The Saloon Girl's Journey (Texas Women of Spirit Book 3)

by Angela Castillo

  Darla crept up the sagging steps. The door was open a crack, and she pushed into the dark, dusty room.

  The area behind the counter was empty. No sounds of movement came from behind a dingy curtain she assumed led to the back area. Boxes and bags of food were piled in haphazard fashion on the shelves around her, along with gardening tools, packets of needles, and other dry goods. She didn’t see any ribbons. Why had Miss Miranda been so sure this tiny little store would have them?

  After taking one last look around, Darla stepped out onto the porch. “Hello?” she called.

  “Hello, Miss.” A tall, thin man stood at the end of the porch. He wore a threadbare suit that might have been dapper years before. A faded stovepipe hat rested on his head. His lip curled up over yellowed teeth. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” Darla flashed him her brightest smile. “I’m searching for hair ribbons ... blue ones.”

  “Is that so?” The man stalked past her and into the shop, his worn but polished shoes squeaking with every step. He had a curious way of walking, with his elbows pointed out at the sides, like a scarecrow being jerked by an errant wind.

  The hairs on the back of Darla’s neck pricked up. You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. She followed the man back into the shop.

  “Folks around these parts don’t hold much with frippery,” the man said. He rummaged through a box on the counter. “Here. These ribbons’ll do you fine. Two for a penny.”

  Darla touched one of the stiff strips of fabric gingerly. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I need blue ribbons. These are black.”

  The man leered at her. “So, these ribbons ain’t good enough for your hoity-toity hair? Well, you can just get out of my shop if you’re not gonna buy.”

  A hot retort sprang to Darla’s mind. She thought better of it, turned on her heel, and went back out into the street.

  A group of women, all dressed in black mourning garb, huddled together at the far end of the road. Three gentlemen laughed and talked in front of the store. Darla hurried past them, intent on returning to the caravan. How long had she been gone? At least half an hour, by the sun’s position. She walked faster.

  A flurry of bright skirts caught her eye, further on at the edge of town.

  Ketzia? What on earth? She ran towards her friend.

  Ketzia’s warm brown cheeks were tinged with red, and sweat beaded her forehead.

  “Darla,” she gasped. “Why are you here?”

  “Miss Miranda sent me for ribbons. She said Doctor Ebenezer wanted me to fetch some. Surely she told you?”

  Ketzia pursed her lips. “No. The doctor was looking for you. Miss Miranda told him you stormed off after saying medicine show life wasn’t for you. But I saw her hide your things in the bushes. Darla, I’m so sorry, I should have known you were telling the truth!”

  Darla sighed. “What am I going to do? If Miss Miranda hates me so much she’d try to get rid of me like this, I’ll never be safe in the show.” She lifted her chin. “Look, thank you for coming to tell me. But I’d better find somewhere else to go. I’ll wait until the caravan leaves and go pull my stuff out of the bushes. You have been a wonderful friend to me. Tell Doctor Ebenezer I . . . I’m sorry.”

  Ketzia folded her arms. “I refuse to let you go off alone. You shouldn’t have even come to town by yourself, and Miss Miranda knew it. You need to come and tell Doctor Ebenezer the truth about her. I’ll back you up.”

  Voices behind Darla grew louder, and Ketzia craned her neck over Darla’s head.

  Darla whirled around to see crowds of people stopping on the street, pointing to them. Goosebumps rose on her skin.

  Ketzia leaned closer. “Listen,” she said in a low voice, “we found the town’s message tree this morning while you were out with Johnny. Seems they don’t like outsiders. You should come with us, at least until we reach Waco.”

  Darla opened her mouth to argue, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the shopkeeper leading a group of people towards them.

  The gypsy girl tugged on her arm. “Hurry!” she hissed. “I have a horse tied up right beyond those trees. I told my brothers we’d catch up. The caravan already left.”

  Picking up her skirts, Darla hastened after her, but gravel crunched behind them, closer and closer. Her heart sank as they turned to face the crowd, which had grown to more than a dozen men and women.

  “Can we help you?” She tried to give a confident smile, with just a dash of sass.

