Eden's Sin

Eden's Sin

By

Jennifer Jakes

She’s a sinner, but he’s no saint…

Chapter
One

Ladore
, Kansas,

May 15,
1870

Rain, rain, rain.

Eden
Gabrielli stared out the saloon window. The droning downpour seemed never ending. Memories flooded as fast as the creek south of town. Memories swirled in her mind— good, bad. Happy. Sad.

Odd how one
simple sound like rain brought back two distinctly different memories. A rainy spring day spent hiding in the warm kitchen, a stolen cookie in her pocket, waiting for Mama to finish work. A sleety winter night, crouching in an alleyway, Mama crying, trying to keep them from freezing to death.

“
A woman with no money is better off dead.”
Eden let Mama's long-ago warning run through her mind as she cleared dirty plates from the corner table and listened to the drops pelt the tin roof. The words kept her going when she was tired, when her bad leg ached. When she wanted to just lie down and weep.

The memory of sleeping under Mama's thr
ead-bare cloak in December always gave her strength. The weight of those who depended on her kept her moving—two young girls she could keep from a life of whoring.

“
Whoo-ee!” Hank slammed shut the saloon door against the gusting wind, shocking Eden from her painful thoughts.

“
Hank. You scared the hell out of me.”

“
Most sorry, Miz Eden.” He shook like a wet dog and limped to the bar. “If'n it rains much more we're gonna need an ark.” He gave a near toothless grin.

“
We don't need a damned report, Hank,” Len cursed from the large center table. “We got eyes. And ears.” He nodded to the window where rain streamed down the glass, cocooning the room and holding the railroad men from laying track.

For five
days the clouds gave water as if God was squeezing a wet towel, and the men became more edgy each day that passed without work.

Hank scowled.
“Just makin’ conversation. Ain't no need to be so hateful.” He climbed onto a stool. “Miz Eden, can I have some coffee? And add a liberal amount of whiskey. I'm chilled right down to my big toes.”

Eden
glanced down to where his sock wiggled through the worn leather. Shaking her head, she pulled the coffee pot from the hot cast iron stove and filled Hank's cup. “You don't need whiskey. You need boots without holes in them.” He needed a boss who cared more about people than money. How could Stevens and Parsons sit inside their lavish railcars – Stevens in his new car – and watch men like Hank do without basic necessities?

Not that she expec
ted more from either greedy man. One thing and one thing only mattered to the rich. Getting richer. No matter who they hurt, or starved, or put out in the streets – or into alleyways. More than once, her life had been tossed out the door on a rich man's whim.

Even now, one ri
ch man controlled her. Damn him.
Damn them all.

Hatred
burned through her, propelling her to act.

“
Hank, come with me.” She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen. Once there she reached under the pie cupboard to the loose floorboard, pulled out her money box, and withdrew three dollars. “Here.” She placed the bills into his cold hands. “Go over to the mercantile and get yourself some new boots. You're going to get sick and die walking around like that. Or else one of the McGrady Gang will drop a rail-tie on your toe.”

Hank blushed.
“Miz Eden, I can't be takin’—”

“
Oh, yes you can. I figure you've spent plenty of money drinking here. Think of it as the day you get something worthwhile in return.” She pointed him to the main room. “Now go. I'll save you a bowl of potato soup.” Hank was too skinny to be carrying buckets on the rail line. Too skinny, too old…he'd fall over dead someday, and as far as she knew, he had nobody who would care.

Everyone should have at least one person who cared.
Everyone. Even old drunks and whores.

They walked
back to the bar room amid wolf whistles and calls. “Gaul-durn, Hank, you must screw a lot faster than you walk to be done with her already.” Len sneered at his own humor, and several men laughed.

“
You shut your filthy mouth. Miz Eden done—”

Eden shook her head.
“Ignore them. Go on now. We'll see you later.” It was no one's business how she spent her money. Best if people believed she was a hard-hearted woman. Best for her if she
could
be. Then no one could hurt her again.

She rubbed her leg
, the ache real, though whether it was the rain or bad memories stirring the pain she couldn't say. Grabbing a towel, she made her way through the tables, swiping crumbs, collecting empty plates and dodging ass-grabbers.

“
That's a dollar, Len, if I feel your hand crawling up my skirt again.”

The big man scowled
. “Why does Hank get some for free?”

“
Who says he didn't pay?”

Len scoffed.
“That stupid bastard don't have no money.”

An angry retort scorched her tongue. Len was a mean drunk, cruel to any man sma
ller, poorer or just unfortunate enough to be in his line of fire. He was proof that not only rich men were evil.

“
Well, what I do or how much I charge is none of your business.” Not anyone's business. Hell, she hadn't sold more than drinks and dances for almost two years now. Not since St. Louis. Not since the day she was almost killed.

“
Well, you may have to lower prices,” Len snapped. “The only men drawing pay in this weather is the McGrady Gang…and those crazy fools would work if a twister was bearing down on them.”

“
True enough.” There weren't harder working men than Cormac McGrady’s cuttin’ crew. “But I'm not lowering prices. You'll just have to manage your funds better.”

Eden glanced out the window.  Th
e rain didn't hurt the saloon. Men who couldn't work still had to eat and still
wanted
to drink. Besides, she couldn't afford to lower her prices. Not with the amount of money she had to send to the school every month.

