Karen Mercury

by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4]

  “Well,” Worth said flatly. “That pretty much explains her presence here. Between that and the gold claim Foster told her about, she’s looking for her next fancy man. Are you going to bring that telegram to Foster right now, Harley?”

  “Yes. He’s probably done signing the lease on his new office.”

  “Well, make sure Orianna doesn’t see it. I’m sure you’ve thought of that. And can you let Foster know today is Tabitha’s birthday?”

  “Worth!” Tabitha slapped Worth’s arm, but she didn’t seem genuinely angry.

  “I shall!” Harley agreed. “And we should warn Josefina we expect a very fancy, formal dinner for you tonight.”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Tabitha. “Worth and I are going to listen to the music at the First Baptist Church later on. I heard the Jubilee Singers have come all the way from Nashville, and maybe we can convince them to stay for the rodeo.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Jubilee Singers were not there by six o’clock. Jeremiah claimed he had seen them on First Street around five, all nine members just huddled in a group.

  “Are you sure it was them?” Tabitha asked.

  Jeremiah smirked. “Now, how could I mistake that? Nine negroes, and not one of them was building a railroad?”

  “Could they have been refused service at the Cactus Club?” Worth asked.

  “I’m sure they’d be served there,” Tabitha replied. “Harley owns it, after all. He’s spent a lot of time in Africa.”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah agreed, “getting speared through the jaw by Somalis.”

  Tabitha ignored him. “Perhaps I should ride down to First Street and find the singers. Maybe they need a place to stay. They’ve been having trouble on this tour finding places that will allow them to sleep.”

  “No!” Jeremiah gasped, more urgently than the situation called for. He clasped Tabitha’s forearm and held her tight to her pew. “They’ll be here soon enough. Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the soothing and tranquilizing sounds of the Laramie Loons.”

  Tabitha frowned. “Laramie Loons? Is that what you call these out-and-out fatheads onstage banging on drinking glasses and hoes?”

  “Well, yes,” Jeremiah admitted. “They were the best we could do at short notice. Would you rather I get onstage and amuse everyone with my puppets?”

  Tabitha sighed and sank down farther in the pew. “The Laramie Loons are fine. But I’m telling you. I’m not listening to this claptrap for long. If the Jubilee Singers don’t show up, I’m going home to drink an entire bottle of champagne.”

  Tabitha was really angry about Foster ignoring her birthday. That had been around one o’clock when they had instructed Harley to inform Foster of her birthday. And Tabitha didn’t want to think about what he’d been doing that required him to cut such a figure somewhere. Now that they knew Firestone wouldn’t be accepting Orianna back anyway, why did Foster have to kowtow to Orianna? She had nowhere better to go.

  “Look,” said Jeremiah with false cheer. “It’s Nellie Bradshaw onstage. She’s been known to put on her best bib and tucker and cut quite the jig.”

  Tabitha wrinkled her face. “By blowing on a comb through a piece of paper? Couldn’t they have at least gotten the string quartet that was at the Fowler’s party? Or the folks that backed up Foster at the Elks fandango?” But just thinking of the Elks fandango filled Tabitha with even more gloom. That had been such a happy night, aside from the heaving.

  “Well,” said Jeremiah. “I think they’re all in the brig for disorderly conduct.”

  “All of them?”

  “Well, the Elks Club musicians, more so than the string quartet.”

  Tabitha exhaled with irritation. She had no idea why Worth was forcing her to sit through this ridiculous excuse for entertainment. Not that her birthday last year had been any better. It had occurred right after Parker had died, so she’d barely taken note of it.

  No, this was better. She supposed. She was sitting next to a man she knew she loved dearly, and she now shyly took his hand. He gave her that dimpled smile that never failed to reassure her, and she smiled back when he cradled her hand in both his broad, manly ones.

  With her free hand, she removed from her reticule a piece of Bettina’s notepaper. Tabitha had discovered this recent diary entry on her writing desk this morning after being forced to listen to the animal rutting of the two men she loved through the papery wall. She could tell by Worth’s strangled groans and Foster’s slurping what was going on.

  Frustrated and lonely, Tabitha had perhaps drunk too much sherry in her room. For the next thing she knew, sun was streaming through the window onto her face, and there was a new diary entry on her writing desk.

