Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1)

by Teresa Rae

  “Miss Harris, you must rest,” she implores me like an older sister.

  “I really hate to miss the dancing,” I lament, looking around the room at the merry company.

  “I must insist you rest your ankle.”

  “And I must insist you call me ‘Rebecca,’” I return, looking for Mr. and Mrs. MacKay.

  “Miss Harris, shall we dance?” George returns for a second dance.

  Clara frowns.

  “I apologize, Mr. Pierce. I twisted my ankle not two days ago, and my chaperone insists I rest,” I explain as politely as possible.

  He smiles sympathetically. “Perhaps I can escort both you and your chaperone to the refreshment room?”

  “What a wonderful idea,” I say, painfully getting to my feet. “I’m famished.”

  I’m a little surprised by the number of young ladies hanging out in the refreshment room. Maybe 1875 is a little more like my time than I had realized. The poor girls probably skipped a few meals so they could tighten their corsets. I walk past them, directly to the food.

  There is so much food I don’t know where to begin. I decide to start with something real. I take a sandwich and some ham. I can come back for dessert.

  “Did you see him?” a young lady whispers to her mother at the refreshment table. “The rumors are wrong. He isn’t hideous.”

  “No,” her mother agrees. “Colonel Blair is both rich and handsome. We will have to insist on an introduction.”

  I force myself not to roll my eyes. The man is a spoiled, self-important jerk. Yes, I admit it; he does have a few good qualities, like beautiful, wavy, black hair, and he did bring me to the ball, but there is still the not-so-small matter that he owned slaves and fought for the Confederacy. I can’t let it go, because that is most certainly not cool.

  I sit next to Clara.

  “May I sit with you?” George follows us to a table with his own plate of food.

  “Of course you can, Mr. Pierce.” I gesture to an empty seat.

  We sit several minutes in silence while we eat. For the first time, I notice a lot of smoke in the corner of the room. I look closely through the haze to find Colonel Blair giving me a stern look in the middle of a gaggle of girls. This time I do roll my eyes. Of course the handsome, rich colonel has no problem entertaining himself. With a glass of champagne in one hand and a pipe in the other, Colonel Blair has his choice of lovely ladies. They dote on him, seeing to his every comfort. Colonel Blair doesn’t need to patronize prostitutes because he’s a total ladies’ man. He can have his pick of the women.

  I turn my attention away from him.

  “Mr. Pierce, please tell me about yourself,” I say.

  George swallows a bite of cake. “I’m afraid there is not much to tell. My father is a conductor for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad Company. I work at the Gold Hill Station.”

  “You get to work with trains all day?” I say. “That is so exciting!”

  He smiles until his glass of champagne spontaneously tips over, spilling all over his lap. He grabs a napkin and jumps to his feet.

  “I apologize, Miss Harris. I will return in a minute.” He dashes from the room.

  “At least he is fast,” Rosanna materializes in George’s seat, looking rather proud of herself. She must have spilt his drink.

  “Do you feel that draft?” Clara asks, wrapping her arms around her body.

  Wondering what the ghost is doing at the ball, I suggest to Clara, “You should get something warm to drink.”

  She nods, going back to the refreshment tables.

  “Why are you here?” I quietly ask the spirit.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she counters. “I thought you came here to save the life of my son and his friends?”

  “You know I did,” I retort, noticing more than one person looking in my direction.

  Her eyes narrow, and the effect is frightening. “Might I make a suggestion? Stop with the frivolities! Stop behaving as though this is a holiday! You do not need to be told that the key to saving Gabe and Henry is preventing James’s death.”

  Not wanting to draw more attention to myself, I open my fan. Covering my face so I don’t look like I’m talking to myself, I respond, “What would you have me do?”

  “If you want to save the man, then you must spend more time with him.” She forcefully takes hold of my hand and slowly pulls the fan across my cheek. A wicked smile appears on her face as she disappears.

  The sound of breaking glass draws my attention. I look up, finding Colonel Blair gazing at me with wide eyes. At his feet are the remains of a shattered champagne glass. A flurry of girls scurries to help him. He wrinkles his brow, ignoring the girls.

  I don’t know why, but I stick my tongue out at him. He was infuriating as a ghost and is even more so as a human. I’m grateful when Clara returns to the table.

  “Feeling better? I ask.

  “Yes, but I’m not the only one feeling out of sorts.” She gestures to Colonel Blair.

  “It is his own fault. He should not be smoking and drinking.” I shrug my shoulders.

  She passes me a slice of cake. “Let us finish eating so we can rejoin the ball.”

  * * *

  I watch the beautiful people dancing before me and feel ashamed. It’s so easy to be sucked into the romantic world of the Victorians. Everything about their world is beautiful, except for the basis of their wealth. While these people dance the night away, there are families waiting for their fathers, husbands, and sons to return from the mines. I sigh, thinking about the shoeless children I have befriended. Rosanna is right; I have been too focused on the frivolities.

  “Is something wrong?” Clara asks.

  “What time is it?” I ignore her question.

  She glances at a small pocket watch. “It is nearly three o’clock in the morning.”

