Earl turned slowly to face her, then ran a finger down the perfect outline of her face. “I’m sure you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “And I am sure many have asked you to give up that sort of life, to become their wife. Did you tell them that you already had a husband? Or did I not exist for you anymore?”
“I have never forgotten you,” Marilyn said, tears falling from her eyes. “It’s just that I wanted what you did not give me. But I have never considered marrying anyone else. In my heart, I had . . . I had hoped that somehow you and I could eventually work things out. It’s just that when I got involved in my business, making a success of it, the years seemed to slip by so quickly. And here we are now, much older, and hopefully wiser. I still love you, Earl. Truly I do.”
She turned her weeping eyes to Elizabeth. “And look at our daughter,” she said, a sob lodging in her throat. “She’s all grown up and so, so beautiful.” She turned to Earl again. “Thank you, darling, for taking such good care of her.”
Earl and Elizabeth exchanged quick glances, both recalling their conversations around the campfire. Then Earl turned his eyes back to Marilyn. “I did the best that I could under the circumstances,” he said, drawing Marilyn into his arms. “It’s so good to hold you again, Marilyn. There’s been no other woman for me since you left.”
Elizabeth could not hold back a sob of joy when her mother and father suddenly kissed. Her whole world had suddenly turned right side up again!
Yet she was afraid to hope, to truly hope that just one kiss and a few words of apology could truly right things all that quickly.
She looked over at Maysie, and took her hands in hers. “Tell me all about things,” she murmured. “Tell me how you met my mother, and then began working for her.”
Maysie explained about having contemplated suicide again, and how Marilyn had stopped her. She described Marilyn’s house to Elizabeth, and how she happened to become a prostitute again.
“But I’m trying to change,” Maysie quickly defended herself. “Honest, I am, Elizabeth. In fact, I’ve fallen in love. Like you, I love an Indian. His name is Four Winds. He came one night with some white men for our services. Four Winds chose me. There has been only one time since then that I’ve slept with another man, and that was the night the prison burned. There was this fellow that I had been with before, who was down on his luck. I felt sorry for him. I went with him only to cheer him up. Since then, there has only been Four Winds. He sneaks into town as often as he can to be with me.”
“Four Winds?” Elizabeth gasped. She doubted his worth, yet knowing how special the love of an Indian could be, did not share her doubts with Maysie. “How nice, Maysie. I hope you’ll be happy.”
“I hope to marry him one day,” Maysie said, her eyes shining. Marilyn suddenly came over to them.
“Maysie and I really must go,” Marilyn said softly. She bent over Elizabeth and placed a hand to her cheek. “I’ll be back, if you wish me to.”
Elizabeth nodded as she looked wistfully up at her mother. “Please do,” she murmured.
Maysie gave Elizabeth a hug. “I’ll come also,” she whispered. “That is, if you aren’t too upset with me now that you know that I . . . that I have returned to prostituting.”
Elizabeth returned the hug. “I’m just glad that you are all right,” she assured her, stroking Maysie’s long, black hair. She leaned back, her eyes stern on Maysie’s. “But be sure about Four Winds before marrying him. He seems to be a complicated man.”
“I think I know him better than anyone,” Maysie said, smiling sweetly as they rose from the sofa.
Earl walked Marilyn to the door and stepped out into the shadows on the porch. He drew Marilyn into his embrace again. “I should hate you for whoring around,” he said, gazing down at her with watery eyes. “But somehow that doesn’t seem to matter. Come back soon, do you hear? Let’s talk some more.”
“I’d love to,” Marilyn said, her green eyes flashing up at him.
Earl lowered his lips to her mouth. She circled her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. Then she broke quickly away from him and descended the steps as Elizabeth stepped outside on the porch.
Soon Marilyn and Maysie were in the carriage riding away, both waving out the windows.
Tears flooded Elizabeth’s eyes, happiness warming her heart. She had seen her parents kissing. She saw the possibility of her childhood dream coming true—that her parents could be together again. They did seem to still be in love, no matter that her mother had lived the life of a whore.
Elizabeth knew that she was going to have to accept that, the same as her father. Perhaps her mother might not need to have a business much longer, if her mother decided to return to her father.
Dusk had fallen and the moon replaced the sun in the sky, casting long shadows in the forest beyond. Just as Elizabeth started to tum, to go inside the house, she stopped in surprise.
“Strong Heart’s grandfather!” she said, in hardly more than a whisper. She had seen a fleeting movement within the forest. It was the old man with his staff. “My Lord, that has to be Strong Heart’s grandfather.”
Earl stepped to her side, following her gaze. “What is that you said about Strong Heart’s grandfather?” he asked, glancing at Elizabeth.
“I know that I saw him,” Elizabeth said, rushing down the steps toward the forest. “The old man with the staff? That’s Strong Heart’s grandfather.”
“Elizabeth’” Earl shouted, racing after her, stunned to hear that she thought some old man she had seen lurking in the forest was related to Strong Heart.
