She introduced Ophelia and the man became instantly gracious and friendly. He took Ophelia's hand and kissed the back, holding it longer than necessary.
“I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Crane. It is your first time to visit Wildcat Ridge, is it not?”
“Yes, but it isn't a visit. I'm relocating here.”
“Ah, I am glad to hear it.” He gave her a brief tour of the kitchen facilities and offered to fix her something. “Although Wildcat Ridge has many lovely widows, it can always use one more. Of course, you are not a widow.”
“No. I would love to try your cooking, but I have other matters to attend to now.”
They left, and Ruby asked if Ophelia wanted to meet the girls.
“I would, yes. I'd also like to see the second floor.”
Surprise and a hint of worry entered Ruby's hazel eyes. “All right. Follow me.”
She guided them up the stairs and went from room to room introducing the girls; Amethyst, a petite fifteen-year-old with blond hair hanging to her hips and delicate features that would appeal to men; Emerald, sixteen, with long, brown hair and green eyes; and Pearl, a negress of rare beauty men would fall over themselves to spend time with, despite her being a bit old for the business at twenty-two. Of the four, only Pearl could be classified as beautiful, the others being only average looking.
Each greeted Brody with friendly familiarity. Evidently he spent a good deal of time here, a fact that grated on Ophelia's nerves. Was he another Romeo like her husband? At least Brody had the looks for it.
After viewing the guest rooms, they returned downstairs where Brody and Ophelia took their leave. As they strolled back to the hotel, Ophelia mulled over all that she'd seen and began making decisions.
“It's ridiculous for the salon to have a cook when the hotel does not,” she said. “I want that changed.”
“You want to hire a cook for the hotel?” Brody asked.
“No. I like Henri. I want him at the hotel. The girls can cook for themselves.”
His brows raised at that.
“You think I'm being cruel to them?” she asked.
“Not cruel, but uncaring maybe. They'll be upset.”
That seemed to have taken her aback. Her expression changed from who cares? to good Lord, what have I become?
“I'll do what I can to help them get a new start if they decide to leave,” she said. “Or, better yet, tell them they can come to the hotel, using the back door, and eat here. I'm sure Henri wont mind cooking for a few more.”
That sounded more like the Ophelia he knew.
Taking on her back to business face, she said, “Arrange for the outside locks to be changed on the salon, the hotel and any other buildings Mortimer owns that aren't rented out. Make sure the girls get a key to the salon.”
“We don't lock the hotel at night. It's always open. I believe the salon is too.”
She paused to glance at him. “You've had no problems with unwanted visitors in the middle of the night?”
“No. The Ridge Hotel doesn't lock it's doors either. It did at first when it was only Mrs. Cauley taking care of it, before her marriage. The Crane Hotel has me to keep an eye on things at night.”
“When do you sleep?”
“Nighttime, but I'm a light sleeper.”
“Huh. Very well. In that case, I want all the interior locks changed in the hotel, and the outer locks on the outer doors except the one out front.”
A half-smile formed on his face. “You want to make sure Mortimer can't just walk in.”
“That's right.”
They reached the entrance and Ophelia left Brody standing in the lobby while she went upstairs to check on the construction.
It pleased her to find all the furniture gone including the rugs and drapes. A man stood on a ladder removing wallpaper. He glanced at her over his shoulder and she recognized Miles.
“Excellent work, Mr. McGinty. Your speed surprises me. I appreciate it.”
“Yes, ma'am. Alex is working on the staircase. He's taking his dinner break now. He wasn't sure if you wanted the stairs torn out completely or just boarded up at the alley and removed up here.”
“I see no need to go to all the work of removing the entire staircase.” She wandered into the bedroom while she spoke. It too had been emptied.
“That's what we'll do then,” McGinty said, continuing to rip down wallpaper.
“Good. I'll check on you later.” She returned to the lobby to find Brody filling the wood box by the fireplace.
He wore workmen's clothes and had what looked like wood dust all over him. “You keep us in firewood too?”
