"Gil, he didn't hurt me…" she sounded as though she were defending Chester to him.
"He raped you, didn't he?"
"Well… yeah… I guess so, but I was a dance hall girl. I've had men before… him… I'm not sure the law would consider it rape, because of that." Her words evaporated into thin air.
"I realize that." He stared at her. "But once you married him, that life disappeared and should have stayed that way. Marriage is sorta holy, you know. Look, you can have a future if you want one bad enough. Save your money, and when the time is up, you can do what you want," he promised. "You don't have to do that kind of work any longer, if you don't want to."
"I don't have many talents, Gil. What am I going to do? I can't sew well, nor cook that much. Marriage was supposed to be a new life for me. It just didn't turn out that way."
"Get married again, but this time, trust your instincts and your heart," he countered, staring out the window as though it held interest for him.
"I came to Veda to be a mail-order bride, remember. I married Chester for security. I now know that's not the right reasons, but I thought he'd be a decent husband. I guess, because of my family, I didn't have the right attitude toward men. Maybe I still don't. I don't know. You make it all sound so easy, but I don't think men look at it the right way. Women have little choice in how they support themselves. If they can sew, they might make it. If they marry, they might make it, but it all falls back to being a saloon girl, if they don't. I've accepted that."
"You don't have to accept anything. You are a beautiful woman. Why didn't you find a decent husband?" Gil's voice was not condescending, but caring.
"I thought I had. I know… I know how it looks to others. But at the time, I was looking for the opposite of what my father was. When I met Chester, I thought, okay, he's not gorgeous. He doesn't heat my blood. I don't swoon at his feet. But he's strong and he has land that I can help care for and I can work hard to make it. And before I married Chester he was good to me. He brought me presents and promised to make a real home for me. I believed him. But the marriage… that was my fault. I thought just respecting him and taking care of his place would be enough. I was wrong. There were no feelings between us once we married. And… we never really consummated the marriage… I think that was the real reason he threw me in the poker pot. I wasn't a good wife. Not in the way he expected. I was naïve. I didn't realize he expected it. He only kissed me on our wedding day. And never again after that. I knew when he kissed me, I'd chosen wrong. There was nothing there."
He listened, his face a mask.
She glared at him. "No, I didn't like being a saloon girl and I didn't like being Chester's wife. But when you leave home with no education and few skills, you have little choice if you want to survive. I hated it. I was the coldest of all the girls. I've told you that. But I don't think you understand what I mean. I laid down for men, but there were never any feelings involved on my part, never. I gained a reputation for it, too. Because I was so cold, I was subjected to cowboys who thought they could make me respond, make me care. I made the least money too. When they touched me, I turned off all my feelings and lay there until it was over. Sometimes, I'd get one that was angry and would hit me."
"It never dawned on me exactly how hard it is to be a woman, or a saloon girl. But you are a beautiful woman. Surely you could have found someone who could love you?" Gil asked.
It was an off-handed compliment, and she tried not to let it go to her head, but it did go to her heart and stay there.
"You won't believe me even if I tell you."
"Try me," He pulled her down to sit beside him and unlaced her shoes for her. "Now tell me…"
She tried to ignore the electrical current running through her from his touch. She tried to ignore his sympathetic ear. But her heart couldn't ignore him. Strangely enough, she had never wanted a man for herself.
"My ma was religious. She took me to church every Sunday. Ma taught me to read the bible. I was baptized when I was eleven, so when Pa tried what he did, I knew it was sinful and dirty. I felt I had done something to cause him to act like that. I must have when all my brothers felt the same way. I was humiliated. I was ashamed. I was scared. I left that same night. And Ma, she just stood there when he told her what he was up to. She didn't defend me or help me. She just stared at him in shock. I knew I had no help in keeping them away from me. And my brothers weren't to blame. They learned by example. So I left. I felt that I had acted immorally at some point to invite their attention. Well, with Pa, there were eight of them, all with the same thing in mind. I was way outnumbered. I must have walked all night, but I didn't care. I had to get away. What they wanted to do was so wrong. I thank God I had enough sense to know how wrong it was. I got to town, somehow.
