumble up corn bread with peas and pot liquor and pour it in a trough and let them eat it like Adam, without no spoons, just the way they fed the little children in slavery days.”

  Addie leaned forward and tapped one fist on top of the other. “Was that the way you were raised?”

  Welcome’s face went stony. She adjusted her bright red head rag and turned and shuffled to the drain board, where she picked up a butcher knife. Then she took out the remains of a loaf of bread and sliced off a piece, setting it on a plate. She carried it to the table, along with a dish of butter and the jar of jam.

  “You were a slave, weren’t you?” Addie asked.

  “I was still in my young days when freedom came,” Welcome replied, not answering the question.

  Addie let it go. She spread a fulsome amount of jam on the bread and ate it, while she thought. Then she asked Welcome if Emma kept her trunk locked.

  Welcome didn’t reply but asked, “How come you let him take her off like that, and not in the buggy? She was wanting to ride a horse, and she wouldn’t do it sidesaddle, so she went off astride, just like any man. It don’t look right.”

  Addie looked at her curiously. “I ask you a second time why you care?”

  “I say again it don’t look right. It sorely does not. She looks common as pig tracks.”

  “This is a hookhouse,” Addie snorted, “or didn’t you know? We’re not as refined as Mrs. President Grover Cleveland.”

  “That one is no hooker.”

  “It’s her choice to stay. I wouldn’t stop her from leaving.”

  Welcome sat down again and began to rub her foot. “I don’t like it.”

  “Nobody asked you. Besides, you’re not always right about things. No you’re not.”

  Addie spread butter across the bread, then put several spoonfuls of jam on top and took a bite. “Quince jam. Why would anybody make a jam out of quinces? Why not plums or peaches?” she asked.

  “Maybe she left before plum-ripening time in Kansas.”

  “You know anything about plums?”

  “No. You know anything about quinces?”

  Addie laughed and shook her head. Welcome had made her feel some better. “I guess we don’t know why she made quince jam, then.” She shoved the rest of the bread into her mouth, then licked the jam off the side of her hand and announced she was going to look inside Emma’s trunk.

  Welcome stopped as she picked up the plate and looked at Addie. “How come you’re to snoop?”

  Addie was wounded. “I’m not snooping. Maybe there’s something I ought to know about in there. What if she’s a morphine fiend? She might murder us all in our beds. You, too. Or maybe she smokes opium. She could burn down the house and me and those girls along with it. I’m responsible for those girls. She could be a doper, she’s that scarce-hipped,” Addie continued. “Why, she’s so thin her ribs rustle against each other like cornstalks drying in the wind. Dope does that, you know.”

  Welcome tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t and began to chuckle.

  “Well, it might could be so. Yes it could,” Addie said, but she laughed, too, suddenly feeling a warmth for Welcome. “It’s my house, and I got the right to see anything in my house, don’t I? If you want to have a look yourself, you can come along.” Addie stood up and brushed crumbs off her wrapper. Some of the crumbs were from yesterday’s breakfast. Welcome followed her into the bedroom.

  In all her days put together, Addie had never seen a room so neat. Emma’s brush and comb, nail buffer and toothbrush were laid out neatly on the bureau, with a row of hairpins so tidy and straight that they looked like little toy soldiers lined up. The floor shone as if it were a mirror, and the furniture must have been dusted that morning, since it didn’t have the film of dirt that blew in through the window every day. The spread was pulled tight across the bed, which did not sag as it usually did. Emma must have tightened the ropes that held the tick. Beneath the bed was a pair of shoes that were worn and repaired, but had been cleaned and polished. The black dress hung neatly on a peg on the wall. “I don’t suppose you did up this room,” Addie said.

  Welcome shook her head.

  “It’s nervousness. What’s she got to be so nervous about?” Addie said.

  She tried the lid of the trunk, but it was locked. “She doesn’t trust me. Is that any way for a guest to behave?” Addie asked. “I am greatly insulted.”

  Welcome turned to leave but stopped when Addie said, “What’s your hurry? I guess I know how to pick a lock or two.” Addie extracted a hairpin from the row, leaving a little gap between the soldiers, and held it up. Then she knelt down beside the trunk and carefully inserted the hairpin into the lock, wiggling it around. In a few seconds, there was a click, and Addie sent Welcome a look of triumph. She lifted the lid.

  Welcome nudged Addie aside so that she could look in first.

  Addie struggled to keep her balance as she wondered why Welcome was in such a hurry.

  “This ain’t right,” Welcome said.

  “Oh, la!” Addie began removing the items in the trunk—dresses, petticoats, drawers, a corset. There were scraps of material for quilts and a supply of bonnet strings and soft fabrics for hats, some silk rosettes. It looked as if Emma planned to set up a millinery all along, Addie observed.

