by Cox, Carol
Virginia shrugged and moved to a vantage point from which she could look out the large window. “I believe I’ll have my things moved into your room once you’ve gone. I always did envy your view, and this room is much larger than mine.” She pivoted, tapping her finger against her lips while she considered the possibilities. “Yes, it will do nicely, even if I won’t be here much longer myself.”
Carrie’s mouth dropped open, and Elizabeth felt her own curiosity rising. Curiosity and irritation, mixed. Virginia never could resist tantalizing others when she had news. “And just where are you going?” Elizabeth asked. “I haven’t heard you mention any plans.”
“You’re not the only one who can have aspirations and keep secrets, dear sister.” Virginia’s expression reminded Elizabeth of a sleek, haughty cat. “Before the year is out, I have every intention of being the mistress of my own home.”
Carrie gasped and bounced to her feet. “Are you engaged, Virginia? Who is it?”
Virginia leaned against the bedpost. “I don’t know yet, but I expect to soon.” She laughed at Carrie’s consternation. “Sister dear, there are at least three highly eligible gentlemen vying for my hand at the moment. All I need to do is make up my mind which one has the most to offer me.”
“You mean which one you truly love, don’t you?” Carrie asked, a doubtful note in her voice.
Virginia tossed back her mane of russet hair and laughed. “You are such a child! Surely I knew more about life when I was sixteen. Love has little to do with it. All three of them adore me.”
“And that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” Elizabeth planted her fists on her hips and glared at her sister. “Virginia, have you ever spent a moment considering anyone’s happiness but your own? Do you honestly think these three suitors of yours have nothing better to do than dance attendance on you for the rest of their days?”
Virginia preened herself in front of Elizabeth’s looking glass. “I have two very simple criteria for choosing a husband. One, I must be the most important thing in his life. Two, he must be able to maintain me in a lifestyle comparable or superior to what Papa has provided.”
Elizabeth shook her head and snorted in disgust. “It’s obvious you’ve placed your own importance before that of everyone else—including God. You’ll never find happiness until He has first place in your life. You’ve heard Pastor Whitcomb say so often enough.”
“And what about you?” Virginia flung back, for once shaken from her air of unruffled superiority. “You’re going off to see ‘what you can make of yourself.’ How does that focus on anyone but you?”
Elizabeth stiffened. “It’s not the same,” she countered. “It’s not the same at all.”
❧
The stagecoach swayed along the uneven road, bouncing over a rut with a jolt that snapped Elizabeth’s drooping head against the frame. The impact jarred her awake, and she brushed a hand across her eyes before looking out the window to take note of her surroundings.
It had been nearly two weeks since she’d left Philadelphia. Two weary, bone-rattling weeks. Elizabeth stretched as much as she could in the confined space, careful to avoid contact with the army captain who got on at Fort Wingate and the two hopeful miners bound for the gold fields. The train ride to Kansas City hadn’t been too bad, although she’d grown heartily tired of her various garrulous seatmates long before it ended. The stage, though, had been a different story. Surely the contraption had been designed for the express purpose of shaking the passengers loose at every joint.
Elizabeth had occupied herself by watching the changing landscape, marveling as the gently rolling hills gave way to the vast plains, then to the majestically rugged western mountain country. The red cliffs near Santa Fe had delighted her, and she reveled in the many hues playing across the hills. Even the accounts she pored over in the eastern newspapers had not prepared her for the vivid purples, golds, and crimsons. The land opened wide before her, wild and untamed, with stunning vistas on every side, and her breath quickened in anticipation. Here was her land of promise. Would she be equal to its challenge?
She closed her eyes, reliving the scene before she boarded the train, with James and her father fussing over her like mother hens, anxious to see her baggage stowed away properly and that she had everything she needed for the journey. Elizabeth stifled a wry laugh, remembering how her mother had come down with an attack of the vapors shortly before her departure, conveniently assuring that Carrie and Virginia would have to stay home to care for her.