“
Bring me a shot of whiskey, Eden. It’ll be dessert.” Floyd pushed his empty plate away and held up his glass. “Som'thin to keep me warm the rest of the day. And I’ll need Judge Parsons’ luncheon plate for when I go.”

Sh
e wove her way to Floyd’s table.

“
Stevens and Parsons will clean your craw if they smell whiskey on you before noon.” And she couldn’t chance him being fired as Parsons’ butler and valet. He was too useful...overheard too much, saw too much. Without Floyd, she’d be forced to seducing Parsons to get what she needed.

“
Naw. The judge got more important things to worry 'bout than me.” Floyd gave a lopsided grin.

“
Oh? Like what?” Damn. Just last night he’d had no useful information. Something must have happened this morning, and Floyd was nosy enough to eaves-drop.

“
You know Parsons. He makes enemies more’n friends.”

“
He’s in trouble again?” Interrogating Floyd was wrong, but necessary. If she didn’t report the information she gleaned from his drunken words, her sister’s life was over.

“
Ahhh, well…I really shouldn’t say.”

Eden
draped her free arm over his boney shoulder and winked. “Let me get you another drink. You deserve one more before you get back to work, don’t you agree?” she drawled.

He grinned, licking his lips as if
anticipating his next glass – just as she hoped he would.

“
Good.” She hurried to the bar, trying to out-run the guilt, grabbed a bottle and poured him another shot. “Now tell me what’s got Judge Parsons all stirred up?”

“
Them.” Floyd pointed out the window to the muddy street. A line of soaked soldiers rode by, each leaning into the slanting rain, twenty men at least, followed by a wagon full of supplies. “Parsons had to ask the President for help. The Katy’s investors are furious, squawking about misplaced funds.”

“
Why?”

“
All the robberies. Can't stand to lose anymore payroll or supplies. Those rich men are none too happy with the judge. The Army’s here to stop the thieves and keep the new rails moving forward.” Floyd swallowed his drink and sighed.

Dread dropped
into her stomach like a cold stone. The railroad progress
had
to stop …or at least slow down enough to let the Joy Line win the race.
Had to!
Joy had to win. Those were the senator’s orders – her part, to feed the payroll delivery information to the senator’s hired thieves. But the Army meant trouble. The last thing she needed was someone figuring out why the robbers were so accurate. And yet…she wandered to the window. The Army
could
mean justice.

I
f the soldiers were to keep peace and establish order while they were here, then maybe they would investigate Mary Rose’s rape. No one else would. And seeing Mary slip into melancholy more and more each day was like watching her slowly die. If the rapist was found, maybe Mary could regain her strength and move on with her life.

Eden’s
heart sputtered just a little. But if the senator found out she was talking to the Army, he’d make good on his threat.

Careful. She’d
have to be careful. But she couldn’t let another rape go unpunished.

She nudged Floyd.
“Will the soldiers have legal say over what happens in Ladore? For a crime?”

He
poured another glassful and downed it before nodding. “Far as I know. Parsons told Stevens to get things straight or else. But Eden,” the balding man shook his head, “I doubt even the Army is going to do anything about Mary Rose. Parsons called in a favor to get these soldiers. They'll do what they're told.”

“
Maybe.” But she had to try. Hope pulsed through her veins. Somehow she’d convince the commanding officer to help. “Thank you, Floyd.”

Eden peeled
off her apron and ran through the kitchen on the way to her room. “Alice,” she called out to the porch where the woman was bent over the scrub board. “I've got to change and go out for awhile. Get the soup bubbling and keep an eye on Mary Rose for me. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“
Where you going?” Alice poked her graying head inside, her hands soapy from the washtub.

“
To find justice.”

***

Eden
smoothed the skirt of her plain brown calico dress and patted her tightly braided bun, draping her woolen shawl over her head. She had to appear a reputable lady of town or else she didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of convincing some Army man to hear her out.

Men
, especially those in power, didn't respect whores.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, hanging in the air like
a fog. The smell of smoke and manure circled in the air, and she shuddered at the damp breeze. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped off the boardwalk onto the muddy street. Biting back a curse, she tried not to limp. The last thing she wanted was questions from the soldier.

She dropped her gaze and hurried toward the end of town.

Down the street, the sound of men barking orders and hammering tent stakes echoed from the empty lot beside the livery now filled with horses.

Swallowing her
doubt, she strode toward the camp.

Would she st
oop to lying to claim help for Mary? Yes, why not? Heap yet another sin upon her head. Whatever it took to find justice. At this point murder was the only wicked deed she hadn’t committed—though there were men who tempted her to do just that. Two in this town alone. Judge Parsons one, Henry Stevens the other.

Parsons
had already made it clear he had no intention of pursuing the man who raped Mary Rose—
a whore in the making
. The hateful phrase burned through Eden each time she replayed the scene. He refused to lose the man-power for a search. He didn't want to know if one of his workers committed the crime. Not that she suspected the McGrady Gang. Cormac's men were the most upstanding men in town. Possibly the only upstanding men in town. But the stragglers who hopped from the Joy line to the Katy, always searching for the higher pay wage, those men were cruel drifters with no morals and no conscience. And she intended to see the man guilty of destroying Mary Rose’s innocence prosecuted.

She wove her way through the
muddy row of tents already standing, to a large wall-tent at the end of a military street. Poking her head inside the open flap, she spied two men unpacking satchels and setting up a foldable wooden table.

“
Excuse me.” She cleared her throat and spoke again. Louder. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”