Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  He pulled up in front of Miss Albans’ building. Dropping the reins, he turned toward Edith. He tried to take her hands, but Edith clasped them tightly in her lap.

  Shrugging, Jeff said, “While Dad’s up there talking her into it, I’m going to try one more time to talk some sense into you.”

  “You can’t. I mean, I’m determined to do this.”

  “But why?”

  “We’ve been over that. Mr. Sullivan is . . .”

  “A lousy excuse for a human being and a waste of fresh air. I know. I agree. The first time I saw him I thought . . .”

  “When did you see him? The other day you said you’d never . . .”

  “I went down the saloon the other night. He was there.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that. That was very good of you, Jeff.”

  He said, “Maybe it was kind of feudal of me, checking out Dulcie’s intended that way. But I didn’t like the looks of him then, and I don’t care for them much more now.”

  “Now?”

  Jeff nodded toward a sharply dressed figure walking down the street. “If he’s heading for Vera’s, there’ll be trouble.”

  Just then, Sam left the building through the front door. He was dressed in a long black frock coat with straight-legged trousers—very fancy for a weekday. He’d even put on his second hard collar of the week. With his graying hair and proud stance, he looked every inch a distinguished gentleman, and a very handsome one too. Vera stood smiling above him, holding the door open to add a few parting words. She glanced past Sam and saw Victor.

  Coming to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the dapper man touched the brim of his straw hat and gave an entrancing smile. Even from the street, Edith could see the color drain from Vera’s face, leaving her haggard.

  Sam turned slowly around. His voice was deep, slow, and unaccountably dangerous. “You want something here, mister?”

  Jeff jumped down from the buggy. He reached for the whip standing in its socket. Idly, he began to trace patterns with it on the boardwalk.

  His toothy smile broadening, Victor said, “Merely to speak with Miss . . . Albans, isn’t it? I want to buy something for my fiancée. Is that allowed in Richey?”

  “There are other stores that might take your money,” Sam said. “Get your . . . self away from here.”

  “No,” Vera said above him. Edith noticed that her friend’s hands gripped the edge of the door so hard the white bones showed through her skin. “It’s all right, Sam. I’ll wait on him.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Sullivan said, putting his gaitered shoe on the first step, though Sam still stood in his way. “Money’s money, after all.”

  “Is it?” Sam reached into the pocket of his long coat. He withdrew a handful of gold coins and weighed them in his hand.

  “I guess I must have about a hundred dollars here, give or take a little. Pretty things too, twenty-dollar gold pieces.”

  With a careless flick, he sent them rolling and bouncing down the steps. They glittered in the sunlight, flashing as they rained down.

  Victor stared at the coins, his mouth hanging open, wet with greed. Suddenly Edith wondered how anyone could ever have thought him handsome. Sam’s voice was cold as a wintry wind as he said, “You go ahead and pick ‘em up, boy.”

  The younger man stooped, but Sam’s voice came again. “I warn you though. For every one you grub up out of the muck, my son there will lash you. Now you ask yourself if money’s the most important thing in the world, or not!”

  Victor glared at Jeff, a trapped creature. In his eyes, Edith saw a hatred born of envy and fear. “Easy for you,” he snarled. “You’ve got everything! But one day, you’ll be brought down, you fine gents. One day!”

  He ran then, as he must have run when he stole apples off barrows. They watched him run, and Edith saw that the sole of one of his fancy shoes flopped. Suddenly, she felt bitterly sorry for Victor Sullivan.

  “Good riddance.” Sam glanced up at Vera. “You’re crying?”

  She shook her head. Her smile was as heartbreaking as her tears. Unable to speak, she stepped back and closed the door. Sam looked up at the sky and said, “Women!”

  Jeff coiled his whip. “I don’t know,” he said, following Victor with his eyes. “I almost feel bad for that fellow. Sure, he’s a bad egg, but what sent him bad, I wonder.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Sam said. “Beg pardon, Edith. But if he comes around Vera again, or any other decent woman, I’ll give him that whipping all right.”

