September's Dream (7 page)

*  *  *

Aggie saw it coming. Every day September brought home more mending, until the pile took up too much space in the cramped kitchen. On payday, September gave Aggie the news. She wanted to rent a room, at a dollar a day, and pay for her meals as well. That meant Aggie had to find another down-and-out straggler to take on September’s chores.

September agreed to continue to bake the pies, with Aggie’s help, because the profits were too good to pass up. But someone else would have to haul them across town to the grub tent and sell them. September had her hands full with the baking and sewing.

Aggie gave September a bedroom on the first floor, at the corner of the house, just off the parlor. It was a small room, with a bed, a rocker, and a small chest, on top of which rested a pitcher and wash basin. The room had its own door, which opened to the back porch.

September continued to rise at dawn and start the pies before tackling her mending. For a day or so she even began to entertain ideas about settling down in Skagway, buying her own little house, and becoming the town seamstress. Everyone she talked to warned her that winter was closing in. And with it, the snows that clogged the trails and made traveling impossible. At least until spring, she thought, she might be content to eke out a living with her sewing. That was before she made the mistake of going to Rawlins’ Saloon one afternoon.

Over her arm she carried six dresses for two of the saloon girls. Their rich colors added bright spots of color to the drab surroundings.

As September stepped inside, the men in the corner poker game looked up, then continued their game.

September approached the bar. The bartender paused in the act of wiping a glass.

"I’m looking for Daisy and Annie," she said.

He shrugged. "They’re sleeping upstairs."

She was surprised. She hadn’t known they all lived here. "Can I leave these dresses here?"

He glanced over her head to the man standing across the room. At his nod, the bartender said, "You can hang them up in the back room."

She turned, and the man fell into step behind her. As she put a hand to the door, his hand reached over hers to open the door. Surprised, she turned an angry face to him.

He was tall, with shoulders nearly as wide as the door. He wore his jet black hair slicked to his head. He wore a fancy velvet coat, with a big chain draped across the front. Her gaze was drawn to his face.

He was almost handsome, in a dark, sinister way. A jagged scar ran from his left eyebrow to his jaw. His eyes were gray, almost opaque. A thin mustache added to the satanic look. His lips were thin and curled back over white, even teeth when he smiled. September decided she didn’t like his smile. It made him look as if he knew something. Something important, which no one else knew or understood. To September, he was too fearsome to be handsome. But he was definitely a man who thought himself attractive to women.

September looked away as he boldly stared at her. "I was told to hang these back here."

Lighting a lantern, the fancy-garbed man set it on the table and indicated the back of the door.

"Hang them over there."

September did as she was told, then turned. The man was standing very close to her, peering at her strangely.

"What’s your name?"

She backed up a step, and felt the rough wall brush her back. "September Malloy."

"September. That your real name?"

She nodded.

"Take off that shawl."

"What?" Her heart began a wild tattoo in her chest. Her mouth went dry. She glanced at the door.

Seeing her look, he assured her, "I’m not going to touch you, girl. I just want to see what you look like. Now take off that shawl."

"How dare you!"

"I’ll dare anything I choose." A leer tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I own this place."

So this was Snake.

He indicated her head. "Show it."

Hesitantly, she slid the shawl from her head to her shoulders. At the sight of her pale hair pinned neatly at her nape he muttered, "My God." Aloud, he said, "Let your hair down."

"No." She pivoted on her heel. "I’m going."

As she gripped the door he caught her roughly by the arm. "I told you. I own this place. Everyone here does as I say. Let down your hair."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because I’ve never seen hair like that. I mean, not real hair."

She laughed, a short, nervous laugh, to cover the rising hysteria. "It’s real."

His voice lowered. "Let it down."

She glanced at the offending hand. "First, let go of me."

"Why you impudent little . . ." He raised a hand, as if to strike her.

She never flinched.

He found himself staring into hard, cold eyes. Arching an eyebrow at her boldness, he dropped his hand to his side.

She reached a hand to the clips holding her hair in a neat knot. As she removed the pins, it tumbled about her face and shoulders, falling nearly to her waist.

For long moments he studied her. The hand at his side formed a fist. His voice was tight. "How’d you like to work for me, September?"

