As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Louis gave the room a once-over. At one of the corner tables, Louis located the gathering of card players and wondered—almost daring himself to hope—that he might boost his earnings with a few intense games.
On the opposite side of the room a makeshift bar lined the wall. The long, wooden structure ran about ten feet in length, with extended planks on either side that had been set atop kegs in order to give more drinking space to the customers. Uniontown didn’t boast a big population. In fact, there were probably no more than fifty people in a twenty-mile radius, and forty some of those were men. But every last man depended on the Red Slipper Saloon to show him a good time. And Ada hated to disappoint anyone.
Seeing the woman already at work pouring him a drink, Louis ambled over to the card table, doing his best to appear completely disinterested in the game.
“Louis, how’s the furs this year?” one man asked.
Louis shrugged. “Same as always.”
Just then Ada came to him with the drink, and before answering anything more, Louis downed a good portion of the whiskey and smiled. “Ahhh, ’tis mother’s milk.”
The men and Ada laughed while Louis finished the glass and motioned for Ada to bring him another.
“You gonna join us, Louis? Spend a little of that wealth you made on furs?”
Again Louis shrugged. “Don’t know as I should take the time, Gus.”
Gus laughed. “What else do you need to be doing? Get a chair and sit down.”
“He can have mine,” Ada called from the bar. “I’ve got work to do. Dave, you still going to Laramie?”
“Yup. Day after,” the man replied.
“Don’t head out without my supply list,” Ada reminded.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”
Louis took this in, all the while studying the stranger who sat staring at his cards. The man seemed deceptively quiet. It never pays to turn your back on the quiet ones, Louis thought, pulling up a chair. The man clearly had the winning take on the table, and Louis couldn’t help but wonder if he held a talent for cards or a gift for cheating.
“This here’s Garvey Davis,” Gus told Louis. “Jes’ up from the silver and gold mines of Colorado and itchin’ to spend his fortune.”
Louis nodded as the stocky redheaded man looked up and grunted. Davis appeared to be somewhere in his forties, but Louis couldn’t be sure. Hard life aged a man, and it was clear that Davis had known his share of bad times. The large hooked nose appeared to have been broken more than once, and even from across the table, Louis could smell the rancid odor of the man. To just look at him, one would never have guessed the man to have money, and maybe that was exactly as Davis planned it. A man looking as he did was less likely to be robbed on his travels.
Raising bushy eyebrows over pale brown eyes, Davis said, “You gonna play or talk?”
Louis gave a grin. “Depends on what we’re playin’.”
Gus laughed. “Well, it started out poker, but Davis is playin’ a mean hand, and now we’re mostly just handin’ our money over to him.”
Louis allowed his eyes to lock onto Davis’s weatherworn face. Here, he thought, is a worthy opponent. Here is a man who has clearly come with a purpose.
“Ain’t hardly fair of me to leave the man so burdened,” Louis replied. The other men laughed, but not Garvey Davis. So with nothing else said, Louis gave a disinterested shrug and fished out a few of his precious coins.
Three hours later, the others had given up and only Davis and Dumas remained. Louis had caught on early to Davis’s style of cheating, and without ever revealing the man’s secret, he played along, matching him card for card. Louis now sat with a healthy pot of cash, intrigued by the man’s deadly calm but even more so by the talk of Colorado streams so full of gold that a man had only to dip his pan into the water to make himself a fortune.
“Iffen there’s such a fortune to be made, why’d you leave it?” Dumas asked seriously. “Seems downright ignorant to walk away from a meal ticket.”
Davis stuffed a wad of tobacco into his mouth and made a pretense of rearranging his cards. “Money’s good, but I needed a change. Thought to settle down in a place of my own.”
Dumas saw the possibilities of a new life for himself and pursued the situation. “I’ve got a trapline about twelve miles from here. House, pelt shed, and the tools a man would need to make it all work. I could sell it to you.”
Davis looked up at this and met Louis’s stare. “Trapping, eh?” He scratched his chin through the matted red beard. “Tell me more.”