  “This foreign girl a friend of yours?” the shopkeeper demanded.

  “Why yes,” Darla replied in as cool a tone as she could muster. “Is there a problem?”

  A thin woman with sunken cheeks stepped forward. “Caravan came through here afore Christmas. Sold my sister Marge an elixir for constipation. And she was dead afore the New Year.”

  “That’s right,” another woman nodded. “And they had gypsies, like you.” She pointed to Ketzia. “They had all kinda magical powers. They put curses on the town.”

  “Curses . . . on the town?” Darla’s throat tightened.

  The shopkeeper jabbed a spindly finger at her. “This girl was in my store stirring up trouble.”

  Darla’s fingers clenched into fists. “I was just looking for blue hair ribbons!” She stomped her foot.

  The crowd gasped.

  The woman in black shook her fist. “Wasn’t blue the color worn by those gypsies the last time?

  Cries of “Yes, yes it was!” came from other people on the street.

  Heart pounding, Darla looked for a gap in the crowd, but she and Ketzia were surrounded.

  Two men grabbed Ketzia and two more took Darla’s elbows. She struggled and kicked. “You have no right to touch us!”

  Ketzia’s eyes were wide, and she chewed her lip.

  Darla slouched down between her captors. Thick fingers dug into her arms.

  The men dragged them down the street, everyone else following behind.

  The shopkeeper stepped before the throng, and they all stopped. “Where should we take these two troublemakers until the sheriff gets back? We can’t get into the jail ‘till the law arrives.”

  The thin woman pointed over to a side street. “Take ‘em to my shed. It’s got good strong walls and a lock.” She bent towards Ketzia. “You’ll be punished for what your people did to my sister. Make no mistake about that.”

  “My family has never even been to this town!” Ketzia’s shawl had slipped down her back and her wild, black hair whipped in the wind. “Dozens of medicine shows go through Texas every year. My family doesn’t practice black magic. Magic is from the Devil!”

  A man reached out and slapped Ketzia across the face. “You will not speak of the Devil in this town, pagan creature!”

  Ketzia’s fingers crept to her cheek. Her eyes blazed, but she kept silent.

  Tears burned Darla’s eyes. Oh, what can we do? Even if the folks from the caravan tried to rescue them, they would be outnumbered.

  They were taken to a little house on the outskirts of town. The cottage was painted a light green with white trim, and cheerful petunias nodded out front.

  How could such a horrible woman live in such a beautiful house? This thought was swept from Darla’s mind as she was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved towards a small shed. The door yawned open, like a mouth ready to swallow her whole.

  Darla clasped her hands in front of her. “Please don’t do this. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “That’ll be for Sheriff Doyle to decide,” said the lady in black.

  Darla was pushed into the shed, and Ketzia followed. The door slammed shut, and a bolt rasped into place.

  Pounding on the door, Darla screamed, “You can't keep us in here! You have no right!”

  “Be quiet there!” a rough man's voice answered.

  Thin cracks in the walls let in needles of light, the only relief from the darkness. The shed was mostly empty, with just a few boxes and bags in a corner.

  Ketzia stood and began rumma
ging through them. “Nothing useful.” She sat against the wall and crossed her arms.

  “What should we do?” Darla tried to push down the panic rising in her voice. Even if we found a way out, there's a guard.

  But Ketzia had bowed her head and was praying in a language Darla couldn’t understand. Probably Russian, or perhaps a gypsy tongue.

  Darla couldn’t think of words to speak. Fear and desperation fought inside her mind, and she wanted to slam against the wall and scream.

  She clenched her hands and sank to her knees. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” she prayed, over and over. Finally she quieted, and allowed the Holy Spirit to pour into her. Something in her heart shifted, and a peace flooded through her soul. Immediately, she felt the presence of God surround her. Her hand slipped up, up into the air, almost on its own.

  Everything is going to be all right. The certainty of this thought pressed out every trace of fear within her.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she met Ketzia’s gaze.

  Ketzia smiled. “He told you, too.”

