Jubilee Trail (25 page)

“He looks like his mother rocked him in a coffin instead of a cradle. But the others are fun, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I liked them.” Garnet dropped her voice. “Florinda, that man—John Ives—he doesn’t want me to go to California.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. But he doesn’t want me to go.” Garnet began to pick up the cups and put them at one side of the table, so Señora Silva could take them when she brought in the supper. She changed the subject. “Did Mr. Van Dorn frighten you?”

“Who, him?” Florinda twirled an imaginary mustache. “Not overmuch.”

“Where has he seen you?”

“Dancing at the Jewel Box, I suppose. He said New York.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“You heard me, didn’t you?”

“You aren’t worried?”

“I was for a minute, when he said something about a gambling palace. But later I asked him how long since he’d been in New York, and he said four years. So he couldn’t have been in the Alhambra the night I was thinking of. That was last August, not quite a year ago.” Florinda helped herself to an apple.

“He kept looking at your face,” said Garnet, “and trying to remember it.”

“If he saw me at the Jewel Box, dear, he wasn’t looking at my face.” Florinda stretched out on the wall-bench. She put her arm under her head and leaned back against the cushions. For a few moments she munched the apple. At length, without turning her head, she said, “Garnet, I’m bothered about something else right now.”

“What? Can I help you?”

“No, you can’t, and I don’t know whether I ought to say anything about it. But I’d sort of like to get it off my chest.”

Garnet felt a tremor. “Don’t tell me Mr. Bartlett is getting tired of you!”

“Oh no. Quite the contrary.” Florinda put the core of the apple back on the dish. She examined a spot of dampness the apple had left on her yellow glove as she said, “He’s addled for love of me. He wants to marry me.”

“No!”

Before she knew what she was doing, Garnet had begun to laugh. Florinda turned her head on the cushion with a faint smile.

“It
is
kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“I never heard of anything so absurd. That silly bumpkin, thinking he’s so smart and sophisticated, and you!”

Florinda examined her glove again. “Yes, dear,” she said dryly. “Me. The greatest entertainer that ever stopped a show.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“Of course not. He wants to marry that high-minded lady who was knocked off her pedestal by the big hero. He says we’ll be married as soon as we cross the frontier, before we get to St. Louis, and nobody will ever know we weren’t married before we went West together. We’ll live happily ever after, in a white house with gingerbread trimmings and wax flowers under a glass bell on the mantelpiece and a crayon portrait of grandpa on the wall. He says he’ll quit the trail and settle down as a sober merchant all the year round. I’ll belong to the Ladies’ Aid Society and have social afternoons inviting the other ladies over to stitch garments for the orphan asylum. And you’re right, of course it’s funny. But I don’t know whether to laugh or not. I feel like a wretch.”

Florinda had spoken in a dry monotone. At her last lines Garnet made herself choke back her laughter. She asked,

“But why do you feel like that, Florinda? You didn’t mean for him to fall in love with you.”

“Good Lord, no.” Florinda sat up. “But it’s my own doing, Garnet, don’t you understand? Oh, hell for breakfast, I’ve had gents act sentimental about me before. It didn’t bother me. I laughed at them and said, ‘If you can’t be your age you’d better go home to mamma.’ Because they knew what they were getting, and it was their own fault if they didn’t take me the way I was. But this time—oh, you know how it started, that black dress and all. He wanted to think he’d made a great conquest. So I played up to it. I let him think he’d mended my broken heart and all that sort of nonsense. And now it’s blown back and hit me in the face. He’s in love like a kid on a white lace valentine. And what am I going to do?”

“Can’t you tell him you’re not in love with him?”

“Oh Garnet, you’re so innocent!”

“Yes,” said Garnet, “I guess I am.”

“He’s sure I’m in love with him,” said Florinda. “I’m so in love with him that I threw away the scruples of a lifetime. And if I’m in love with him, and if I’m really a nice lady at heart, why shouldn’t I be joyful that he wants to make me a nice lady again?”

“You couldn’t possibly tell him the truth?”

Florinda gave a low eloquent whistle. “What? Tell that conceited hero that I made a fool of him? And me eight hundred miles from the American frontier?”

“Good heavens above, Florinda! He wouldn’t
leave
you here!”

Florinda gave her a slow smile of wisdom. “Listen, dearie. I’m not educated like you. But I know men. And I know men like Mr. Bartlett.”

