Threads West, an American Saga

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  One of the other players bellowed, “What’s this? Where’s the money?”

  Stammering, Micky tried to explain, “This is worth far more than this entire pot. It’s a map to gold.” Everyone sitting around the dirty floor laughed.

  “A treasure map, is it?” yelled one man.

  Another player snapped, “No money, no play.”

  Fixing his eyes on the folded map framed by the glitter of coins, Jacob’s skin tingled. There are no accidents. I am supposed to have that map. Looking around the circle, Jacob offered, “If Micky thinks that map is worth ten dollars, I’m willing to let him play.” The other players exchanged startled glances. Micky flashed a grateful, pathetic smile. Jacob nodded in return. If Micky is too much the fool to sense my insincerity, so be it.

  Micky won the hand, upsetting all the players except Jacob. Through the next several deals, Jacob barely concentrated on his cards, instead slipping questions to Micky, who was flushed and counting his money.

  “I bet a treasure map is hard to come by,” suggested Jacob, passing the whiskey bottle to Micky.

  “You have to know the right people,” Micky replied in a distracted tone.

  Passing him the bottle again, Jacob dug deeper, “Treasure maps are usually of places far away.”

  Looking up from sorting his winnings, Micky said sadly, “My brother did some trapping and scouting in a place they call Las Coloradas. He had been hired by some foreigners but would never tell me the details. I know he was paid well, but in the end that didn’t mean much. He gave me the map.” Throwing back his head, he took a long swig of whiskey, blinked, and swiped a tear from one bleary eye with his knuckles.

  Letting another hand go by, Jacob asked in the most disinterested tone he could muster, “Why would your brother give you the map?”

  Looking pained, Mickey blinked. “You could say he died for the damn map,” Micky gestured bitterly at the folded parchment perched on the pile of coins in the center of the circle of players. “When he got back from St. Louis two years ago, he was still carrying an arrowhead in his leg. He almost didn’t make it home; it was so infected. He gave me the map the day he died. I am in New York to deliver it.”

  Mickey won the hand. With a look of relief, he wobbled drunkenly to his feet, belched and swayed. “Time for this lucky man to call it a night.”

  Waiting for the door to close behind Mickey, Jacob hurriedly gathered up his coins, nodding at the circle as he stood up. “I’m going to call it an early evening, too, mates. I will see you gents tomorrow.”

  Walking rapidly, Jacob caught up with the heavy man, following twenty paces behind his silhouette, and the shine of Micky’s towhead mop of hair in the intermittent gaslight lamps.

  Micky turned up an alley, and Jacob pulled the blade from his boot. With a few long strides, he was behind Micky, sliding an arm around his neck. Micky’s hands flew up desperately tugging on the forearm cutting off his air. Plunging the knife in the bigger man’s arching back, Jacob ripped the blade upward. Micky screamed.

  Jacob tightened his arm. In seconds, Micky stopped struggling, and fell to the cobblestones, which quickly reddened with blood.

  Rolling the still spasming body over, he rummaged through the dead man’s coat until he found the map. Hesitating, he fought the temptation to strip the poker winnings from the corpse, too. Too obvious a trail once the body is found, Jacob warned himself. Tucking the thick folds of paper into a pocket, he walked quickly away without a look back.

  Returning to his squalid little room in a corner of Samuel’s meager flat, he grunted at Samuel snoring drunkenly on the threadbare couch. He lit a candle, his fingers trembling as he carefully unfolded the parchment. Micky’s blood had stained one corner. In the flickering light, his dirty fingernail traced the route to St. Louis and then land travel on what was labeled The Emigrant Trail south before Fort Laramie to a place called Cherry Creek and then west over the mountains. A more detailed insert drawn in one corner showed a location marked by an X, labeled Las Montanas Rojas.

  Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed the stubble on his chin. I came to America to stay one step ahead of the law in Ireland and England, and now I have been drawn to this moment and to this map. Taking the double-edged knife out of his boot, he thoughtfully cleaned Micky’s blood from the blade.

