Darlin' Druid

by Lyn Horner

  “Now that he’s gone, I have a few things to say to you, my girl.” She proceeded to tell Jessie just what she thought of a woman who let a man, even her fiancé, touch her so familiarly without the sanction of wedlock.

  “If this kind of thing ever happens again, I will evict you immediately,” she concluded. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jessie said, avoiding the woman’s flinty eyes. “I’ll be going up to my room now, if ye don’t mind.”

  “By all means, and as you say your nightly prayers, I advise you to ask the good Lord’s forgiveness for your sins.”

  Nodding numbly, Jessie made her escape. Some time later, as she lay sobbing into her pillow, she consigned David to hell with one breath, then cursed herself with the next for believing even for a moment that he truly wanted to marry her. What a fool she was!

  Why had he come here, anyway? Looked me up to make sure I got here safely? She doubted that. He had probably decided to finish what he started that day by the PlatteRiver. Perhaps his conscience had stopped him from ravishing her on that occasion, but seeing her with her bodice hanging open when she ran into the parlor – how could she be so stupid? – had obviously provided him with an excuse to do what he’d wanted to do all along. Then he’d had the gall to accuse her of fornicating with Blake. Damn him!

  The infuriating man hadn’t even said what he was doing in Utah. She supposed he had been transferred to CampDouglas, the army post located in the foothills above SaltLakeCity. If that was the case, she thought it a cruel coincidence. At the same time she wondered if she might occasionally see him around the city.

  Jessie pounded her pillow. “I don’t want to see him again!” she choked, knowing full well it was a lie.

  Hot and sticky, she threw back the bed sheet and sat up. Her thin nightdress clung to her uncomfortably. She tugged it away from her damp skin, fished her handkerchief from under the pillow and blew her stopped up nose. Then she began to hiccup, and all the while her foolish eyes continued to weep. Sweet Mary, why was she letting David do this to her?

  Rising, she shuffled over to the washstand, poured water into a glass and gulped down a few swallows. The hiccups stopped but not her tears. Returning to bed, she wept and cursed and wept some more until, finally, exhaustion sucked her into a dark, dreamless void.

  She awoke at dawn. Meeting her leaden gaze in the mirror above the bureau as she listlessly prepared for work, she wondered how she would get through the day. She cringed at the thought of facing her landlady and fellow boarders over breakfast. Nevertheless, the heartening smell of coffee drew her to the dining room a few moments later.

  She hesitated in the entrance.

  Eleanor Wilson sent her a stony glare from the head of the table. “You’re late, Miss Devlin,” she snapped. “I’m dishing up. Do sit down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Glancing around the table, Jessie found every eye upon her as she slipped into her usual seat.

  “Good morning,” she said, producing a stiff smile. Surprisingly, she received cheerful replies. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson hadn’t told all of them about the scene in the parlor last evening.

  Across from Jessie sat a plump older woman named Minerva Novak. Like Mrs. Wilson, she was a widow – with enough money from her late husband to live comfortably. She had evidently known Eleanor Wilson for years, the reason she chose to live here with the cantankerous landlady. How the two could be friends, Jessie did not understand, for they were total opposites. Whereas Eleanor Wilson was sternly reserved, Minerva was flamboyantly outgoing. She sported gray-blonde curls and rouged cheeks, and she loved bright colors. Today she wore a pink silk gown topped by a garish peacock-blue boa.

  Passing Jessie a plate of ham and eggs, Minerva giggled. “You naughty girl, we’re all dying of curiosity. You never said a word about your captain, and now Eleanor tells us you’re to marry him. Lucky you! That’s one handsome man.”

  “Oh, my yes,” said the woman next to Jessie in a dreamy voice. Her name was Annabelle Sutter. Tall and plain, with sallow skin and light brown hair, she was a spinster school teacher. Books being her best friends, she usually had little to say. It came as a shock to hear her exclaim, “He’s so tall and broad-shouldered, too!”

  Jessie gaped at her. The other boarders snickered.

  Mrs. Wilson scowled. “Ladies! We will not discuss the captain’s personal attributes.”

