by Cox, Carol
The dark-eyed woman continued to smile but didn’t move an inch. Manuel spoke a few words in Spanish, and his mother bobbed her head eagerly.
Jenny swallowed hard and led the way to the back of the restaurant. “Manuel,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, “doesn’t your mother speak any English?”
Manuel fairly skipped along in his excitement. “Only a word or two. But you and I, we will teach her.”
Jenny almost envied Elizabeth her ability to meet all her problems with prayer. If she thought God would listen to her, surely this would qualify as a time to call upon the Almighty.
“Today we’re making biscuits to go with the stew.” She waited while Manuel relayed her meaning to his mother in a flurry of Spanish words. Jacinta nodded and smiled. Jenny groaned inwardly. At this rate, it would take all day just to explain one simple recipe.
Jenny mixed the ingredients, keeping up a running commentary while Jacinta watched, hoping her pupil would remember items and amounts. She stirred the mixture together and turned the dough out on a floured board.
“Next, we knead the dough.” She pressed the heels of her hands against the ball of dough, turned the mass a quarter turn, folded it over, and pressed again.
Jacinta reached for the doughy ball, then copied her actions. “Así?”
“Like that?” the ever-helpful Manuel translated.
“Exactly like that.” Jenny watched the way Jacinta continued the process with her capable hands. Maybe lack of a common language wouldn’t be such a problem after all.
Jacinta looked up, awaiting her next instructions.
“Now we pinch off the biscuits and pat them into circles.” Jenny did the first one, then stepped back and motioned for the other woman to try her hand at it.
Jacinta pulled off a large glob of dough.
“A little smaller, perhaps,” Jenny said, demonstrating again.
“Ah.” A smile of comprehension lit Jacinta’s face and she formed the next biscuit perfectly.
“That’s right,” Jenny told her. When Jacinta only looked puzzled, she added, “Good. Bueno.”
Jacinta spoke rapidly to Manuel. “She wants to know if you want her to go ahead and finish the biscuits on her own,” he told Jenny.
She hesitated only a moment. Jacinta seemed to have the hang of it. Maybe the best thing she could do was show trust in her new employee. If disaster struck, she would only be a few yards away. “That will be fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
❧
Before the week was out, any misgivings Jenny had about adding a second member of the Ochoa family to the payroll had vanished like early morning dew in the Tucson sun.
Jacinta had shown a marked ability to assimilate Jenny’s cooking methods and work on her own with little super-vision. With only minimal help from Jenny, she had taken over the breakfast preparations and much of the lunch duties, as well.
Her cooking and Manuel’s work in the dining room left Jenny free to spend several hours a day in her office, time she spent going over the books, drawing up supply orders, and making plans.
Above all, making plans. She set her pen down on the desk and propped her chin on one hand, staring dreamily through the sheer muslin curtains.
Only months before, she’d been working at Elizabeth’s restaurant for little more than her room and board. Just a couple of months ago, she had to brace herself every time she ventured out into the streets of Prescott, steeling herself for a possible onslaught of cutting remarks.
In that short time, she had gone from feeling like an outcast to enjoying life as a respected member of the community and earning her own living, a good one at that. What a difference the choice to relocate to Tucson had made!
She stood and walked to the window, staring out at the scene of burgeoning growth. Two years after replacing Prescott as the territorial capital, Tucson was shedding its image as a sleepy Mexican village where travelers dreaded traversing the crooked, filthy streets, and emerging as a city worthy of its new status.
Jenny folded her arms and leaned against the window frame. She and Tucson had a lot in common. Both had rough beginnings and times they’d prefer to forget. But both had been given a second chance, an opportunity to shake off the dust of the past and move ahead into a bright new future.
Speaking of the future. . . Jenny returned to her chair and picked up her pen again. If she could finish the sketches showing her plans for expansion, she could show them to Evan, along with her new ideas for the menus. Jacinta had shown her gratitude for her job and Jenny’s cooking lessons by teaching Jenny to prepare some of her own favorite foods. If Evan agreed, Jenny planned to add several Mexican dishes to their menu, starting next week.
She rolled the pen between her fingers, delighting in the way things had come together. She had a home of her own, the restaurant was thriving, and even now Red was out on his new claim setting things in motion to further secure their futures. Jenny smiled. What would Red think of the changes that had come about since he brought Manuel to the Pueblo?
Voices rumbled in the outer room, signaling the arrival of the first lunch customers. Gathering up paper, pen, and ink, she carried the lot to a table in the far corner of the dining room. Seldom occupied unless they had an overabundance of diners, it made an ideal place to do work on her ledger and still interact with her patrons.
“There is mail for you, Señorita Davis.” Manuel appeared at her elbow, a wrinkled envelope in his hand. “Señor Townsend left it here a little while ago.”
“Evan was in here and didn’t stop by the office?” Her initial pang of disappointment was quickly replaced by irritation. If Evan had time to visit with Manuel, he could have given her at least a few moments. She could have outlined her plans to him and gotten his initial reaction.
No, maybe it was better to complete the plans before showing them to him at all. He would probably be more likely to agree to them if he could see the whole picture at once.
