Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (21 page)

Before the war, due to mismanagement, the family fortune had begun to dwindle and his father had taken to drink. In order to keep the creditors at bay, Lee had been forced to wed the homely daughter of a merchant to whom the family owed a great sum of money. The marriage had not changed his lifestyle. He used the woman occasionally and begat two children to whom he paid no more attention than if they had been borne by one of his slaves.

During the war the slaves deserted the plantation. One morning Lee had returned home after a night of debauchery to find that his father, unable to face a new way of life, had killed himself. Had his father lived, they might have had a chance to preserve their way of life to a certain degree; without him, there was no chance at all. The banks foreclosed, taking everything. Since that time, Lee had gone from town to town, working his small swindles, selling bad stock, and dreaming the big dream. His family had tagged along because they had nowhere else to go. He felt nothing but contempt for his wife, Vera, his daughter, Agnes, and his lame son, Taylor. They were a humiliation that he suffered each day.

Lee Longstreet had a score to settle with Mrs. Chandler. To him it was simple. A man who had pride settled his accounts. He bristled when he thought of the humiliation he had faced when she had berated him in front of the men of the wagon train because his wife and children were unloading the wagon so that a wheel could be replaced. It had not occurred to him to dismount and help them when the rear wheel on the wagon splintered and the wagon dropped to the side and back. The wagons behind, including the Chandler wagon, had stopped. He bought an extra wheel from the blacksmith and put his family to unloading the wagon. Mrs. Chandler had been very vocal with her criticism that hot day. She had drawn attention to their poverty, an insult he could not allow to go unavenged.

“You’re a poor excuse for a man, Lee Longstreet, lettin’ your woman and kids do the work,” she had bellowed. “It ain’t no wonder to me you got such a piss-poor, make-do rig. If’n I was Vera, I’d tie a can to your tail, that’s what I’d do. Her and them younguns’d be better off with you gone.”

“But you’re not Vera, Mrs. Chandler, and I’ll thank you to tend to your own affairs.”

Mrs. Chandler had made a few more vulgar remarks, then said, “Come on, girls, let’s give Mrs. Longstreet a hand. Looks like Mr. Longstreet ain’t goin’ to get his boots dusty. He’s goin’ to sit on that horse like he was overseein’ his slaves.”

The men had turned their backs on him after that. He was no longer accepted or welcomed at their campfires. A day before they came to the forks in the road, the wagon master had told him that he would have to leave the train with the others. They feared his rig wouldn’t make it over the mountains. Misfits, the wagon master had called them. Misfits who would hold the rest of them back.

Since that time the need for revenge had eaten at Lee. He had been humbled by a woman of inferior class and it was not to be tolerated. Days ago he had figured out what path his revenge would take. He felt good just thinking about it. What he had in mind would be as pleasurable as it was simple.

Lee ate quickly so that he could leave. It galled him that Laura Hillard, a lady of quality, had so venomously rebuffed
his
attentions and had taken up with the Jew. The woman had money or access to it by the looks of her outfit. She spurned every attempt he had made to be friendly with her. Hell! He could wait. His time would come. If there was one thing Lee knew about, it was women. Laura Hillard had been without a man for months and soon she would be wanting one. He would make sure it was he that was available when that time came, and not the Jew.

As soon as Lee placed a coin beside his plate and left, the mood inside the restaurant changed. Flossie, who had not had much to say while he was there, began to chatter as she scraped what he had left on his plate in the slop bucket.

“I don’t think the
elegant
Mr. Longstreet liked your stew, Maw.”

“I ain’t a carin” if he liked it or not. He wasn’t here by my invite. Vera and them two kids is probably eatin’ biscuits and milk. Floss takes them a pail a milk once in a while,” she said to the others as she came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I liked the stew.” Theresa tilted her head and grinned with her mouth full at the big woman who sank down on the bench beside her.

“Well, now. Ain’t you a little charmer!” Lottie Chandler fanned her face with the end of her apron. “I’m gettin’ low on sugar, flour, coffee beans, and snuff, Elias. I got to have my snuff to keep me goin’.”

“Mr. Ashland said the wagons will be here before the Fourth, so that leaves today or tomorrow.”