  Minerva forked up a healthy mouthful of eggs, blithely ignoring the reprimand, while Annabelle turned beet-red and bent her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, sending Jessie a shy sidelong glance.

  “It’s all right,” Jessie whispered back, managing a smile.

  “I must say, Miss Devlin, I’m curious as to where you met your young man and why you never mentioned him,” Mrs. Wilson said suspiciously.

  Clutching her coffee cup in both hands, Jessie gulped down a swallow of the strong brew to fortify herself. Much as she hated to, she had decided to go along with David’s deception, for now. Schooling her features into calm lines, she returned her landlady’s stare.

  “I met Captain Taylor on my way west. He was seriously injured while saving me from harm, and I helped care for him as he recovered. W-we fell in love.” Nearly strangling on the painful lie, she lowered her eyes and heaped another lie on top of it. “He asked me to marry him, but I . . . I couldn’t accept, not that quickly.”

  “My stars, child, why not?” Minerva piped up. “In your place, I would have fallen into that soldier’s arms like a ripe peach.” She grinned and gave a broad wink. “I bet he shook your tree plenty last night, hmm?”

  Eyes widening, Jessie set her cup down with a loud clink. She ignored the reactions of the other women and shot Mrs. Wilson a sharp glance, wondering if she had, after all, talked about what she’d witnessed in the parlor. She thought not, though, when the woman slapped her palm down on the table and pinned Minerva with a hawkish glare.

  “Mrs. Novak! Please don’t be coarse!”

  Undaunted, Minerva snorted in amusement and casually adjusted her boa. “Shoot, I remember when you weren’t so high-toned yourself, Ellie Wilson. Back in the days when –”

  “Enough! Those days are gone!” the landlady shouted, turning red. Garnering startled looks from everyone but Minerva, she hastily added in a tight voice, “I would like to hear the rest of Miss Devlin’s story. I’m sure the rest of you would too.”

  Not daring to argue, the others made agreeing sounds, forcing Jessie to spin out her tale about how David had returned to his post in Wyoming, promising to come to her when he could. She had thought he would forget her – the truth – and had not mentioned him because she couldn’t bear to speak of him. Also the truth.

  “He has, um, army business to attend to, so I may not be seeing him for a time,” she added, picking up her fork. Later, she would have to come up with a reason why he never came back.

  “Don’t you worry, honey,” Minerva said, buttering a hot biscuit. “He couldn’t wait to get you all to himself last night. I bet he won’t stay away for long.”

  She would lose that bet, Jessie thought, smiling feebly. And the only reason David had wanted to get her alone last night was so that he could hurt her again.

  “Well, now that you’ve accepted the captain’s proposal,” Mrs. Wilson said, “of course you won’t be seeing Mr. Stanton again.”

  Jessie choked on a bite of ham. Pressing her napkin to her lips, she fought to catch her breath and recover from shock. She’d completely forgotten that Mrs. Wilson and the other women had seen Blake call for her on several occasions. Lord save her, she’d like to murder David for getting her into this quagmire.

  Able to breathe again, she said defensively, “Mr. Stanton is my friend, and Captain Taylor doesn’t control me just yet.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Minerva cheered, grinning impishly. “Never let a man think he owns you.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s thin black brows bolted upward. “But you’ve promised yourself to him. Surely you can’t mea
n to continue seeing another man.” She looked almost as scandalized as she had last night in the parlor.

  Jessie had had enough. Giving up on trying to eat, she shoved back her chair and shot to her feet. “Aye, I do mean to keep seeing Mr. Stanton. He has been kind to me, and while he’s only a friend, I’ll not turn my back on him because of that . . . because of Captain Taylor.” She smiled tightly at the sour old battle-axe. “Excuse me. I must be getting to work.”

  Too angry and distraught to care what any of them thought, she stalked from the room and out of the house. Blind to her surroundings, she fumed at David and her obnoxious landlady all the way to the café.

  Thank heaven for work! The routine was mercifully numbing, and if her smile looked a trifle wooden, none of the customers seemed to notice. But Ivar Andersen was another matter.