  *****

  Jacob was elated. I owe myself a celebration. On his first night in New York, Samuel had introduced him to a nearby brothel. He had taken a fancy to one of the ladies of the night, Mary, an older but curvy wench with all her teeth and a cute little face. She knows what to do with a man. In buoyant spirits, he headed for her dilapidated room on the third floor of the house of ill repute.

  “Would you like a sip of whiskey, Jacob?” Mary smiled, picking up a flask and a tumbler. “We can take our time, Mister Irish. After you, I have only to return to my apartment and roommates.”

  Watching her from behind, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through his belly; he felt blood pounding in his ears and in the thickening below his belt. Taking a quick step as she turned around, he knocked the glass from her hand, his lips seeking her neck as he pulled up her dress.

  “Jacob!” she gasped, trying to push him away. His fingers found the hot, wet flesh between her legs and her knees buckled. Throwing her on the bed, he ripped off her drawers.

  “Let me take my dress off,” she complained but Jacob’s knees were already between her thighs, his breeches down to his thighs. Grabbing her hips, he lunged into her, Mary groaning in surprise. She strained against him but he had her pinned to the bed and consumed her with rapid thrusts.

  “You’re hurting me,” she cried out. Her words spurred him to greater frenzy.

  Jacob scarcely thought of the woman beneath him. “Shut up, woman. I paid my price. I’m going to be rich. I have the map,” again, his hips pressed forward, “to the gold and then I’m going to have that redhead for a wife. I’m going to—” he convulsed in primal spasm, exploding deep inside her still struggling body. Groaning, he collapsed on her, sweat dripping from his forehead, a vision of Sarah in his mind.

  CHAPTER 25

  MARCH 3, 1855

  BEGUILED

  Carefully appraising herself in the mirror, Rebecca turned her head left, then right. Gently pulling the fabric of her bodice forward over her shoulders, she exposed a hint more of the creamy swelling of her breasts. That should do it.

  Inga escorted Rebecca to the blue room as she had the previous evening. This time, however, the place settings were arranged side-by-side rather than at opposite ends of the long dining table. This will be easier than I imagined.

  They had barely begun their first course, baked oysters in a light cream sauce, when the mayor edged closer to Rebecca, asking in a low, seductive tone, “So, my dear, is there a man in your life? Have you made any plans for marriage or family?”

  Rebecca nimbly evaded the query. “That is a rather personal question, Ferdinando. I’m not sure we know each other well enough…yet.”

  “Ah, Rebecca I’m just trying to ascertain if my energies are misdirected. I feel a certain sense of ebullience when I’m around you. In truth, I can barely keep my eyes off your lovely features. But there’s no sense in pursuit if your heart belongs to another.”

  “Why, mayor, you flatter me. And I must say, your position, surroundings, obvious charm and intellect are most attractive. No one’s heart is set for me that I know of, and in truth…,” Rebecca added some husk to her tone, “…up to this trip I have not yet met a man with whom I could seriously consider marriage or family. But I am young and there is time. And I will be in America, it appears, for at least half a year. I shall certainly be coming back to New York when I return from St. Louis.” Rebecca put on her most demure air, fluttering her eyelashes several times and smiling softly at the mayor, who had taken her hand again.

  “It must be lonely traveling by yourself as you are.” The mayor sighed. “And I’ve yet to find a woman to whom I could declare
my heart permanently. She must have intellect, charm, manners, grace and beauty, and be from a good family.”

  Dabbing at his lips with a corner of his linen napkin, he continued, “Frankly, until you, I had begun to despair of ever finding that woman.” He began to stroke Rebecca’s hand softly. She willed herself not to remove it from the table. The mayor continued, “If there is anything I can do to make your trip safer and more comfortable, and speed your return to New York, I would be delighted.”

  Slowly brushing the hair from her cheek to behind her ear, she watched the mayor’s eyes hungrily follow her every move.

