Jubilee Trail (48 page)

John looked around the room and down at his muddy clothes. “You didn’t mean for me to sleep in here!”

“Why yes I did. There’s nowhere else. We aren’t used to having guests.”

“But I’m crusted with dirt. I haven’t washed for days. Where did you plan to stay?”

“I thought you could have the bed, since you’re tuckered out. I can sleep on the floor. I’ve got plenty of blankets.”

“I won’t climb into that immaculate bed,” said John. “I mean it.”

“All right, I haven’t got time to argue.” Florinda was taking an armful of blankets from the top shelf of the wardrobe. “Go to sleep on the floor. I’ll come in softly and won’t wake you. There’s soap and water on the washstand, and you’ll find the other necessity of life behind the screen.” She dropped the blankets on the bed. “Well, I’ve got to go now, and warble for those drunks downstairs. See you in the morning.”

She went out before he could answer. The inside walls of the building were not thick, and John could hear the racket from the saloon below him. It did not bother him at all. He took off his boots and managed to stay awake long enough to wash his face and hands. This done, he put the blankets on the floor and rolled up.

When he woke he blinked a moment at the blue curtains, and then, remembering where he was, he turned over and stretched. The shutters were closed and the curtains drawn over them, but around the edges there were unmistakable gleams of light. Springing up, John went to open the window. The rain had stopped. The sun was out, and as usual when it was not raining, most of the population was outdoors. John saw women going down to the creek, and half-naked tame Diggers selling water. Here and there came a two-wheeled ox-cart loaded with hides. Remembering that Florinda was still asleep, John shut the window against the noise.

He went over and looked down at the bed. Florinda slept on her side, without a pillow. Her bright hair was scattered on the sheet and her head lay in it as though in a nest. She had on a flannel nightgown buttoned up to her throat. The gown had long sleeves, and at the ends of the sleeves were deep ruffles that hid her hands almost down to the fingertips. So she was even vain about her nightgowns, John thought with a twinge of amused surprise, till he remembered that Florinda did not always sleep alone.

He did not want to wake her up until he had to. She had brought up an extra pail of water, which stood on the floor by the washstand. Filling the pitcher to replace the water he had used last night, John picked up the pail and went out softly.

The saloon was silent. Looking into the kitchen, John saw his saddlebags lying in a corner. He picked them up and made his toilet in the passage at the foot of the staircase. Shaved and dressed in fresh clothes, with a pair of dry boots from the bags, he felt well and hungry.

Behind the house, as Silky had said, was a corral with adobe walls, where several horses were nibbling at the oats that had sprung up during the winter rains. Going out by the gate of the corral, John found Pablo, who had struck up acquaintance with a neighbor woman and was now being served breakfast before her outdoor oven. John gave her some coppers for beans and a bowl of chocolate, and told Pablo to put their saddles on fresh horses from the corral. Taking another bowl of beans and one of chocolate, he went back upstairs to Florinda.

She was still asleep. Setting the bowls on the bench, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

Florinda opened her eyes, gave him a blank stare for an instant, and sat up.

“Oh yes, it’s you. Whoosh, it’s cold!” She pulled the blankets up around her. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I was so sleepy last night I forgot to wind my watch. But it’s big daylight, and the sun’s shining. Here’s some breakfast.”

Florinda gave her head a shake and rubbed her eyes. “Why John, you angel. Who gave it to you? Don’t tell me Mickey is up so early.”

“Mickey?”

“The China boy. He’s a jewel and I love him dearly.”

“I haven’t seen Mickey. I got these from the woman who lives behind the corral.”

“Oh yes, I know her. She’s nice. Her name is Isabel and she does my laundry.” Florinda began to sip the chocolate. “You run on down and tend to the horses and I’ll get dressed. I’ve got a saddle, and I put some things into a saddlebag last night. You’ll find it in the hall.”

“You did all that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Brother, you were sleeping like you’d had a pipe of opium. A herd of oxen couldn’t have waked you. Run on, Johnny, and I’ll be right down.”

She waved brightly to him as he went out.

“And don’t look so glum, Johnny,” she called. “We’ll manage.”

