Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (14 page)

The lead wagon, pulled by oxen, was a clumsy affair with a tattered canvas top. A plain-faced woman was driving. On the seat beside her sat a young girl and a boy of ten or twelve years. A man in a fancy suit rode beside the wagon on a long-legged, fine-blooded horse. He tipped his hat to Mary and Katy as he passed, his eyes lingering on the face of each of the women.

“There’s a dandy for you. I’ve seen his type before,” Katy murmured drily.

The next two wagons were also driven by women. A large man-sized woman with a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head drove one. Her knees were spread and a booted foot rested against the headboard. A young woman sat on the seat beside her and another stood in the wagon behind them. She smiled and waved as they passed.

The other wagon was the finest Katy and Mary had seen in a long while. The large dray horses pulling it were driven by a rather frail-looking woman who held the reins limply, allowing the animals to merely follow the wagon ahead. A tiny girl with her finger in her mouth snuggled against her side.

The fourth wagon, pulled by a span of mules, was almost as long and as heavy as a freight wagon. A dark, slender man in a black suit sat on the wagon seat. His hair and his beard were black and neatly trimmed.

The lead wagon stopped. The man on the horse rode ahead to where Rowe waited in front of the saloon.

Squeals of female laughter came from the last wagon in line. The back canvas was pulled aside, the tailgate dropped, and three gaudily dressed women jumped down. They completely ignored Mary and Katy on the porch of the funerary and hurried along the road to where the men had gathered to watch the wagons arrive.

Mary dug her elbow into Katy’s ribs when she saw that their dresses were sleeveless and their legs were bare from the knees down.

“Well, I never! They’re nothing but . . . hussies!”

“The whores are back. There’ll be rejoicing in Trinity tonight,” Katy replied drily.

“Ruby! Goldie! Come back here!” The commanding voice came from a woman with flaming red hair who climbed backward out of the wagon. She wore a bustle on the back of her skirt, and her waist was tightly cinched with a corset. “Pearl!”

“Fiddle, Lizzibeth. There’s men here!” The “girls” headed for the group in front of the saloon, paying no mind to the woman trying to catch up with them.

“Girls!” Then, “Gawddammit!” The red-headed woman tripped on a rut in the road and saved herself from falling by grabbing hold of a wagon wheel. She was more modestly dressed than the “girls.” Her legs were covered, but a large expanse of her bosom was exposed. Holding up the skirt of her dark blue satin dress she went to the front of the wagon. “Stay here,” she barked when the young girl driving the wagon protested that she wanted to go with the others; then she marched on down the line of wagons.

“Ruby, Goldie, and Pearl couldn’t be their real names,” Mary said.

Katy scarcely heard her sister’s comment. She was watching the women walk brazenly up to Rowe and the miners. One man, on coming out of the saloon, and seeing the women, headed straight for the horse tank to duck his head. He slicked his hair down with both hands, and grinning like a tomcat, grabbed one of the unresisting women about the waist and swung her around. She shrieked and slapped at him playfully.

“This one’s mine!” one of the women yelled and threw herself in Rowe’s arms.

To Katy’s irritation, he merely laughed. After a few comments to the woman, he gently peeled her away from him.

More men had joined the group by the time the older redhead in the blue satin dress reached them. She seemed to know that Rowe was the man in charge. They moved slightly apart from the others and she talked earnestly to him. Katy saw him pointing to the long building at the end of town that was known as the “girlie house.” The red-headed woman waved at her driver. The wagon pulled out of line and on down the road.

“A new business has come to town,” Katy commented, as if talking to herself.

“It was bound to happen,” Mary said.

Rowe walked down the line of wagons, talking to each of the drivers for a few minutes and directing them to a place where they could camp temporarily. As he came nearer the funerary, Katy slipped inside and Mary followed.

“Don’t you want to meet the people, Katy? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to talk to another woman.”

“What would we talk about? How much do you charge for an hour in bed, Ruby? Well, blast my hide, Goldie, your knees are sunburned! Pearl, may I borrow your rouge pot?” Katy recited the words in her play-acting voice, still seeing in her mind’s eye the bare-legged woman clinging to Rowe and stung by his reaction to her.

“The other women seemed decent.”

“You go meet them.”