  He cleared his throat. “I know you were exhausted last night but may I interest you in that glass of sherry in my quarters this evening after supper?”

  “Ferdinando, again you compliment me. I am tempted but I remain without energy. More than a month on the ship has taken its toll on me, I’m afraid. We women are much frailer than you men, you know.”

  The mayor’s face fell but he recovered quickly. “Then may I look forward to supper tomorrow night? And do give some thought to how I might assist you.”

  “Dinner tomorrow night would be wonderful, Ferdinando. I think I shall retire.” As he had done the previous evening, the mayor leaped from his seat to behind her chair, pulling it out.

  As Rebecca rose, he leaned forward to kiss her but she turned her chin at the last second so that his lips landed on her cheek.

  “Oh, Ferdinando,” Rebecca pressed two fingers over her mouth and did her best to look embarrassed. “I shall give your kind offer some thought as I lay in my bed tonight. And I shall certainly look forward to our time tomorrow evening. It may be our last for a while. My train leaves for St. Louis on Thursday, the day after.”

  “My dear, we have such a short time together. Are you sure? Just one glass of sherry?”

  “Thank you. I must get my rest. I just don’t feel quite myself yet.”

  The mayor escorted her to the stairs, all the while, lightly holding her hand. Ascending several steps, she partially turned, “Thank you again for a wonderful dinner and your thoughtful offer of assistance. I am sure your valued help will be necessary in some manner.”

  The mayor’s cheeks jiggled, his body bouncing in that peculiar way on the balls of his feet. “My pleasure, rest assured.”

  Placing one hand delicately on the handrail, she lifted her dress with the other revealing the backs of her ankles and calves to the mayor. Walking slowly up the steps, keenly aware the mayor’s eyes were fixed on her legs, she kept a smile glued to her lips. Boorish.

  CHAPTER 26

  MARCH 4, 1855

  THREADS WEST

  Rebecca spent the next day in preparation for the trip to St. Louis. She had Inga run several errands for her. In the early afternoon, there was a tapping on the French doors. Inga’s voice called out, “I’ve brought you some tea.”

  Opening the door clad merely in her camisole and slip, Rebecca smiled. “Come in, Inga.”

  “Oh, excuse me, Rebecca.” Embarrassed, Inga averted her eyes from Rebecca’s partially clad figure. “I shall leave this tea and give you your privacy.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. We’re both women. We have our privacies but let’s face it, there are no secrets. Please come in and shut the door behind you.”

  Inga did as instructed but Rebecca noticed her face become a shade more pale at the mention of secrets. Curious.

  “Would you like some tea, Inga?”

  “Oh yes, Rebecca, that would be wonderful. How kind of you to ask.”

  “Seat yourself over here,” invited Rebecca, indicating the settee by the windows. Turning her back to Inga, she pretended to engross herself in the tray and teacups.

  “Inga, is there anything that holds you in New York?”

  Rebecca saw Inga’s head snap up in the reflection of the window.

  “No, other than I do enjoy this job. I have not been here for long but after many years I finally feel secure. I have fine quarters, decent pay and a steady position. But I have no family and I have never had any entanglements that would bind me to this location.”

  Rebecca ceased her studied preoccupation with cups and milk and turned to Inga. “Never?” Inga looked down at the floor, and smoothed her hands over her lap.

  “Certainly nothing serious and absolutely nothing that involved my heart.”

  Rebecca turned back to the tray to hide her raised eyebrows. There is something here that makes me inquisitive. Making sure her face was impassive but friendly, she walked over to the settee with the two cups. Rebecca stirred her tea deliberately and slowly. When the light chime of the silver spoon on the edges of the fine china teacup ceased, she bent forward slightly, “How would you like to accompany me on my trip tomorrow? My plan is to try and go no further than St. Louis. I have some family business. I will share some details with you on the train. It is my hope that I can resolve those issues quickly and we can be back in New York in several months. I could use both the assistance and the company. I’ve given it great thought. I will pay twice the wages you earn here. It might be fun for you, too. We two women could have an adventure together.”

