Tempted (16 page)

“And I think we probably could have done something for Sam,” Anne said. “I just don't know what. And that makes me sad too.”

“Yes,” Stella said, sighing dramatically. “We're all really sad. Can't we talk about something else?”

“You want to talk about that new girl coming in a month?” Janey asked. “Because that's real cheerful.”

“Stop, Jane,” another girl said. “You’re just trying to get everyone upset.”

“Maybe we should be upset,” Stella said.

“It’s a circus show," Jane said, dismissing it with a flick of her hand. “Nothing more. Some fine southern gentleman is traveling around with a woman he claims was a spy for the Northern army. Apparently she's real beautiful—”

“And trained,” Stella added.

“Trained?” Jane sputtered. “You're trained. Hell, we’re all plenty trained, and it's all a lie. This woman, this Northern spy, she sits in a birdcage—”

“Made out of gold!” Stella said.

“Made out of tin, more like,” Jane said. “I swear, Stella, you can't believe this stuff.”

“What happens?” Anne asked. “I mean—she just sits in a birdcage?”

“No, on the second day there's a big poker match, and any man who can beat the southern gentleman fair and square wins the girl.”

“Hmmm,” Anne said. “I doubt there's much that's fair and square about that game.”

“Exactly,” Jane said. “It's an act.”

“I could sit in a birdcage,” Stella said.

“It's a jail,” Janey said. “Just because its painted gold don't mean it's not a jail.”

The girls were quiet after that, Anne too. Thinking about the many jails there were in this world for women.

“This is not cheerful,” Stella said, and Anne laughed, which made everyone else laugh too. Hard. Which was quite nice. Not as cleansing as a good cry, but still effective.

“Tell us more about your Steven,” Rose said.

“He was with Delilah that night,” Janey said, and Anne couldn't be sure if Janey was taunting her or warning her.

“I know. He's...it's complicated.”

“Not if you fuck him.”

“Janey!” Stella cried.

“Well, it's true. She's a lady, he's a gentleman. If she fucks him, they have to get married.”

“I don't want to have to do anything,” Anne said.

“Ah,” Janey said. “But you do want to fuck him?”

Anne couldn’t control her blush. “I… can I ask you a question?”

“Oh,” Janey said, her eyes wide with delight. “This oughta be good.”

Steven woke up with a start.

In a dark room, in unfamiliar sheets that smelled of…

“Anne?” he asked into the shadows, but the room was silent. Still.

He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. His bare chest. The memories coming back to him in pieces.

She'd been exactly as he’d imagined she would be. Soft and wild. Curious and excited. And he’d been, in the end, desperate on the edge of that precipice—crude. And perhaps unkind. She’d been scared, and he’d been selfishly focused on his own fleeting and previously believed extinct pleasure.

Shit.

He’d come.

And that was a victory. But it was tarnished by what he’d asked from her to get there—before she was ready.

He stood and lit the lamp on the bedside table, then reached into the pocket of his vest for his watch. Eight in the evening. He'd been asleep for three hours.

Quickly he dressed, trying to imagine what version of Anne he’d find when he went downstairs. What kind of explanation his fierce, independent friend would accept from him.

How, frankly, he would manage to put all that he felt and all that had happened into words.

He, who was as forthcoming as a turtle.

She’d always been the better of the two of them. Could he lean on that again? Expect her to understand?

Downstairs, all was dark. The house was silent.

“Anne?” He checked the exam rooms and the parlor. Even Dr. Madison’s empty rooms. The back garden was empty and so was the front.

“You already messed it up?” It was Elizabeth, standing in the hallway from the kitchen, holding a cooing baby in her arms.

“I don't... Maybe?” He rubbed his hand over his face while Elizabeth chuckled. “Do you know where she went?”

“Not for certain,” Elizabeth said. “But I'm guessing she'd check on Stella. Or maybe the doctor.”

“You're saying she went to Delilah's?”

“I'm saying that's where I think she'd go.” She turned back into the kitchen, humming under her breath to her baby.

Steven knew Annie, and he was sure Elizabeth was right.

He grabbed his coat and nearly ran through the night toward Delilah's.

