Squire's Quest (36 page)

Sooner or later she'd get out of here and make her way back to Merlin.

"Don't eat it all at once," Deed said, when he handed her the tray. "That's gotta last you
'til tomorrow."

After the first bite, she decided it would last her a lot longer, even as hungry as she was.
The meat was overcooked and dry as a piece of well-tanned leather. The bread was moldy, the
potatoes only half cooked. Only the beans were palatable, even though they were overcooked to
the point of being mushy. She told herself to think of them as soup, and was able to swallow
them.

That night, as hunger gnawed at her belly, she pondered her options. She could continue
to resist her father's orders subtly. He probably would beat her regularly, but she didn't think he'd
put her in one of the second floor bedrooms for simply being recalcitrant.

She could obey his every command, and come to hate herself. Worse, she'd soon
become used to slavish obedience, as she had once before, and before long she'd forget all desire
to escape.

No, I won't. Not as long as there's a chance I can get back to Merlin.

Or she could put her skills to work and take over the kitchen, for whoever was there
now would likely be a better hostler or housepainter.
I'll give it another day, or maybe two.
By then they'll be so tired of food like this that they'll give me the run of the place. Even
Pa.

About the time she'd forced herself to eat supper, even if it was only the bread she'd
scraped the worst of the mold off of and the rest of the now cold, mushy beans, she'd decided to
make her offer tomorrow.
I don't think I could eat another meal like this one.

She heard voices downstairs and went to the door, to press her ear against it. When Deed
had left after delivering her food, he'd locked it behind him. On her father's orders, she was sure.
Now she wondered if it had been to keep her from running off or from asking questions. Those
voices belonged to women, and they didn't sound unhappy to be here.

What did you expect? This is a bawdyhouse, so there's bound to be bawds.

Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor. With her forehead against the door, she
rocked her body back and forth, back and forth.

Merlin, where are you?

For most of the night, she heard distant laughter and an occasional yell. Near morning
silence fell and she was finally able to sleep. When her father opened the door, she nearly
jumped out of her skin.

He tossed a purse on the bed. "Your man's dead."

She stared at it, not wanting to touch the dark-stained leather.

"Don't believe me? Pick it up. Look inside."

With a shaking hand, she obeyed. The brass closure opened easily. Inside was a
folded-up paper, a piece of leather with strings attached, and a frayed, dirty ribbon that
might once have been red.

She knew what the leather was--an eyepatch. Merlin always carried a spare in his purse.
Tears clogged her throat as she unfolded the paper. On it was written in an elegant hand,
"Anybody finding this purse should send it to Emmet Lachlan in Boise City, Idaho Territory.
He'll pay a reward for word of what happened to me. Merlin Silas Lachlan."

Carefully she folded the paper and returned and the eyepatch to the purse. Fingering the
ribbon, she wondered if it belonged to one of his sisters. She tucked it inside and closed the
clasp.

"You had him killed, didn't you?"

"Of course. Nobody takes what's mine. Give me the purse."

"No. And if you try to take it away from me, I'll find a way to kill myself. You said you
had plans for me. Fine. But they'll not do you much good if I'm dead too."

He stared down at her for a long time. At last he nodded. "You'd do it to, just to spite
me. Never mind, then, But tomorrow you'll move down to the second floor."

Until this moment, she hadn't really believed her own father would set her to whoring,
no matter what she'd said. With her final acceptance of his monstrousness, she got mad.

"No, I won't. You won't make me into a whore. I
will
kill myself first. And I'll
kill any man who tries to rape me."

His fist smashed her cheek and she sprawled across the bed.

"No woman argues with me. You'll do it, girl, even if I have to give you to Frisco first,
to tame you."

"You'd be a fool," she said, fighting to keep her voice even, her tears contained. "I'm
worth more to you than any whore."

"You're worth damn little. I'd planned to sell you as a virgin, but you--you and that
dullard cowboy--spoiled my plans. You cost me a bundle, girl, and I'll work you until I get it
back."

