Memories of Gold (2 page)

“You flatter me, sir.” She opened the door to an elegant room, blue and green silks covering the prominent bed. “Please come in. You must be weary.”

He stumbled slightly walking across the threshold, but regained his balance and sat gingerly on the side of the bed. She sat beside him and looked at him with her most sensuous gaze, their faces close.
Come on, Jeffy-boy. Just make the move already
. She could see the lust in his eyes and willed him to let it loose. Mary would take control of the situation if she had to, but it was always easier when the men did what they wanted without needing her to lead them every step of the way.

Jeffrey broke the eye contact and slumped forward, his elbows on his legs and hands clasped together, as if praying. “I’m sorry, Miss Mary, but I’m not sure about this.”

Mary held back a sigh, instead changing her facial expression to one of concern and sympathy. She always got the trickiest customers.
How was it possible she could spot a bum horse from a mile away, but these miners could still pull one over on her?

She tried to bring him around, careful not to spook him. “Mister Jeffrey, what’s wrong? I would like to help you, if I may.”

“It’s just that, I wasn’t lying before when I said I hadn’t been around a woman in a long time. I have a missus, back over in Missouri. I left her to come over to try my hand at panning, and she’s waitin’ back there for me. Been waitin’ two years, she has. I feel right awful about spending time here with you when she’s so far away on her lonesome.”

Even though it made her evening a little more difficult, it was a nice surprise to hear his loyalty. Most men who traveled west without their wives in tow felt no such need for fidelity. Even so, that kind of sentimentality would do no good out in the rough, and she knew it would only cause him pain in the long run.

She dropped her attempt at manners and elegant talk, sliding into her California dialect. “Jeffrey, I sure do understand your plight, and I don’t intend to take no husbands from their lawful wives, but the rules of marriage just ain’t quite so settled out here. In fact, this place, the upstairs of a saloon with a willing lady, is probably just what you need. Otherwise, you’ll find your pants crawling with ants, and that’s how you end up in a mess, with a wife awaitin’ for you and somebody else expectin’ marriage from you because she don’t want no bastard child on her hands. Or you get the law up on you about someone else’s missus that strayed too far from home. Up here,” she gestured around, “it’s easy. We have some fun and you go on your merry way.”

Her words seemed to affect him, and he stared at her like a little boy waiting to be told what to do. She moved closer to him on the bed and turned so her breasts were pressed up against his arm, leaning in and kissing him sensuously on the lips. He pressed back, harder, with deep wanting.

From there, his body took over and she was glad of it, done with moralizing and speeches. He reached for her breasts, grabbing at them through her dress, fumbling with his urgency and drunkenness. She reached around to her back and undid the fastenings with nimble fingers, understanding his desperate need not to allow a single moment of thought or reflection.

With her dress loosened, she quickly shimmied out of it, leaving her top half bare and only a few scanty undergarments on her lower half. She had learned long ago that corsets and intricate underclothes just got in the way of her job and were unnecessary with her small figure. He stared hungrily at her chest as he began to undo his clothes. She leaned in again, helping with his clothing as he kissed her deeply, pressing into her, now messing with a button, now grabbing at a luscious breast, teasing the nipple.

Mary complied, allowing him access to her body, which he took with devouring intensity. The man’s urgency was obvious as he pressed her back onto the bed, feeling every inch of her with his hands. It astonished her that still, after all this time, she had the urge to push him away. She forced her body to stay calm and relaxed as his forceful hands removed her garters and undergarments, the hesitation of a few minutes before completely forgotten.

He entered her, thrusting hard and deep and fast. Mary bit her lip to keep from crying out. Despite the precautions and her experience, it still hurt occasionally when a man took her. Within moments, he gasped and dropped his weight onto her, spent.

His lust slaked, Jeffrey rolled off her and lay, panting from the exertion. From the rapidity and hunger when he took her, it was clear he had not been lying. He hadn’t had the company of a woman, wife or otherwise, for quite a long time. She smiled at him and got up. “Well, Mister Jeffrey, I hope you had a wonderful evening and will come back to visit me again real soon.”

She looked over her shoulder at him as she dressed, and noticed the stricken look on his face. She dropped the pretenses one last time. “Listen, don’t feel too hard about it. Like I said before, rules about men and women out here are a mite fuzzier, and the quicker you learn that, the better it’ll be for everybody, including your wife.”

He nodded, but his eyes still showed he was unsure. She finished dressing, patted him on the leg sympathetically, and left for the dressing room all the girls used to tidy themselves up. She’d have to get back downstairs shortly to address the regulars.

Daisy let the girls choose their first man of the evening—it was a good business decision, letting the men see the beautiful women as they gave their attentions to other men; it whetted their appetites before the bar became crowded and the drinking had made them bold and ready to lay out their money—but by this time there was probably another waiting for her services, and she didn’t want Daisy to get impatient. She was a good lady and took care that the women under her employ were happy, but she disliked tardiness, and Mary had no desire to hear a lecture about the importance of time for her business.

Mary went to the mirror and rapidly put herself to rights as Josie walked briskly back into the room. “Whew! That man can
not
hold his liquor. I thought I’d need to drag him back downstairs. He was so small, I probably coulda, at that. He’s lucky he came here instead of Lucy’s or he’d be robbed blind and set out on the road without so much as a hearty handshake. How was your fella?”

Mary smiled in the mirror over at Josie. “I thought I was going to lose him there for a minute, but I got him to come around.”

Josie laughed as she sat down to fix her makeup, but it changed to a cough after a moment. Mary tried to help her, but was waved off as the attack subsided. Josie shook her head. “I’m fine, Mary. Just got a tickle in my throat. Now stop hovering and get downstairs.”