  “Maybe there’s a loose board somewhere.” Darla began to test the walls with her shoulder. “We can’t just give up. Maybe the guard will leave, and we can escape tonight.”

  A shadow covered a space where light had just been visible. Ragged breaths sounded from the other side of the wall

  21CHARTER MORGAN

  “Darla, is that you? Are you all right?” came a husky whisper.

  All at once, Darla had the sensation she was stepping back into that Christmas fairyland she had created for the orphan’s banquet. Lights danced before her eyes, and she patted her cheeks. Am I dreaming? Yes, this must be a dream, because dreams were the only places she heard Ethan’s voice.

  “Oh Ethan.” She leaned against the wall. “Why must you torment me? Please go away.”

  “Go away?” the voice said. “Shouldn’t I rescue you first?”

  The door groaned and was wrenched from its hinges. Light poured into the shed.

  “Ethan, it is you!” Darla ran forward and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Shhh . . .” Ethan stared down at her, a hundred questions burning in his eyes. “I let the chickens out to distract the guard. He’ll be back any time.”

  Darla pulled away, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s . . . good to be rescued.”

  “Come on, Darla.” Ketzia was already moving past them. “I left my horse on the other side of town. We’ll have to skirt around through the woods.”

  “Hey, those girls have to stay here!” The guard stomped in their direction, his face like a swollen tomato, sweat pouring down red cheeks.

  Darla was all for taking a chance and running, but Ketzia grabbed her arm and nodded to a gun holster on the guard’s hip.

  Ethan turned and waited for the burly man. “Did you have something to say to me?”

  The guard squinted at him. “Uh, yeah. It’s my job to make sure these ladies stay put until the law arrives.”

  “Is that so?” Ethan stepped closer. “I’m sure a smart-looking fellow like yourself can tell me just what these girls did wrong.”

  “We didn’t do anything!” said Darla. “And he knows it!”

  The guard cracked his knuckles and swaggered forward until he was inches from Ethan’s face.

  The two men stared at each other. Ethan seemed calm, his shoulders relaxed. The guard’s shoulders heaved with each breath.

  Darla didn’t want to think about what that breath must smell like, but Ethan didn’t seem to be affected. “I’m taking these ladies with me, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  The guard’s fingers twitched over his holster, and Darla screamed out. “Ethan!”

  Ethan swung his arm back so fast Darla almost missed the motion. His fist connected with the guard’s jaw in a crunch Darla felt in her very core. The guard crumpled to the ground.

  “Shall we, ladies?” Ethan flexed the fingers of his right hand and nodded to the forest.

  Bushes embraced them in leafy boughs. In a few steps, the town was covered.

  It didn’t take long to skirt the small group of houses. Ketzia beckoned to them. “I left my horse over here.”

  Men’s laughter rang through the trees. The shopkeeper stood in the clearing with a group of his cronies, holding the horse’s bridle.

  “What should we do?” Darla whispered to Ketzia, but Ethan was already pulling them into the clearing.

  The shopkeeper’s mouth dropped open, but then a slow smile spread across his face. “Hey, boys, lookee here. Thought they’d get away, didn’t they?”

  “How dare you?” Ethan clenched his fists and stalked forward.

  “Blondie’s friends with that witch girl.” A pudgy man in coveralls pointed to Ketzia. “Said she was bringing the Devil to our town.”

  “Ketzia said no such thing!” Darla protested.

  Ethan raised his hands. “Folks, why don’t we discuss this like gentlemen?” He pulled a paper from his pocket and began to unfold it. “My name is Ethan Downs. I’m part of a large church group in Dallas. And Darla North,” he took Darla’s hand, “is with me.”

  The shopkeeper took the paper and examined it. “You don’t say.” He handed it back to Ethan. “A preacher, eh?”

  “Of sorts. And I can tell you right now, this young lady,” he indicated Ketzia, “wouldn’t have to bring the Devil to your town. He’s been allowed to create plenty of mischief all by his lonesome.” He glowered at each man in the group. “Hasn’t he, gentlemen?”

  A beak-nosed man stared at Darla’s arms.

  Probably trying to figure out if I have bruises where he grabbed me. She gave him a slit-eyed glare.

