Though at times Christal was very conscious of all their differences in background and upbringing, for the most part it didn't seem to matter. Each of them had taken a very different road to Noble, but they were all lone women in a cruel, violent land. By all rights, it should have been difficult for her to understand them. Yet somehow it was not.
"Why are you two always fighting?" she asked, pulling Ivy's hair tight at her temples. "Dixiana, sometimes I think you're jealous of Jericho and Ivy."
"Jealous?" Dixiana raised herself from the bed, revealing a breathless amount of bosom. "How could Ah be jealous? Why Jericho's a—" She abruptly stopped, then started laughing. "Oh, go on! What are you tryin' to do? Fool me?"
Christal pinned some more of Ivy's curls. "You might not want Jericho. But you sure are jealous of his attention. Come on, Dixi, admit it. You want a man to court you, just as much as that old Miss Blum wants Jan Peterson to come calling on her with a posy of violets."
Christal watched Dixiana roll onto her back and stare at the unvarnished boards of the ceiling. Their bedrooms weren't as luxurious as the saloon downstairs, which had canvas tacked to the walls in an attempt to look like plaster. Upstairs was plain and raw. Strangely appropriate.
"Ah'm not like that old maid Sarah Blum." Dixi sighed. Her pretty, heart-shaped face held a faraway, melancholy expression. "Besides, Ah had a man court me once. Ah met him in Laramie." Her voice lowered as if she were saying a prayer. "Oh, he was somethin' fine. With thighs as hard as iron and a face like an angel." She stretched her hand out to the ceiling, as if reaching for him.
"What happened, Dixi?"
Dixiana shrugged. If she were any other kind of woman, she might have had tears in her eyes. "He said he was going to marry me. Ah followed him up to Noble 'cause he thought there was still minin' goin' on here, and he wanted to strike it rich. But the minin' didn't work out and the day before we got to the preacher, he just up and left. Oh—Ah don't mind that he didn't want to marry me." Dixiana's face turned rock hard. "Ah know Ah'm not the type to have a passel of brats hangin' on to mah apron. But why didn't he take me with him back to Laramie? Why did he just leave me here, with nowhere to go and no money? Ah even understand his leaving. There are so many girls in Laramie . . . and—their faces are so smooth." Dixiana touched her face as if she could feel every damning line on it. She'd told them once that she was twenty-eight, but everyone figured she was hiding ten years.
"Dixi," Ivy whispered, turning around on the bench. "I'm sorry I told you you couldn't borrow my snood. Jericho's seen enough of it. You go on and wear it. It'll look prettier with your lavender gown than with my yellow one."
"Maybe he'll come back, Dixi. Maybe it was all a mistake," Christal added, wanting to help, maybe just because Dixi hid the pain so well.
"He's not coming back. He's a good-for-nothin' cowboy. They never return." Dixiana gave a little hollow laugh. "The only thing good about 'em besides their looks is that there're so blessed many of 'em! And them baby cowboys, they can be so sweet—when they're fawnin' on you, they're so in love, why—you're just their mama, their sister, and their sweetheart all rolled into one!"
Ivy smiled and threw her the snood. Even Christal smiled. There were more and more young men coming west every day. Dixi liked to set up court with the pretty ones in her special corner they'd all dubbed "the bullpen." Even a hardworking saloon girl couldn't run through them all. Maybe for Dixiana, that would be enough.
"Come on. Ah got to git dressed." Dixi rose from the bed.
"But wait! We haven't heard about the sheriff." Ivy looked at Christal. Christal dropped to the edge of the bed in an attempt to pretend she didn't know what Ivy was talking about.
"That's ra-aht!" Dixi stared at Christal too.
Christal fiddled with her fingers.
"Come on, you Yank! Tell us! If you don't snare that man, Ah'm gonna snare him for ya!" Dixiana pinched her.
Christal shot up from the bed and retrieved Ivy's wire bustle from a chair. She handed it to Ivy, saying, "There's nothing to talk about. You can have him, Dixi. He's nothing but trouble. Faulty's getting mad, and I've got to find a way to get rid of him."