He gestured to the fire blazing on the hearth. “Someone has to do it.”
“Yes. That reminds me, I need to look at the books to see what our expenses are and if we're making any profit.”
“Follow me.” He led her to a small room behind the check-in desk, nodding to Angie as he passed her. “The books are in here. There's a table where you can sit. While you're doing that, I intend to go to the bathhouse.”
Ophelia laughed and flicked some wood chips off his shoulders. “You need it.”
His face sobered and something resembling hunger entered his eyes. A hunger that had nothing to do with his stomach. Ophelia's belly quivered in response. Wearing that expression, he seemed even more familiar than before. She must have met him somewhere in the past. But where?
“Brody, do I know you?”
He glanced away, clearing his face. “I don't know. Do you?”
She didn't appreciate the smart aleck reply. If they'd met before, why not admit it? Had it been in Creede?
Her heart sped up at the thought, and she said a silent prayer she was wrong. Yet, it made sense. She'd met so many men back then. This one though, he troubled her. That sense of familiarity haunted her.
Brody stalked off, and Ophelia sat down with the books, though she couldn't get him off her mind.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to go back to Creede and that awful house where she'd worked for eight months before Mortimer took her away. So much time had passed since she'd allowed herself to think of those dismal days. In order to survive after her marriage, she'd had to put all memories out of her head, to relegate them to the trash bins of her brain. That and that alone allowed her to change from Ophelia, the whore, to Ophelia, the married lady.
Now, her conscience demanded she try harder to figure out if she'd known Brody before or not.
One by one, she paraded the men she'd known in Creede through her mind.
The financial situation of the Crane Hotel did not look good. It was barely scraping by. Brody and Angie earned only enough to live on with no extras. She'd hoped to hire a maid to clean the rooms, but where would she find one willing to work for board alone? Blowing out a long breath, she put the books away. Until legal matters were settled, and she began receiving the rent and mortgage payments from Wildcat Ridge's residents, she would be working for board alone as well. Thank goodness she'd been frugal during her marriage and put her monthly allowance in a personal bank account rather than return it to Mortimer.
Following his bath, Brody stood on the boardwalk, rolling a cigarette. A feminine screech came from the alley between the bathhouse and the empty barber shop. He moved to the edge of the building and peered into the shadowy corridor. Three men had a young girl on the ground they obviously planned to take by force.
Brody drew his Colt .45 and stepped into the opening. “I don't think that girl wants your attention, fellows. How about you leave her alone and get out of here?”
The men jerked to their feet to stare at him. One reached for his gun.
“I wouldn't do that, if I were you,” Brody told him. “I already have the drop on you. You think you can get a shot off before me?”
The six-gun slid back into its holster and the man edged away from the sobbing girl who had scooted up against the side of the building.
“Just having some fun, Mister,” a brutish
red-haired hardcase said. “You can have a turn if you'd like.”
“Shoot him, Arkansas,” one of the others whispered.
“You have poor hearing?” Brody raised his weapon and pointed it directly at the man's chest. “Don't count on getting me before I can shoot all three of you. Now, get out of here.”
Arkansas narrowed his eyes, evidently debating whether he could outgun Brody. To hurry him up, Brody fired into the earth at his feet. Arkansas jumped and put more space between them.
“That's a start,” Brody said. “Keep going.”
The big man glanced at the girl who was trying to cover her legs with her skirts. “Aw, she's too damn scrawny anyway. Come on, boys. Let's go.”
The three left by way of the opposite end of the alley. Knowing they could easily circle around and come at him from behind, Brody hurried over to the girl and helped her to her feet. “Follow me. I'll get you safely into the hotel.”
Moments later, they burst into the lobby, Brody with his gun still drawn and the girl hiccupping between sobs. He stopped inside the door and peered out to look for the three men in case they'd decided to follow.
“What is going on here?” Ophelia demanded from beside the desk.
“They was gonna hurt me, ma'am,” the girl managed to get out. “He saved me.”
Brody put away his Colt. “Caught them in the alley. Three brutes. They had her on the ground.”