“I want to go too,” Theresa wailed.

“You can come with me. I’ve got to see about Mr. Weston.”

Theresa stomped her foot. “I don’t want to go to that old sickhouse. I saw a little girl. I want to ask her to swing in my swing.”

“Don’t stomp your foot at me, young lady,” Mary said sternly. “You’re getting a little too big for your britches lately.”

The child’s face puckered. “I want to play—”

“I know you do, but that’s no excuse to be sassy. You’ll get to play with the little girl. After she and her mother are settled for the night, you and I will go over to meet them. How’s that?”

Katy sat down in the rocker after Mary and Theresa left. Her mind was a buzzing hive of confusion. Out of the chaotic thoughts came the realization that she had to be careful of Garrick Rowe. Why was it that she could see him so much more clearly when she was away from him? It was plain to her now that all of his talk about “Nightrose” and knowing her in another life was bunkum he’d dreamed up to get what he wanted—a few hours of diversion in this dull place. He’d not need her now. Ruby, Goldie, or Pearl would be happy to entertain him. Katy closed her eyes against the thought of his saying, “Kiss me, Goldie.”
Of course he wouldn’t have to ask!

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she thought of how easily she had succumbed to his charm, how he had lain on his back in the grass and she had bent over him, kissing him, all of her own free will merely because he had asked her. She uttered a small groan of humiliation as she thought of what she had done.

The sound of Modo’s toenails on the plank porch reached her. The dog passed the open door and lay down next to the building. A close relationship existed between the man and the dog although Rowe seldom spoke to him. Most of the commands were given by hand signals. Mary had asked Rowe about the dog’s name. He had said it was short for Quasimodo, the hunchback in Victor Hugo’s novel. He had gone on to tell her that the author was a friend of his mother’s. Mary was impressed, mostly because she loved the written word and because she greatly admired the author of a book, any book.

Katy’s thoughts drifted back to the wagon train that came in today. Only one mounted man was riding with it. Did that mean the scare-talk about Indians and outlaws was only that—scare-talk to keep her, Mary, and Theresa here as a lure to bring other women to town? No doubt the small, slim, dark man could handle a gun, and the big woman in the straw hat looked as if she could lick a bear with a willow switch. But at that, three guns against outlaws or Indians wouldn’t amount to much.

It would be interesting to know why these people had split from the wagon train to come to a desolate place like Trinity.

A sudden desire to see the last of Garrick Rowe caused Katy to remember the four horses that had belonged to the men she and Mary had buried. She might be able to hitch two of them to their wagon. The measles outbreak was about over. If only she could hear from that worthless Roy Stanton, Mary might be willing to leave.

Feeling lonely and miserable, Katy sat in the rocker and waited for her sister to return.

Mary and Theresa walked down the street past the men talking to the bare-legged women. The men tipped their hats respectfully to Mary, but the women ignored her. The wagons were moving to the flat area next to the stone building, and some of the miners were helping the women unhitch the teams. The dark, slim man had gone back to help the woman in the fancy wagon before he unhitched his own team. She stood by, clutching the hand of the little girl who hid her face in her mother’s skirt each time someone looked at her.

Mary, like Katy back at the funerary, wondered what had happened to bring this mixture of people to Trinity.

At the livery Mary and Theresa turned up a path that had been hollowed out by water washing down the mountainside. The small cabin that housed the three men who were still infectious with measles nestled back on the hillside amid the trees. It was windowless, much like the one the Stantons and Katy had lived in the winter before. The front and back doors stood open to allow the breeze to circulate. The former owner had thrown out bits of broken crockery, and Theresa had entertained herself by digging up pieces of colored glass.

“Find some more pieces of that pretty blue glass, honey, and we’ll hang them on a string in the window.”

“When can we go see the little girl?”

“We’ll stop by on our way back,” Mary promised. She left Theresa playing in the dirt and went to within a few feet of the cabin door. “Hello,” she called. “Is it all right for me to come in?”

Hank came to the door and leaned weakly against the frame for a moment before stepping out into the yard.

“The others are sleeping. They seem to be all right.” He sat down on a stump that had been used for cutting wood.

“You should be in bed, Mr. Weston.” Mary noted that his face was freshly shaven and that the telltale measle eruptions were fading from his skin.