I
T WAS LATE
AT
night when they reached Hale’s Rancho. The journey had taken them four days. Luckily the weather had been clear, though they had had to ride through fields of mud left by the rain.

The rancho was dark, but as they rode around the main house they could see lights from two windows. John told Florinda one of these was Charles’ room, the other was Garnet’s.

Florinda ignored Charles. “Garnet must be still alive if her room’s lighted,” she said. “Let’s hurry, John.”

John helped her off the horse, and told Pablo to bring in their packs. He opened the door of Garnet’s room.

It was dimly lighted by a lamp on the wall-bench. A woman, sitting on the floor by the bed, looked up in surprise when she recognized John. He beckoned to her. “¿Cómo está la señora, Lolita?” he whispered.

Lolita shook her head sadly. John told her to get Florinda’s packs and bring them into Garnet’s sitting-room next door. As she went out, he turned back to Florinda.

Florinda had put her bonnet and shawl and gloves on the table, and was unstrapping her gun-belt as she looked down at the bed. Garnet lay on her back, a blanket drawn over her, and her hair in two untidy braids across the pillow. In the dim light her features were thin and sharp. Her lips were cracked with dryness, and her skin was flaky like old paper. She was not asleep, but her eyes were half closed in the semi-consciousness of exhaustion.

Florinda knelt by the bed. Garnet moved a little, and quivered into life.

Florinda slipped an arm around her. “It’s me, Garnet. Florinda.”

Garnet tried to turn a little toward her. Florinda said,

“John brought me. We’re going to stay with you till you get well.”

Garnet sighed gratefully. She tried again to speak, but her tongue was so parched that the words were not clear. “Florinda—you’re here—” Her voice trailed off.

“Now I’m going to make you comfortable,” said Florinda, “so you can go to sleep. I’ll stay right here by you.”

Garnet moved her hand. With weak, unsteady little movements, she felt Florinda’s hair and face. “Get me some water, John,” Florinda said. “And a cloth.”

Garnet murmured, “—I can’t—drink water—comes back.”

“You don’t have to drink it. But your forehead is all hot. I’m going to bathe your face.”

John poured some water into the basin on the washstand and set the basin on the table, with a towel beside it. Florinda rolled back her sleeves. The lamplight made deep shadows among her scars.

“I’ll need a chair, John,” she said.

He brought it to her. Florinda dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, and gently began to stroke Garnet’s forehead. John waited for further instructions.

During their ride to the rancho he had come to admire Florinda a good deal. She had several traits that he liked. For one thing, she did not chatter. She rode by him in silence, interrupted only when she had to ask a question. And she knew how to take orders. She was eager to ride fast, but she had accepted his judgment about speed and rest, without argument. John’s experience had been that people who had sense enough to take orders also had sense enough to give them, and he was ready to obey her now.

He watched her as she stroked Garnet’s forehead with the damp cloth. It seemed like a long time. At last Florinda stood up and came over to him.

“She’s asleep. A good natural sleep. Bring me some fresh water, John, and a spoon, and some kind of a clock.”

John slipped out. He dipped a jug into the reservoir in front, and got the spoon from the dining room. Though he was trying to walk softly, as he came back along the dark passage a door opened and Charles appeared. Charles was fully dressed. Evidently he was not sleeping much these nights.

“Who’s prowling about?” Charles demanded. “Oh, John. I thought you’d gone back to your rancho.” Charles was obviously none too glad that John had returned.

“I went to Los Angeles,” said John. “I’ve brought a friend of Garnet’s to nurse her.”

“She’s got two women taking care of her now,” Charles returned in surprise. “Frankly, John, I don’t like your dragging strangers into my house at this time.”

Charles was making no effort to hold his voice down, and John saw now that in his haste to get the fresh water he had left Garnet’s door open. Trying not to speak loud enough to wake her, he said,

“Charles, Garnet is very ill. I’ve brought an American woman, a friend of hers—”

“An American woman?” Charles repeated in a puzzled voice. “I don’t know any American women in this part of the country.”

“Her name is Florinda Grove. She came with us over the trail last summer.”

“John!” Charles exclaimed. This time his voice was loud with angry disgust. “Is it possible you are referring to that woman Penrose dragged in from Santa Fe?”