No matter. Elizabeth and Carrie had said their good-byes the night before. Not having to deal with Cora’s cold disapproval and Virginia’s scorn made the parting just that much easier.
She had been pleasantly surprised when Pastor Whitcomb came to bid her farewell. He’d pushed his way through the crowd at the last minute, the displaced strands of silver-gray hair marring his usually immaculate appearance. “My dear,” he puffed, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, “I feared I had already missed you.”
Elizabeth smiled at the man who had been her spiritual teacher since she was a toddler. “It was good of you to come.”
“How could I miss the opportunity to say good-bye to one of my favorite parishioners?” His eyes held an affectionate gleam. “You have always shown courage and determination, Elizabeth. Independence, too. All very admirable qualities when exercised properly.” His genial face then took on a more somber expression. “Just be certain you do not try to become independent of God.”
“We’re gettin’ close, aren’t we?” The cracked voice of one of the miners broke into her thoughts, and she opened her eyes again. They had entered the broad valley now. The crisp breeze swept through the open coach windows. Elizabeth declined the captain’s offer to lower the window canvas. Even though patches of snow lay under the tall pines, the bright sun’s warmth was invigorating.
“About two hours more, I figure,” the miner’s companion answered. “I’ll be right glad to get down out of this vee-hicle and start finding those nuggets.”
Elizabeth shifted position slightly, trying to ease her knotted muscles. Soon this interminable trip would be over and the real adventure would begin.
It was closer to three hours later by Elizabeth’s estimation when the stage finally, blessedly pulled to a stop in Prescott. The captain immediately pushed the door open and sprang to the ground, then turned to hand Elizabeth down.
She tottered out on unsteady limbs and stepped away from the coach, surveying her new home. Clapboard storefronts lined the street before her, and across it was a broad, open square. The cross street to her right seemed to be a hub of activity, judging from the steady stream of men entering and leaving its buildings. Through their swinging doors came raucous laughter and the tinny sounds of pianos played by inexpert hands. A flicker of uncertainty assailed her. Where could Mr. Bartlett be?
“Just arrived, have you, Dearie?”
Elizabeth turned to face the diminutive figure at her elbow. The woman’s wrinkled face broadened in a kind smile. “Of course you have,” she chuckled, “seeing as how I saw you step down off the stage. Isn’t anyone here to meet you?”
“I was expecting someone, yes,” Elizabeth admitted. Seeing the woman tilt her head in curiosity, she added, “I’ve come to help care for an acquaintance who’s ill.”
“Bless you, now! She must be grateful to have a faithful friend like you.” Her eyes darkened, and her gaze fastened on a point beyond Elizabeth’s shoulder. “And what is he up to, I wonder?” she muttered. “Supposed to be tending to government business, but more likely coming straight from a faro game, by the looks of him.”
Elizabeth pivoted and followed her companion’s gaze. Richard Bartlett hurried toward her from the direction of the saloons.
“Elizabeth!” he called. “You’ve arrived at last. Welcome to Arizona Territory.” He cast a nervous look at the woman next to her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ehle.”
The tiny woman narrowed her eyes and grasped
Elizabeth’s elbow. “Is it her you’ve come to take care of? His wife?”
Elizabeth nodded mutely.
Mrs. Ehle shook her head. “You seem like far too nice a girl to be abused by that old Tartar.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm. “I’ll be praying for you, Dearie. You’ll need it!”
Three
With a shake of her head, the old woman walked on down the street. Elizabeth stared in bewilderment, then turned to face Richard Bartlett. A sour expression crossed his face, which was replaced by an ingratiating smile when he saw her looking at him.
“You’ll find the people here more coarse than what you’re used to,” he said with a short laugh. “Which are your bags?” She pointed out her carpetbag, and he hefted it with a grunt. “I’ll arrange for your trunk to be sent to the house. Let’s get you settled in.”