  “Or make a whole supply of hats for herself. Maybe she’ll make me a hat.” Welcome grinned, and Addie crunched up a piece of green taffeta and held it over Welcome’s head. “This looks better than that old rag you’ve got on. Your hair’s got red in it. Take it if you want. She won’t miss it.”

  “No, ma’am. The devil will not have my soul for a piece of green silk.”

  “Suit yourself.” Addie rummaged around inside the trunk, tossing out shoes and stockings and an 1879 bound volume of Peterson’s Magazine. She flipped through it and stopped to study a woman wearing a Saratoga dress and bonnet. “Maybe that’s where she gets the ideas for those hats. Why, this one’s been out-of-date for years.” Having gone to Kansas City eve
ry year, Addie considered herself an expert on fashions. She looked into the trunk again. “That’s odd. You’d think she’d have a Bible and one of those cooking books.”

  “She already knows how to cook. And maybe they had but one Bible, and her brother kept it. Besides, she’s no cheer-backer.”

  “No what?”

  “Preacher. I never heard her say one word about the Lord, yet. Or you neither.”

  Addie snorted and got on her knees to peer into the bottom of the trunk where something was wrapped in a piece of silk. She lifted it out, removed the material, and found herself staring at the likeness of the man who had gotten on the train with Emma. “This is her brother,” Addie said, handing the picture to Welcome.

  “He’s a fine-looking man,” Welcome observed.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You wouldn’t say that if you saw him. He’s too mean.”

  “So she say.” Welcome held the picture closer to study it, then handed it back.

  Addie wondered why Emma had brought along a picture of her brother, when she hated him so. Maybe she’d wanted the frame for her husband’s picture, and now that there wasn’t any husband, there was no reason to remove John Roby’s likeness.

  Addie put the picture back into the trunk and began to pile Emma’s things on top of it.

  Welcome chuckled. “You think she won’t know you snooped when she opens this trunk and finds it as messy as an owl’s nest?”

  Addie threw up her hands. “You straighten it, then.” She went into the kitchen and sliced herself another piece of bread and ate it plain. Then she stood in the doorway watching Welcome as she carefully folded each garment and returned it to the trunk. When she was finished, Welcome closed the lid and extracted the hairpin, straightening it and returning it to its place on the bureau. “You’re a regular lady’s maid,” Addie observed.

  “You want some breakfast now?” Welcome asked.

  “Naw, I want a glass of whiskey.” Addie started for the parlor, then turned and cocked her head at Welcome. “You coming, or is that against your religion, too?”

  “The Lord comes down on drunkness,” Welcome said, then smiled. “But I suppose He don’t mind a little nip to help the hurting in my footses.”

  Addie grinned at Welcome and decided she must have been a liver in her time. Maybe she still was.

  In fact, Addie had two or three glasses of whiskey, or maybe four or five, before she went to sleep on the sofa. She was bad to drink sometimes, and when she woke up, she couldn’t remember if Welcome had drunk as much, or more important, what the two had talked about. By then, it was late afternoon, and Addie was alone in the house. She threw aside the coverlet that Welcome had spread over her and padded upstairs, glancing into the rooms, but the girls hadn’t returned. Maybe they’d pick up a cowboy or two in the saloons. Addie hoped they wouldn’t be too drunk to work. She felt bad about neglecting them lately. After all, she’d always considered herself to be a mother to her girls. After the business with Emma was done, Addie would throw a party for her two boarders.

  Addie went into the kitchen looking for Welcome, but the woman was nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d gone to the chicken coop to sleep off her drunk. Addie wouldn’t begrudge her that. In fact, Addie had developed a warm feeling for Welcome. She went back upstairs to Miss Frankie’s room and poured tepid water from the pitcher into a basin, soaped and rinsed herself, brushed her hair, and put on a cotton dress. She wandered around the house again, but Welcome had not returned. So she sat on the back porch, wondering what Ned was up to.

  Perhaps he was right. What was wrong with telling Emma that Ned and Addie weren’t brother and sister? He should be getting back soon, although there was no sign of horses in the west. Welcome had said they’d ridden in that direction, probably to avoid going through Nalgitas. Addie was thankful for that. She wouldn’t have to endure teasing from customers telling her that Ned had thrown her aside for a woman who looked old enough to be his mother. She fidgeted on the chair. Usually Addie liked lazy afternoons with the girls gone and nothing to do, but today, she was nervous all over. She examined her hands, picking off a hangnail and leaving a raw spot that oozed blood. Addie stuck the finger into her mouth and sucked on it while she shaded her eyes with the other hand and looked across the prairie again.