"But why don't you want him? He's a handsome one. Right takes mah breath away to look at him. Though he's a little cold around the eyes—kinda makes you pause— never did like the mean ones. ..." Dixi looked at Ivy, who was tying her bustle. Though still useful, Ivy's arm was slightly crooked and had been ever since she'd arrived in Noble a year ago. All she ever said was a man broke it who accused her of stealing from him. She told them all she never thieved in her life. Faulty had been nervous hiring her, but time had proven Ivy out. They never had any trouble. No customers ever complained of lost money at Faulty's saloon. Still, Ivy's arm was a sorry reminder of how badly men treated women of their profession.
Christal studied both Ivy and Dixiana. They were just like all the other prostitutes she'd known: children. They wanted to be nice and they desperately wanted to be treated nicely in return. But most were lambs to the slaughter, victims of their customers and their own passive natures. Christal looked around Ivy's room at the magazine cutouts of cupids and pink floral hearts tacked to the rough wood-plank wall. It was typical. These women had ideas of love that were amazing in their innocence and sweetness. Love was a fairy tale to them, something they dreamed of and wished for, a knight in shining armor to come and erase all the bad things men did to them day after day. But it was a fairy tale nonetheless. Christal knew that better than anyone. Her knight in shining armor had arrived and instead of saving her, he'd switched hats and turned into the villain. A villain with a tin star.
Christal returned her gaze to Ivy. The girl was absent-mindedly rubbing her arm as if somehow it ached. They were all a little afraid of the new sheriff. Sheriffs got anything they wanted—a power easily abused. But as much as she herself had to fear of Macaulay, she knew enough of his character to know he'd never physically hurt them, and she felt compelled to ease the other girls' fears. "Ivy Rose, Dixi—you don't have to be afraid of him," she blurted out. "I can tell you, I know he'd never hurt you."
Ivy frowned. She stared at her. "How do you know that?"
Christal didn't want to answer, but she didn't want them to be unnecessarily fearful either. They had enough fear in their lives.
With more emotion than she wanted to reveal, she said, "Because I knew him before." The look on her face must have told them she didn't want any questions. They both stared at her in shock, then suddenly became absorbed in donning their clothes.
After a moment, as if to ease the tension, Dixi taunted, "So you think Sheriff Cain's the type to be standin' at the door with a bunch of posies after all, do ya?"
Christal could have laughed. Macaulay Cain was definitely not the kind of man to go sheepishly calling on a woman with a bunch of limp violets grasped in his sweaty palm.
Dixi continued. "Like Ah said before, he's a fine-lookin' man, even if he ain't pretty like my babies that come ridin' in here off the range. If you don't want him, Christal, you say the word. Ah think Ah could do pretty well in the saddle with a big buck like him. . . ."
It was on the tip of Christal's tongue to deny she had any hold over Cain, but a strange feeling came over her. It was a hot, sick feeling almost like jealousy, and it kept her silent. Fool that she was. All logic told her that if Dixiana could get his attention off her, she would be stupid not to let the woman try. But somehow she couldn't cough up the permission. Not when she pictured Macaulay kissing Dixi on the mouth, just as he had kissed her.
But then she turned inexplicably angry. She needed him off her back and she couldn't afford to be weak and jealous. Like ripping a bandage from a festering wound, she said quickly, "Just take him, Dixi. I don't want anything to do with him. I wish he'd go back where he came from. He's hurting business with his sitting there in that corner night after night, just staring with those cold gray eyes at—at—everybody—"
"At you, Christal," Ivy interjected.
"He stares just at you."
"Ah think you must like him a bit," Dixi said, her face almost gleeful. "You cain't have that much passionate hatred for a man and not care at all. So what went on between you two before Noble? Ah'm dyin' to know."
Christal stared at both of them, shocked. She was about to deny everything when the piano started up downstairs. Joe was already playing for customers and neither Ivy nor Dixiana was dressed.
The women scrambled for their gowns and petticoats. Much to Christal's relief, there was no more talk of the sheriff.
With Faulty, however, she was not so fortunate. The evening was young and she was in the back making dinner for those who had the pennies to pay for it. Faulty slammed into the back of the saloon, a paleness to his ruddy features.