  Hearing him approach as she wiped off oilcloth-covered tables in preparation for the noon crowd, Jessie looked up, expecting Ivar to point out some task that needed doing. She tensed when she saw his worried expression.

  “Jessie, something is wrong?” he asked. “So quiet you are today.”

  She licked her lips. “Why, uh, I’m a wee bit tired,” she said, gaze skittering away. “I didn’t sleep well last night. ’Twas the heat, I expect.”

  “Ya?Dat is all, you are not sick?”

  “Nay, I’m fine.” She turned away and began wiping another table, afraid to look him in the eye.

  “And someone has not hurt you?”

  Startled, she pivoted to stare at him. Her first thought was that he somehow knew about David, but that was impossible. Blake! He suspected Blake of forcing himself upon her.

  “Nay! Of course not,” she said hotly, vexed by the insult to her friend. She had half a mind to tell Ivar who the real scoundrel was, and how he’d threatened her virtue, but she didn’t dare speak the truth, in case someone from the boardinghouse happened by the café and got to talking with Ivar. And she couldn’t stand to retell the lies she’d spun over breakfast.

  Remembering who she spoke to, Jessie softened her tone. “I’m fine, Ivar. Truly. Ye needn’t worry.”

  “You are sure?” A troubled frown continued to crease his brow.

  She forced a smile and nodded. “Aye, I’m sure.” She picked up a stack of dirty dishes from a nearby table. “I’d best take these out to the kitchen.” Hastening away, she muttered under her breath, “Get hold of yourself! Moping about will only make matters worse.”

  Drawing on anger to bolster her spirits, she thought of all the things she should have said to David last night. Perhaps she might yet have a chance to confront him if he was now assigned to CampDouglas. Soldiers from the post often came into the city – causing antagonism among the Mormons. Jessie hoped she would run into David just once so she could tell him exactly what she thought of him. And if he dared to touch her, she would scratch his eyes out!

  By that evening, she was worn out from her long workday and the events of the night before. All she wanted to do was sleep, but as luck would have it, Eleanor Wilson came to her door again, this time to announce her friend, Mr. Stanton, had come to call. Her sarcasm nearly made Jessie lose her temper. Biting back an angry retort, she turned her back on the woman and strove to compose herself as she walked downstairs. Despite her weariness, she was anxious to see Blake and learn what, if anything, he had discovered about Tye, yet she also dreaded facing him. She mustn’t let him see that anything was wrong because then he would ask questions, and the thought of telling more lies turned her stomach.

  He stood in the foyer outside the parlor. Dressed immaculately as always, he looked up and smiled broadly as she preceded her landlady down the stairs.

  “Hello, Blake,” she said, pasting a smile on her own lips.

  “Jessie.” He nodded and waited for Mrs. Wilson to retreat into the parlor. Then he stepped forward to take Jessie’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind me surprising you like this. I just got back and couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “I don’t mind a bit. I’ve been anxious to see you, too,” she replied with forced lightness. She could feel Mrs. Wilson and the other women watching and listening in the parlor. As usual, they had gathered to socialize for a while before retiring to their rooms, but they were as silent as lumps of clay at the moment. No doubt they wanted to see how she would conduct herself with Blake – behind her cursed fiancé’s back.

  To her surprise, Jessie experienced a moment of guilt, as if she really were doing something wrong. Nonsense! It wasn’t as if she and David truly were promised to each other. Despair threatened to surface at the thought, but she angrily forced it down.

  Squeezing Blake’s hand to signal him, she darted her eyes toward their audience. “’Tis a grand evening out,” she said. “Would ye care to step outside? I could do with some fresh air.”

  “Excellent idea,” he replied with a conspiratorial grin.

  Once outside with him, Jessie grew nervous, again fearing he might detect something had happened to her during his absence. Veering away from him, she leaned her hands on the porch railing and studied the magenta streaks on the western horizon.

  “It is a beautiful night,” Blake murmured, coming up behind her and laying his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch and had trouble meeting his gaze when he gently turned her to face him. “But it isn’t half as beautiful as you, Jessie.”