She got up and walked over to the mirror. Standing there, she untied the bow of ribbon at her throat and tied it again.

“Mr. Bartlett takes himself seriously, my dear. He thinks it’s been just too, too clever of him to keep up that righteous reputation in St. Louis while he came out here and acted up to his idea of cosmopolitan sin. And if he found I’d been making fun of him all this time—no, thank you.”

“So what can you do?” asked Garnet.

Florinda drummed her fingers on the edge of the mirror. “I wish I could go to California,” she said.

“I wish you could too. I’m going to miss you dreadfully.”

“I might manage it. If I can’t, I’ll just have to pray that Silky Van Dorn won’t remember me, and I’ll have to go back to Missouri with Mr. Bartlett, and him all shiny-eyed and planning to marry me.” Florinda gave a long guilty sigh. “But whatever I do, Garnet, I’m going to have to tell Mr. Bartlett sooner or later that I made a fool of him. And I don’t know how I’m going to stand it. Because I tell you, he’s walking around in a bright pink haze. And I’m a cockroach.”

“No you’re not,” Garnet said quietly.

Florinda shook her head. “Maybe you still don’t understand, dearie,” she said in a low regretful voice.

“Yes I do. Come back here, Florinda.”

Florinda came back to the wall-bench. She sat down.

“Florinda Grove,” said Garnet, “why don’t you be your age too?”

Florinda gave her a puzzled look. Garnet went on.

“Mr. Bartlett didn’t have any pity for that innocent young widow he was seducing.”

“My God,” said Florinda. She stared at Garnet blankly. “I never thought of that.”

“Well, I thought of it,” said Garnet. “I thought of it the first day when you were telling us how you met him on the boat. I guess,” she said with a touch of shyness, “I thought of it because I’m the sort of woman you were pretending to be just then. I thought you had been terribly clever to do what you did, but I thought—well, I thought if Mr. Bartlett had had a shred of decency in him you couldn’t have done it.”

Florinda was leaning forward, her elbows on the table. She pushed her sewing-basket aside without looking at it.

“Garnet, I don’t quite understand. Tell me some more.”

“Well, I do understand!” Garnet exclaimed. “As far as he was concerned, Mr. Bartlett was taking a lady away from her home and her friends. Very likely he was ruining her life. He was planning to abandon her as soon as they got back from the journey, and if her friends had found out what she’d been doing they’d never have received her again. I know about things like that, Florinda! Now and then I’ve heard nice people talk about a girl who’s been—well, they call it ‘unfortunate.’ They say they’re sorry for her, because the poor young thing was too innocent to know what she was getting into, but they don’t speak to her. A girl like that is disgraced. Sometimes she’s so desperate she kills herself.”

Garnet stopped, out of breath. She had spoken so vehemently that she had had no time to breathe. Florinda was still staring at her, speechless.

Garnet caught her breath and went on. “If Mr. Bartlett wanted a pretty girl to amuse him this summer, why didn’t he make sure before he started that she knew what she was doing and would have some place to go when she got back? He didn’t do that. He took what he thought was a sheltered lily who loved him so much that she didn’t realize what it was going to cost her.”

Florinda’s eyes were wide with horror. “Why—that insect!” she gasped slowly.

She said it with such astounded innocence that Garnet nearly burst out laughing again. “It never occurred to you?” she asked.

Florinda shook her head. “No, it didn’t. I’ve seen plays where a village girl drowned herself in the river because she’d been done wrong by a gent from the big city. But I never thought of it being real, I guess. My God. That pig. That psalm-singing villain.”

“Yes,” Garnet agreed with emphasis. “And if he’s fallen in love with you, and if you laugh at him, it serves him right. He’s just being hanged with his own rope.”

Florinda stood up again. She walked to the end of the table, and turned around. Her beautiful lips were suddenly tight and hard. She looked so coldly angry that Garnet was surprised. Florinda said in a low voice,

“He’s no better than that scoundrel who pretended to marry my mother.”

Garnet looked down. She had not meant to remind Florinda of that.

“Garnet,” said Florinda, “I like men. I like ’em fine. But I don’t like that kind of men. Oh, Lord,” she broke off, “don’t let me get started on that again.” She pushed her father aside and began to laugh. “Just you wait. You wait till I get through with that sanctified lout. Oh, Garnet, darling, how did I ever live without you? When I think how wicked and bothered I’ve been feeling! Thank you, darling, thank you!” she exclaimed.