"You got to get rid of him tonight. He's killing business," he whispered to her. Slowly his eyes turned to the door. Through it she could see Cain step into the saloon. He took off his hat and settled into the corner where he sat every night.
She swallowed, finding the words difficult to say. "Dixi says she likes him. Why not let her get him off your back? He won't go arresting anybody if he's partaking of the fun."
Faulty turned his gaze to the piano where Dixi sat widi Joe. Even Christal could see the way Dixiana was eyeing the sheriff. Confused, Faulty asked, "You think he'll take her? Seems he's got his eye on you."
"He's not ever going to have me."
Faulty opened his mouth as if to plead with her once more, but sensing it was useless, he sighed and went to go get Dixi.
Christal turned from the door, pointedly refusing to watch. She didn't know how she would handle it if during the evening she saw Macaulay take Dixi by the hand and walk upstairs.
A soft knock interrupted her misery. She went to the back door and found Jericho there, hat in hand, fresh from his weekly supply trip to Jan Peterson's. He was a tall man, young and strong. No woman would consider him handsome, but he had a warm, quick gaze and a polite manner. Christal could understand why Ivy was in love with him.
She put her finger to her lips. She tiptoed to the kitchen door, being careful not to look at either Cain or Dixi. She closed the door, then let Jericho into the kitchen.
"Would you like some beans? Have you had supper?" she whispered.
Jericho shook his head. "No, ma'am."
"You want me to fetch Ivy and then maybe you two could have supper together? I'll make sure Faulty doesn't come back here. I think I can give you an hour."
"That's mighty nice of you, Miss Christal."
Christal smiled. She nodded to a chair, then left to fetch Ivy Rose.
Ivy's whole face lit up when she told her Jericho had arrived. She eyed Faulty, making sure his attention was elsewhere, then she left with Christal for the kitchen.
Christal served them dinner and watched for Faulty, the whole time thinking what a strange world they lived in. Unlike Faulty, or Dixi and Ivy, or most of the saloon's customers, she had grown up wealthy, well aware of the classes considered "beneath" her. But her experience out west taught her that even a low man could find another below him to crush. The country had fought an entire war so black men could be free. But they still couldn't walk into a saloon in a crummy little town like Noble and order a drink and talk with a pretty girl. Instead, they had to knock on the back door and hide in the kitchen. When the weather was warm, Jericho had to settle for just sitting on the back porch for twenty minutes while Ivy took a break from customers, and when it was cold he didn't even have that. The only way Jericho could see Ivy these days was behind Faulty's back.
"You want a whiskey?" Christal asked the muscular black man.
Jericho nodded. He laid the necessary coins down on the table.
"I'll get it." Ivy stood from the table and squeezed his hand. Hers looked almost white in his; he was very dark.
"No." Christal stopped her. "I'll get it. If Faulty sees you walking back here with a whiskey, he'll know what's going on."
"Thanks." Ivy smiled, then looked at her man. Jericho was a homesteader, freed from Missouri. He lived in a shack east of town and had come to Wyoming with only a mule to plant wheatgrass. He'd been fairly successful. The soil hadn't lasted enough seasons to make him rich, but when the ground petered out, he'd saved enough money to buy some cattle. Many said that was going to be the future of the territory, but the future hadn't arrived yet. Jericho was still living in his log shack, unable to purchase the lumber for a real home, and though all the girls knew he hated what Ivy did to earn her room and board, he couldn't bring himself to take her from the warmth and comfort of the saloon until he had the proper place for her.
But even now, Christal could see Ivy didn't care about waiting. The girl would go tonight if Jericho would only let her. No man had ever been so nice to her as Jericho was. He talked to her and asked about her feelings. He made her laugh. He told funny stories about roughing it out on the homestead, sometimes not seeing the sky for days when the shack was buried beneath ten-foot drifts of snow, and watching the contents of his chamberpot freeze before he was even finished with it. Christal couldn't understand the logic behind barring Jericho from the saloon. Being a black man, he would never be allowed upstairs, yet as mean as some of the cowpokes could get, especially when they were drunk, the cow-pokes were white and therefore the only men "good" enough to use Dixi's or Ivy's bedroom.