Then he was taken by a quick thought. If this elderly Indian was Strong Heart’s grandfather, and if he could help find him for Strong Heart, couldn’t that work to his advantage? He could return Strong Heart’s grandfather to the village and surely Chief Moon Elk would offer a reward.
The reward that Earl would ask for was what he had already asked for—cooperation with the salmon run, and his fishery!
“Stop, Elizabeth!” he shouted. “Wait up. . ..”
Breathless, Elizabeth stopped. When her father caught up with her, she continued running with him until she was through the wide gate and into the outer fringes of the forest.
She and her father searched for a while. When the moon was covered by dark clouds, and lightning began flashing overhead, they returned to the house, and went to their separate rooms.
Elizabeth was glad to find Frannie preparing a warm bath. As she undressed, she had to listen to Frannie’s scolding about not letting Frannie know that she was all right.
Elizabeth sank into the bath, enjoying its warmth. Frannie quit her fuming and tenderly washed Elizabeth’s hair. After Elizabeth ate supper she went to bed.
* * *
In the night, she was awakened by a frightful dream. Sweat pearling her brow, Elizabeth bolted to a sitting position. Her eyes wild, she remembered.
She had dreamed the house was on fire. She had dreamed that she had been trapped. She could even now feel the smoke stinging her throat and eyes, and her fingers felt raw from clawing at the door, trying to get it open.
“I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” she whispered. She stepped from the bed into her soft slippers.
She pulled a robe around her shoulders and went to the window, peering through the sheets of rain that splashed against the pane.
She hugged herself, her mind whirling with many thoughts. She missed Strong Heart so much that her insides ached from longing for him.
Then the dream returned to her.
The fire! It had seemed so real.
Even Strong Heart could not have saved her, had he even been there.
Shivering, she turned and stared at the bed, then reluctantly went back and lay down. She willed her eyes to close, then found herself in another sort of dream—one which warmed her through and through, as Strong Heart held her close, telling her over and over again how much he loved her.
And then Strong Heart’s face turned into the
face of the older Indian, causing her to awaken again with a start, her eyes staring.
Chapter 27
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appear.
—DONNE
Last night’s nightmares were still haunting Elizabeth, even though it was midmorning of a bright and clear day, and the house was warmed by the sunlight streaming through the windows. Delightful odors were wafting from the kitchen, tempting her, but Elizabeth grabbed a shawl from a peg on the foyer wall and went outside and stood on the porch, to breathe the fresh air.
As she peered into the forest, she tried to think about her times with Strong Heart. Then the memory of the elderly Indian with the staff intruded, bringing back the nightmares again. The fire in her dream had surely been set by the elderly Indian. She recalled with a shudder how Strong Heart’s face had turned into the old man’s.
Needing to find something that would get her mind off her unpleasant and puzzling thoughts, Elizabeth lifted the skirt of her cotton dress and descended the steps. She gazed down the steep hill to the beach, where there was not much activity, with the fishery having been completed and ready for the salmon run.
“The salmon run,” she whispered to herself, wondering if her father or Morris Murdoch would be visiting Indian villages, seeking their assistance in catching the salmon.
She heaved a deep sigh. At least Strong Heart’s village was no longer the target for salmon discussions. After their talk, her father had promised he would keep his hands off.
She went through the wide gate and followed the steep path that led to the beach. Another unpleasant thought chased away the clinging memories of her nightmares: Morris Murdoch.
If her father had to explain to Morris why they were not going to pester Strong Heart’s people again, it would lead to further conversation in which Earl might state exactly why he had chosen to leave them alone. Then Morris Murdoch might elicit more answers out of her father which could not only place her in danger, but also Strong Heart and his people.
She had to hope that her father’s word was solid, and that his feelings for her would keep all conversations with Morris directed away from Strong Heart and her.
When she reached the beach, she walked past the pier. It was difficult to walk across the rocks on this stretch of beach. She slipped and slid, and was glad when she found more solid footing as she hurried on toward the huge fishery that loomed up from the land. Built of wood, with a shake roof, it was not an unsightly building, but she saw it as something ugly. Because of it and what it represented, many Suquamish had died.
She needed to see her father today, to ensure that things were still wonderful between them, so that she could make her plans to return to Strong Heart. Elizabeth quickened her pace. When she walked past an open window she heard her father and Morris Murdoch in a conversation that made her heart turn quickly cold. She stopped and moved closer to the window, hugging the wall with her back so that her presence would not be discovered. She leaned her ear closer to the window and discovered to her chagrin that her father did have a devious side.
Inside, she saw nets being woven. Earl and Morris discussed spreading these large nets across the shallow parts of the river to catch the salmon before they had a chance to get upriver to the canyon, where the Suquamish were known to fish.
Her heart pounded hard as she listened to her father and Murdoch laughing together and boasting about showing the Suquamish a thing or two. She listened to them as they planned to place the nets in the water before night fell.
This angered Elizabeth. She was hurt that her father was not even considering her feelings in his plans. He knew that she was going to return to Strong Heart, to marry him—to live with him, and that the salmon harvest was a large part of his people’s survival—which, in turn, also meant hers.