The whorehouse was dark and quiet. A man sat out front, in a chair tipped back against the side of the building. He had a shotgun across his lap. A bottle of whiskey at his feet.

“We're closed,” the man said.

“I can see that.” Steven pushed his hat back on his head. “I'm looking for Anne Denoe.”

“Yeah?”

Steven gave the man a long look. “Is she here?”

“Who wants to know?” the man asked, unaffected by Steven's stare.

“Steven Baywood,” he replied. “I'm a friend.”

The guy tipped his own hat back. “You're the soldier that tried to talk to Sam through the door the other night.”

Steven nodded.

“My name is Kyle.” Kyle held out his hand, and after a moment Steven shook it. The familiar ripple of distaste rolled over him, but he hid it. “Mrs. Denoe is here, but she's upstairs with the girls.”

“Everyone okay?”

“Yeah. Just needed a day, I guess. You want to wait for her, you're welcome to grab a seat. I’ll even share my whiskey with you. It's not the good stuff, but it will do the job.”

Steven glanced over the door into the dark building. He could see the stairway in the murk.

“You ain't going up there,” Kyle said.

“But—”

“Whiskey?” Kyle's teeth flashed white, and Steven realized he was beat.

Whiskey on an empty stomach didn't seem like the best idea, but he figured why not. If he was going to wait, he might as well have something to do with his hands.

He took the seat next to Kyle and took the shot glass full of whiskey he was handed.

“What outfit were you fighting with?” Kyle asked. “In the war.”

“West Virginia,” he replied. The whiskey burned as it went down.

“New York Sharpshooters,” Kyle said, and took a belt of his own whiskey.

Steven wanted to leave—every instinct in his body insisted he stand up and leave instead of exchange old war stories with this man—but Anne was inside, and he could not let her walk home alone simply because he was uncomfortable talking about the war.

“How'd you end up here?” Kyle asked.

“Nothing left of the family farm,” Steven said. “Nothing left of my family. The West seemed like as good a place as any.” He took another sip. “What about you?”

“I was captured at Weldon Railroad. Spent two years in Salisbury Prison. I met a jayhawker who'd been blinded in battle. When we finally got out, I came with him to Kansas to help him look after his farm.”

“Colorado Territory is a long way from Kansas.”

“I suppose it is,” Kyle said. There was obviously more to the story, but Steven didn’t push.

“I was in Andersonville,” Steven said, the words coming out of the ether.

Kyle looked sideways at him. “I'm...real sorry to hear that.” He lifted the bottle, and Steven handed him his shot glass.

“It was a long time ago now,” he said, because he figured he needed to say something. The silence between them was broken by two men yelling in the saloon across the street. A dog barked in the distance.

“Some days it feels like yesterday, don’t it?” Kyle said.

“Yeah.”

“Rumor is you’re a part of the railroad.”

“An investor.”

“I imagine there’s only going to be more opportunities like that.”

“I imagine. Denver is growing. You looking to invest?”

“Could be,” Kyle said. “Delilah and me both.”

Somehow he found himself talking about smelters. And the rock oil refineries back east. His back against the whorehouse, his Anne inside… he just kept talking.

It didn't solve anything. Or change anything. But it was a distraction, and Anne was right. It was nice.

“H
e won’t touch you?” Stella asked.

“No,” Anne clarified. “He touches me, he’s just uncomfortable when I touch him.”

“Uncomfortable how?” Janey asked.

“He flinches.”

“He got beat up when he was a kid?” Stella asked.

“No…it’s… I think it’s the war.”

The girls were all silent, sipping their drinks. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Stella said. “I thought I could help Sam.”

“Jesus, we’re back to Sam,” Rose muttered.

“I’m just saying… all those boys that survived… they’re not the same. Nothing is the same since the war,” Stella said, tears in her eyes again.

“Oh Lord, can we talk about something for ten minutes without you crying!” Janey yelled.

“Janey!” No one had noticed the door opening while they were talking, and they all looked up to see Delilah standing in the doorway, the flickering candles making her face look fierce.

Everyone went silent, and Anne realized it was time for her to go, despite the fact that she was just getting the answers she wanted.