  Inga’s teacup hung suspended halfway between the saucer and her lips, a look of complete surprise on her face. “But I would lose my job here. I could never get permission to go.”

  Extending her arm, Rebecca patted her thigh and smiled smugly. “I think you very well would be given full permission. Actually, I am quite sure of it.”

  Inga set her tea down without having taken a sip, staring at her teacup. Rebecca knew her mind was racing.

  Raising her eyes, she smiled widely, her features dancing with animated anticipation, as if she was about to share a secret. Rebecca was puzzled.

  “Rebecca, it does sound like fun. Do you know that in eight years I have never once really been out of New York City? My biggest adventure was going to New Jersey to fetch a bolt of fabric that no other shop carried for the mayor’s then-current mistress. I’ve heard many of the guests speak of the country between here and St. Louis.” Looking out the window, she cleared her throat. “I even heard your father talk about the wild lands that lie beyond St. Louis.”

  Looking up sharply from her tea, Rebecca leaned further forward. “My father? You didn’t tell me that you knew my father.”

  “He dined occasionally at the Carriage House where I worked. The restaurant was a gathering place for successful businessmen. I remember him because he was most kind and a true gentleman. You do resemble him in many ways, particularly his strength and resolve…” Inga held her eyes, “…and cleverness.”

  Rebecca felt excitement rising in her. “Tell me what he said. Did you talk for a long time?”

  “No. We spoke only in broken minutes when I was waiting his table or when he was paying his bill. The one time I heard him talk of the great flatlands and the mountains far west of St. Louis was during a dinner conversation he had with his attorney.” Inga looked around the room as if someone might be listening. “I know I shouldn’t have stayed to overhear but your father had a strong voice that was difficult to ignore even when he spoke in hushed tones, and the conversation was quite interesting, so I lingered at the serving station near their table.”

  “Well?” Rebecca stamped her foot lightly.

  Inga laughed. “Rebecca, you expect more than I can give you. I heard them talk in bits and pieces about a red mountain and how beautiful the meadows, cliffs and creeks were in this place somewhere in some territory in the far west. I can’t quite remember the details. He talked about great grassy flatlands that went on for miles and miles and huge beasts called buffalo. I remember that he marveled at the lack of people, and the hardiness of the few souls he did meet during his travels.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Rebecca’s fingers absently moved back and forth across her lips, her mind whirling. So he did visit the land. Perhaps there was something to what he whispered to me in those minutes before he died. She had always thought he was a
bit delirious at that point and she had been so focused on holding his hand and telling him that she loved him that his words had never really taken root, until that very moment as she listened to Inga.

  She recalled that dreadful day, the acrid, antiseptic smell that permeated the hospital and the somber hush of nurses she would forever equate with places of sickness and loss of hope. “Gold,” he had whispered as he pulled her ear down to his dry, cracked lips. “Not just land, daughter, gold.”

  Shaking her head, she sat up straight, leveling an intent stare at Inga. “Well, then, will you come?”

  “I would love to go on this trip with you. I want to see the country and I know I can be of help. But even with your overly kind wage offer, I really cannot afford to lose this position.”

  Rebecca waved her hand dismissively. “Do not worry in the least, Inga. The mayor will give you full permission for the journey and you will have your job, perhaps even at a higher pay grade, when you return. In fact, I’ll guarantee it.”

  Inga stood quickly. “If that is the case, then there are less than twenty-four hours until we depart. I must pack. I’ve no idea what to take.”

  Rising, Rebecca took her arm, walking her to the door. “Do as I do. If in doubt, pack it. Now be off with you. You have trunks?” Inga turned at the door, exuberant, “I only have enough for one trunk and it just so happens I have one trunk. I’m already halfway packed.” Giggling, she jogged down the hall.