Honeyville (7 page)

She turned away from me, clumsy with hurt and surprise, and I felt ashamed. Ten minutes earlier, I’d have expected her to walk right past me with her nose in the air. Now here she was, greeting me like an old friend. She wanted to drive out to the towns and see for herself what the fight was about. It was more than I had done.

‘Inez!’ I moved to catch up with her again. ‘Wait!’ She didn’t hesitate. She reeled around at once, her face absolutely beaming. ‘
Oh,
and
thank goodness for that!
’ she said. She put an arm on my shoulder. ‘I was dreading going in that place on my own. Shall we go in together?’

‘Didn’t your aunt and uncle have something to say,’ I asked, as we fell into step, ‘about the company you were keeping the other night? You could hardly stand up when last I saw you. What did they make of it?’

‘
Oh, them!
’ she shrugged. ‘They’re out of town in any case. Thank goodness. So don’t let’s worry about them! Anyway, it wasn’t you they were worried about. In fact I don’t think Mr Browning quite registered you. It was the saloon that upset them, and the gentlemen company, and the fact that I was unable to walk in a straight line.’ She giggled. ‘They worry about me constantly. Either I haven’t found a husband or it’s something else. Poor darlings,’ she added. ‘I can’t do anything to please them. So I might as well please myself. Besides. If I’m clever about it,
which I am,
Dora
, they really needn’t have the faintest idea – I mean, not about anything I ever get up to.’

We stepped into the Union office – two rooms on the ground floor with nothing much inside them: a handful of untidy desks, some metal chairs scattered about and, on the front counter, quantities of printed leaflets, several of them in languages I couldn’t recognize. In one corner, propped up for all to see, there were a couple of hunting guns.

Leaning over the counter in front of us was a tall young boy. Dressed in black felt hat and fresh, unsullied working clothes, he looked as if his thin bones were growing longer even as he slouched there. We waited in the empty room as he leafed slowly through his magazine, ignoring us. Finally, I said:

‘Excuse me. This is the office for the Union, isn’t it?’

The boy turned another page, pointed at the sign behind him, which confirmed the fact, and continued to read.

I glanced at Inez, torn between laughter and a strong urge to leave. She winked at me, gently shunted me out of the way. ‘It must be awfully interesting, whatever it is you’re reading,’ she said, leaning over the counter towards him, ‘if you can’t even look up from it to speak to us.’

He glanced at her without interest, and then back at his magazine. ‘Surely is,’ he replied, turning yet another page. ‘What can I do for you, ladies?’

‘Why!’ Inez cried. ‘But you’re reading
The
Masses
, aren’t you?’ He glanced at her again. ‘You are!’ she said. ‘I recognize the picture. It’s all the way from New York. Young man, I find it hard to believe there’s more than one copy of that magazine in this little town. May I ask you where you came by it?’ She smiled at him, coquette that she was, and already he was melting. ‘I hope you didn’t take it from my home. Because the last I knew, the only copy of that magazine that ever made it this far west was lying in a little heap at my own bedside.’

I had never heard of
The Masses
– not then at least. It seemed extraordinary that Inez and this sullen Union boy should share the same reading material.

He said: ‘You read
The Masses
?’

‘Gosh, no,’ she waved it aside. ‘I look at the pictures. It’s all about the pictures, if you didn’t know. The pictures really are something, don’t you think? I look at the pictures, and then heck, I usually throw the darn thing away.’

He stared at her.

‘Can you help us please?’ she smiled at him again. ‘We’re looking for Mr Lawrence O’Neill. Do you know him?’

‘Sure I know him,’ he said. He tapped his magazine. ‘I bought this with me from Denver. In case you’re thinking. And there’s quite a line of people wanting to read it. So if you ain’t reading yours, maybe you could drop it by the office, would you? When you’re done looking at the pictures.’

‘Certainly not!’ she said. God knows quite why the idea so outraged her, but it did. ‘I’m going to pass it to my friend here, once I’m done with it. And then I shall make it available to everyone in the town by putting it on display over at the library … If they let me,’ she added doubtfully. ‘There’s not many in this town will appreciate the gesture … But if you Union men want to come over and read it at the library, you’ll be more than welcome … At least on Thursdays and Fridays. That’s when I’m working there. Maybe don’t bother otherwise. I don’t suppose Mrs Svensson’s going to be that happy to see you. She’s the one runs the place … Won’t you tell me kindly, have you happened to see Mr Lawrence O’Neill at all lately? Do you have any idea where I might find him?’