Swallowing her frustration, she squared the stack of papers and got ready to get back to work. The envelope Manuel had left on the corner of the table caught her attention, and she picked it up, smiling when she saw the return address. She could always make time for one of Elizabeth’s chatty letters.
She tore the envelope open, eager to read her friend’s news.
Dear Jenny,
I hope this finds you well and your business thriving. What a wonderful success you’ve made of it! To all the excitement of your accomplishments, I’ll add one caution, and I’m sure you can guess what it is: Give God a place in your life. Despite what you think, He does love you and longs for you to be His child. You know how often I’ve prayed for this, how much I desire to see it happen, so I won’t belabor the point. But as much contentment as you think your life holds now, it does not begin to compare with the joy and peace that can be yours when you make God your partner in life.
Enough of my sermonizing for now. There is excitement aplenty in the O’Roarke household these days. Can you guess? After nearly two years, Michael and I have learned we are going to be parents. I am thrilled and terrified, all at once! The responsibility of rearing a child makes the day-to-day responsibilities of running a restaurant seem trivial in comparison.
I have one more exciting bit of news to impart. You know that my sister Carrie keeps me informed of the happenings back East. Her last letter was full of welcome news. It seems that just a few weeks ago, Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton organized the National Woman Suffrage Association with the goal of seeking an amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Imagine, Jenny. It may not be much longer before American women get the vote!
How I wish you could be here with me during these thrilling days, my dear friend. But I know you have made a new home for yourself in Tucson and I would not begrudge you that for anything. And we have already shared a number of exciting times together. As always, I will continue to keep you in my prayers.
With love,
Elizabeth
A shadow fell across the table, and Jenny looked up to see a thin, hatchet-faced man standing beside her. “Afternoon, Miss.” He dipped his head and gave her a friendly smile. “I needed to speak to Townsend, but I don’t see him anywhere around.”
“He was here earlier,” Jenny replied. “I’m not sure whether he’ll be back later today or not. May I give him a message?”
“You can give him this, if you don’t mind.” He reached inside his broadcloth coat and drew out an envelope. Placing it on the table, he gave another nod and turned to leave.
“Whom shall I say it’s from?” Jenny called after him.
He stopped in the doorway and gave her a slow wink. “Don’t worry. He’ll know.”
Jenny slid the missive under her pile of sketches and scanned Elizabeth’s letter once more before folding it and replacing it in its envelope.
A smile curved her lips. How like Elizabeth to be as excited about the new strides being made toward women’s suffrage as she was about the prospect of motherhood.
They’ll make wonderful parents. Jenny could easily picture her friends in their new roles. Elizabeth would provide firm but loving guidance and the assurance her children could do whatever they set their minds to. And Michael, with his quick sense of humor and protective spirit, would be sure his family was well cared for. Their children would grow up in a loving home, full of warmth and happiness.
The thought brought memories of her own childhood to Jenny’s mind, and a leaden feeling filled her chest.
She took a deep breath, trying to sweep the sensation away, remembering that Elizabeth’s letters always brought mingled joy and pain. Joy at hearing from someone she loved like a sister; pain at the reminder of the dark time in her life—the reason she’d fled Prescott in the first place.
She made a few tentative marks on her sketches, then swept the papers into a heap and carried them back to her office. Right now, she should go help Jacinta with lunch. Anything requiring concentration would have to wait until later.
eight
“If the new wing is added over here,” Jenny extended the lines indicating the north and south walls of the dining room, “and we brought the kitchen out this far,” she sketched in the larger area, “then we could make an archway in the existing east wall and have room for at least six more tables.” She scribbled a line where the prospective archway would be and made a few quick slashes to indicate the new exterior walls.
She looked at her drawing with a critical eye, trying to spot any weak points Evan might notice. There might be some, she decided, but she couldn’t begin to spot them tonight, tired as she was.
She stretched her arms wide and rolled her head from side to side. The lamp sputtered, almost out of oil. Jenny glanced at the clock, surprised at the lateness of the hour. She had worked on the details of her plan instead of taking her usual siesta, then worked on them further after the restaurant closed for the night.
Jenny hurried to undress and get into bed before the lamp gave out completely. The late hours and extra work would be worth it, though, when she convinced Evan it would be in their best interests to spend the money to enlarge their building.
She curled on her side and watched the edge of the curtain dance in the light breeze. Her eyelids drifted closed, and she forced them open again. She needed to stay awake long enough to plan for tomorrow.
In the morning, she would make a final copy of her plan, free of scribbles and extraneous lines. When Evan came in, she would present the idea to him. If he took to it right away, they could begin construction immediately, maybe even as early as next week.
She snuggled deeper into her pillow, allowing her muscles to relax. Her lids drooped shut again, and this time they didn’t open.
❧
The nightmare began as it always did. Jenny recognized it for what it was, even as it pulled her into its own distorted reality.
Harsh voices grated in her ears. Rough hands grabbed her and dragged her off, away from the shelter of Elizabeth’s restaurant, no matter how she pleaded and struggled.