  He pulled out his watch and flicked it open with his thumb. “We’d better be getting along to the Armstrongs before they take their lunch. Not they’ll have much stomach for it afterward.”

  Making up her mind, Edith climbed down from the wagon. “I think we should wait.”

  “Wait?” Jeff demanded. “I’ve been trying to talk you into ...”

  “And you’re right,” she said, stealing his thunder. “You’re right. I’m going to talk to Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Oh, no,” Jeff said. “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Bad idea,” Sam echoed.

  “All the same, I’m going to. I’ll see you at home. I mean, I’ll walk back to your house.”

  “No,” Jeff said again, crossing his arms.

  “Well, if you want to wait for me . . .”

  “You’re not going, Edith and that’s final.”

  She just patted him on the arm and started walking.

  Chapter 21

  It was not difficult to follow Sullivan. At first, she could trace him by the startled looks on the faces of the people he’d pushed out of his way. Soon, he slowed to a walk, his hand pressed to his side. He did not look around but led her deeper into parts of Richey with which she was unfamiliar.

  After riding with Jeff, she’d been lulled into believing she understood how the town was laid out. But this part of Richey was different from the neat houses and respectable storefronts. Even though the day was still bright, the narrow streets seemed darker, dirtier. The citizens here did not take as much care to keep the sidewalks clear of garbage and waste. Many of the windows she passed were broken or boarded.

  Keeping the nattily dressed man in sight, Edith began to close the gap between them. She did not like the way loafers stared after her or the mutters she heard after she passed.

  The music of an ill-tuned piano floated out of the doorway Sullivan entered at last. Edith looked up at the three-story building. Dingy lace curtains hung in some of the windows. Across others, peeling shutters closed out the daylight. The building had a neglected, resentful look as though it were scowling at the uncaring world.

  The scarlet-painted door was ajar. Edith stepped up the splintered stairs and pushed the door open. A dingy hall with steps along one wall with a shadowed well beneath, a gold-and-black beaded curtain across the entrance to a large main room, and a plush sofa met her wondering eyes. The piano music continued to crank away, a maddeningly circular tune.

  The smell of cooking cabbage reminded her powerfully of her former boardinghouse. Yet there was something different about this house. Maybe it was the odor of cheap perfume, overlaying the cabbage. Maybe it was that the entire household seemed to be asleep in the middle of the day. Maybe it was the photographs on the walls, of half-naked women reclining on plump cushions or of wholly naked women standing up, with one foot on a hassock. All had coy expressions as though pretending they didn’t realize they’d carelessly forgotten their clothes.

  Deciding to find the pianist to ask some questions, Edith put out her hand to push aside the clacking bead curtain. But the piano music stopped. Then she heard a familiar voice and halted, stunned.

  “If that don’t beat all! Somebody gives you a sideways look and you’re shaking in your boots. Just calm down, Victor. It’s not like you’ve done anything so terrible. So you saw Vera Albans and scared her some . . .”

  “Guess I didn’t scare her enough.”

  “Don’t bother doing anything else to her. T
he minute we’re married, I get my money. Then we’ll get away.”

  “But what if your folks find out? They’ll never let you and me get married then.”

  Dulcie laughed, a hard, cold sound. In a flutteringly sweet voice, she said, “Just tell ‘em how you’ve reformed. Cry a little over your sins, if you can manage it. They’ll buy that genuine gold-plated kind of repentance very time.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Come on, don’t you want to shake the dust of this place off your feet as bad as I do?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Are you still worrying about that bigamy stuff? Haven’t I promised once we’re out of here you’re a free man?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. . . .” Sullivan’s voice dropped into a huskier register. “We could go places, you and me. There’s some big scams waiting for a couple of clever . . .”

  “Keep your hands to yourself!” Dulcie snapped. “I’ve told you before, quit grabbing me!” There was a crash as something fell over. “All I want from you is a quick marriage. Then I give you what’s yours and we leave Richey for good. ‘Til then, you keep your hands off me!”

  “Ah, but, baby . . . ,” Sullivan said, wheedling. “Let me just . . . you sure got some figure on you. ...”

