A short time later, he drew rein in front of a white-washed picket fence. The sign on the gate read
BOARDINGHOUSE.
A.ROSS, Proprietor
VACANCY
He would have liked to have been able to afford to settle Jassy into a nice room at one of the better hotels, but weekly rates at a boardinghouse were bound to be a lot less expensive. Not only that, but the price included two meals a day.
Creed helped Jassy from the saddle. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. Trail dust lingered in her hair and smudged her cheeks. He grimaced as he glanced at their attire, wondering what the landlady would think when she got a look at Jassy’s doeskin dress and his buckskins.
“Why don’t you wait here?” he suggested, not wanting to subject her to any rudeness he might encounter.
“All right.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
For a moment, he stared at the neatly painted house, the flower pots that lined the front porch, the blue muslin curtains fluttering in an upstairs window. The place reeked of respectability. Well, there was no help for it, he mused, and running a hand through his hair, he opened the gate and walked up to the front door.
A buxom, gray-haired woman in her late fifties answered his knock. She wore a frilly pink and white apron over a starched calico dress. She eyed him warily for a moment.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her shrewd brown eyes sizing him up in one quick glance.
“I need a room for myself and my wife.”
The woman glanced over Creed’s shoulder to where Jassy stood outside the gate.
“You’re Indian, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman stared at Jassy again. “When’s your missus expecting that baby?”
“In a couple months.”
“I don’t allow no drinking in my house,” the woman said sternly. “And no tobacco chewing.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I charge twenty dollars a week for two,” she said. “In advance.”
Creed nodded. “I don’t have any money just now,” he said, steeling himself for her rejection. “But I will have as soon as I sell our horses.” He took a deep breath, hating to ask this woman for a favor. “I’d appreciate if you’d let my wife stay until I get back. We’ve been on the trail a long time, and she needs a place to rest.”
“Looks like she could use a bath, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman regarded him for a long moment, taking in his long hair, the trail dust that covered his buckskins, the moccasins on his feet.
“What kind of Indian are you?” she asked.
“Lakota. Sioux.”
“You ever scalp anybody?”
“No, ma’am.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s lips. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, I’ll say one thing for you. You’re the most polite Indian I’ve ever met.”
“I’d venture to say I’m probably the only Indian you’ve ever met. ma’am.”
The woman laughed softly. “Well, now, that’s a fact.” She studied him a moment more, then sighed. “What’s your name?”
Creed hesitated only a moment as he quickly searched his mind for another alias. “Macklin. Creed Macklin, ma’am. My wife’s name is Jassy.”
“Macklin?” the woman said, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like an Indian name to me.”
“I’m a half-breed. My mother was Irish.”
He waited while she made up her mind, felt a rush of relief when she said, “I’m Annie Ross. Go on, get your missus. She shouldn’t be standing out there in the sun.”
“Thank you,” Creed said.
“I imagine she’ll be wanting a bath. I’ll tell my girl to heat some water.”
“Thank you,” Creed said again.
Jassy looked at him expectantly as he walked toward her.
“We’ve got a room,” Creed said. He tethered the horses to the fence. “The landlady’s heating water so you can have a bath. And then I want you to take a nap while I go see about selling our horses.”
A bath, Jassy thought. The mere idea sounded heavenly.
Annie Ross met them in the foyer. Creed introduced the two women. Somewhat shyly, Jassy shook the other woman’s hand.
“Dinner’s at six,” Annie Ross said. “Don’t be late. You can have the room upstairs, last door on the right. It has a nice big double bed.”
“Thanks,” Creed said, and taking Jassy by the arm, he led her upstairs.
The room was neat and clean. A brass bed stood against the far wall. Lace curtains covered the large window that overlooked the side yard. There was a small chest of drawers made of cherrywood, a matching commode, an arm chair covered in a flowered chintz. A small chair stood in front of a small vanity table.
“It’s nice,” Jassy said, sinking down in the chair. “Can we afford it?”
“We’ll manage. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. A little tired, is all. Stop worrying about me, Creed. Women have babies every day.” She smiled at him, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.
A short time later, a young girl knocked at the door. “Ma says your missus can come down and bathe whenever she’s ready.”
“Thanks,” Creed said. “Come on, I’ll walk you downstairs,” he said. “While you’re taking your bath, I’ll go see about selling the horses.”
“All right.” She held out her hand. “Help me up, will you?”
He grinned at her as he pulled her out of the chair and into his arms. “Pretty soon I won’t be able to put my arms around you,” he teased.
“Very funny,” she retorted. “Creed, do you think Rose is still here?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if she isn’t?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, honey. All I know is, we’re staying put until that baby’s born.”
“What if we find her and she doesn’t have the money anymore?”
“Hey, stop worrying.”
“I can’t help it. We don’t have any money. We don’t even have any clothes…I’m sorry, Creed.”
“Forget it.”
“I don’t mean to complain.”
