Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (20 page)

Margareatha was safe in that run-down house where O'Neal had taken her. Her bed was a cotton mattress unlike the straw pallet she had slept on for five miserable years. It was covered by a quilt with embroidered birds in each square and the pillows were stuffed with feathers.

Erlene Blevins was the owner of the house. The first day Erlene let Margareatha sleep and when she arose informed her she was not to go outside as someone might see her. She insisted Margareatha sit at the dining room table while she served her.

Margareatha studied Erlene's bustling form. The woman might be about forty. He skin was a coffee-with-cream color, her dark eyes intelligent, and her hair was braided and twisted into a bun. She was wearing a short shift for working and bustled in and out of the kitchen

“Once y'all finish eating, we'll choose what fabrics y'all want for day wearing and night wearing. 'Course your nightshift will probably be cotton, maybe with some lace. Is that all right?”

Margareatha set the cup of coffee down. “Erlene, I have no idea about the different fabrics unless they are cotton or muslin. I know Mama had a dress out of some different kind of fabric, but I can't remember what it was.”

Erlene sank down in the chair on the other side of the table. “Where y'all been? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to ask questions.”

“That's all right. I think Mr. O'Neal is too over concerned, but I guess we can humor him. Why don't I fix the meals and bake things while you are doing the sewing?”

“La, Miss O'Neal, your brother done paid for everything. Y'all shouldn't be in the kitchen.”

“Why not? It's boring with nothing to do.”

“Miss O'Neal, y'all are white folk.”

“What does that have to do with it? We did our own cooking at home. I hate sewing. I'd rather bake something. I can't just sit here. You don't want me to go outside for fear of losing the money he paid you, but that isn't fair to you. I should at least be able to go to the outhouse.”

“No, ma'am, y'all surely cain't. Then people would ask me what was going on.”

“I should think they are asking already. Can't they tell there is someone here?”

“If someone ain't showing their face, folks around here will keep mum about it. They don't want no trouble.”

“Erlene, I'll make a bargain with you. While you are sewing, I'll bake or make the meals. That way I won't snap your head off and you'll be rid of me a lot sooner.”

Erlene put both hands on her hips. “You're not to do none of the cleaning up. Mr. O'Neal said he wanted your hands looking like a gentlewoman's. That soap would make them red like a crayfish. I carry in all the wood and get that fire started. If y'all start breaking nails, y'all cain't put the wood in the stove and I cain't be running back and forth.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, I'll be careful. This is all so silly anyway. I'll cook and you sew. Tell Mr. O'Neal to bring me some books if he shows up again.”

Erlene looked dubious. She just knew one time and this white woman would want nothing more to do with the kitchen. To her delight, Margareatha's meals were good, but rather plain.

“Y'all need to add some spices.”

Erlene opened a cabinet door. “See those tins, Miss O'Neal? That's what makes cooking good.”

“I know they do. Mama had some, but they were so expensive she rarely used them for everyday meals.”

Erlene shook her head. This young woman didn't talk like white trash, but she certainly had some of their ways.

“Y'all can use them. Mr. O'Neal won't mind paying a tad more if y'all put on some weight. I'm going to allow for that on your clothes.”

The dresses were made from expensive material and they were beautiful. The under garments were soft cotton or linen. A cobbler came to fit her for proper shoes.

After five years of drab clothes, inadequate food, little schooling, and the brutal treatment from the nuns, Margareatha felt alive again as she whirled around in each new outfit. She found that she loved beautiful clothes; their color and their feel, and the sweep on her body. The image in the mirror proclaimed, “You are a beautiful woman.” It was a shocking, breathtaking surprise after all the years of the nuns pointing out her physical, mental, and spiritual shortcomings.

Six weeks after he left her at the house O'Neal returned and paid Erlene for the sewing. He also inspected each dress and handed over a steamer trunk.

“Pick one for traveling and pack the rest. Let me know when you've finished.”

Rita took a deep breath. “I don't think that work that you mentioned will pay for all of this. My grandfather won't have that kind of money either.”

“This will be a very lucrative calling for both of us. I'll explain more when we're on the steamboat headed for New Orleans. When we arrive at St. Louis, you can decide if you want to continue and earn your own wages or go to your grandfather's farm. Remember, you are my sister.” He grinned at her before departing to the parlor to sip whiskey with Erlene.

Margareatha's mind was in a complete whirl. Did he mean it? She could not believe there was any way she could help him win at a gambling game. Erlene had taught her the basics of different card games while she boarded here.

“Men like it when y'all can offer them a diversion.” There was a slight smile on Erlene's face and scorn in her voice as she continued. “They cain't really spend all them hours in bed with a woman no matter what they want to claim.”

That statement left Margareatha baffled. “What do you mean by that cryptic statement?”

“Lawd, Miss Lawrence, y'all mean y'all ain't ever been with a man?”