  “All right,” Dulcie said, obviously bored. “But keep your hands where I can see ‘em. Don’t even try anything else.”

  Edith’s stomach turned. It was as though she were hearing a younger version of Mr. Maginn and Mrs. Webb, whose low and unclean souls expressed themselves in every word they uttered. She couldn’t believe that gentle Dulcie could talk in such a way.

  “Edith!” Jeff said in a low, quick voice behind her. He walked up to her. ‘Don’t you know any better than to . . .”

  “Shush,” Edith said, taking his hand and listening hard. There was silence from the parlor. Then Dulcie said, “Did you hear something?” Only a low moan came from Sullivan. “Hey, I thought I heard somebody say something.”

  “Some of the girls,” he said. “Oh, Dulcie, can’t I...? Just a little more . . .”

  “No. It wasn’t a girl. Go see if anybody’s there.”

  Jeff tried to push Edith toward the door.

  She shook her head and tugged on his hand. Waving him to silence, she made him follow her into the well beneath the stairs. It was dark and close under there, with a musty smell like old clothes. Picking up on her disquiet, Jeff pressed back against the wall, holding Edith within the circle of his arm. Leaning forward the least bit, he saw Sullivan part the curtain and look up and down the hall.

  “Nobody there.” He turned around and the whole set of his shoulders showed disappointment. “What’d you have to go and button up for? I was just getting started.”

  “Started is as far as you’re going. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll be grateful after I get my money and let you do what you want. In the meantime, though, a taste is all you’re getting.”

  Dulcie appeared in the doorway, her lightweight plaid shawl crossed in front over a chambray blouse. With her plain hat and pink cheeks, she looked like any prim young lady out for a morning’s shopping. “Be at the house early, about six. Dad’s going to talk to us about the duties of marriage. It’s his usual speech; lasts about half an hour. And don’t dress so flashy. Leave the diamond ring and stickpin here.”

  “Somebody’ll steal ‘em!”

  She threw him a contemptuous look. “Then stick them in your pocket. See you tonight. Remember, show up early. God!” she said explosively. “I can’t wait to get where they don’t preach morning, noon and night!”

  Dulcie didn’t wait for Sullivan to open the door. She swept out. He watched her with a twist to his thin-lipped mouth.

  After a moment or two had passed, putting her safely out of earshot, he muttered, “Give orders now, sweetheart. You’ll be taking ‘em later. Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his hands together. “You’ll be singing a different tune soon as we’re hitched.”

  He walked up the stairs, whistling, Edith shuddered at each footfall over her head. She rested her forehead against Jeff’s chest. He was safety and sanity in a wretched world.

  He murmured, “I think it’s time to go.”

  As soon as they were a reasonable distance down the street, she asked, “What was that dreadful place?”

  “A whorehouse,” Jeff answered absently.

  “What?”

  “Uh, I mean . . .” He pushed his hat back with his thumb. “Dang it, don’t look at me like that. I’ve never been there before. But I know about it—everybody knows about it. Even Dulcie, apparently.”

  “I didn’t.” Edith put her hand on his sleeve. “And I’m not thinking anything about you, Jeff. After what I overheard, I can realize the worth of a good man.”

  He smiled at that, pleased beyond words. Then he remembered that he was annoyed. “All I can say is, next time you want to chase some bravo with dirty work on his mind . . .”

  Squeezing his arm, she said, “I know. You have every right to be angry. I just thought . . . maybe I could do some good.” Sighing, she said, “Poor Dulcie.”

  “Poor Dulcie? Save your concern for her folks. When we tell them about this . . .”

  “We can’t do that!” Edith said, stopping.

  Jeff urged her on, not liking the looks of the loiterers, they were men he didn’t know. “Dad’s waiting around the corner.”

  “Good, I want to get home and take a bath. I don’t know why, but I feel . . . unclean.” The antique word fit her feelings precisely, yet it conjured up images of lepers and disease that made her all the more eager to scrub herself thoroughly all over.

  “I know how you feel,” Jeff said, scratching his arm.