"And even though I didn't know many people, I knew I couldn't go to the preacher or any upstanding person. The very suggestion would send a decent person away. They would have thought I was misbehaving and sent me home again. Especially since my ma wouldn't own up to it. She'd never admit what they wanted from me. I ran into an older dance hall girl that night. She saw me crying in the shadows. She came up to me, started talking, and before I knew it, she had taken me in.
"At the time, I didn't understand what she did for a living. All I knew was that she poured drinks for the men in the saloons. That's all my ma had told me. She was very kind. She told me all I had to do was lay down for the men, let them do the work, and not resist. That they would pay me for doing so. It sounded simple, the way she put it. And the way she talked about it, it made me feel different about the whole thing, except my father and brothers. I knew that was wrong, very wrong."
He pulled her into his arms to comfort her.
"But you had religion, so why did you do it? You had to have known it was wrong too."
She hung her head. "I did know it was wrong, but I didn't know how to support myself. I saw no way of around that. I couldn't beg. To me, that was the worst thing, begging. Now I think on it, I wish I had…" She stared at the floor, her face flushing, her shoulders slumping. "Besides, I had convinced myself that I was the cause of it all. I had done something to make my pa and brothers act that way. And the look in my mother's eyes was no longer loving… She looked that night as though she hated me. It hurt so bad. I was ashamed of myself, and I didn't understand why. But the dance hall girl told me that people would blame me, not them, that they would think badly of me. That's how it worked. The girl obviously invites the men to do wrong. I believed that. Even though I couldn't think of what I'd done."
Trish tried to hold back the tears, but her voice choked.
"No girl wants to be a dance hall girl."
Gil listened, he didn't say anything, just listened.
"So I did what the lady told me. I got good at laying down for them. I felt nothing, and I willed myself to relax and take it. Even when it hurt. But I hated it so. I always tried to imagine myself in another place, a nice place. I hated the way they slobbered on me and rutted me like some pig. They did everything but turn me upside down, and I lay there still as a scarecrow. Some complained. Others never came back. And in no time at all, they began calling me the 'cold one.' I can't say I was a good whore. Pretty funny when you think of it, I wasn't even good at that!"
Gil pulled away from her to look into her eyes. She didn't mind the comfort, but she didn't want his pity.
She glanced up at him, staring into his eyes. "You see, I stopped trusting men back then. Especially good-looking men. My pa and brothers were all very good looking. Every one of them. And I thought I'd done something terribly wrong for it all to happen. I thought I was bad partly because when I looked into my mother's eyes, I saw the condemnation, as though I was the reason it all happened. She blamed me, not them. So with the mark or shame, I took up the life of shame. I remember feelings so dirty that night…"
Gil's arms held her steady against him. "You've had it rough, and I'm sorry." Gil's voice softened. "I wish I'd been around dur
ing that time. Maybe I could have helped. But now, things are better for you. Now, you can think about making a new life for yourself. If you've a mind, you can take sewing lessons, or music lessons, or anything your heart desires. You'll still have enough to live o," Gil encouraged her.
He didn't seem to realize how he was cuddling her. And he would never know how much she needed that cuddling. Never had a man held her in his arms, without wanting something back. Only Gil did that, and she treasured that more than anything she owned.
"All thanks to you and Chester for playing poker that day and for him throwing me in the pot." She laughed.
He held her chin up. "That's right."
Their eyes met for a moment. He almost kissed her, but he backed away. She trembled. What would it be like to have his lips on her mouth, to let her heart feel something? She'd never felt anything with a man before and the curiosity of it fascinated her. Especially around Gil.
He readjusted his sling.
Trish tried to help him. "Here, let me." She fixed it nice and neat. "You know the one thing I wouldn't allow them to do?" She looked into his eyes.