“I should go,” Anne said. She handed her tea cup back to Stella, who found a spot for it on the table. “It's getting late.”

Stella stood with her, and the two hugged one more time. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

And ask incredibly personal questions about sex,
she thought.

“Come back,” Stella urged. “When you have a longer time to visit.”

“Stella,” Janey said. “She’s practically a doctor, she’s not going to come visitin’.”

“I will,” Anne said, ignoring Jane. “I’ll be back. Another day.”

“We get Sunday mornings off,” Stella said. "Tonight was special, you know, on account of Sam."

“I don’t… I don’t even know what day it is. Isn’t that strange?” Anne asked.

“I feel like my life’s been torn in half,” Stella said with a nod.

“Me too,” Anne said. By Sam. By Steven. Nothing was the same after the last few days. Least of all her.

Anne squeezed the girl’s hands again and said goodbye to everyone else, promising to come back next Sunday morning. She wondered in some small way if this was how soldiers felt when they crossed paths, as if in the whole wide world the only people who really understood the darkest things that had happened to them were other soldiers.

Delilah walked with her to the door, and once they were out of earshot of the girls, she murmured, “Nothing happened between me and your soldier.”

Anne blinked. “He told me.”

“He was here because of you.”

“He told me that too,” she said.

In the dark doorway Delilah handed Anne Steven's coat. “My husband came back from the war and he was blind,” she said.

“I'm sorry,” Anne whispered.

“I wasn't. I was just so happy to have him home. To be able to hold him in my arms when so many women were still crying themselves to sleep at night.” Delilah looked completely different talking about her husband. Younger and older at the same time. “I won't say it wasn't difficult, because it was.”

“I’m sure.”

“But I think… I think it was made more difficult by the fact that we tried to pretend nothing was different. That everything was the same. That… we were the same. If I could change one thing in my life, it would be that.”

“I’m so sorry, Del—”

“I’m not interested in your pity. I’m telling you this because Steven wants to make things work, but he doesn't know how. You're going to have to show him.”

“I...I don't know how either.”

Delilah rolled her eyes at Anne.

“I don't,” Anne said. “I've... no experience with this.”

“I leave you alone in here for an hour and you didn't pick up any tips?” Delilah asked. “Just tell him what you're going to do, how you're going to touch him, so he's not surprised. Keep the lights on. Be bold. Be kind. But most of all be patient. And talk. Keep talking. Don’t pretend.”

“I...I can do that,” Anne said, heartened by the advice. By the practical nature of it.

“I know you can.”

Delilah walked down the steps with her, holding the lamp high overhead so Anne could see her way down in the dark.

“Thank you,” Anne said, standing at the door.

“Anytime,” Delilah said. “Good luck.”

Anne pushed open the door and to her utter astonishment, Steven was sitting out front next to Kyle and both of them were laughing.

She hadn't heard Steven laugh in a long time, and the sound held her transfixed.

“Anne!” Steven said, coming to his feet with a smile on his face. He wobbled a bit and braced his hand against a post to keep himself upright.

“Steven.” She could not help but smile back. It was so disarming to see him this relaxed. “I believe you're drunk.”

“I'm not,” he said. “I just... well, maybe I am.”

“It's my fault, ma’am,” Kyle said.

“You poured it down his throat, did you?” she teased.

“I haven’t had any supper,” Steven admitted. “Tends to make the whiskey work better.”

“How did you know I was here?” she asked him.

“I woke up and you were gone, I figured you were checking on Stella. That’s where I’d be if I was you.”

She glanced sideways at Kyle, wondering how much of this information he was storing away for gossip at a later point. But he was pouring himself another drink, his eyes focused down the road. Giving her the impression at least that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in their sleeping arrangements.

“Well, you were right,” she said to Steven with a smile.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“I am,” she said, and she realized she had his coat in her arms. “Here,” she said. “This is... from Delilah.”

That seemed to pull Kyle’s attention, but he quickly looked away again, pretending disinterest.

She handed Steven the coat. Their fingers brushed in the exchange and he recoiled slightly, and she was grateful for the darkness that hid her blush.