"No." Her voice rose. "I don’t do . . . I’m not . . ."

He watched the color flood her cheeks. He kept his tone even. "I meant as a singer."

She swallowed. "I can’t sing."

"What? Everybody can sing."

"I can’t. Never could carry a note."

He grinned. If his smile was frightening, his grin struck terror in her heart.

"It doesn’t matter. Those hungry miners won’t care if you can’t sing. Think you could stand on stage and say the words?"

"That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Why would you want me to do that?"

He studied her through narrowed eyes. "You mean you really don’t know?" Seeing the innocence in her eyes, he shook his head. "No. That’s the remarkable part of it. You don’t know, do you, September?"

"Know what?" She felt confused.

"Nothing." He shrugged. "You’ve got a great, husky voice. It’s different from most women’s. And that hair." He seemed to be talking to himself. "A man could get lost in it." He studied her, deep in thought. "Come here."

As he reached for her hand, she looked at it, then up at him. "I said, don’t touch me."

Puzzled, he nodded compliance. "Okay. I won’t forget again."

He led the way across the room. Hanging along the wall were rows of fancy gowns.

"Take your pick. Which one would you like to wear on stage?"

"I don’t think you heard me, Mr. Rawlins."

"Snake," he interrupted.

"Snake. I take in sewing. I mend your girls’ dresses. I don’t sing. And I don’t stand on stage looking silly."

"Not silly, September. Stunning."

At the unexpected compliment, the room seemed suddenly too quiet.

"How much do you earn sewing?"

She thought a moment. "I’ve just started. But I’ve already earned thirteen dollars this week. By next week I think I can double that."

"How’d you like to earn one hundred fifty dollars a week?"

Her eyes grew round. She licked her lips and stared at him. He met her look directly.

"You’re teasing me, aren’t you? This is a joke."

He jammed his hands deep in his pockets and walked to the door. Pulling it open, he said, "When it comes to money, I never joke. Pick out a dress that fits you, September, and be here tomorrow at eight o’clock. You’ll see whether or not I’m joking."

"But—"

"And pick up some sheet music from my piano player. Memorize the words to about five songs."

"I told you, I can’t—"

"Yeah. I know. And I told you. Just memorize the words."

He walked out the door and closed it firmly behind him. For long moments, September stood staring at the door. So that was Snake Rawlins. What in the world was he up to? And why was she standing here even considering his proposal? It was crazy. And so was he.

She stared at the colorful gowns, feeling her heart begin to pound. Her palms were sweating. She felt her stomach begin to churn. Imagine her standing on stage in front of a bunch of strangers, reciting the words to a song. Snake Rawlins was just plain crazy. She ran her fingertips along the lush silks and satins. One hundred fifty dollars a week. Crazy. A little laugh bubbled in her throat. And so was she.

"Aggie." September looked up from the pies she was arranging on the kitchen table. "Do you have a washtub big enough to take a bath in?"

"’Course I do. Why?"

"I want to take a bath this evening."

Aggie turned to stare at her. "Why? It isn’t Saturday night."

"I know. But I want to take a bath."

Aggie gave a grunt of laughter. "You’ve been acting jumpy all morning. I should have known."

"Known what?"

"When a woman wants to smell good and it ain’t even Saturday night, it’s got to be because of a man."

"No. It’s not a man. I’ve got ..." September hedged. "I’ve got a job."

"A job? Tonight?" Aggie looked suspicious. "What kind of job do you do at night? After a bath?"

September became defensive. "I’m going to sing."

"Sing? Where?"

"At Rawlins’ Saloon."

The sudden silence in the room said more than any of Aggie’s curses could have.

"So you met Snake."

"Yes."

"I told you to watch out for his charm."

September’s face flamed. "I’m not doing this for his charms. I’m doing it for the money."

"How much?"

September’s voice lowered. "One hundred fifty dollars a week."

"A hundred . . ." Aggie studied the bowed head. "To sing for a bunch of grizzled miners?"

September tried to fake a careless shrug. "That’s what Snake said."