  Unsettled by his fervent compliment, she attempted to pass it off with an airy reply. “Such blarney, Blake Stanton! ʼTis enough to turn a poor girl’s head.” She laughed, but it sounded brittle even to her own ears.

  Blake laughed, too, but she saw bafflement in his eyes. And a trace of annoyance, she thought.

  “Did ye have a good trip?” she hastily asked.

  He raised a sandy brow at her effort to distract him, but nodded. “Yes, it was quite successful. We – the geologist and I – came across a highly promising claim. I’ll want an assay report, of course, and there are some other factors to consider, but I believe our search may be over.”

  “Well, that’s grand,” Jessie said, trying for a sincere smile. He would be leaving soon, she realized a bit sadly. Then she wondered if she ought to come right out and ask if he had seen Tye or learned anything about him.

  He must have read her thoughts. “Now, my dear, I have news of your brother,” he said in an ominous tone that made her catch her breath and stare at him. He kept her in suspense for a moment then broke into a grin. “I had no trouble locating him, Jessie. He’s still in Alta and he’s just fine.”

  “Oh!” she cried, pressing a hand to her chest. Weak with relief, she leaned against the railing behind her. “Praise be! He’s truly all right? You’re sure? Did ye see him yourself?”

  Blake laughed, eyes twinkling at her spate of questions. “I did indeed,” he replied, running his hands up and down her arms. “By asking around, I learned he had taken a job as a mucker at the Flagstaff, one of the larger mines. That is, he shovels ore into the ore cars.”

  “Aye?” That sounded more backbreaking than dangerous, but what did she know?

  “So, I dropped by the mine and left word for him to contact me, which he did. We had an interesting discussion. Mostly about you.” He grinned. “He bade me tell you to stop fretting yourself into a stew over him.”

  Jessie gave a shaky laugh. “Aye, that sounds like the big idiot.” She swallowed hard, and her voice thickened. “Blake, I haven’t the words to tell ye . . . .” Unable to say more, she smiled tremulously and shook her head.

  “I was happy to help, my pet,” he replied in a pleased tone. Stepping close, he drew her into his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder.

  He smelled of expensive cologne and stiffly starched linen, so different from the way David smelled. Hating herself for making the comparison, she suffered swift justice when Blake sniffed at her hair.

  “Boiled cabbage. What a delightful scent,” he said wryly.

  “Oh dear! I forgot it was on the menu today.” She q
uickly pulled away. Flushing, she self-consciously touched her hair. “I’d better wash it.”

  “I was only jesting,” Blake assured her, though he didn’t sound convincing. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small leather pouch. “I almost forgot, your brother asked me to give you this,” he said, handing it to her.

  Jessie stared in wonder at the pouch. “ʼTis heavy. What’s in it?”

  Pleased by her reaction, Blake smiled at her. “Wages from his job, I believe,” he lied, guessing she would not accept the money if she knew it came from him rather than her dear brother. He meant to make sure she spent it on some decent clothes. He wouldn’t have her looking like a peasant when he took her east with him, or smelling like one, either. He hated the smell of cooked cabbage. It reminded him of his impoverished childhood.

  * * *

  Smiling at Blake, Jessie accepted his hand and stepped down from the buggy, being careful not to snag the hem of her sapphire-blue taffeta gown. She’d just picked up the gown this afternoon from the dressmaker’s. It was the first to be completed out of the three she had ordered. Smoothing the shimmering skirt, she took Blake’s arm and let him lead her into the Salt Lake House, where they were to dine once again.

  Blake had showered her with compliments a while ago, when he’d called for her. She was happy he approved of her new finery but felt like a wastrel spending Tye’s hard-earned money upon herself. However, that’s what he’d insisted she should do, according to Blake.

  Ivar Andersen had kindly allowed her a few hours away from work for her dress fittings. She hadn’t wanted to approach him with her request last Saturday, the day after Blake’s return – the same day the anti-Mormon Gentile League had held a hostile meeting outside this very hotel, making Ivar and many other Mormons furious. But Blake had implored her to have the gowns made up with all possible haste so that he might see her wear them. She interpreted that to mean he would be returning east soon.