‘He’s out at Cokedale today,’ he said.

‘Do you know when he might be back?’

‘Nope.’

‘Today? Tomorrow?’

‘Maybe today.’

‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘Well maybe … do you think you could tell him we came looking for him? It’s Miss Dubois and Miss …’ She stopped again. Looked at me and laughed. ‘For crying out loud, Dora, won’t you please tell me the rest of your name?’

‘Whitworth. Dora Whitworth.’

‘Whitworth!’ she gasped, clapping her hands together, rolling her eyes to emphasize her relief at being permitted to know it at last – and making me laugh aloud, once again. It was a miracle, I thought. I had left Plum Street feeling as gloomy as could be.

We left the Union offices with assurances from the boy – Cody – that he would pass our message to Lawrence O’Neill. Inez said: ‘Tell him we’ll be back at the same time tomorrow would you, Cody? With our travel suits on, ready to drive out to whichever town he chooses. You be sure to tell him, won’t you? I think Forbes. The camp at Forbes is closest, isn’t it?’

‘Cokedale.’

‘Well, Cokedale then.’

‘He’s out at Cokedale today. I told you. He’ll prob’ly go out to Forbes tomorrow.’

‘All right,’ she said again. ‘Well – you be sure to tell him. And tell your friends, if they want to read a copy of
The Masses
which hasn’t had your greasy thumbs all over it, there’ll be one waiting for them at the library from Thursday.’

He looked at his thumbs. ‘Awww,’ he said, close as damn to smiling. ‘They ain’t
so
greasy.’

*

It was mid-afternoon still, hot and sultry. I wasn’t in the mind to return to Plum Street – ever again, the way I was feeling. Inez and I were both at a loose end.

With anyone else, I might have suggested the saloon and a cooling glass of malt liquor. But with Inez I wasn’t certain. We could go to a tearoom, perhaps, or for a walk by the river. But whatever we did would involve our being seen out together, and that, I assumed, was an impossibility.

‘I know what we can do!’ she said, as if she had read my thoughts. ‘Let’s go to Jamieson’s Department Store and look at the hats! Shall we? We’ll need hats, for the Forbes visit.
Serious
hats. Black felt hats. Do you suppose they’ll sell any?’

‘I doubt it,’ I laughed. ‘And if they do, you’re welcome to them.’

We fell into step together, although a casual observer might not have realized it. We were careful to leave a space between us on the sidewalk and, as we chatted, we tended to look at our feet.

‘I never thought my darling brother’s silly magazines might come in handy one day,’ she said. ‘You’ve no idea the magazines he sends me. Because he’s convinced I don’t put enough fresh ideas into my head. He says I have a small-town mind and he wants to expand it. He may be right about that. I can’t wait to write him about Cokedale or wherever we go tomorrow.’ She laughed. ‘He won’t believe it!’

‘I’m not sure I believe it yet,’ I said. ‘It’s about the last place on earth I want to go.’

‘He sends me the most ridiculous literature through the post. I haven’t the heart to tell him but half of it – I mean
most
of it – goes straight into the garbage. Only I must admit to liking
The Masses
very much. Because of the pictures. I have to hide it from my aunt, but it impressed the boy, didn’t it? Why, I think it even impressed you!’ She froze. ‘Oh God,’ she said, gazing up the busy sidewalk. ‘Oh dear – oh Dora – here comes Aunt Philippa. I thought she was in Walsenburg today. She said she was going to Walsenburg to see the doctor! She has a weak heart … Do you think she’s seen us?’

‘Which one is she?’ I asked.

Inez shook her head. It hardly mattered. ‘Hurry – why don’t you cross the road? I’ll get shot of her fast as I can and I’ll meet you at hats in ten minutes. All right?’

At the hats, a half-hour later, and full of apologies for keeping me waiting, she bought herself a most fetching capeline in pale grey silk, with two silk flowers at the brim. The clerk told Inez they had ordered it especially with her in mind.

‘Well, it’s perfect,’ she declared. ‘How do you do it? You seem to know what I like even before I know it for myself.’ The shop clerk glowed. We left the store, Inez several dollars lighter, with a new silk hat. ‘It’s not nearly serious enough … But no bother,’ she whispered. ‘I shall remove the flowers on the brim before tomorrow and it’ll be just right.’