Elbowing herself upright, she glared at him. If she backed down, if she showed even the
slightest sign of weakness, he'd win. "You
are
a fool. Do you think I wasted all those
years with Mrs. Flynn?"

At her first words his arm had drawn back, ready to strike her again. She held herself
ready, but he hesitated. "No woman calls me a fool, but we'll settle that later. What do you mean,
wasted?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, "I could make your bawdyhouse famous, but
not as one of your girls. I heard of a place in New Orleans where men come as much for the
midnight suppers as for the women. I could make that good a reputation for this place."

Oh, thank you, Merlin, for telling me about that place. I was jealous you'd been
there, but now I'm grateful.
She choked back pain, knowing her mourning had only
begun.

"I'm listenin'."

"I didn't just learn to bake. Mrs. Flynn taught me to be a cook too. Give me someone to
help in the kitchen, and I'll turn out meals fit for a king." She was only exaggerating a little. In a
place like Sidney, Nebraska, it wasn't likely anyone would challenge her boast.

"I'm runnin' a whorehouse, not a restaurant."

"Fine. Just remember what I said, I won't be one of your whores."

He narrowed his eyes.

She wanted to cringe away from his gaze, but held herself steady, staring back with all
the stubbornness she could summon.

"Two weeks."

She held her breath.

"Two weeks to show me you can increase the profits. If you can, I won't give you to
Frisco."

"I'll have a free hand in the kitchen?"

"For now. Just don't try any tricks. One customer gets sick and you're done."

"Nobody gets sick on my cooking," she said, putting all the bravado she had into her
voice.

"See to it. One wrong move and you'll be just another whore." He spun on his heel and
strode out, locking the door behind him.

Callie sat a long time, clutching the small purse in her hands. She wanted to cry, but no
tears would come to her aching eyes.

* * * *

His head stopped spinning before a week was out. It still ached, but less every day. Ten
days after he'd arrived, he was splitting the logs the men hauled down from the hills into fence
rails. He was well enough to go hunting with Rye within two weeks.

Everybody worked in the Brethren's settlement if they wanted to eat. So he'd been
warned before they let him inside the barn. "We're not lacking in charity," Father Jacob had said,
as he stood in the wide doorway and blocked Mister's entry. "But we're a poor settlement, with
no food to spare. So you'll give me your word to work off our debt to us before you leave."

Mister had wanted to tell him to go to blazes, but had been so dizzy and so shaky on his
legs he'd agreed. Now he knew the patriarch had treated him no different from anyone in the
Brethren. The second day he was there, he'd seen a woman rise two hours after giving birth and
help with supper.

"My reckoning," the patriarch said, when Mister brought up the subject during his
second week, "is that you owe us a month's work. You'll have eaten that much food by the time
you leave, and you took Sister Hepsibah away from her tasks for most of two days, just nursing
you. I'll expect you to honor your promise. Stay until the next moon wanes, and I'll send you off
with my blessing."

Mister agreed, but silently vowed to take Rye with him when he went. The lad's father
was crazy as a hoot owl, and no fit parent for him.

I won't force him to come along, but I'll offer him a choice. He'd be better off on his
own than he is here. Sooner or later some critter is going to catch him unawares and that'll be
that.

Great God, how can his own father not see the danger?

* * * *

"I swear to God, Callie, I'm sorry I ever took Lem's word about this place. It's like being
a slave or something."

The fragile-looking blonde woman at the kitchen table used a moistened forefinger to
pick up a crumb from her plate. "I was better off at Tilly's, even if I was at the bottom of the
pecking order. She paid us every two weeks, and gave us a paper to show where the money came
from." Lily's teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Not that I ever could read it, but Celeste, she read it
to me. Here I haven't seen a cent, and it's been three weeks since we opened."

If anybody had told Callie a month ago she'd be friends with a whore, she'd have called
them a liar. Three times over, for she was friends with Lily, Aggie, and Rose.

"What do you suppose Lem would do if we all up and quit?" Aggie got up to pour
herself another cup of tea.

"Set Frisco on us, I reckon." Rose sounded resigned. "Let's face it, girls, we were
fools."