“Fiddle!” she snorted. “I’m thinkin’ all the brains he’s got is right a’tween his legs.”

Mary looked quickly at Theresa and Julia and was relieved to see they were whispering to each other and not listening to the conversation.

“You may not like him,” Elias said with a smile. “But he’s a good teamster. I have every confidence his wagons will be here if he says they will. I’d hate to be one of his drivers. He’s a hard taskmaster.”

“In more ways than one, from what I hear.”

“Mrs. Chandler, what do you and your girls think about having a day celebration on the Fourth?” Mary said trying to steer the conversation into a safer channel.

“What kind a celebration?”

“We don’t know exactly until we talk to Mr. Weston and find out if he’s going to close down the mine for the day. One year Katy and I were in Laramie on the Fourth. They had footraces, horse races, a dance in the street—”

“That darky at the cookshack plays the banjo,” Flossie said brightly, coming to the table with a dishcloth in her hand.

“How’d you know that?” her mother demanded.

“I heard talk about it, Maw. I ain’t deaf.” Flossie tossed her head defiantly and flounced back to the dishpan.

“It’d be a good day for business.” Mrs. Chandler admitted. “If the supplies come, me’n the girls could make pies and bearclaws—”

“I feel that I should mention something,” Elias said with some hesitation. “There may be some ah . . . unpleasantness if the ladies at the Bee Hive are not included.”

“I don’t see how we could exclude them. Do you, Laura?” Mary asked.

“I guess not, if they behave themselves.”

“Lizzibeth runs a good house and keeps her girls in line. She’ll not let them shame the town,” Mrs. Chandler put in. “I got to say one thing for Lizzibeth; she ain’t strippin’ the men’s pockets like some do. Laws, we been in some towns where the whores’d take the nickels off a dead man’s eyes.”

“Did you see the sign she put up?” Flossie was back at the table, her dishcloth flung over her shoulder. “It’s got a painted picture of a beehive on it with bees buzzin’ all around.” Flossie began to recite in a singsong voice:

“Within this hive, we’re all alive,

We’re waitin’ and we’re horny,

Don’t be shy, come in and try,

The flavor of our honey.”

“Flossie, for Gawd’s sake! Watch your mouth.” Her mother glared at her and jerked her head toward the children.

“Pshaw, Maw! Them younguns don’t even know what I’m talking about. That sign’s cute, is what it is.”

“I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do with you, Floss.” Mrs. Chandler wiped her face with her apron and shook her head. “Get your work done up. We got washin’ to do.”

The conversation dwindled after that. Mary looked at Laura’s red face and remembered having the same reaction when she and Roy first came West. There wasn’t a town west of the Mississippi that didn’t have one or more brothels. Mary had heard of a town on the Colorado-Kansas border called Trail City. It boasted of having twenty-seven saloons with cribs upstairs, nine hotels with a woman for each room and eleven brothels. In this incredible town all were after business, and naked women stood on porches to entice the men into their establishments. One man had told Roy that he actually got tired of looking at naked women.

Mary was sure that Hank and Rowe would never let something like that happen in Trinity. As trollops go, Mary thought, the ones at the Bee Hive were fairly decent.

Elias got up to pay for the meals.

“Take it off what I owe you, Elias.”

“All right. If that’s what you want.”

As soon as they left the restaurant, Mary said, “I’ll have to get word to Mr. Weston to come to supper tonight.”

“I understand from Theresa that he comes almost every evening. Now why would this evening be any exception?” Laura asked teasingly. She looked from Mary’s suddenly flushed face to Elias’s as if they shared a secret.

“Would you like for me to see that he gets the message?” Elias asked.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. He doesn’t come to supper every evening, Laura. Mr. Weston comes by because he . . . because he’s grateful for the nursing care I gave the men during the outbreak of measles.”

Laura laughed. “That’s a perfectly good reason.”

“Oh, you’re as bad as Katy when it comes to teasing. Let Julia come home with Theresa for the afternoon. Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Glossberg. I’ll see you two at suppertime.”

Thirteen

“Why’d they go? I want to play with Julia.” Theresa whined, and clung to Mary’s hand as they stood beside Hank on the porch of the funerary after saying goodnight to Laura and Elias.