Her mind spun with confusion as to what she could do about it. She was only one person. There was no way she could destroy the nets once they were placed in the water. And she could definitely not destroy them beforehand, for her father and Morris Murdoch would not give her the chance.
“What can I do?” she whispered to herself, feverishly racking her brain. She felt bitter knowing that her own father had lied to her and Strong Heart. She could not help but believe that her father had planned the raid on the village with Morris. She could not allow their scheme against the Suquamish to succeed.
She had to warn Strong Heart. But how? she despaired to herself. Although she had become familiar with the forest, and the way to Strong Heart’s village, it was dangerous for her to travel alone through it.
She had to seek help from someone. But who?
Then the answer came to her. “Four Winds,” she whispered. “Yes, Four Winds!”
Maysie had said that Four Winds came often to see her now. If Elizabeth went to her mother’s brothel, she could wait until Four Winds arrived, tell him about the nets that would ruin the Suquamish salmon harvest, and see if he would take her to Strong Heart, and together they could warn him. Then Strong Heart could do what he must to save the harvest.
And this would be a way for Four Winds to prove once and for all whether or not he was a true friend of Strong Heart.
Her pulse racing, her knees weak from fear of being discovered before she reached the stables, she crept away from the fishery and made a turn which would take her out of view from the fishery.
She ran up the path, and once on level ground again, ran breathlessly to the stables.
Elizabeth was soon riding hard on the road toward Seattle, her red hair blowing loosely in the wind. Her shawl was tied securely around her shoulders, but gave her scant protection from the cool autumn air.
But she did not seem to feel the cold. Her thoughts were on her mother and where Elizabeth would have to go to see her again.
An involuntary shiver coursed through her at the thought of meeting her mother in the brothel. Her memories of her childhood, when her mother had been “Mama,” made it hard to accept the kind of life that her mother now led.
In her house there were certainly no storybooks read to small children before bedtime.
Although it seemed to take forever, Elizabeth finally reached the city. The hardest part now lay before her—finding her mother’s house.
Her horse walked in a slow gait down First Avenue. The skirt of her dress whipped above her knees as the breeze blew in from the Sound. Elizabeth blushed and smoothed her dress back in place when the men loitering along the thoroughfare began teasing and flirting with her.
Normally, she would ride on past, ignoring their taunts, but today she had to find answers that could help keep Strong Heart and his people fed for the long winter ahead.
And who but these brash, insulting men would know where the most lavish of whorehouses was located?
Although hating what she had to do, Elizabeth wheeled her horse around and headed toward a group of men. When she drew rein beside them, her face still hot from blushing, she summoned up the courage to talk to them. One man in particular stood out from the rest, his blue eyes as cold as winter as he ogled her.
She realized that these men must think that she was a loose woman, looking for a man who would pay her to lift her skirt for him.
The thought not only embarrassed her, but appalled her.
And the questions that she was finding hard to ask, the question alone would confirm what they thought of her—that she was, indeed, a prostitute.
“Might one of you gentlemen tell me where I can find the place run by Marilyn Easton?” she said. Those words were like stab wounds to her heart—words which joined her mother’s name to a whorehouse. Elizabeth did not know if she could ever accept what her mother had become.
She stiffened, and she tightened her fingers around the horse’s reins as the men did just as she had expected, treating her as if she were a whore. They said things to her that sent chills up her spine.
She bore all of their abuse and jokes until she got the directions to her mother’s house.
&nbs
p; She turned her horse around again, leaving behind the men, who still shouted filthy things after her. She was glad when a turn up another street took her away from them.
Soon she found herself staring at a large white house that looked innocent of its true nature. It was two storied with black shutters and flower boxes at the windows and a white picket fence surrounding a yard that displayed varieties of roses in full bloom. A swing hung from a porch that reached around three sides of the house.
It looked like the house of a happy family—not the home of women who sold their bodies. It looked like the house where Elizabeth had been raised as a child, before her mother had fled.
Feeling suddenly dispirited, the past rushing in on her in waves, she drew rein outside the fence and slid from the saddle.
Staring up at the house again, she tied her horse next to other drowsing horses at a hitching rail, then took a deep breath and went on through the gate and up to the porch. With a trembling hand, she raised the large brass knocker and knocked.
Her heart pounded as she waited for the door to open. When it did, she found her mother standing there, ravishingly beautiful in a sleek, black satin dress with a low bustline which revealed the upper curves of her breasts. A diamond necklace sparkled against her lily-white throat, and her red hair was curled in a tight chignon atop her head. Elizabeth found herself at a loss for words.
Marilyn gasped, then took Elizabeth by the hand and ushered her into the house. “My dear, I did not expect you to come so soon to see your mother,” she said. She drew Elizabeth into her arms. “Darling, thank you for coming. I . . . I . . . didn’t sleep at all last night, for fear that you would not accept me as I am now. Your being here tells me that at least you are trying to understand.”
Elizabeth wanted to shout at her mother, ask her why she was so concerned now over how her daughter would feel, when all those years she had not shown any caring—had not even let Elizabeth know where she was. Even on her birthdays, Elizabeth had not received a word from her mother.
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