Aggie’s voice hardened. "He may want you to do a whole lot more than sing. There’s another rumor about how Snake got his name. They say he’s crawled so low, he’d cheat his own grandmother, if the price was right. Watch out for snakes, girl. Some of the most dangerous don’t even hurt when they strike. The hurting comes later."

September’s face lost all expression. She knew that kind of snake intimately. It was the lowest, the slimiest of all the creatures on the earth. And she’d already felt its sting. She wondered if the hurt would ever go away.

Her voice was a cry of pain. "Oh, Aggie, don’t you think I know better than to trust him? But a hundred and fifty dollars a week. Think of it. I can have enough saved to be out of here in a couple of weeks, and on the trail of my father."

For the first time, Aggie’s voice softened. Touching a hand to September’s shoulder, she murmured, "Okay, kid. But take a good look at Snake’s girls tonight. The lure of big money is what got them all started in the first place. And the thought of that money is what keeps them going. Don’t make the mistake they did, of staying around too long. If you have to, grab the money and run."

September offered her a weak smile. "Thanks, Aggie. That’s just what I intend to do." She sighed. "Now, where’s that tub?"

*  *  *

All afternoon, September worked on the dress she had taken from the rack of gowns in Rawlins’ Saloon. The dress had been made to fit someone much larger. By the time dusk settled over the town, the dress was finished.

Hauling four large buckets of water to the stove, September heated them, then filled the washtub. In the privacy of her room she washed her hair until it gleamed, then, wrapping her hair in a thick towel, she settled into the hot water and soaked for nearly an hour.

At a knock on her door, she peered through the haze of steam.

"Who is it?"

"Aggie."

"Come on in."

The big woman waved away the steam as it rolled about the room.

"Thought you might use this." She held up a small vial.

"What is it?"

"French perfume. An old beau gave it to me."

Smiling, September arched an eyebrow. "And old beau, hmm? What happened to him?"

With a chuckle, Aggie said, "Looks like he didn’t last as long as his perfume. Know how to use this stuff?"

September shook her head.

"After you dry yourself, put a little drop at your throat, the bend in your elbows or knees, even between your breasts. Wherever you think you’ll get warm tonight. That way, the heat of your body will give off the scent of the perfume."

September looked at the big woman with new respect. "Where did you learn that?"

"Women have to have their little tricks, kid. I see it as my duty to pass some of them along to you." She walked to the dresser and set down the vial. "Call me when you’re dressed. I want to see how you look."

"All right. Thanks, Aggie."

September toweled herself dry and applied the perfume as her friend had instructed. Brushing her hair until it crackled with electricity, she caught the sides back with clips and left it to cascade in soft waves down her back.

The gown she had fashioned for herself lay on the bed. Pulling it over her head, she felt the soft fabric whisper over her hips, then flutter softly to her ankles. With trembling fingers she buttoned the row of mother-of-pearl buttons that she had sewn from the waist to the high collar. Matching buttons adorned each sleeve, from elbow to wrist. Walking to the dressing mirror Aggie had brought her, September studied her reflection.

She couldn’t believe the vision staring back at her.

The lush red velvet was the perfect foil for her pale ivory skin and ash-blond hair. The dress molded itself to the curves of her body, accentuating her delicate figure. For long silent moments she studied herself, then bent to pull on her badly scuffed, high-top shoes. Luckily, the gown covered all but the toes of her shoes. Picking up her shawl, she walked to the kitchen.

Hearing her footsteps, Aggie turned.

"Oh my goodness," she breathed. "Is that really you?"

September laughed almost shyly. "I’m not sure." Pinching her arm, she nodded. "It’s me."

The older woman studied her carefully. "Snake Rawlins discovered something the rest of us might have overlooked."

"What’s that?"

"A diamond in the rough, kid. You’re beautiful."

"After that hot bath and your French perfume, anybody would be beautiful."

Aggie shook her head. "You don’t understand. If that’s all it took, we’d all be spending our days soaking in water and pouring on perfume. No, kid, you’ve got something special. And Snake recognized it right away." Catching September by the shoulders, she stared down into her eyes. Her tone grew serious. "Watch out for him, September. He’s like all the rest in this town."

September gave her an awkward hug, then hurried across the room. "Wish me luck, Aggie."

"Go break a few hearts, kid."