“You’re too tired to play. You can hardly hold your eyes open and Julia was already asleep. Mr. Glossberg had to carry her home.”

“I want Uncle Hank to carry me.”

“You’re not going anywhere tonight, honey. It’s past your bedtime.”

Theresa whimpered and pushed her face into Mary’s skirt.

“Come here, puddin’.” Hank knelt down beside her. “We’ll go out to the swing and back. How’s that?” Theresa went to him eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifted her up, and she snuggled her head against his shoulder.

“You’re spoiling her,” Mary felt compelled to murmur, when their eyes met over the child’s head.

“Aye. Lassies need spoilin’, to my way of thinkin’,” he answered gruffly and stepped off the porch.

Mary leaned against the post and watched Hank walk into the darkness with her daughter in his arms. She felt a pang of regret that Theresa had not known the joy of having a father who wanted to hold her. It never ceased to amaze Mary that a big rough man like Hank Weston could be so gentle with a child. It was no wonder that Theresa adored him. He had given her more attention during the few weeks they had known him than her father had given her during her lifetime.

Rowe’s dog came up onto the porch and lay down in his usual place against the wall. He rested his jowls on his paws and looked at Mary. She never touched the big animal, but sometimes she talked to him. He always looked as if he understood every word she said. But of course that was ridiculous.

“Do you miss Rowe, Modo?” Mary whispered softly. “I bet you do because I miss Katy. I hope she’ll have a good time in Virginia City. Rowe will take care of her. He’s in love with her. I can tell by the way he acts when he’s around her. He watches every move she makes. It’s almost as if his eyes are feasting on her. She’s attracted to him too, but she won’t admit it. She’s afraid that she’ll make the mistake I made and be stuck with a way of life she detests.”

The dog heaved a big groaning sigh as if the problem was too much for him. Mary turned back to scan the night sky. She found the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper; and as a star streaked across the sky, she made a wish.

“I wish happiness for Katy and Theresa.”

Minutes later Hank came quietly out of the darkness. Despite his large size, he was a graceful person though he didn’t have the antelope agility of Rowe. Nor was he as educated as Rowe, but he was just as sure of himself. Although the two men came from different backgrounds, they were alike in many ways. It was understandable to Mary that they were loyal friends, as well as employee and employer.

Hank stopped at the edge of the porch. His face, suddenly dear and familiar, was on a level with Mary’s. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. A gust of cool night wind coming off the snow-peaked mountains caused her to shiver. Mary had a sudden yearning to be in Hank’s arms, cuddled against the warmth of his chest, his hand stroking her hair as it was stroking the hair of her child.

Hank saw the pensive look on her face and wondered what put it there.

“Is she asleep?”

“Aye.” His big hand continued to stroke Theresa’s hair while his eyes remained on Mary’s face.

“I’ll take her to bed.”

“She’s too heavy for you to he carryin’, Mary.”

Hank stepped up onto the porch and waited for Mary to lead the way into the funerary to the big bed at the end of the building. Theresa had been sleeping with her mother since she became aware that the crate she had been using for a bed was a burial box. Mary turned down the covers and Hank placed the child gently on the bed. He unlaced her shoes and pulled them off while Mary unbuttoned her dress.

There was silence as they worked over the small life between them. A wrenching, lonely ache pressing against the wall of her heart prevented Mary from being aware of the intimacy of the task they performed as if they were husband and wife and the child between them theirs. But she would think about it later when she lay in her bed listening to the wind ripple the tin roof overhead. Now, she pulled the covers over Theresa, tucking them in. When she looked up, Hank was still standing at the end of the bed.

“Thank you.” Her calm voice and placid expression masked the ache of loneliness.

He shook his head slowly and continued to gaze at her. “I don’t want you thankin’ me, Mary, for doing what ’twas my pleasure to be doin’.”

“Oh, well—” Mary picked up the lamp, not knowing what else to say. She carried it to the front of the long, narrow room and placed it on the eating table.

“Will you sit on the porch with me for a bit, Mary?”

She nodded, her mind responding to the persuasion of his voice. “I’ll turn off the lamp. No use wasting the oil.”