"What?" he asked.
"I wouldn’t let them kiss me on the mouth. I know that sounds kind of silly, but it was the one control I kept. They could kiss me anywhere else, but not on the mouth. Most of them didn't really kiss anyway. They slobbered. They were so drunk."
He twisted his head. "Why? I mean why that?"
"Well, I guess it sounds silly to a man, but when a man kisses a woman, I mean, really kisses her, it should mean something, and I've heard that most women feel something when they are truly kissed. I've seen couples in love before, and that is how a kiss should be. I wanted that for myself. I's the one thing I held out for. When a man kisses a woman, it's like he really cares for her. When he kisses you other places, it's just to stimulate your body, so to speak. And it works. But kissing on the mouth, that's different. Kissing on the mouth is allowing your heart to feel. And back then I didn't want to feel anything."
"I never looked at it that way." His gaze held her captive.
"Men don't pay much attention to that, I guess." She moved away from him. "You never mention your love life. I've told you nearly everything about me, but you haven't shared much of yourself. Have you ever been serious about a woman? Or maybe even had a wife or something?" she questioned as she peered out the window.
Gil shrugged. "Only when I was a greenhorn kid, but she just wanted me to marry her so she could get away from home. It took me a while to figure that out. Her father was pretty rough on her. Although I understood it, I didn't want to settle so early. I guess I had too much a sense of adventure. I wanted to see things, do things before I settled down to a quiet life."
"Was she beautiful?" Trish asked as she turned around.
Gil smiled charmingly. "I was seventeen, and she was younger. I thought she was pretty enough, but she didn't love me. I knew that at some point. I wanted to see the world. She wanted a little frame house with a white picket fence. That wasn't me. My brother, maybe, but not me."
"Oh, you have a brother?"
"Did have, yeah. He's dead. He was killed by Indians."
She stared long and hard, her mouth agape. "I don't understand. Eb downstairs was angry because of the Indians. We saw a raid from the stage. I didn't see any hate in your eyes. I don't understand."
Gil moved away and looked out the window. She was close, and she could feel the restlessness in him. "My brother hated the Indians, because they killed our folks. Maybe I should have too, but it wasn't in me. Hate is a very destructive enemy. It can kill the good in you. When they raided north of our farm, he went after them with some other men. They all wanted blood for blood. He begged me to go with him. I was younger, and the hate just wasn't in me. My folks… were never close to me, so I felt very little when they died. I felt guilty that I didn't mourn them, like he did. But to make a long story short, my brother didn't come back. He was only eighteen at the time. And… I missed him. I wanted to live, to see the world. Our folks were dead, and I was unmoved, although I did have a soft spot for my mother. Vengeance was not part of who I was."
"They murdered your folks, and you still weren't mad at them?"
Gil came toward her now. "Trish, hate doesn't solve anything. It just breeds more hate. At the time, I wanted to leave the farm and strike out on my own. I didn't want to fight the Indians. I'd already seen too much killing on both sides. This was their land, a long time before it was ours. They had a right to fight for it. We didn't. That's how I saw things." The look in his eyes pleaded for understanding.
"Except for Chester, you are a very peaceable man, aren't you?"
He laughed. "Chester deserved what he got."
"Why did you go back after him?"
"Who?"
"Chester!"
"Because a man doesn't act the way he did. He doesn't treat a woman like that. He sold you out in a poker game. He had such little regard for you. Then, when you offered to get the divorce yourself, he refused you and took advantage of you. A man lives by what he believes. I have a deep respect for women. They are a treasure, not a bother." Gil sat on the edge of the bed.
Trish listened and thought about what he said. Gil was a different breed of man. He appreciated women. Not many did. He also had a strong feeling for what was right or wrong. Gil Davis was a good man.