“You poor child.” Mrs. Dobbs slipped an arm around the girl who buried her dirty face in her shoulder. Her dress had been torn and mud covered her everywhere. “Did they hurt you?”
“N-no. But they scared me plenty.”
“What is your name?” Ophelia asked.
“M-Marzda.”
“Look.” Mrs. Dobbs held up Marzda's arm. “Her wrists are bruised.”
“They was holding me down, ma'am.”
Brody sent Ophelia a pleading look, hoping she'd take over. He had no idea what to do with the girl. Let the women handle it. “I'm going to the jail and report this to the marshal.”
“Good idea.” Ophelia led the girl toward the kitchen.
Relieved, Brody strolled toward the door.
“Thank you, Mister,” the girl called out. “I'm ever so grateful.”
“You're welcome,” he said and escaped.
Marzda's ragged dress needed to be burned, dirt streaked her face, and her hair hung in tangles. Ophelia felt something open inside her, a crack in the armor she used to shield herself from the world. Whoever Marzda was, she'd been living on her own for a long time. Ophelia had been in that girl's shoes once and recognized the signs.
“I'm Ophelia,” she said. “You can wash up a bit here in the kitchen. Would you like something to eat?”
“Oh, yes, ma'am. I ain't et for three days.” She looked down, trying to rub some of the dirt from her dress. “I'm mighty dirty though.”
Ophelia could believe the girl hadn't had much to eat in a long time. She looked skinny as a yardstick. At least, she cared about her appearance. Poor thing. “You're fine. Come along.”
She found a towel, wet it at the sink, and handed it to the girl.
As if the rag were made of velvet and covered with soap, her guest scrubbed at her face and hands, her gratitude apparent in her smile.
The washing revealed a lovely young face. Ophelia swallowed a moan of sadness. At once, she searched the cupboards for anything edible and found a container of stale biscuits Mrs. Dobbs must have baked. “How old are you, Marzda?”
“I turned twelve last Christmas, ma'am.”
“Call me Ophelia.” She placed the biscuits in front of her. Twelve, the same age she'd been when forced into prostitution. “I'm sorry, we don't have a cook, so this is all I could find.”
“Oh, ma'am. I'm so hungry I could eat a possum and I hate possum.” She stuffed a biscuit into her mouth.
“You have an unusual name. I like it. Are you looking for work?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Marzda said around a mouth full of food. “I ain't got no folks left and no where to go. I'll do 'bout anything.”
“Do you know how to clean?”
Marzda stopped chewing for a moment. “You mean like cleaning house?”
“That's right. I could use a maid here at the hotel. You'd have to clean the rooms after guests leave and change the sheets on the beds. When you're not busy with that, you could dust or sweep, whatever needs doing.”
To Ophelia's shock, the girl broke into tears and threw herself into her arms. “Here, here, no need for tears. It's only a job, and for now anyway, it would only be for room and board.”
Stepping back and wiping at her eyes with her hand, Marzda asked, “I don't have to lift my skirts to no men?”
“No. Doing that would cost you your job. Do you think you could handle the position?”
“Oh, yes.” She gave Ophelia a brilliant smile, showing straight white teeth with biscuit mashed in between. “I'm ever so grateful. When do I start?”
“I think tomorrow will be soon enough. First, tell me your full name and where you're from so I can add you to the employee's record book.”
“Marzda Ann Nethercutt. We come from Georgia. My ma and pa died of fever at Fort Bridger and there was nobody there could take me in, 'cepting the man who ran the brothel. I didn't want to do that.”
“No, that would not do. Was your family on the way to California or Oregon?”
“California. Pa figured he could get work there and maybe find some gold.”
“I'm sorry he didn't get the chance to try. Now, we need to find a room for you and get you some decent clothes. You look exhausted.”
“Yes'm. It was a long walk. I slept under a tree two nights.”
Ophelia frowned. “Are you telling me you walked here from Ft. Bridger?”