They sat there another hour discussing the land and the business of trapping. Davis had experience in trapping elsewhere, but Louis felt it important to explain the benefits of working this particular area. He artfully left out the fact that most of the game had been depleted years ago and instead focused on the benefits of having a trapline already established and a cabin to live in.
“I was kind of figurin’ to get me a wife,” Davis finally said. “Don’t appear to be no white women I’d wanna hitch up with in these parts.”
Louis had already been contemplating the complication of Simone. It’d be hard to get himself another woman with Simone underfoot. She’d no doubt cause all manner of problems and be difficult at best to keep under control. He felt certain the only reason he’d managed her thus far was the isolation of their home. Simone seldom went any farther than Naniko’s cabin and had only been to Uniontown a handful of times.
“I got me a daughter,” Louis said, thinking through the idea as he spoke. “I could include her in the package.”
“White?” Davis questioned.
“ ’Course she’s white. Her ma was a full-blooded Frenchy. Met her in Denver.”
Davis threw him a suspicious look. “Why in tarnation would a man sell his own kid to the likes of me?”
“She’s just now come to the age of needin’ a man. I’ve figured on findin’ me another wife,” Dumas explained. “The girl would be in the way.”
“She ugly?”
Gus overheard the men talking and brought his drink back to the table. “She’s got a face like an angel, and she’s all curvy and round. Why, the last time Louis brought her to town, must have been a whole line of us fellows askin’ after her. Talks real purty, too. Kinda like one of those uppity women down in Laramie.”
Dumas frowned. Gus spoke the truth, although he never really considered the matter. Simone worked for him, and to consider giving her in marriage to one of the Uniontown losers wouldn’t have served him any purpose. But this … this was different.
“How come none of you ended up with her?” Davis asked, now quite serious about the discussion.
“I needed her, plain and simple,” Louis replied. “She’s a hard worker, and she knows the fur business. Smart too. Talks and writes French and English, reads just about anything she can get her hands on. She talks good ’cause her ma thought she should. Can’t figure why the woman saw it as useful out here, but what with her comin’ from a good family and all, guess her ma figured it was only right. Simone can cook with little of nothing and make it taste like a feast, and as Gus pointed out, she’ll do a nice job of warming a man’s bed.”
“How much?” Davis questioned, apparently having heard enough of the sales pitch.
“I don’t rightly know,” Louis admitted. “Ain’t never considered the matter before now.” He spit on the floor, then leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t want to clean you out, but I’d have to make back what I’ve invested. And by your own admission, there ain’t another white woman in the area—lessen you count Ada.”
Davis nodded. “Don’t mean I couldn’t go find me one.”
“Yes, but this one already knows the business you plan to set your hand to. Seems kinda foolish to pass up on a gal who’s got both looks and experience. Besides, ain’t gonna be too many women what are willin’ to come out here and be so isolated.”
Davis’s expression t
old Louis that he saw the sense in the matter. “And would your daughter also be willing to this arrangement?”
“She’s only seventeen. She’ll do what I say. She’s had the whip laid to her on occasion, so she knows the price of disobedience.” He didn’t want Davis to think her a troublesome wench, so he quickly continued. “Iffen you think this is somethin’ you’d like, come on back with me to the cabin. You can check out the lines and the cabin—and check her out, too. I might add one other thing … she’s never been with a man. I wouldn’t allow it. You’d be getting yourself something mighty special.”
“I still don’t understand why you’d be willing to just sell her out like that,” Davis remarked. “Probably plenty of fellows elsewhere that could give you better money than me. Why, some of those mine owners would probably pay a pretty penny to have her there to keep the miners happy.”