  It is our tradition to throw a loved one’s name to the wind. My father was killed when kicked by a horse while crossing a ferry. I mourned forever before throwing his name to the wind, so I could move on in life.

  The many beaches here at Campeche would be excellent for throwing someone’s name to the wind. I will not throw yours, Pierre! I will never give up on you!

  Reading this had frightened Tabitha. Instantly, she was reminded of what Foster had said to her while they groped in the Fowler’s glasshouse. “I will not throw your name to the wind. I will not give you up, and I will never forget you.”

  Such a similar, and odd, thing to say! Tabitha had never heard of throwing anyone’s name to the wind, although she supposed it might have a pleasant psychological effect on someone. For someone who needed to move on, and be rid of the ghost of a past love.

  Tabitha settled into Worth’s shoulder as the stage lamps were dimmed. The “soothing” caterwauling of the Laramie Loons faded as the members drifted from the stage, dragging their hoes and washboards, and a nice near-silence fell inside the church. Tabitha looked forward to the Jubilee Singers and was disappointed when a lone silhouette of a fellow appeared, pacing in front of the blue-lit altar, a guitar slung over his shoulder.

  However, Tabitha’s heart soon lurched with recognition when the fellow in the Panama hat hit the first few sentimental guitar chords and sang out in a clean, soaring tenor,

  Thou wilt come no more, gentle Bettina

  Like a flower your spirit did depart.

  Thou art gone, alas, like the many

  That have bloomed in the summer of my heart

  Though the only other activity coming from the stage was an unseen, melancholic harp off in the shadows, accompanied by a dissonant, jarring piano, everyone in the audience stilled in anticipation. Tabitha’s entire row sat forward on the pew, nearly bowling it over.

  The shadow that was Foster now crooned,

  Shall we never more behold thee

  Never hear thy winning voice again

  When the springtime comes, gentle Bettina

  When the wildflowers are scattered over the plain?

  When some fellow lit a few lamps to illuminate Foster’s white, handsome face, tears did spring to Tabitha’s eyes. She had heard the song called Gentle Annie before, but now Foster looked directly at her. Pierre was lamenting Bettina’s loss.

  The beauty of his voice was so soaring and affecting that Tabitha saw many women in the audience holding handkerchiefs to their noses. One corrugated grandmother even bawled out, “O, Eliza! If only I could hold you again!”

  Nobody laughed, however, and Foster paced the stage, belting out his sad melody. He cut a fine figure in his leather leggings, his gold-threaded brocade waistcoat showing his muscular torso to its best advantage, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He pinned Tabitha with his intense forest green gaze, his eyes dazzling in the red and blue oil pots another fellow now lined the stage with.

  Foster strummed the last guitar chord, choking a sustained sound from it as he quietly mouthed to Tabitha, “Happy birthday, my pet.”

  She could not hear him above the explosive applause, but she could tell by his lips. That’s what he said! Happy birthday!

  She had been squeezing Worth’s ha
nd so tightly he now had to wrench it away. “See, Tabitha? He didn’t forget. He was helping the Jubilee Singers with some legal issues.”

  “You reminded him,” she chastised Worth. Glancing over at Jeremiah, she saw that he, too, had a handkerchief to his mouth, his eyes all screwed up. “Oh, Jeremiah! You really are quite sentimental!”

  Jeremiah took the cloth from his mouth, drawing out a string of snot. “I miss my nana!” he sobbed.

  But this wasn’t the end of Foster’s act. He strode to the side of the stage to put down the guitar and pick up the same fiddle he’d whaled upon at the fandango.

  “All right! A fiddle!” shouted the same roostered tycoon from the Fowler’s ball, apparently a fiddle enthusiast.

  This exuberant bellow seemed to be the galvanizing lightning bolt the churchly audience needed, for on a sudden nearly everyone leaped to their feet in expectation of something miraculous. The purple-lit curtain drew aside to reveal the nine Jubilee Singers, who had already started spryly chirping out the opening line to some lively spiritual.