  “Even though you had a bath last night?” She glanced up at him with a flirtatious gleam, reminding him how much she had seen. At that moment, they reached the wagon, so Jeff couldn’t very well say the things he wanted to. As he boosted her up, however, he gave her curving rear a little squeeze, then looked offensively innocent when she squeaked.

  “So what happened?” Sam wanted to know.

  She told him briefly, Jeff taking over from the point he’d entered. Sam whistled. “I always wondered if they weren’t raising those kids too strict. Isn’t natural to reject all vain adornment, you know. Everybody likes to be well-turned-out.”

  “It was more than that,” Edith said. “It was as if she were a trapped animal, desperate to escape. Yet, to me, Richey seems such a peaceful town. All except the part I was in today.”

  “You’ve had a wider experience of the world, Edith,” Jeff said. “You can see the value of peacefulness. For someone like Dulcie, the very things you like most would drive her crazy.”

  “And not just Dulcie,” Sam added, glancing at his son. “Seems to me I recall a certain pair of wild cards who couldn’t wait to light out for adventure, once upon a time.”

  Jeff nodded ruefully. “It’s different for boys. They may get knocked around some . . . it’s good for ‘em. But for a girl . . . there’s too many men who’ll take advantage. Even Dulcie, who’s asking for it, has found more trouble than she bargained for.”

  “Your daughters have an excellent father,” Edith said.

  Jeff looked bashful, then said, “I still say, we’ve got to tell her folks about this.”

  “No,” Edith said again.

  “Now just a darned minute. You were bound and determined to tell the Armstrongs all about Sullivan, but now you say . . .”

  “Jeff, Dulcie can’t be all bad. She’s going out of her way to make this look like a love match. Now, why would she do that unless she was trying to spare her parents pain?”

  “I think you’re wrong, Edith. I think Dulcie is all bad. And getting worse.”

  “Sounds like it,” Sam agreed.

  “No, I don’t believe it. I’ll talk to her . . . make her see reason. She can’t throw her life away on this man.”

  “Not to be crude, Edith, but he did have his ha
nd up her shirt ... at least her shirt.”

  “Well, you had yours . . . that doesn’t necessarily make her a bad person.” She felt as though she’d been painted scarlet. Fortunately, Sam seemed to have missed what she’d said.

  He said, “I don’t much care what happens to Dulcie, though I wouldn’t want any girl I knew going off with that Sullivan. But you’ve still got to keep Miss Albans out of it.”

  Jeff looked his father up and down. “You’re awful particular where the young lady’s concerned.”

  “Course I am.” He met his son’s gaze steadily. “Now that Miss Climson’s going off with Tyler, she’s my best bet for a daughter-in-law. When do you mean to start courting her?”

  “One trouble at a time, Dad, please.”

  “He’s right,” Edith said. “Miss Albans should be courted, if only because she must be feeling very low right now. I should be, if Mr. Maginn came back into my life.”

  “Who the heck is Mr. Maginn?” Jeff demanded, his hands clenching into fists.

  “My old landlord. The one who wouldn’t let me keep a dog.”

  “How old was he?”

  “I meant, my former landlord.”

  “So he wasn’t old. What did he want?”

  “My rent, mostly,” Edith said. She gazed out at the flicking ears of the horse. “Sometimes other things,” she added. “I never gave in, but I was so tired of his insisting that sometimes I thought it would be easier to give him what he wanted. I can understand Dulcie, pretty well, you know. And Miss Albans too. They’re like my . . . sisters in a way.”

  She looked up at Jeff, her eyes perfectly serious. “You mustn’t ever mention to Vera that you know anything about her past. Let it be buried and quietly forgotten.”

  “Do you think I would remind her of it? Honestly, Edith, what do you think I am?”

  They would have gone on arguing, if Sam hadn’t drawn up before the preacher’s white house, the riotous garden brilliant in the sunshine. “Look,” he said. “I’ve been listening to everything you’ve been saying, and I agree with Edith.” He held up his hand to silence Jeff’s exclamation.

  “Let her talk to the girl, woman to woman. Maybe Dulcie’s got some explanation. If she doesn’t, if she’s just bad, then we let it go. It’s not really our place to meddle, is it?”