“Yes'm. Some men tried to follow me, so I headed for the trees where I could maybe hide. Then I didn't know how to get back to the road to California, so I kept walking. I found a dirt road and it brought me here.”
“Oh, my gracious. No wonder you're tired. Let's go get a key for a room from Mrs. Dobbs.”
“May I take the biscuits with me?”
Her eyes looked so hopeful, Ophelia had to bite her inner lip not to laugh. Neither Marzda's request nor the situation gave cause for amusement, yet the child's expression had filled Ophelia with joy and made her want to chuckle. “Yes, you may.”
They returned to the lobby, Marzda carrying the bag as if it were a treasure. Mrs. Dobbs stood behind the desk. When she saw what the girl held, she frowned.
“Mrs. Dobbs,” Ophelia began, “I hope you don't mind. Marzda here was so hungry, I searched the cupboards and found some biscuits for her. Were they yours?”
The woman's face cleared. “Yes. She's welcome to them. They're a bit stale though.”
“I don't mind,” the girl assured her.
Ophelia worried the biscuits would be nothing but crumbs as tightly as Marzda held them to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Dobbs. I've hired Marzda to work here as a maid. Where are the servant's quarters?”
“There aren't any. The help has always lived in their own homes except for me and Mr. Duvall because we don't have any family here. Our quarters are off the kitchen. Individual rooms, of course.”
“Of course. Well then, we'll think of something else, a room…” Her voice trailed off and she smiled. “I know. We'll make the old owner's suite into the servants' quarters. For now, though, you may have one of the guest rooms. Will you hand me a key, Mrs Dobbs?”
The woman took one from a hook in the wall. “Here you are. The room is at the back, upstairs near you, Mrs. Crane.”
“Excellent. Come along, Marzda. Let's get you ready for a nice bath and bed. While you're bathing, I'll find food for you. Then I'll see about getting your real room fitted with a bed and dresser.”
When Ophelia returned to the lobby, she stopped at the desk. “Mrs. Dobbs, it's silly calling me Mrs. Crane all the time. Please, call me Ophelia.”
“That doesn't seem right, you being the owner's wife and all.”
“I'm not the owner's wife. I'm the owner. And I asked you to call me by my name. That makes it all right. I promise.”
“Thank you, Mrs…. I mean, Ophelia. Please call me Angie.”
Pleasant enough words, but Ophelia had a feeling they hadn't come easily for Mrs. Dobbs. Would everyone here treat her like a pariah because of who she'd been desperate enough to wed? Somehow, she would have to prove to them she differed greatly from Mortimer.
“I wonder,” she said, “is there a church or school house where I could hold a meeting with the whole town in attendance? I have some matters I'd like to let the residents know about.”
Curiosity and worry fought for space in Mrs. Dobbs' eyes. “Mortimer took our church to Cranesville. We do have a school, but I'm not sure the entire population, minus the children, of course, could fit inside though.”
“We'll find somewhere. I'm off to fetch the girl some food from the cafe.”
Ophelia went straight up the boardwalk to the Crystal Café, feeling more energetic than usual. Marzda might be young but not too young to become a friend. Ophelia needed a friend. Helping the girl had filled her with pleasure and hatched an idea in her mind of what to do with the Gentlemen Only Salon.
More than that, Ophelia had a purpose now, other than to survive. She had a goal, and someone to take care of again.
Chapter Four
First thing the next morning, Ophelia paid a visit to Tweedie's Mercantile. The large wooden building stood on the corner of Chestnut Road and Gold Street. Being the only general store in town, it did a good business. Several ladies glanced over as Ophelia entered, causing the bell above the door to ring. She smiled at them, but instead of returning the pleasantry, the women gave her their backs. Puzzled and hurt, she walked past them and looked around for the clothing section.
A young woman approached, obviously an employee. “May I help you, ma'am?”
Ophelia suspected it must have hurt the girl to speak, for she stared coldly at her, with no smile at all. “Yes. I need clothing for a twelve-year-old girl. Have you any dresses that might fit?”
Ophelia Page 3