Elizabeth blinked, then broke into a smile. At home, she would have been met by a carriage and driven to their destination in fine style. She had never expected to walk to her new dwelling. But this was the West, her new home. She would learn to adapt to the way things were done here.
She studied her companion covertly while they walked along. More gray sprinkled his hair than when she last saw him. His face seemed thinner, more pinched, the beaklike nose even more prominent. Perhaps she should attribute it to the natural effects of aging.
Richard led her one block east, then turned north. “This seems odd to you, I know. So different from what you are accustomed to. But give it a chance, my dear. You’ll come to appreciate the place and, someday, its people.”
He leaned toward her, and she caught the sour smell of liquor on his breath, faint but unmistakable. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent odor, and she experienced a vague sense of unease. It couldn’t be later than three in the afternoon. Had Richard drunk spirits in the middle of the day back in Philadelphia? She didn’t think so, but as her father had pointed out, she had never been close to the Bartletts.
“I can’t tell you how happy we are to have you here.” Richard’s lips parted in a grimace she supposed was meant to look like a welcoming smile. His geniality seemed at variance with what Elizabeth remembered of him. She tucked that impression away for future reference and forced a polite smile in return. She would only be with the Bartletts temporarily. She didn’t have to understand them, just appreciate this means of getting to know Prescott.
Still, his jaunty tone struck a sour note. Perhaps it was due to relief at having the responsibility for his wife’s care lifted from his shoulders. But Richard’s tone sounded like a man ready to celebrate.
❧
Michael O’Roarke crossed the plaza with quick steps, making no attempt to shield his face from the brisk April wind. He could have sent his clerk to run the errand for him, but spending hours bent over his desk checking freight manifests had made him long for a taste of the outdoors. Verifying Clifford Johnson’s latest order might be a menial task, but the trek across town gave him the chance to stretch his legs and fill his lungs with the bracing air.
Hands in his pockets, he crossed the plaza. Strains of music wafted from one of the saloons that lined the opposite side of Montezuma Street, otherwise known as Whiskey Row.
“Each time I see the sun set
Beyond the distant hills. . .”
The clear soprano voice rang out against the tinny piano notes.
Without conscious volition, Michael’s steps slowed, and he stopped to listen. The sadness in the singer’s voice fit the haunting lyrics to a T. And well it should. Michael could imagine no more sordid existence for a young woman than to be caught up in the vice and degradation of saloon life.
The new Arizona Territory had been called a land of opportunity, and the name held true for many. For others, though, like this plaintive-voiced singer, it could only be a miserable end.
The song ended, but to Michael, the last few longing notes seemed to hang in the clear spring air. How could anyone connected with the saloons and what went on there possess so pure a voice? Maybe a better question would be: How could anyone so gifted sink to such depths?
Only God had the answers. Michael breathed a quick prayer for the unknown singer. He couldn’t solve such philosophical questions this afternoon. He could, however, take care of his own responsibilities.
He waved to the driver of the departing stagecoach and crossed Gurley Street in its wake, wondering if the stage had brought yet more fortune seekers to the capital. Adventure and the quest for personal advancement seemed to draw politically ambitious men out of the woodwork. Michael ought to know; his father had been one of the first.
At the next corner, he stopped to get his bearings. He had only been to Johnson’s place once before. Was it farther along this street, or did he need to go east one block farther?
Michael rubbed warmth back into his fingers and wished he hadn’t left his gloves back in his desk drawer. Turning east, he took a few more steps, then noticed a man and woman walking toward him. He headed their way, planning to ask for directions.
On second glance, he recognized the man and took a quick turn down a side street instead. Richard Bartlett. In Michael’s opinion, the man embodied all the worst qualities of those who came to Arizona seeking their fortunes. He’d rather spend extra time finding Cliff Johnson than exchange words with someone for whom he had so little respect.
❧
Richard stopped in midstride and waved his free hand. Elizabeth followed his gaze but saw only a dark-haired man striding away from them. She cast a quizzical glance at Richard, who shrugged.