Taking the edge of the table with both hands, she lifted herself to sit on it, and drew her sewing-basket toward her.

“Too late to do any work now, I guess. John Ives will be here any minute to see me home. Garnet, I think I’ll put some fancy metal buttons down the front of this dress.”

“I saw some the other day,” said Garnet. “At Mr. Reynolds’ store, I think.”

“But I’d have to pay for them there. Mr. Bartlett has some too. I saw them, but that was when my conscience was hurting me and I didn’t take them.”

Garnet bit back a smile. By this time she had discovered what a noble gesture Florinda had made when she insisted on paying her way out of New Orleans and left her emeralds besides. Florinda hated to spend money.

“Are you going to take them now?” Garnet asked.

“Why yes, why not? Mr. Bartlett said I was to have anything I wanted. My conscience isn’t bothering me any more, so I think I’ll go get those buttons in the morning. Is that John?” she asked, as they heard a knock at the door.

Garnet went to answer the knock. The caller was John. He asked gravely if Mrs. Grove was ready to go home now. Florinda picked up her basket and sprang down from the table. John bowed to Garnet, and they went out.

Garnet shut the door after them. For a few minutes, talking about Mr. Bartlett had made her forget John Ives. But now her earlier uneasiness came back to plague her. John had been shocked to hear of Oliver’s marriage, she was sure of it; and he wished she was not going to California. She did not understand it. She wished Oliver would hurry back from Taos.

Outside, John and Florinda were walking along the rackety street. The plaza was crowded with traders and girls, making a great deal of merry noise. Several men called to her, but they did not try to stop her. Evidently they respected John’s presence. Neither she nor John said anything until they were passing the Fonda, when John asked,

“Where do you live, Mrs. Grove?”

“Right down this side street. I’m here with Mr. Bartlett. I guess you know Mr. Bartlett, don’t you?”

“Bartlett from St. Louis? Why yes, I know him. I saw him at the Fonda a few minutes ago.”

“That’s where you’ll usually see him. Two more houses. Here, this is it.”

John touched his silver-corded hat. He was about to leave her, but she put her hand on his arm to detain him. This little side street was almost deserted.

“Wait a minute, Johnny. I’d like to say something, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” said John.

“Your friend Silky Van Dorn. Who is he?”

“He used to be a professional gambler in New York. When he left there, I believe he played for a while on the Mississippi steamboats. Now he gambles in mules.”

“I see.” Florinda smiled thoughtfully. “A professional gambler. I’m not surprised. I know the type. Did you hear him say he thought he’d seen me somewhere?”

“Yes, I heard him.” There was a glimmer of amusement on John’s thin lips. “Shall I drop him a hint that he’s not to say it again? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“I did want to. That’s why I asked you to bring me home. But—” Florinda smiled mischievously. “But since then, it’s occurred to me I might want to change my mind. There’s an idea scratching at the back of my head like a hairpin.” Florinda considered, making a mark on the ground with the toe of her slipper. She looked up. “I believe I’ll think it over. Don’t say anything to Silky.”

“Very well.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that all you wanted to say to me?” John asked.

“Not quite. I’d like to say something else. This doesn’t happen to be any of my business, but I’d like to say it anyway.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said something to Garnet.”

“Garnet?”

“Mrs. Hale.”

“Oh yes.”

Florinda glanced down the street. There was nobody near. She looked back at John.

“You gave her the impression that you didn’t think much of her going to California.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. She told me so.” Florinda paused, but as he did not answer she went on. “Is there any reason why she shouldn’t go?”

“I know of no reason,” said John, “why Mrs. Hale should not do anything she pleases.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

His ice-green eyes met hers. “Yes,” he returned, “it is.”

“All right. Don’t talk if you’d rather not. But look, Johnny. If there’s any trouble ahead for Garnet, give her a hand, will you? She’s a grand person. She’s the grandest person I’ve ever known. And she’s married to a man who somehow impresses me as not being quite good enough for her. Maybe I’m wrong and I hope I am. Still, I’ve been around a good deal and I size up people pretty fast. And I’ve sized you up too, and I think you’d be cool in a hurricane, and if Garnet ever needs a friend you might be a good one to have.”