Erlene's revelations about men and women were difficult for Margareatha to process. Erlene was convinced that Margareatha would be destroyed by the world out there.

“Y'all get home to your folks as quick as y'all can. 'Course there's always the chance that they ain't going to want you. It's best to have a stash put away if it comes to that.”

Margareatha tucked all this information away in her head, but it wasn't until they were on the ship to New Orleans and the steam trunk deposited in her room that she asked O'Neal again how she was to repay him. I'll kill anyone that tries to touch me like that, she thought.

He closed the door. “I don't want people overhearing this.”

“Remember when I went into your mind. Was that a bad sensation?” He was curious as he had not met anyone that could enter his mind.

“No, but I certainly didn't want you there. You have no right to spy on me in that manner.”

“I wasn't spying. I was just testing. If I hadn't been able to do so, this scheme wouldn't work.”

“And what scheme is that Mr. O'Neal?”

“You'll be dressed in one of those two ball gowns and serving liquor to all of us seated around a poker table; that, and looking beautiful and smiling while you move around the room. You'll do this right after the hands are dealt and you can see the cards.” His brogue had disappeared. “Then you'll picture those cards in your mind. Erlene has taught you what constitutes a good hand. I'll look into your mind to see what they have and base my bids on that. I figure, even with the odds in the dealer's favor, I'll be up about seventy-five to ninety percent in my winnings. And by the way, call me Red or Jeremiah.”

“Why do you need me? Why not go into their minds?”

“Because, darling girl, it would make them uneasy and there are some I can't go into. This way, they stay relaxed, and we win.”

“What do y'all mean, y'all won't introduce me? I just lost two hundred dollars to your damn cheatin' ways. A night with her would soothe my temper!”

Margareatha whirled around. She had been at the sideboard pouring drinks, but there was something in the tone of his voice that told her this was more than an ordinary challenge. It was almost a full year since Red had rescued her from the nunnery.

They were on the Belle of St. Louis and smoke hung like clouds in the room where men gathered after dining to play their games of chance. The tables were occupied by four or five men talking or intently staring at their cards, sipping whiskey, and enjoying their cigars. Margareatha had been circulating the room, smiling at all when the man's voice intruded. She turned to see Red raise his eyebrows.

“You, sir, owe my sister and me an apology.”

“Apology my ass! Not to somebody who talks more like a damn Yankee than a true son of the South.” The man rose to his feet. He was heftier than Red, but only about five feet seven inches tall, and his face was flushed from the whiskey.

Red stood. “You really are intent upon a fight, aren't you?”

The man turned to Margareatha. “How about it, Missy? Y'all go with me right now and I'll forget this son-of-a-bitch cheated.”

Margareatha felt the red rage boil through her system and sent her left fist into his soft belly and her right against his jaw. Her mind screamed hateful invectives into his.

'Crawl out of here, you spoiled brat. Keep telling me you're sorry.' She was using mindspeak and didn't realize her commands were silent.

The man began crawling to the door. “Ah'm so sorry, Miss O'Neal. Please forgive me, Miss O'Neal.”

Red was standing, first looking towards the man and then at Margareatha who was panting while she continued to stare at the crawling man as though he were some sort of insect.

Red gathered up his coins and bills and stuffed them into his pockets. His drink he left on the table with true regret and walked over to Margareatha.

“Let me walk you to your room, Sister Dear. I know this event has shocked you.”

She continued to stare at the man, but to Red she said, “And why didn't you defend me?”

“My dear, I was trying to give him an opportunity to clear his head and come to his senses.” Red was speaking in a loud tone, his words clearly enunciated. “I didn't realize he was as drunk as he obviously is.”

He used mindspeak.

'Let it go, Rita. Let the man up. We need to leave this room now.'

The mindspeak brought Margareatha's gaze around to Red's. Her face was blank, emotionless.

“Yes, yes, you are right. Please walk me to my room.” Her voice was the meekest Red had ever heard it.

He guided her out of the parlor and past the man scrambling to his feet. The man was looking at them with puzzlement on his face. He put out his arm to block Red's progress.

“Take your arm away, or I'll knock you down again and this time you won't rise so rapidly.”

The man stepped back mumbling, “Beggin' your pardon, suh.”

They walked the length of the hall and Margareatha produced her key. Neither had spoken a word. Once they were inside, Red inclined his head towards the far side of the room and they walked over to the closed porthole before speaking in low tones.

“You know what you did, don't you?”

“But how, how was I able to do that? I even made him crawl with my mind. Are you able to do things like that? And I heard you in my mind speaking. Is that something I can do too?”

Red shrugged. “I never really tried to control a person that long, but I have made people step back or out of my way. As for you being able to mindspeak, we need to find out. Let me try something.”

He used mindspeak. 'You have gained the ability to do what our father was able to do.'