"Don't get me wrong. When they killed my mother, I wanted to kill the Indians too, for a short while at least. But she died in my arms, her last words to me stuck. 'They were right,' she said. 'We were wrong.' It took me a while to figure out what she meant. All they wanted was the land we lived on. They couldn't have it unless they killed us. It was their land to begin with. Of course, there is something I neglected to tell you…"
She watched him but didn't move toward him.
"My mother was part Indian. She never forgot her roots. No one could tell by looking at her. My father never mentioned it to me, but she had confessed it once. I never forgot that. So I guess you could say I'm a breed."
"You don't look it exactly. I mean, you have dark skin, but you don't look Indian."
"I'm more white than Indian, but I don't make a habit of telling anyone. A breed isn't respected in this country, and I don't make it a practice to advertise it. Perhaps the fact that I am makes me understand them a little better than some. You know something strange… my brother never knew he was part Indian. It's just as well. He was quite prejudice. I think if she had told him… I don't know what he might have done."
Trish pondered on that half the night. It didn't matter to her what nationality he was. He was a good and decent man, but it was certainly something that couldn't be spoken about in public. She figured in some ways they were even. She'd been a dance hall girl. He was part Indian.
She lay awake, thinking about Gil and her feelings for him. The respect he treated her with made her trust him more each day.
However, she couldn't let him know how she felt about him. He'd been good to her, treated her decent, but he didn't owe her more than that. Gil was a loner and she had to respect that. She was in a way a bond servant to him and until the three years were up, she had to keep a tight control on her emotions.
Chester was trying to take back what was his, and he did. So why did Gil fight him? It didn't figure.
Chapter Ten
"Three more herds came in last night. You got here just in time," the waiter announced. "Another hour and you'd be waiting to eat for an hour."
"Three herds, huh. Thank you." Gil nodded to the waiter. He seemed pleased. Trish and him both knew there would be more poker games. There were lots of cowboys eager to lose their hard-earned money.
Trish glanced about the dining room with interest. She loved looking at what the ladies were wearing and if she was dressed appropriately. Gil always appreciated her, but she wanted to dress correctly.
Not many were eating this early.
Here she was in one of the nicest hotels in the state o
f Texas. Red and gold velvet curtains surrounded the white-laced windows. Fabulous rugs adorned the stone floor of the dining area, sat on the counters. Trish marveled at all the beauty that surrounded her.
She didn't place value on material things, she supposed, but she knew her days were numbered here too.
"Why don't you go shopping, get yourself a new dress, and then meet me in the parlor?" he asked her as the waiter poured their coffee.
"I feel a little guilty about all the clothes you've bought me," she admitted.
"You shouldn't. It's part of the game actually. You must look ravishing all the time." He smiled at her.
"Then perhaps you should take it out of my share. You've spent enough on me already."
"We'll see. You do want to save some, don't you?" he encouraged.
"Of course, but I can't take so much from you. It isn't right. Makes me feel like a kept woman." She tried to laugh it off. "I don't want to owe you."
His eyes penetrated her, and his hand covered hers. "Trish, you are not a kept woman. You’re a lovely one."
She blushed. She couldn't get used to his compliments, too afraid to believe in them.
Despite her protests, she went to the general store across the street from the hotel. Women came out regularly carrying packages in bunches. She was so curious.. She found a lovely green silk dress and fell in love with it. The lady manager insisted she should try it on. To Trish's surprise it fit perfectly. It was made for a curvy woman. She glanced at the price, it was expensive, but Gil wanted her dressing nicely.
As she was paying for it, another woman walked by and rolled her eyes.
"This is a beautiful dress, " the store owner encouraged her. When she saw how distraught Trish was, she shook her head. "No, don't go feeling bad. That was Miss Tavington. She thinks she's the bell of Ft. Worth, but she couldn't fit into that dress if she was poured into it, so she's pea green with envy. Don't mind her."
"Thank you. You're very kind," Trish said as the woman wrapped the dress in brown paper. "I do think my husband will appreciate it."
Winning the Lady (Book 4 of the Red River Valley Brides) Page 7