Louis shrugged. The thought had never crossed his mind before Davis mentioned it. He supposed he should think the thing through more clearly. He’d never seen Simone as an asset before. Still, he thought of the pelt business and how summer would find him half crazed and bored. “Suppose I could take her with me,” Louis replied, “but I’d rather not be slowed down.” He sighed and made up his mind right there and then. If Davis wanted her and agreed to his price, he’d do the deal and be done with it. “Look, she has to marry someone. At least you’d have the house and trade, and she’d be comfortable. Who knows? Maybe she’ll give you a few sons to help keep you in your old age. And with Simone off my hands, I can tend to my own needs—get me a wife, maybe have a few sons of my own. After all, I’m not much older than you.”
Garvey took all of this in and became so fascinated by the idea that he forgot to cheat at the game and Louis threw down the winning hand. “I’ve had enough of cards. What say we make our way to your place?” Davis suggested hopefully.
Louis eyed the stack of money in front of him. His winnings nearly doubled what he’d started out with, and if he could somehow sell off his place and daughter, he might well triple it. “Let’s go,” he told the man. He hoisted the rifle, which had lain across his lap the entire duration of his stay at the Red Slipper, and threw a gold coin to Ada. “I’ll be back to collect on the change,” he told her with a wry grin.
Simone had taken the event of her father’s absence from the house as a reason for celebration. Her first order of business came in the form of a rare treat—a hot bath. She went to the pelt shed and took down the largest tub she could find, then dragged it back to the house. Next, she drew water and ice from the stream and spent nearly three quarters of an hour getting enough of the liquid heated over the hearth to fill the tub. It took a lot of effort, but it was definitely worth the time and trouble. Sinking into the steaming water, Simone couldn’t remember when anything had ever felt this good.
Using hard lye soap, she did her best to wash her long black hair. Many times she had no other recourse but to use cornstarch to rid the ebony mass of oil and dirt, but most of the time her hair simply went dirty and unkempt.
After her bath Simone tied an ancient robe around her body, stoked up the fire in the hearth, and heated another kettle of water. Her clothes were next to go into the tub. With only two outfits to her name, both having belonged to her mother, Simone had to be careful to keep them as serviceable as possible. They usually went days—sometimes weeks—without a good washing, and yet Simone often worried that if she washed them too much, the poor things might fall completely apart.
She finished the task quickly, then spread them out in front of the fire. With this accomplished she emptied the tub, braving the cold temperatures to walk back across the yard to the pelt shed. The cold wind whipped up under the robe, stinging her legs. Picking up her pace, Simone didn’t even take the time to appreciate the beauty of the day before her. She longed only for the security and solitude that came from the closed door of her cabin. A sigh escaped her as she closed the door and sought out the warmth of the fireplace once again. She readjusted the clothes, then began to comb out her hair, drying it by the heat of the hearth.
If only it could be like this always, she thought. If only he would stay away and leave me be. I could live quite happily without ever seeing another human being, if only my father would disappear from the face of the earth.
Simone always found herself hopeful that her father might one day forget to come back to the little cabin. She didn’t go so far as to pray for this because she had firmly convinced herself that prayer was little more than mutterings and utterances from weaklings and cowards. But she did wish for it and often imagined her life without Louis Dumas. In fact, this became her favorite pastime.
She pictured herself living quietly on the side of the mountain. No one coming or going. No one to even know of her existence. She also considered the idea of loading up the things that were important to her and trekking off across the rugged mountains to parts unknown. She wouldn’t go to Uniontown, however. The men made her uncomfortable there, and the women, mostly mixed race, were quiet and kept to themselves. Naniko told her that it wasn’t good to be alone so much of the time, but Simone thought it the lesser of the two evils in her world. To be alone simply meant the absence of her father, and that cherished state of living held far greater interest to Simone than his companionship.
When her clothes and hair had dried, Simone dressed and went to work preparing a simple stew. Her father could very well spend the night in Uniontown, but it was also a possibility that he would return. And if he did so and found nothing in the way of supper, Simone knew his rage would be endless. Opening several cans of vegetables and cutting up the last of a hindquarter from a bighorn sheep, Simone had the stew simmering in a matter of minutes. She loved canned vegetables. It seemed so little would grow for her here in her mountain habitat. And why should she labor over the poor soil when someone had already gone to the trouble to package the necessary article in a can of tin? Her father, too, seemed pleased with the convenience and never balked at the purchase.