“I thought to introduce you to one of our local young men. He must not have seen us. Another time, perhaps. As I was saying, we’re glad to have you here. In time, I’m sure you will come to appreciate Prescott’s finer qualities.” He grinned at her again.
Once more, Richard’s buoyant tone seemed out of place and reminded Elizabeth of a patent remedy salesman she’d heard years before. Could she attribute his odd demeanor to his drinking and his drinking to worry about his wife’s health? If so, that should settle down now that she was here to help. And what if it didn’t?
No, she wouldn’t borrow trouble. Right now she felt exhausted from her trip, very glad to be at journey’s end, and eager to rest up a bit before taking over her duties with Letitia. Time enough later on to deal with Richard’s drinking problem, if he did indeed have one.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Richard stopped before a white house with dark blue shutters. “We’re home,” he announced.
Elizabeth took in the neat frame building. If her acquaintances back home expected her to take up residence in a log cabin or primitive adobe shack, they would be sadly disappointed. The Bartlett home could have been transplanted straight from some Midwestern street, from the neat bay window to the rose that twined along the porch railing.
Inside, the front door opened onto the parlor, where Elizabeth recognized a few pieces from the Bartletts’ home in Philadelphia. A sudden wave of weariness swept over her.
“This will be your room. I hope it’s satisfactory.” Richard turned down a short hallway and set her carpetbag down just inside the door on the right.
Tired as she was, Elizabeth would have been happy with the barest of essentials. The sunlit room with its white eyelet curtains and matching bed covers provided a balm to her travel-weary soul. The soft bed called to her to nestle within its depths.
“Letitia’s room is this way. She’ll be anxious to see you.”
Of course. This was, after all, the reason she had come. She shook her head to clear it and accompanied Richard to the room opposite hers. Her own needs would have to wait.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness and make out Letitia, who was propped up against a stack of pillows. In contrast to her own room, awash with light, the sickroom drapes were closed, giving the room a suffocating quality. Elizabeth approached the bed.
“Look who’s here,” Richard boomed in a jovial voice. “Elizabeth has arrived at last.”<
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Letitia turned her head and lifted her hand from her cocoon of blankets. She grasped Elizabeth’s arm with fingers that clutched like a bird’s claw. “Bless you for coming, my dear.”
Elizabeth eased free of the woman’s grip. “Wouldn’t you like me to open the curtains? I’m sure you’d feel much better just for being able to see outside and having some light in here.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. You see, Richard, she’s only just arrived and she already knows just what to do.”
Elizabeth busied herself pulling back the heavy curtains and looping the ties over their hooks in the window frame. What was it about the Bartletts’ manner that disturbed her so?
No question about her being welcome. They seemed happy enough to have her there. More than happy, almost giddy. Maybe that was what jarred. She remembered the Bartletts as somber, rather dour people. This exuberance seemed completely at odds with the people of her memory. She gave the curtains one last twitch and turned back to the bed.
“What an improvement! I feel better already. Come sit beside me, where I can look at you.” Letitia’s scrawny hand patted at the coverlet.
Elizabeth took a closer look at her patient, viewing the woman’s sallow complexion with concern. She seated herself on the edge of the bed, trying not to flinch when Letitia’s waxy hand grabbed at hers.
The afternoon light showed the injured woman’s features in unforgiving detail. Limp, graying hair straggled along her cheeks and fell in a tangled mass around her shoulders. The deep vertical lines etched between her eyebrows revealed the woman Elizabeth remembered, confirmed by the fine lines radiating from her lips. This was a mouth more often pursed in disapproval than relaxed in good humor.
Letitia narrowed her pale blue eyes and studied Elizabeth for several moments. Then she patted Elizabeth’s hand, and her thin lips stretched in a smile.
Elizabeth returned her scrutiny. The notion struck her that she had entered an animal’s den and was about to be devoured.