“Dammit, you’ve got every right to complain. You deserve a hell of a lot better than you’ve gotten so far.”
“Creed, don’t.”
“It’s true, and you know it.” He took a deep breath. “You might have been killed, because of me. And now you’re gonna have a baby, and…” He swore under his breath. She was pregnant and married to a man with no money and no prospects, an escaped con with a prison record hanging over his head. “Come on,” he muttered, “your bath water’s getting cold.”
There was no point arguing with him, Jassy thought, and even if there was, she was too tired.
He hesitated at the foot of the stairs, kissed her quickly, then went out the door without a backward glance.
With a sigh, Jassy followed Annie Ross down a narrow hallway to a small room that held a large zinc tub. Two large fluffy towels were folded atop a battered bureau.
“Take your time,” Annie Ross said, smiling. “None of my other boarders require baths during the middle of the week.”
“Thank you, Missus Ross. You’ve been very kind.”
“Pshaw. Mind what I said, dinner’s at six. Sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Annie. We don’t stand on formality much around here.”
“Thank you, Annie.”
With a wave of her hand, Annie Ross left the room.
Jassy locked the door behind her, stripped off her dusty dress, and stepped carefully into the tub. She sighed as the water closed over her. She had never realized what a luxury a hot bath was, she mused. The Indians had washed every day, but they didn’t have bathtubs. Men and women alike had bathed in the river.
She dragged her fingertips
through the water, wishing Creed didn’t feel like he had failed her. She didn’t care about having a house of her own, or fancy clothes, or a lot of money. All she wanted was Creed.
With a sigh, Jassy closed her eyes as the water’s warmth seeped into her. Of course, a nice house and fancy clothes would be nice, too…
An hour later, Creed made his way into the Gold Strike Saloon and ordered a glass of beer. He had sold the horses, bought himself a new pair of trousers. For Jassy, he had bought a couple of dresses and unmentionables, as well as a pair of shoes and stockings, and a hairbrush. In order to save money, he’d kept his moccasins and his buckskin shirt. People would no doubt stare at Jassy if she wandered around town in a doeskin dress, but he doubted his buckskin shirt and moccasins would draw much attention. Walking down the street, he had seen men wearing everything from fancy eastern-cut suits to homespun shirts and Texas chaps.
Frisco seemed to be quite a melting pot. He had passed Mexicans, Chinese, Negroes, even a few Indians. He figured the Chinese were the largest contingent of immigrants. Someone, he couldn’t remember who, had told him there were over two thousand Chinese engaged in the laundry business. In some instances, by switching workers and signs, two firms used the same premises, working around the clock. The Chinese resided in Chinatown, a bustling, noisy section of town which was brightly decorated with calligraphy, fluttering ribbons, and shops crammed with exotic foods and Oriental paraphernalia. Chinatown housed a variety of stores, more than half a dozen pharmacies, a Chinese theater, and several restaurants which were frequented by many non-Asian citizens.
Most of the black population lived west of Montgomery Street. They were employed as laborers, mechanics, waiters, porters, barbers and businessmen. The black community had its own cultural organization, as well as its own newspaper, the “Elevator”, which came out weekly.
Then there was infamous Barbary Coast, a hellhole if ever there was one. Pity the poor fool who found himself wandering the streets near the waterfront where anyone dumb enough to venture into its bawdy houses or gambling dens were considered fair game by the crimps who supplied crews to the ships. Few men who shipped out of the Barbary Coast went voluntarily. Most were plied with doped cigars or doctored gin and shanghaied.
San Francisco was a hell of a town. Women were in the minority, with young men making up the bulk of the population. In spite of their small numbers, the women had managed to make their presence known. Due to their influence, gambling on Sunday had been outlawed in 1855. But there were countless other diversions to be had; parades, dances, banquets, horse races, singalongs, concerts, the theater, cockfights and bullfights were only a few of the ways the men found to entertain themselves.
Creed sipped his beer as he gazed around the room. If Rose was in town, she’d likely be working in the one of the cribs, and while he didn’t relish the thought of haunting every dive in the city, he knew it was the only way to find her. He just hoped she’d had enough sense to stay clear of the Barbary Coast, because, as much as he could use the money, he valued his hide at considerably more than four thousand dollars.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was almost supper time when Creed got back to the boardinghouse. He washed up, using water he found in a pitcher on the commode, while Jassy dressed.
They were the last ones downstairs. He’d never felt comfortable in polite society, and now, as five pairs of eyes swung in his direction, he remembered why. Face impassive, he held Jassy’s chair for her, then took the one next to her.
All conversation at the table had stopped at their arrival. Curiosity seemed to roll toward him like the waves that endlessly washed against the beach at Yerba Buena.
Annie Ross stood up and smiled at her boarders. “This is Mister and Missus Macklin,” she said, by way of introduction. “Jassy, Creed, may I introduce you to Mabel Downing, Artemis Coleburn, Wyatt and Paul Robinson, and Patricia Clark.”