Someone lifted her, then dropped her onto the bed of a wagon. Her body slammed against the unyielding wood. A coarse burlap sack was forced over her head, past her shoulders, then tied shut beneath her feet. She lay alone in the darkness, with only the hated voices to keep her company.
More unpleasant sensations: bouncing, jostling, feeling new bruises form every time the wagon wheels lurched in and out of another deep rut.
It’s the dream, nothing more. It isn’t real. Jenny called on every bit of willpower she possessed to shake off the terror. Experience had taught her that if she could jolt herself awake, she could escape at this point while the images remained hazy. Some nights she managed to evade the dream before it re-created memories that were all too real.
Tonight would not be one of them. She felt herself sinking deeper into the nightmare, reliving the memories she tried to avoid in the daylight.
The wagon finally ceased its relentless jarring. Relief at that bit of respite ended with her burlap prison being dragged across the wagon bed, then lifted like a sack of meal. Footsteps plodded across the ground, then thudded across a plank floor. The sack, with Jenny in it, was dumped none too gently on the boards. She waited for what would come next.
“So what’ll you do with her, now that you have her back?”
That high-pitched voice always started the conversation in her dream, just as it had the night she had been abducted by Martin Lester, the guardian who had betrayed her father’s trust and traded her to the owner of the Nugget Saloon.
Liquid sloshed, and she heard a series of noisy gulps before the other voice replied, “I don’t know. I can’t take her back into town. That nosy biddy she’s staying with will have everyone all stirred up, looking for her.”
Even in her sleep, Jenny flinched at the sound of Burleigh Ames’s voice. Singing for his customers at the Nugget had kept her from a worse fate, but Burleigh had plans to force her into a life she wanted no part of. Plans that had seemed all too likely to succeed until Michael O’Roarke helped her escape and find safety with Elizabeth.
And now the two men she feared most had her in their power again.
Boots scraped across the floor. One prodded her shoulder through the sacking. “She thinks she’s too almighty good for the fellows in the saloon.” It was Ames, then. “They want a girl who’s willing, not one who’ll spit in their eye. Some bill of goods you sold me, Lester. At least you got a load of whiskey out of the deal. I need a way to get my investment back.”
The bottom of the bag jerked upward, and her feet lifted off the floor. In a moment, the cord holding the sack shut had been loosened.
“What are you doing?” Lester queried.
Ames dropped the end of the bag. Jenny’s feet fell back to the hard floor. “Getting her out where I can look at her.” His hand seized the upper end of the bag and yanked, tumbling her out onto the floor in a heap.
Jenny sat blinking in the sudden light, staring up at the menacing figures. Two of them, one of her. She could never overpower them on her own. But she’d die trying.
“Not much to look at right now, is she?” Burleigh Ames sneered.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Martin Lester circled her as though evaluating livestock. “Once you clean her up and get some of the dirt from the wagon off her, she wouldn’t be so bad. She’s got a fine, full figure, if you ask me.” He cackled and took another swig from the bottle. “Maybe I’ll just buy her back and keep her for myself.”
Derisive laughter rumbled from Ames’s barrel chest. “You had your chance with her before, and she was too much for you, remember? You’d never dare turn your back or go to sleep with her around.” His face turned serious once more. “I’m the one who’s losing out here. You already drank up the whiskey I traded you for her. I’ve got to get some kind of return for all my time and trouble.”
Lester pursed his lips and eyed Jenny from head to toe with
a look that made her skin crawl. “What about selling her again?”
“Who to?” Ames scoffed. “The whole town will be out looking for her.”
“I’m not talking about anyone around town.” Lester’s voice held a crafty note. “What about selling her down in Mexico? Or trading her to the Indians?”
“Yeah.” Ames drew the word out. He pondered the idea a moment longer. “Yeah, that’d work.”
Jenny felt the blood drain from her face. She sat rigid, too paralyzed by fear to jump up and make a run for the door. She was done for. There would be no escape from the awful fate Lester outlined. They had won, and their victory would be her utter ruin.
“God, are You there?” She barely breathed the words aloud. “Why don’t You help me?”
She jerked awake and lay in the half state between dream and reality, still whispering the words: “Are You there, God? Are You there?”
Then full awareness came, and she shuddered with sobs, using her light sheet to mop the tears from her face. She knew the answer to her questions all too well: Yes, God was there. . .for people good enough to merit His help.
But Jenny Davis wasn’t one of them.
She turned her sodden pillow over and settled her cheek against the dry side. Loneliness washed over her in a wave. It would have been better if she’d been massacred along with the rest of her family. She wouldn’t have to face this overwhelming sense of isolation, something she managed to ignore during her busy days but that came back to haunt her during the night hours.
If Elizabeth and Michael hadn’t appeared like avenging angels, setting her free from her captors, where would she be now? She remembered sobbing in Elizabeth’s arms after her rescue. “You came! I was all alone, but you came for me!” The wonder of being sought after, of being loved so much still hadn’t left her, even after all this time.
Elizabeth had held her close and whispered, “But you weren’t alone, Dear. God was with you and kept you safe.”