  O, rise! Shine! For thy light is a-coming

  Rise! Shine! For thy light is a-coming

  O, rise! Shine! For thy light is a-coming

  Ezra says he’s coming by and by

  They instantly set up an energetic and brisk tempo that was lifted up by Foster’s threading fiddle melody. The five Jubilee women called out, “Rise!” and the four Jubilee men answered “Rise!” in the next beat. “Shine!” called the women, and the men answered, “Shine!”

  By the time they swiftly reached the next chorus, the entire audience was stomping and clapping. It was amusing that some of the more upstanding citizens were clapping on the off-beat, Tabitha noted, completely out of synchronization with the choir. Jeremiah was one of these people, unusual given his circus background. But Worth was in the swing of things, and he twirled Tabitha into the nearest aisle. They hooked their arms around each other’s elbows and lifted their knees high in an impromptu hoedown.

  Foster fiddled up a storm, and it seemed that the Jubilee singers sped up the tempo.

  This is the year of Jubilee

  Ezra says he’s coming by and by

  My Lord has set his people free

  Ezra says he’s coming by and by

  Many Baptists, and many plain old roostered railroad men and ranchers, took up the chorus. They shuffled their boots loudly on the wooden floorboards and stomped so heavily, shouting, “Rise! Shine! For thy light is a-coming!” Some of the more pickled rummies took to hollering, “Moon! Shine! Thy juice is coming!” But for the most part, the citizens of Laramie stuck with the original lyrics.

  Foster sawed so speedily his bow was a blur, and the original Laramie Loons could not resist reeling back onstage to bang on their drinking glasses and hoes. The pianist pounded away in a fervor, and McCormack, owner of the Frontier Hotel, picked up Foster’s guitar and twanged away.

  The Jubilee Singers didn’t lose their composure, and Worth handed Tabitha off to a crazed Montreal Jed. Jed was supposed to hook his elbow in hers and swing her in a half-circle so she could switch arms with whoever was closest. But on one of the swings, Montreal Jed flung up his arms in a religious seizure, and Tabitha went spinning into Henry Zuckerkorn.

  Her employer gladly grabbed ahold of her, but by this time there wasn’t much room for twirling or hoedowns. So many people jammed the aisles they only wound up vigorously moving in a vertical manner, leaping up and down like prairie dogs and flailing their arms. Some men had taken shorter men onto their shoulders so their arms could wave over everyone’s heads, and the general mood was of a very strident, husking frolic.

  I intend to shout and never stop

  Ezra says he’s coming by an’ by

  Until I reach the mountain top

  Ezra says He’s coming by an’ by

  Tabitha had no idea if the original lyrics involved Ezra or not. Was it just one of those bizarre coincidences that the choir from Nashville sang about Ezra?

  Just as it seemed the hysteria in the church could not reach a higher pitch, Tabitha noted smoke by a side entrance. The black smoke seemed to pour from the door and up toward the ceiling, but no one else seemed to notice it. She had to yank a few delirious women away from Worth in order to shout “Fire!” at him, pointing.

  Worth looked but didn’t seem to notice the smoke. He looked at Tabitha with an exaggerated quizzical face. She jerked the arms of a few more men she was familiar with, pointing at the door and shouting, “Fire!” some more, but no one seemed to see what she saw.

  As a last resort, she gripped Montreal Jed’s arm and pulled him toward the side door. She had to shove aside many thrashing, stomping people, but by the time she was within ten feet of the door, she knew it was no fire.

  Jeremiah complained, “Now, why are you hauling me outside, Miss Tabitha? I was just having a grand old time, just japing like a regular old funster, and you want me to—oh, fuck me dry.”

  The smoke had formed itself into a creature that loomed down at them. There was a discernible face to the demon, with hollow, caved-in eye sockets and a gaping jaw. It was about twice as large as a regular human, and an extremely rank, fetid odor emanated from it, like a three-day-old coyote carcass. It lifted up smoky, menacing talons, and Tabitha could have sworn it growled at them. None of this seemed to disturb even the closest revelers, some of whom were rolling a barrel of beer in the side door right underneath the demon.

  Tabitha clutched Jeremiah’s arm. “You see that, don’t you?”