Conscious only of the speculation in the eyes of the three men and two women seated at the table, Creed hardly heard their names, although he recognized Paul Robinson as the man who had bought their horses.
When Annie Ross finished her introductions, she sat down and passed a platter of fried chicken to Creed. Gradually, conversation at the table returned to normal.
Jassy smiled and made polite chit-chat with the woman beside her. For his part, Creed kept silent. He’d never been good at small talk and he saw no reason to indulge in it now. Listening to the conversation around him, he learned that the Robinson brothers owned the livery. The Downing woman was the schoolmarm, and unmarried, though he could have guessed that. Patricia Spelling owned a small millinery shop; Artemis Coleburn worked in the bank and was courting Patricia Spelling.
The meal was almost over when Wyatt Robinson asked the question Creed had known was bound to be asked sooner or later.
“Am I wrong, Mister Macklin, or do I detect some Indian blood in your ancestry?”
Creed took a deep breath. Laying his fork aside, he turned to face Wyatt Robinson. “My father was Sioux.”
Wyatt grinned at his brother. “Pay up, Paul.”
With a grunt, Paul Robinson dug a dollar out of his pocket and slapped it on the table. Then he turned to Creed and explained, “I bet him you were Cheyenne.”
“Sorry.”
The conversation at the table picked up again, and Creed relaxed. Maybe he had misjudged these people.
After dinner, the two women boarders went into the front parlor, while the men went outside to smoke.
Jassy looked at Creed. ”Do you want to join the men?”
“No, I think I’ll go upstairs, but you go on and get acquainted with the ladies, if you want.”
“Not tonight.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the stairs to their room. Creed closed and locked the door, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he watched Jassy as she sat at the vanity table brushing out her hair and then, rising, he crossed the room and took the brush from her hand.
“Let me.”
She smiled up at him, then closed her eyes as he began to brush her hair. It was oddly sensual, having him pull the brush through her hair.
“I’ll have to look for a job tomorrow,” he remarked.
“Where?”
“One of the saloons, most likely.”
“Do you think Rose is here?”
“I don’t know.”
He laid the brush aside, then drew her back against him, his hands lightly kneading her shoulders. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“Fine.” More than fine, she thought, basking in the touch of his hands.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then he knelt behind her, his hands cupping her breasts. “Tired?”
“A little.”
She heard his sigh of disappointment, felt him begin to draw away. “Not that tired.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She turned to face him, lifting her face for his kiss, and as his mouth covered hers, she forgot about Rose and the money, forgot that they were strangers in a strange town. There was only Creed holding her, his hands unfastening the bodice of her gown, slipping under her chemise to caress her skin.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, let her hands slide over his shoulders and down his back, reveling in the muscles that flexed beneath her fingertips. Lifting the edge of his buckskin shirt, she explored the smooth expanse of skin under the soft cloth.
“Jassy…”
“Yes.” She slid her tongue over his lower lip. “Yes.”
With a soft cry, he swung her into his arms and carried her to bed. His hands were trembling with restraint as he removed her shoes and stockings, freed her of her dress and chemise.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. Shedding his own clothes, he stretched out beside her. “So beautiful. Motherhood agrees with you.”
“Does it?” Overcome with tenderness, she stroked his cheek, the curve of his jaw.
“Hmmmm.” Propping himself on one elbow, he rained kisses over her breasts and belly. As always, touching her stoked the fires of his own desire, but he kept it in check, afraid to go too fast for fear of hurting her, or the child.
But then she began to touch him, to tease him unmercifully.
“Jassy,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she said. “You won’t…”
With a low groan, he rose over her, careful not to crush her as their bodies became one.
She drew him closer, wrapping him in her love, until he was a part of her, body and soul…
He held her in his arms long after she’d fallen asleep, one hand splayed over her stomach, marveling at her ability to conceive life, to carry it and nurture it. Marveling at her ability to love him wholly and completely.
With Jassy at his side, he felt that anything was possible.
*
By noon the following day, Creed had a job dealing in the Gold Strike Saloon from seven ’til midnight every night but Sunday. Jassy tried not to let it show, but the thought of spending her nights alone in a strange town filled her with trepidation.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Creed said. “It’s the best I could do.”
“It’s all right,” she said brightly.
Creed’s expression was solemn as he cupped her chin in his hand. “No lies between us, Jassy. I know you don’t want me working in a gambling hall. I know you don’t like the idea of being alone at night, but…” He shrugged. “We need the money.”
“I know.” She rested her forehead on his chest.
“Jassy…”
Her head jerked up and she glared into his eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me I should have married someone else, Creed Maddigan, do you hear me?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t gonna say that, honest!”
Head tilted to one side, she continued to stare at him.
“I was just gonna ask if you’d like to go have some lunch. I got an advance on my salary.”
Lakota Renegade Page 24