"We're gonna be fat fools if Callie don't quit feedin' us so well," Aggie said. "Let's go,
ladies. Doors'll open in half an hour."

When they'd gone, Callie wondered if she'd done too good a job, showing off her
kitchen skills. After the first week she'd been cooking, Pa had decided they'd offer a midnight
supper for the customers. Since then business had tripled, even though the boom Pa had counted
on hadn't happened. Sidney wouldn't live up to its promise as a shipping point for the gold towns
in the Black Hills until there was a bridge across the Platte.

Instead, Ariana's Palace was drawing men to town. She'd heard Pa say men were coming
from as far away as Cheyenne and North Platte to patronize the girls and the dining room.

As long as I'm worth something to him in the kitchen, he won't sell me. But I've got
to get away.

She laid her hands across her belly.
I've got to escape.

Late March 1876

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What good would it have done? You didn't--don't know who you are. Knowing who
you worked for doesn't change anything."

Much as he hated to agree, Mister had to. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

The patriarch nodded solemnly. "You've paid your debt as agreed. God speed."

"I'm taking my six-gun."

"You'll get no argument from me. Handguns are evil, devices meant only for murder."
He turned his back and stared out the open window. "Brother Bates tells me Zachariah wishes to
travel with you. I have forbidden it."

"Seems to me a boy old enough to be sent out to hunt alone is old enough to decide for
himself."

"He is of the Brotherhood. They abide by my wishes."

"We'll see."

The next morning Rye was waiting along the trail about half a mile from the settlement.
"I'm comin' with you."

"Fine by me. You bring any food?" Father Jacob had decreed that once Mister left the
settlement, the Brotherhood no longer was responsible for feeding him.

"Nope. Pap wasn't happy at me leavin'. He said not to come back. He made me empty
out my bundle, leave the biscuits and bacon I'd kept back from morning meal."

Unwilling to say what he thought of the lad's father, Mister walked on in silence.

"Pap said Father Jacob knows what's best for me," Rye said after a bit. "You reckon
that's true?"

Mister thought for a while. It went against everything he believed, everything he'd been
taught. But who'd taught him? "No. No, I don't believe it. A man's responsible for himself and
for those weaker than him. You're still a boy, but you've been doing a man's job quite a while. I
reckon that gives you the right to decide what's best for you."

"It's hard, though." Rye sounded thoughtful. "Goin' off on my own is kinda scary, but
leavin' family behind, knowin' I'll never see them again, that's hard."

"Maybe you should go back, stick around 'til you're older."

"The longer I stay, the harder it'll be to leave. Besides, Pap's not who he used to be. He
really believes what Father Jacob says about not ownin' anything, and everybody livin' together."
A stone went skittering along the trail ahead when he kicked it. "Mister? You really think they're
gonna make a go of it. The settlement, I mean?"

The lad deserved an honest answer. "I don't think they have the chance of a snowball in
hell. That's not farming land. If they were to run cattle, or even sheep or goats, they might make
it. But farming? One bad year and they'll be close to starvation."

Now how did he know enough about farming to draw that conclusion?
Tarnation, I
wish I could remember!

Rye was well shut of the Brotherhood.
He'll be better off with me. At least I'll take
care of him, instead of expecting the other way around.

Where the north and south forks of Horse creek joined, Rye suggested they stop and set
snares. Before an hour had passed they'd caught two rabbits and an unwary grouse. "We'll save
these for supper," Mister said.

"I'm hungry now." Rye looked longingly at the grouse.

"Chew on this." Mister pulled two strips of jerky from his coat pocket. He'd expected to
be forbidden to carry food from the settlement, and had pilfered half a dozen such strips from the
kitchen over the past week. Since he'd been hunting with Rye, he'd filled their larder well, so he
had no compunction about taking enough food to carry them through the first day on the
road.

"How far is it to town?"

"I dunno," Rye said. "It took us five days to get to the Brotherhood, because we took a
wrong turning. "I don't think it's too far, but with the creek running high, it'll take longer.