  A bee buzzed past her ear and landed on a wild aster that had taken root in the naked ground beside the house. When the bee flew off, Addie got up and plucked the lavender flower, smelled it, and stuck it into a buttonhole. She looked at the barn. Maybe Ned and Emma had returned while she was asleep and had gone inside so as not to disturb her. She looked around, but there were still no signs of riders, so Addie crossed the brown grass to the big structure. She opened the door and peered inside, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She’d built the barn herself after she bought The Chili Queen. Besides room for a buggy, a phaeton, and a wagon, the barn had four horse stalls and a tack room, as well as a hayloft above. Addie loved horseflesh, although she no longer liked to ride a horse herself. Fine horses were a sign of prosperity. They were good for business. She liked to dress up the girls and drive them around town to stir up attention. Addie had sent a three-dollar money order to Currier & Ives in New York City for a picture of Lexington, a racehorse, which she put into a gold frame and hung in the parlor. Even her shelf for whatnot things had three horse figurines mingled with the collection of colored glass slippers and toothpick holders.

  Two of the stalls were for her horses, one for Ned’s, and the fourth held saddles and bridles, since Ned had taken over the tack room. Usually Ned stayed with Addie in her room when he was at The Chili Queen, but she’d furnished the tack room with a bed and a light so that he could go there when things in the whorehouse got too noisy.

  Ned’s horse was gone, along with one of Addie’s horses. She walked over to the remaining animal and let him nuzzle her. The boy who cleaned the stable and cared for the animals had come in that morning and swept out the stalls. The smell of fresh hay reminded Addie of the farm she’d left when she was hardly grown. The recollection made her feel neither good nor bad; the only time she thought much about her childhood was when she was on the train, passing through dirt-farm country.

  She patted the animal’s neck and turned to leave, then caught sight of the tack room. It was Ned’s domain, and Addie never went inside unless he was there. She stared at the enclosure for a long time. Going through Emma’s trunk was one thing, but Ned’s belongings were sacred. He didn’t like snoops. Still, she had the right to spy on him, didn’t she? It was her barn. Everything in it was her business. And what harm was there in looking, as long as Ned didn’t find out? Addie reached behind a post for the key. She went to the barn door and peered out at the horizon just in case Ned was returning, but there was no sign of anyone.

  Addie unlocked the door and went inside, stopping to light the kerosene lantern that hung on the wall. Ned wasn’t as tidy as Emma, but nonetheless, the room was neat. The blanket was pulled up over the bed and pillow, and Ned’s clothes hung on nails on the wall. Besides the bed, the room held only a straight chair and Ned’s trunk. Addie looked at the trunk for a long time, then took a couple of steps forward and yanked at the lid. It was unlocked, and Addie lifted it, bending over to see inside. The trunk wasn’t even full. There were Ned’s clothes—extra pants and shirts and a heavy coat he wore in winter. A school-boy’s primer was under the clothes, along with three newspapers with front-page stories on bank robberies. Addie knew Ned had committed two of them; she wasn’t sure about the third but thought it probably was Ned’s doing. Under the newspapers was a piece of brown cardboard, and at first, Addie thought it was part of the trunk. But she lifted it out and turned it over and found herself staring at a prosperous farm family. Addie took the photograph to the light to get a better look. In the center of the picture was a stern-looking couple. The woman looked worn out, and no wonder, with the brood of children around her. The tallest boy, the one holding a dog in his arms, might have
been Ned, but Addie wasn’t altogether sure because he was so young. Behind the family was a two-story frame house, with a veranda and what appeared to be a trumpet vine growing over it. She was pleased that Ned had come from a good family, for it meant that she had traded up.

  “There never was any such picture took like that of the Foss farm,” Addie muttered to herself. If she’d lived in a house like this, she’d have had a bedroom door to lock, and she might not have left home. Addie studied the boy again, to see if his ears stuck out a little, like Ned’s. But she couldn’t tell. She turned her attention to the two older girls, one with a quilt in her hands. They’d be grown up now. Addie wondered what they’d think if they knew their brother was an outlaw. But maybe they did know. And what would they think if they knew he was keeping company with a hooker? A madam, she reminded herself, formerly the most popular chili queen in San Antonio. Ned could have done worse. Still, Addie had a feeling they’d be a whole lot easier in the heart knowing their brother was married to someone like Emma.

  Addie did not know a tear had rolled down her cheek until it splashed onto the photograph. She wiped it off with her sleeve, then turned the picture over. On the back was scribbled Old K. farm, Ft. Madison. She wondered what K stood for. Maybe this wasn’t Ned’s family after all but just some picture left in a trunk he’d bought. Or maybe the photograph was with something Ned had stolen, although she didn’t know why anybody would steal a picture. She studied the boy again and thought she saw how his nose was flattened a little, like Ned’s. He’d told her it was broken when his father slammed him against the barn. Maybe Ned’s name wasn’t Partner at all. Maybe it was something that started with a K. She’d never asked him about his name, and he’d never said. Well, she’d never told him her name was Adeline Foss.