“If I lie in there any longer, I’ll scratch myself to death, ma’am.”

“Would you like for me to put more soda water on your back?”

“I’d be obliged. I was goin’ to ask Rowe to do it, but I take it he’ll be busy.”

“You saw the wagons come into town?” Mary asked after she had brought the wash dish and the bag of soda from the cabin.

“I was sittin’ out here on the stump gettin’ some air.” Hank removed his shirt. “I heard women squealin’ and carryin’ on. I knew it wasn’t you or Miss Katy.”

“No, it wasn’t me or Katy—”

Mary’s voice disappeared into silence as she moved around behind him and began to dab at his shoulders and back with the paste she had made with the soda. Hank was not a young man. Mary judged him to be past thirty. Damp, dark red hair curled across his forehead and down on the nape of his neck. The skin that stretched across his muscled shoulders and back was bronzed like the skin on his face and arms. His chest was broad and hard and roped with muscles. Tightly curled dark hair spread across it and vee’d down to a flat and hard abdomen. He was a man of tremendous strength. Roy’s body was almost feminine compared to this man’s.

“Most of the new people are women. I saw only two men,” Mary said, feeling like she had to say something.

“Probably widows from a train going west. Most women can’t handle the trip alone.” He held his arm away from his body so that she could reach the eruptions on his side. Mary smoothed the paste over them and moved around in front of him to dab at his chest. “I can do that, ma’am. It’s the places I can’t reach that drive me crazy.” She surrendered the cloth and held the basin while he sloppily covered his chest with the soda water. “That feels good—”

“You should lie down and rest, Mr. Weston. I’m worried that you’ll have a back-set.”

When he laughed, Mary wondered why she had never noticed his white, even teeth and the creases that fanned out from eyes the color of a cloudless sky, when he smiled.

“My ma used to say, ‘Now, Hank, you’ll get a back-set.’ I’ve not heard that or had anyone worry about me for a long time, ma’am.”

“Worrying is what Katy says I do best.”

“I don’t know as I agree with that.” Hank slipped his shirt over his head. “Feels good to have clean duds again.”

“Did you tell the laundryman to boil the clothes apart from the others?” Mary reached around and pulled the shirt down over his wet back.

“Yes, ma’am. How long will I have to stay up here? I’m getting sick of this place.”

“Another day or two and you’ll be fit to come back to town.” Mary threw the water from the basin out on the ground and set the pan on the step beside the door. “I’d better be going. I promised Theresa we’d not stay long.”

Hank looked over his shoulder to see Theresa squatting down digging in the dirt. “The little one don’t seem to be in no hurry. Talk to me a while, Mrs. Stanton.” He pulled a flat gold watch from his pocket and looked at the time. “It’ll be an hour yet before our suppertime.”

After Hank pulled the watch from his pocket, Mary didn’t hear another word he said. Words locked in her throat by a strong welling of fear. Only when Hank moved to return the watch to his pocket was she jarred from her shock. She grabbed at his wrist, her face tight with shock.

“Ma’am . . . Mary—”

“Where did you get . . . that watch?” Mary heard her voice come out thick and unsteady.

“Why? Have you seen it before?”

Mary nodded, feeling rather sick, nerves dancing like demons in her stomach. “I think so. Open the back . . . please—”

Hank took out his pocketknife and with the tip opened the back of the watch and placed it in her hands. She read the inscription: To Roy from Mamma and Papa—1862.

Mary drew a long, shuddering breath. “It’s my husband’s watch. Where did you get it?”

Hank stood up and gently pressed her down on the stump where he had been sitting.

“Ach, lass. I be hurtin’ to tell you—”

“Roy is dead, isn’t he?” Mary said with her head bent over the watch. “He’d not part with this. He’d have let me and Theresa starve before he’d sell it.”

“Yes, lass,” he said simply. He knelt down beside her and held the hand that held the watch.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. I swear. Anton and I found him. We rode out from Bay Horse a couple of months back headed for Bannack. We found him along the trail, shot in the back. His pockets had been stripped and there were no papers to let us know who he was. We dug a grave and when we moved him to put him in it, I saw the watch under him. The killers had missed it or he had hid it from them. I’m plumb sorry, Mary.”