  “I should say I do!” Jeremiah trilled in a high voice. “It’s looking right at us. It smells like the tent I used to share with Amazing Johnson, the Fat Man. Run!”

  They ran but didn’t get very far. Jeremiah smacked right into the beer barrel and was instantly draped over it like a giant barnacle, the wind knocked out of him. Tabitha only got a few more steps before she bashed right into Orianna.

  For several moments they tried to sidestep each other. Orianna tried to enter the church and Tabitha tried to exit. Orianna’s hat was adorned with so many purple ostrich plumes they got into Tabitha’s mouth, and she batted her hands and spat out feathers.

  “Listen,” she snarled, now deliberately blocking Orianna’s path. “I’ve had enough of you. Call off your evil incubus smoke demon thing right now!”

  Orianna looked haughtily at Tabitha. Although shorter than Tabitha, she somehow managed to look down her hooked nose at her. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  Tabitha grabbed Orianna’s arm and yanked her into the church. She pointed at the black vaporous apparition, which had now shrunken considerably but was still evident. Now it merely hovered and cringed, as though fearful of Orianna.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t see that thing! Call it off!”

  Orianna shrugged and hugged her fur cape closer around her shoulders. “Maybe someone was smoking cigars.” She clearly saw the smoke incubus but was not concerned by it.

  Tabitha said, “That’s the same thing that attacked Caleb in the alley!”

  Jeremiah had now peeled himself off the keg and stood, wobbly, next to Tabitha. “Yes!” he agreed. “Your damned smoke demon smells like a mildewed saddle blanket, and it’s uglier than a peso’s worth of dog meat. Get it out of here!”

  Orianna frowned. “I don’t see anyone else minding the smoke. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “No,” said Tabitha, rudely grabbing a handful of Orianna’s cape. “I want you to stop harassing my beau, Miss Anderson. We know what you’re up to. Mr. Firestone booted you out of his house in San Francisco, and you’re just here using that poor boy Abe as a weapon to control Foster!”

  “And your smoke demon,” Jeremiah added. “You’re using that as a weapon, too.”

  A new fellow was punishing the air with his fiddling now, but Tabitha didn’t want to let Orianna out of her sight to look for Foster. Orianna violently wrenched her fur cape from Tabitha’s fist and snapped, “Get your filthy mitts off me, you
low-down lick-spigot! Foster only met you a week ago. What makes you think he’d care more for you than for the mother of his son? Step aside, whore!”

  Tabitha knew she could wallop this witch into the middle of next week, thanks to the fighting skills Remington Rudy had taught her. However, that would be unseemly in the middle of a church, and that smoke devil was increasing in size again, lowering itself and threatening to envelop Tabitha and Jeremiah. So she merely said with narrow eyes, “The rodeo will reveal the answer to our conundrum, according to our demon Ezra’s hand.”

  Orianna narrowed her eyes even further. “Oh, much will be revealed at the rodeo, that’s for certain,” she snapped before attempting to push past Tabitha again.

  Only this time, Foster loomed directly in her path. Tall and formidable, he stepped between the two warring women while Jeremiah said, “Foster, I’m glad you’re here. This woman, and I use that term rather loosely, has created this smoky monster you now see hovering over our heads, smelling up the entire damned joint. You do see that sewage devil that looks like a trash barge floating on the East River?”

  “Yeah,” snarled Foster. Tabitha had never seen him this angry, his pupils shrunken into tiny pinpoints of black. He was dangerous and intimidating like this, his nostrils flaring, his jaw muscles working. “Orianna, I think you’d best leave and take your devil with you.”

  Orianna put her hand on her bosom. “I had nothing to do with that smoke. As I said, maybe some men were smoking cigars or pipes.”

  “And drawing a cackling, vicious face on the smoke?” Jeremiah queried. He pointed above his head. “Look. It’s got eyes.”

  “And fangs,” Tabitha added.

  When they said that, the grimy, reeking monster took a swipe at their heads with its black, wispy claws. Foster must have noticed, for he took Orianna by the upper arm and steered her back out the door. He glanced back once at Tabitha. The anger fell from his face, and was immediately replaced with a hopeful, gentle look. The look was his entire message, conveying to Tabitha that he would give Orianna the what for and she need not worry any longer.