Mary hesitated, then moved to the door as Susan and Eliza entered, chatting and laughing about their men. Mary hardly noticed them as she passed, still concerned for her friend, and headed down to see Daisy.

Daisy was talking to a different group of men than before, chatting up a storm with the new crowd. That was one of the reasons her place was so busy. The men loved getting a chance to talk with Daisy. The proprietor’s personality, as well as her reputation for good whiskey and pretty women, kept them coming back again and again. The other house in town, Lucy’s, could never keep up with Daisy’s.

Daisy looked up as Mary stepped off the staircase; she nodded to the counter without missing a beat. Mary looked over to see Pete smiling at her, obviously waiting for her. She smiled at him, but inwardly frowned. The braggart had likely recounted one of his tall tales of heroism to be in that good of a mood. She hoped he would be too uppity to talk her ear off with his ridiculous stories.

The rest of the night was uneventful, as far as Mary was concerned—a few of her regulars, plus a couple of new men in town for a flop, but nothing or nobody that was particularly interesting to her.

Just another night at Daisy’s saloon.

Chapter 2

By midday, Mary was up and dressed in a less elegant dress than she’d been wearing the night before, but the quality of the cloth still shone through the plain design. The rich blue fabric fell over her petticoats flawlessly, and the conservative top was alluring without being provocative. Though the girls were rarely accosted on the streets of Shasta, the small town still expected them to dress more modestly when they were out in the daylight, and the girls abided by this unspoken rule.

Mary would, in fact, have preferred something even more plain and conventional, a simple calico dress like what she had worn before moving into the saloon, but Daisy expected her girls to dress “in an appropriate style” whenever they were in public to keep up her reputation as a fine establishment.

Mary smoothed the folds of the front of the dress and began walking slowly down the stairs, resisting the urge to take the stairs two at a time and run out into the fresh air. Even though she had lived above the saloon for over a year now, she had not yet completely lost her yearning for the freedoms afforded her as a child living in the mining camps outside of town.

Her body still rebelled against the tight, constricting clothing, heeled shoes, and slow torturous method of walking expected of her. She preferred a long stride and quick, free movements. However, she was practiced enough by this time to look natural, even if she didn’t feel it.

Once outside, she opened her parasol against the sun’s rays and walked down the packed-dirt Main Street, making her way past clapboard houses to the general store a few buildings away. She walked into the bustling shop, savoring the smell of herbs that surrounded her as she glanced around at the wares; Carter’s General carried everything from cloth to candy and it was almost always full of activity, being the bigger and better-stocked of the two stores in town.

Mary felt the muscles along her back relax, releasing the tension she always felt when walking down the town’s streets. She felt almost like she was on display every time, her senses on high alert for any real or perceived slight by the other townspeople. In Carter’s General, though, things were different. Despite its constant crowds and bustle, or perhaps because of them, she was always treated courteously by patrons and the owner alike. She couldn’t say that of all the establishments in town, and to be regarded as equal to any other customer was soothing for her soul.

Mary gave herself a few seconds to look around before maneuvering around the other shoppers. She had to hurry if she was going to get the ink and papers she needed. Parcel in hand and a pleasant farewell given to Mr. Carter, she made her way through the side streets of town to the small wooden home of her mentor and knocked on the plain whitewashed door. An older woman, stooped and wrinkled from a life of hard work, but with an air of knowledge and dignity about her, opened the door, smiling.

“Bonjour, Mary. Vous allez bien
?”

“
Oui, merci. Et vous, Madame Swenson
?” Mary responded in kind.

“
Bien. On commence
? But first, how about some tea?”

Mary nodded and stepped inside, comfortable in the small space. She had been nervous at their first appointment, worried the older woman might scorn her or refuse her as a pupil because of her profession. She had been afraid to bring it up that first day, even though she knew she would have no choice but to broach the subject eventually. But Angelina Swenson had quickly guessed the situation when she learned that Mary had no family and no husband, and had said only, “Then I’m sure you’ll be able to pay the fee I ask for the lessons, eh?”

Mary had been relieved, and quickly found in Angelina a dear friend. She always looked forward to their thrice-weekly lessons as a time of learning, but also a chance to get away from the world of the saloon and share a pleasant conversation with someone besides the other girls Daisy employed. For the past year Angelina had been working with Mary, first on basic alphabet and spelling, then on more complicated aspects of the written word. Mary was dedicated to her studies, excited by the difficulties, and had progressed quickly despite the lack of education in her childhood. She could even read literature now, a world that had been closed to her for so long.

She went to Angelina for help with words and concepts she could not understand, but these days most of their time was spent learning French. Mary had gotten so proficient with her English skills that it was necessary to study something new or stop her lessons, and she couldn’t stand the thought of that. Angelina taught English, French, and the piano; since Mary had little interest in the piano, she began studying French in earnest, despite the practicality of knowing a language so far removed from her life. She struggled more than she would like, but it was also more of a test of her abilities, and she reveled in the challenge.

Mary sat down at the table as the older woman set out the cups and battered tin teapot on the table, the sight of which always caused Mary to smile to herself. In one of the first conversations they had, Angelina had explained how she had tried to bring her wedding china with her to California despite her husband’s admonition. He tried to get her to understand that it would all break on the long trek.

To prove him wrong, she had packed each piece gingerly in a box full of hay, only to have the whole lot fall off the wagon into a river during their first week on the trail. For the fifteen years since the incident, he insisted that he had been correct; she would remind him that as far as they knew, none of the pieces were broken, so technically there was no way to be certain he was right.