Rita swallowed. “But how, Red?”

“No, think it. Don't say it aloud.”

This time Rita licked at her lips and tried to direct her thoughts to him. 'But how, Red? I didn't do anything to learn to do those things.'

A huge smile snaked across Red's face. “You don't need to learn them, Rita. It seems this comes with a certain maturity. There's a man on board that I've been talking with about this.”

“What?”

“He's on a wheat buying expedition, and for other things. It seems he would prefer a new agent. He wasn't going to speak at first, but I realized how agitated he was when he saw me. The conversations with him have been most enlightening. There's a whole new enterprise opening up for us. Do you think you can do books?”

“Books, you mean read?”

“No, I mean accounting, ciphering, putting figures down on paper and keeping track of things.”

“Isn't that what bankers and clerks do? I've never done anything like that, but I can cipher with no problem.”

“Good, I'm meeting this man in the morning. Did you want to be there?”

“How early in the morning?”

“Oh, no later than six-thirty or seven. We'll have a corner off to ourselves and may need to go outside. I think he'd like to avoid us, but he can't. There is no way off this boat until we dock.”

“But why would he avoid you if you are making some sort of a business deal with him?”

“Because, my dear, he gets headaches when we are together. I've gleaned enough that the possibilities are enormous, and someway, somehow, this man is not of this country, possibly not this world and neither was our father. I'd like you to pay close attention to his clothes, how he looks, how he speaks, but don't go into his mind.”

Margareatha appeared as the two men were being served and she swayed to the table, her long green taffeta gown swishing as she moved. She waited for Red to pull out a chair. She knew how beautiful she had become since filling out. Men stared at her full bosom and tiny waist and looked with awe at her height. She could see the hunger in their eyes and the slackness of their mouths. Few dared to say “Good morning,” or any other word. Others hurriedly looked away or ducked their heads as though caught in some felonious act.

The man sitting with Red wore an expensive, brown, perfectly-tailored suit. At first Margareatha thought it was light wool, but on closer inspection she couldn't really identify the material. He looked to be as tall as Red, his build was slender, his eyes brown, and his hair a deep auburn. His pale complexion showed no sign of tanning. His hands looked as though they had never performed physical work and it was difficult to determine his age. Like the other men his eyes opened wider when he looked directly at her.

“Mr. Alana, my sister, Margareatha O'Neal. Margareatha, Mr. Alana.”

Red smiled at Margareatha. “It seems Mr. Alana is acquainted with our father. He has assured me, the man has no intentions of ever returning here.”

The waiter brought three coffees and her oatmeal. The men had ham, potatoes, red-eye gravy, and biscuits. Conversation ceased until the waiter withdrew.

“I can't promise that will remain a fact. He isn't cognizant of your existence, yours or your sister's.”

“Then don't tell him,” advised Red.

“That may not be a choice.”

“Avoid him at all costs then, or barring that alert us when he is planning to return.”

“Once again, that may not be possible.”

Red shrugged and swallowed some of his coffee. “I'd rather talk about shipping the wheat and other products. Who do you use as a buyer and shipper now?”

“We're using an agent from one of the warehouses, and I feel the man is in collusion with the men or companies shipping in the grain and food products. The quality is often substandard. This is dangerous for, ah, the people at the end of my destination.”

“I see. Who owns the shipping company or ships?”

“Our money paid for the ships, but they act like it is theirs.”

“May I ask why one of your people does not take over the business arrangements?”

“That would entail living here.”

“And I suppose you would give the same reason for not being the Captain onboard ship.”

“Yes, of course. It is not possible.”

Margareatha found herself staring at the man. His words were creating a larger puzzle. There didn't seem to be an accent, yet each word was enunciated slowly and carefully as though English was not a natural speech process.

“Where is the grain shipped from New Orleans?” Red leaned back slightly in his chair.

“To a port in South America which creates other risks, but portage takes it to our warehouse, which is well hidden.”

“Suppose we accompany you when you purchase the grain? Perhaps Miss O'Neal could go over your portion of the account entries and devise certain questions. It is possible that we could come up with a solution.”

Alana's face took on a set look. “Then, of course, you would expect your share. Our funds are not inexhaustible.”

“You have mistaken my intent. I was hoping to save you some money and show you that I would work much better as a broker, and, later perhaps a shipping outlet for you. If we do save you a considerable amount, would you and your, uh, company consider that arrangement?”

“Pardon me for asking, but is money the only thing you want?”

“Not quite, Mr. Alana. We'd like to know more about our sire and where he is from.”

“I would have to discuss that with my associates.”

Red smiled. “Of course, we understand. Is it a deal?”

Mr. Alana let out a breath of air. “For now, yes.”

“Fine, we'll shake on it and when we dock in Saint Louis tomorrow, we'll meet you at the gangplank.”