She said she wanted to come back with me to my rooms. ‘Because then I shall know exactly where to find you when I need you.’

‘Or maybe I could come back with you,’ I teased her. ‘We could have tea
à trois
. You, me and your Aunt Philippa.’

She seemed to consider me. ‘You know,’ she said, without a flicker of humour, ‘when I saw you earlier, outside the drugstore where your friend was shot—’

‘I already told you, Inez, he was hardly a friend.’

‘Well, I saw your face before you saw me. And I’ll tell you what I thought. You’ll have to forgive me … I thought I had never seen anyone sadder-looking in all my life.’

‘Pardon me?’ I said, hoping I hadn’t heard her quite right.

‘It hurt my heart, just looking at you.’

‘Well – I’m sorry to hear that … Fact is,’ I added defensively, ‘I just had some bad news.’

She wasn’t listening. ‘There’s me, fussing about never finding a sweetheart or a husband or whatnot – and there were you with a face more tragic than Helen of Troy.’

‘I told you. I just had some bad news.’

‘And I don’t even care
what
you say about a fallen woman is better than a wife. I thought about it over and over after you said it. And heck, how do I know? I’m not even either. And maybe it
is
better and maybe it
isn’t
better. But I know from your face you’re not happy. And I have an idea. About the singing school. Remember? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. So that’s why I decided we should go back to your rooms – you have a sitting room or something, don’t you? Where we can talk, without others listening in?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Well then. Let’s go there – I have a perfect plan for you. A perfect plan – and it’s going to save you.’

‘I don’t need saving, Inez.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Oh! Don’t be absurd,’ she said, taking my arm. ‘We
all
need saving!’ and she spun me towards Plum Street. ‘Especially you.’

7

The tall thin boy at the counter looked even taller and bonier when we returned the following day. He was leaning on the same counter, reading – I’m fairly sure of it – the exact same article. Lawrence O’Neill was at a desk behind him, stretched out on a metal chair, large and brawny, dwarfing the furniture around him. He had a rifle cocked between his thighs, which he was in the process of attending to.

‘Here they are, Mr O’Neill!’ the boy – Cody – declared. ‘The ladies I told you about. I told you they’d come.’

Lawrence O’Neill glanced up, looked the two of us up and down. He nodded politely at me – an acknowledgement of what had passed between us – before letting his bright blue eyes rest more warmly upon Inez. Slowly, he laid the gun on the table and stood up. There were sweat stains around the armpits of his shirt and waistcoat, and his chin was unshaven.

‘Well, well,’ he said, lifting the counter flap and stepping through. Inez, hardly five feet tall, looked like a child beside him. Or he looked like a giant. Either way, I thought they looked faintly ridiculous together. But it seemed not to bother them. On the contrary, the attraction between them was intense and obvious. I glanced at the boy, Cody. He was staring at them, with his mouth hanging open. ‘Just look here what the cat brought in,’ O’Neill said softly. ‘Tell me. How’s your head today, missie? It was fairly swimming the last time I saw you.’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ Inez said. And then nothing. Silence. I’d never before heard her make such a short statement. It was a struggle not to giggle.

There was no window in the front office and no one had troubled to switch on the counter lamp, so the only light in the room came from the open door behind us. O’Neill’s face was bathed in afternoon sunlight, and the pleasure in his brilliant blue eyes burned bright for all to see. Inez’s facial expression, her back to the door, was impossible to read. Not that anyone needed to. Good God – she was squirming with it! She could hardly stand straight.

‘I didn’t think you’d be back,’ he said after a pause. ‘Thought you’d be chicken … But you’ve come to see how the other half lives, have you?’

‘I certainly have,’ she said.

He exhaled – something close to a laugh. His lively eyes fixed on her as she wriggled and swayed. ‘I’ll make a revolutionary of you yet, my friend.’

‘Oh! I doubt it very much, Mr O’Neill.’ It sounded pert. ‘I only long for the day my little town is peaceful again.’

‘Peace first, fairness some other time, huh? Isn’t that how it should be?’

She bridled, uncertain if he was teasing. ‘No!
Yes
. Perhaps … What I mean to say …’ I might have told her, except I thought it was obvious: politics wasn’t a teasing matter, not for the likes of Lawrence O’Neill. Not for the likes of anyone in Trinidad, that summer. ‘What I mean to say is, that Trinidad used to be a nice place to be …’