But they talked that this might be the spring when they would finally be free. Jericho hoped to make good money on his cattle, that was, if the cold and the wolves didn't take too many down in the meantime. If he could make a good sale, he'd have enough money to marry Ivy proper. Christal kept her fingers crossed for both of them. If Ivy could marry, then someone would escape. And every time Christal thought of the man drinking whiskey in the corner of the saloon, in his black Stetson, she was no longer sure it would be her.
"I'll be right back with that whiskey," she said, untying her apron. She wished she could get it without entering the bar. For some reason she had a terrible thought that she was going to walk into the saloon and Dixi was going to be swinging her leg, sitting in the sheriff's lap.
She closed the door behind her, doing her best not to look in the corner. Business was picking up and Faulty was busy pouring at the bar. She ordered a whiskey, still not looking for Dixiana, still not looking in the corner.
"Another one for that damned sheriff?" he cursed, sliding a glass to a cowhand.
She didn't answer, glad he'd been so busy he hadn't seen where she'd come from.
He poured two fingers in a glass and slid it to her. She took it, dismayed that he was watching her, waiting for her to give it to Cain.
She turned. With a strange, unspeakable relief, she saw Dixiana dancing with a cowhand—very far away from the brooding man in the corner.
"Well, go on. Give it to him. All I need is for him to decide we ain't serving fast enough." Faulty angrily clanked the bottles on the bar.
Christal walked to Macaulay. She could see him staring at her, his eyes glittering beneath the black brim of his hat.
"Business is good tonight," he said before she put the whiskey down.
"It should be," she commented coolly. "I heard you shut down Mrs. Delaney's."
"It isn't legal to run a cathouse. It's only a matter of time before this one goes too. The minute I see one of you girls accepting money—"
"The girls have got to make a living. What else are they going to do?"
"They can run a saloon or a penny opera. I told them when they're ready I'll even go in with them and they can give me part ownership."
"So you're cleaning up the town. Just what everyone wants." She didn't bother to hide the disdain on her face. She felt bad for Mrs. Delaney's girls. Some of them were real nice. She hoped the opera house worked.
"This place is next." He fingered a coin lying in front of him on the table; his eyes glittered with shadowed emotion.
She looked down. It wasn't a coin he was fingering, it was the whore's token Fault
y had given him. Faulty had told him it was just a souvenir, and most men looked at them that way. Whore's tokens were a joke. They were notoriously never honored. Faulty had only given the thing to Cain in a clumsy attempt to try to read the new sheriff's attitude. Her lips twisted in a derisive smile. Faulty probably thought he was being cagey by giving Cain the token, but Cain wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on at the saloon. And soon he would get whatever cold, hard proof he wanted and shut them down.
She watched his thumb stroke back and forth along the surface of the token. Her gaze met his and she could barely repress the fury that suddenly seized her. When he had acted the outlaw, he'd treated her with some deference. Now that he was sheriff, he seemed to be just waiting for a turn, as if she were a piece of venison on a spit.
"Why do you keep that thing when you know I'll never honor it?" she whispered to him, her eyes glittering with anger.
He covered the token with his palm and slid it into his pocket. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do with you yet."
She stared at him, her face as emotionless as alabaster. He'd made her care for him in Falling Water. Back then, she knew they had had something good between them. But now he'd returned and all she wanted to do was hate him. And the curse was that she couldn't.
Faulty was behind a crowd of men at the bar, his attention consumed by demands for whiskey. Without saying another word to Macaulay, she turned and took her chance to sneak back to the kitchen.
But his hand shot out and stopped her. "Where you going with my whiskey, girl?"
"Who said this was your whiskey? Get it from the bar like everyone else." She tossed her head in the direction of the dance floor. "Or have Dixiana get it for you. She'll honor that token and with my blessing."
"If I thought that'd get a rise out of you, I'd take her tonight." He pulled her near to him, even though he was still seated. He whispered, "But I'll tell you true, Christal, I'd rather take you."
Fair Is the Rose Page 19