  I stand, finding my ankle extremely stiff and sore. “It is late, and I’m very tired.”

  “I will go for Colonel Blair.” Clara also gets to her feet.

  I shake my head. “Let him enjoy his amusements.”

  We make our way to the cloak room only to discover we aren’t the only ones preparing to leave. Mrs. MacKay is putting on her elegant cloak.

  “I hope I have not caused you to leave the ball prematurely?” she says.

  “No, I should have listened to Colonel Blair and rested my ankle,” I answer, lifting my cascades of ruffles.

  She gasps when she sees the massively swollen ankle. “Miss Harris, we must get you home at once!”

  Mr. and Mrs. MacKay, Clara, and I are boarding the train for the return trip to Virginia City when there is a ruckus in the station. Colonel Blair pushes past a couple station workers and sprints to the passenger car. All the while, he holds onto his top hat.

  “James, Miss Harris is perfectly safe in our care,” Mr. MacKay informs him.

  The colonel takes a seat next to me. “It is your safety I am concerned about, John. Miss Harris is a dangerous companion.”

  I’m too tired to come up with a witty comment. It has been a long, disappointing, and exhausting day. I close my eyes, allowing the train to lull me to sleep.

  9

  Wife Hunting

  Thursday, March 11, 1875

  I stand in a dark corner, crying. I try to hide my tears and red eyes from the world. People walk past, but I’m so small no one notices me, not even the pageant director. It’s probably better this way because I can cry in peace. I cry for several minutes and am still crying when two warm arms wrap around me, causing my sobs to escalate.

  “They were so m-mean to me,” I stutter. “They m-made fun of my clothes and c-called me ‘Shirley Temple.’”

  Mama wipes tears off my face. “The only way someone can make you feel bad about yourself is if you give them permission.”

  “I j-just wanted to be their friend.” I try to catch my breath, but the tears are making it difficult.

  “Baby Girl, I suspect those girls are just jealous
,” Mama says behind her oxygen tubes. “Because you are the sweetest, kindest girl I know.”

  “Mama, life’s not fair,” I complain. “I t-try to do what’s right and t-treat others nicely, but all the mean girls end up on t-top.”

  “And they trade their self-esteems for popularity,” she counters. “Do you really believe girls who treat others bad feel good about themselves?”

  “N-no, but it’s still not fair.”

  “Nothing is ever fair. Now, we’re going to dry your eyes and fix your hair. Then you will go out on that stage and play your violin, because no one deserves to be Little Miss Charleston more than you.”

  Mama takes hold of my hand and directs me to the dressing room. The time for tears is over, it’s time for action.

  * * *

  “Colonel Blair, it is just a dream,” I say quietly as he screams in the early morning. I don’t know what time it is, but we can’t have had more than a couple hours sleep. I was in the middle of a dream about Mama when he woke me.

  His hand reaches for me through the first rays of sunshine, gently taking my hand. That same hand shudders as he weeps uncontrollably.

  “It was just a dream.” I wipe the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of my nightgown. “It was just a dream.”

  “It was not a dream. It was a nightmare,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “It’s over now.” I tuck blankets around him.

  “It will never be over.”

  “No, but it will get better.” I pray it is the truth.

  He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

  “Miss Harris, would you please play for me?” Shaking, he stumbles out of bed and goes out the door. He returns with his father’s violin and gently places it in my hands before retaking his place in bed.

  So I don’t wake the whole of Virginia City, I quietly begin to play. Going through the hymns I used to play for Mama, my fingers instinctively take their places among the strings. Colonel Blair’s breathing slows as he stares at the ceiling. When I run out of songs I know from his time period, I return the violin to its case.

  To warm my hands and feet, I wrap in a blanket from his bed. I sit on the bed next to him.

  “Are you feeling any better?” I ask, fighting back a yawn.

  “Remarkably better. Because my father played the violin, it sooths my soul,” he replies.

  This helps me to better understand his unreasonable attitude about listening to me play the violin in the future. He was a ghost and his soul couldn’t be soothed.

  Colonel Blair’s eyes go to mine. “Miss Harris, I’m afraid I know so little about you. Please tell me about yourself.”

  “I already told you that I am just traveling though on my way home to my sister. I play the violin and like Rose’s biscuits. There is not much more to me.”

  “I disagree, and everyone likes Rose’s biscuits. Tell me your plans for the future.”

  That’s a difficult question to answer with over a hundred years separating us.

  “I want to become a better violinist,” I say.

  He chuckles faintly. I wrap the blanket tighter around me.

  “You don’t think a girl can become a violinist?” I ask angrily, having momentarily forgotten how tired I am.

  “I do not think you can get any better because you are the best violinist I have ever heard.” He shakes his head. “What other plans do you have?”

  I think of my many foster brothers and sisters. “Someday, I think I would like to have a big family with lots of children.”

  “A girl like you must have a beau waiting for her in South Carolina.” He continues to stare at the ceiling.

  “No, all the boys I know are immature.”

  “Why do you call them that?” he questions.