“I wish you’d keep your voice down. You don’t have to see Florinda or speak to her.”

The passage was lit only by the faint glow from Garnet’s room. John could not see the expression of Charles’ face, but he could guess it. Charles made a great show of his own righteousness. Trying to keep his temper, John said,

“Let me get by, Charles. We can discuss this in the morning.”

“There is no need to wait,” said Charles. Planting himself in front of John, he continued. “I am aware that prostitutes follow the train to Los Angeles. I did not know that Oliver permitted his wife to scrape acquaintance with them. But this is not the trail. This is my house. I will not have a giggling harlot take up her residence here. Now where is that woman?”

“Here I am, Mr. Hale.”

Florinda came out of Garnet’s room. She closed the door behind her, making the passage almost pitch dark. She came toward them.

“John didn’t mean to bring me here, Mr. Hale,” she said. In the darkness her voice was low and urgent. “John came to Los Angeles to find Texas,” she went on. “But Texas was drunk. So I came instead. Please let me stay. I won’t make any trouble.”

Charles stood still. He said icily,

“Mrs. Hale does not require your services.”

“Oh yes she does, Mr. Hale. If you don’t let me stay, she won’t require anything but a coffin.” Her voice was too low for Garnet to hear it beyond the closed door, but clear enough for Charles. “And there’ll be two people in that coffin, you know, and one of them will be your brother’s child. I think you loved your brother. This is all you’ve got left of him.”

Charles made a wordless sound, deep in his throat. But he recovered himself quickly.

“I will thank you,” he said, “not to discuss matters that do not concern you. And I will thank you to leave this house at daylight.”

“Florinda is not leaving this house, Charles,” said John, “until Garnet is out of danger.”

“No, really, Mr. Hale, I’m not,” Florinda said gently. “But I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll stay in those two rooms of Garnet’s and not come out for any reason. John can bring my meals. I’ll go back to Garnet’s room now, and I won’t come into the hall again till I’m leaving for good.”

John asked, “Is that satisfactory, Charles?”

As he spoke John realized that he had his hand on his gun. He had not put it there consciously, but finding it there did not surprise him; he was quite capable of killing Charles if he tried to force Florinda out. Charles knew he was.

Charles said to Florinda, “Is that a promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. On that condition, you may stay.” He spoke with self-conscious condescension.

As sweetly as before, Florinda said, “You are very good. I’ll do my best. Good night, sir.”

She turned and went back into the bedroom, closing the door silently behind her. John said,

“Very well, Charles. I’ll do any necessary errands.”

Without waiting for Charles to answer, John went back to the bedroom, shut the door and slipped the bolt. He set the jug of water on the table and went to Florinda. She stood breathing hard, her hands doubled up into fists, her lips trembling with fury.

John gave her a sardonic smile. “Go on and say it,” he suggested.

Florinda shook her head. She glanced at the bed. Garnet had been wakened by the voices. “I want to talk to you,” Florinda said to John. Grabbing his hand, she drew him into the next room. In a fierce low voice she asked, “John, doesn’t he want her to get well?”

“No.”

“But I thought, when I reminded him about the baby—you said he loved Oliver.”

“But it will be
her
baby, don’t you understand? Charles would be glad to have her recover now, if he thought she’d die in childbirth and he could have Oliver’s child to possess as he possessed Oliver. But if he can’t own the child, he’d rather have it not born at all.”

Florinda said it then. Her vocabulary was, as John had remarked before, magnificent.

He smiled grimly. “Feel better?”

“Not much. John, has that man ever had any trouble with his head?”

“I don’t know whether it’s his head or his heart, or just his liver. I only know he’s like that.”

There was a brief pause. Florinda pushed Charles out of her mind. “John,” she said, “Garnet’s in a dreadful state. We’ve got to work.”

“Shall we go back to her now?”

“Yes. Be very quiet till I get her to sleep again.”

They went back into the bedroom. Garnet stirred restlessly as they came in. Florinda sat by her and began to stroke her forehead. She moved her fingers lightly, across and across, and down Garnet’s temples into her hair. Garnet was trying to talk.

“What—did he—call you?”