Of course, bread was another matter. Simone didn’t really mind putting her hand to baking. In fact, of all her tasks she rather enjoyed this one. A person could work out a great deal of anxiety and frustration on a lump of dough, she had decided. And she found she had a knack for producing light, fluffy biscuits and golden, crusty loaves of bread that made one’s mouth water just catching a whiff of the aroma in the air.
Simone thought for a moment, then reached for some flour. They would have biscuits tonight. She liked to cut them out and float them atop the stew to bake and brown as the stew cooked. It made a tasty treat that both warmed the body and stuck to the ribs. And it required very little attention on Simone’s part.
Leaning against the single window in their cabin, Simone stared out on the landscape and wondered if her life would ever be different. She found it easy to maintain a stoic reserve in regard to her welfare. She knew nothing else, although she’d heard stories of cities in other places and of people in beautiful clothes riding in carriages. But Simone had done such a good job of keeping her emotions in check that she couldn’t even muster enough imagination to contemplate the possibilities of such a life. Her one and only concession was to consider Naniko’s suggestion that being alone wasn’t good for anyone. But even here, Simone kept a close guard on her heart. Naniko’s friendship had been a welcomed and wonderful thing when Simone’s mother had first left her, but Simone was no fool. She saw the aged woman’s health begin to fail and knew that death would not be far behind. Realizing that, Simone had begun a systematic effort to wean her affections away from Naniko. She never again wanted to feel the pain of losing someone she cared about, and the only way to accomplish that feat seemed to be simple: Don’t care about anyone.
She started to turn from the window but movement in the trees caught her attention. Far down the path that led to the Dumas cabin, Simone could make out the figures of two men on horseback. One was clearly her father, but the other man was a stranger. Simone wa
tched for a moment longer, then gave a shudder. They’d no doubt drink and carry on until all hours of the night, leaving Simone little choice but to seek solace in the pelt shed. The only problem was, her father had just sold off his pelts. The shed would be cold and comfortless.
Thinking on this, Simone went quickly to a small trunk and pulled out her one pair of woolen stockings. They had been darned and mended many times, but they were still warm. Pulling these on and securing them with a garter, Simone dug into the trunk again and pulled out pantalets. They had once belonged to her mother and Simone seldom found a need to wear them, but thinking of the freezing temperatures and a night in the pelt shed, Simone pulled them on as well and relished the added warmth. She slipped on her knee-high moccasins and was just finishing up the laces when she heard her father’s voice in the yard outside the cabin.
“You can see for yourself,” he said in his bellowing way, “the shed is there. Just beyond is a creek with clear water and plenty of fish. Oh, and berries so juicy you’ll thank the Maker for such sweetness.”
Simone wondered at this tour of the property. Her father seemed quite happy, and yet she knew he’d left in a fit of frustration and anger. The pelts were substandard, he had told her, and he was certain to be cheated out of a fair price. Simone had fully expected him to drink himself into oblivion and sleep it off in Uniontown. Maybe even stay with Ada at the Red Slipper Saloon. Yet here he stood, waving his arms in different directions, preaching of the merits of his land and holdings. What could it mean?
Simone went again to the window and, without revealing herself to the men outside, peeked out. They both still sat astride their horses and, to her relief, faced away from the house. The man with her father was a shorter, stockier man with a grizzled look to him. She watched as the men walked their horses in a lazy circle around the yard before returning to the house. Simone could clearly see the stranger now. His face, half hidden by a bushy beard and moustache, seemed leathery and worn. His nose bent to one side before hooking down like an eagle’s beak, and his eyes were deep set and pale. Simone thought him the ugliest man she’d ever seen. Even uglier than Flat Nose, a man in Uniontown whose nose, it was rumored, had been cut off by the Indians some forty years earlier.
A Shelter of Hope Page 3