  The shopkeeper scuffed the ground with a booted toe. “You and your woman are free to go. But we’ll have to keep this foreign girl for questioning.”

  Ethan stepped closer. “You will hand me those reins, sir, and both of these ladies and I will take our leave. Now.”

  “And who’s gonna make us?” the shopkeeper taunted.

  Ethan stared down at the broken skin on his knuckles. “Charter Morgan.”

  “Eh?” coverall man asked.

  “Ask him,” Ethan pointed to the shopkeeper, whose shoulders had slumped. “Charter Morgan is the charitable organization I work with. They buy a great portion of your corn and potato crops here, through this shopkeeper. Don’t they?” This last question was addressed to the shopkeeper.

  Pride filled Darla’s heart. Ethan is magnificent.

  The shopkeeper rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. He slapped the reins into Ethan’s hands and stalked away. The other men followed him back towards the town.

  Ethan watched as they left. “Cowards,” he muttered.

  “Ethan, I declare, it’s almost as though you wish they’d stayed to fight,” said Darla.

  “No.” Ethan tugged at his shirt sleeves, unbuttoned them and rolled them up. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Ketzia glanced from Ethan to Darla and pursed her lips. “The caravan won’t be far. Mr. Downs, do you have a horse?”

  “He couldn’t go any further.” Ethan bowed his head. “The reason I stopped here in the first place.”

  “It’s all right, we’ll hurry and catch up.” Ketzia grabbed the horse’s reins and led him down the path. “Let’s stop at the camp and get your things,” she said over her shoulder to Darla.

  Ethan and Darla followed behind.

  Warmth crept to Darla’s cheeks and she stole sidelong glances at Ethan, but he stared straight ahead into the woods as they walked, saying nothing.

  Finally she could no longer bear the silence.

  “You came all this way for me?” she asked in a timid voice.

  “No. Not all this way.” He glanced at her. “Only to Hamilton. But you weren’t there. So I decided to head for Waco and catch a train home. Jack’s leg wasn’t holding up like I hoped it would. He needed rest. I sold him in that town. I was on my way out when I saw the commotion
in the street.”

  “You saw that? Why didn’t you step in right away?”

  Ethan rubbed his chin. “I couldn’t very well have taken on the whole crowd, could I? No, better to wait and see what happened. I saw the Charter Morgan sign on the shop door. I remembered their connection with my organization. Then I had the leverage, see?”

  “That makes sense.” Darla sighed. “Well, you’re here now, and we’re rescued.”

  “Yep.”

  Darla studied his face for a hint of softening, but he stared ahead at the path with steely eyes. She held her hands tightly together to keep from wringing them. Oh dear, dear. Somehow, he really found me and rescued me, but everything is awful. Why did he come after me if he was so upset?

  Ketzia stopped when they reached the clearing where the caravan had camped. She reached down behind a log and pulled out Darla’s bag, covered in twigs and moss. “Here you are.” She handed it to Darla.

  “The caravan went this way.” Tugging on the horse’s reins, Ketzia continued down the path.

  Birds sang from the treetops in praise of the sun and spring, and a creek bubbled over the rocks not far away. Ethan marched a step ahead of Darla, and she almost had to run to keep up with his long strides. Suddenly his shoulders squared and he stopped. “Hey, Darla.”

  “Yes, Ethan?”

  “Is he there? At the caravan?”

  “Who?”

  “That Jethro man. Why’d he let you go into town by yourself?”

  Realization flooded over Darla like a spark from a tinderbox. “Ethan Downs, you thought I ran away with that . . . toad of a man! Why, never in my life . . .” Her knees buckled, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

  He inhaled sharply and swung around. “Well then, why’d you go? I guess it’s pretty pathetic, but I rode all over the Texas countryside looking for you. Thought you and I . . . well, I thought there was . . .”

  She put an arm on his shoulder, and he stopped. “We were. I mean, there was.”

  Ketzia swung around. “You two want to be lost out here? We have to keep moving.”

  “Why don’t you ride on ahead and tell the caravan to wait for us?” Darla suggested.