  “They like to play with girls’ emotions, but they lack commitment. I could never be with someone like that. I have lost my parents and the woman who raised me. I don’t have the convenience of playing with heartstrings or having mine played with. When I finally settle down, it will have to be with someone who takes their relationships seriously.”

  The light is playing tricks on my eyes, because I imagine a faint smile flicker across his lips.

  “What plans do you have for the future?” I change the subject.

  “I am in the process of putting away some of the ore mined from my claim for a rainy day, and I was thinking of using some of my land to raise horses on, but I need to find a way to grow ample amounts of hay in Virginia City first.” He picks up a pipe from a bedside table.

  “No, don’t smoke,” I interject. “I told you, tobacco will kill you.”

  He laughs dismissively. “Miss Harris, what makes you an expert on tobacco?”

  I lay my head on his bare chest, directly over his heart. I listen to it beating.

  “Can you feel it when you breathe? Your lungs are like sponges; they soak up the air you breathe in. If you soak up dirty water with a sponge, you make the sponge dirty. If you breathe dirty air with your lungs, you make your lungs dirty. That dirt makes it harder for you to breathe.”

  Hesitantly, he touches one of my blond ringlets. “People can chew tobacco.”

  I pull away, sitting back up. “Yes, but it creates severe sores in their mouths. It’s best if you just stay away from tobacco.”

  “Then, what do you suggest?” He peers into my eyes.

  “I already told you – peppermint sticks. At least that’s how my mama quit smoking, and I think putting gold and silver away is a good idea.”

  “When people discover I have reserves, I will be unpopular,” he says. “President Grant wants me to help boost the economy.”

  “Is that why you went to see him?”

  “No, I went to see him to swear an oath of allegiance for amnesty for my war crimes against the United States. All high ranking Confederate officers and landowners with property worth more than twenty thousand dollars had to meet with President Johnson, but I came west instead. It was a belated trip. However, while I was there he asked me to help finance the troops west of the Mississippi in order to keep the trains moving smoothly.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth, I will look out for my interests. I have to be very careful about who I trust. Thankfully, the northern newspapers were singing my praises after the war, so Grant will mind his manners.”

  “I think you should do it,” I say, yawning. “I know it will take some political maneuvering on your part, but it will be an investment for the future. Nevada is a state in the United States. You should take some ownership in this country.”

  He is silent.

  “Colonel Blair, have you fallen asleep?” I ask, turning my head to see if his eyes are open. I find him staring at me.

  “I’m awake,” he answers.

  “Then tell me what other plans you have for the future.”

  “Just recently, I have decided it is time to settle down.” he says matter-of-factly. “This is my most pressing plan for the future.”

  “That is a wonderful idea!”

  “It is?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I get to my feet. Colonel Blair will be a lot easier to save if he has a reason to live. If there’s a girl in the picture, he will have something to fight for.

  “Yes, it is an absolutely brilliant idea! I will help you find the perfect girl. There were several really lovely girls at the ball last night. I’m sure one of them would make you an excellent wife.” I hobble to the door. “Let’s sleep for a few hours, and then we can set to work finding you that wife.”

  * * *

  “Tell me, again, why you came home without my horse!” Colonel Blair’s voice reverberates throughout the Mansion.

  I stop outside the dining room door to eavesdrop.

  “I had a little too much to drink and one thing led another,” Samuel says.

  “This is the fifth horse you have lost in a card game in the past three months!” Colonel Blair booms, which is a completely
uncharacteristic volume for his soft-spoken voice. “You lost a very valuable stallion, and I am tempted to have you charged as a horse thief! You are never to ride another one of my horses again, or I will have you charged as horse thief!”

  “But I am your uncle and this is my…” he tries to argue.

  “This is my home!” Colonel Blair thunders. “The Mansion is mine! The mines are mine! The land is mine! All the comforts you enjoy belong to me! You will show respect for me in my home, or you will leave!”

  “This is all this is just payback for almost spilling your secret to that slut,” Samuel returns.

  I hear a gun cock.

  “You will watch your mouth with regards to Miss Harris,” Colonel Blair says the words slowly and quietly. The effect is terrifying. “She is innocent in this! You will not speak of her in the same manner you do the whores with which you use my money to pay to pleasure you! If not, I will show you what we did to horse thieves during the war!”

  “What do you even know about her?” Samuel tries to take the attention off from himself. “She is a complete stranger, and a whole tribe of savages has moved in because of her!”

  “I am the one who gave them permission to temporarily lodge in the field. Furthermore, I know she is not a horse thief! Get out of my sight! Gabe, if Samuel even goes near my horses, put a bullet in him!”

  “Yes, Colonel Blair,” Gabe says.

  I hear stomping and the outside door slam.

  As soon as Samuel is gone, Gabe says, “James, you need to watch him very carefully. You are the only thing standing between him and the mines.”

  “He is a fool, but he is not stupid enough to try to hurt me,” Colonel Blair responds.

  “Not in a fair fight, but you know how underhanded he can be. You need to send him away.”

  “I will deal with him, later. Perhaps we could find him work with the railroad?”