Ten Thousand Charms (11 page)

“What makes you think we have plans?” Gloria asked. Sharing her life was a new experience, and not one she was completely comfortable with.

“Oh, everybody knows you have plans,” Sadie said. “A man doesn't sell off his tools and buy a team unless he is planning something.”

“That doesn't mean—” Sadie shot Gloria such a look that she sighed in resignation. “We're leaving on Saturday.”

“I knew it!” Sadie poked Gloria's shoulder. “I knew he would take you with him.”

“It's not forever,” Gloria said.

“Nothing is. But it's for now, and that's enough. Let's go tell the girls.”

Then came the flutter of activity. Gloria found herself in the center of such bustling and care, she didn't know whether to be grateful, humble, or annoyed. A dozen petticoats were sacrificed to make diapers and dresses for the babies. Jewell's kitchen was combed through, and any spare dish or utensil was packed in a straw-lined crate. Sadie took the quilt from her own bed, cut it in half, and created a soft, downy lining for the babies’ makeshift cradles. Mae took stock of Gloria's wardrobe and decided that
none of it would do. After giving Gloria a sly wink and a pat on the shoulder, she secluded herself in her room.

The night before Gloria was to leave, the women gathered in her cabin, sitting where they could find space and nibbling some of Biddy's delicious apple spice cookies.

“I made an extra batch for you to take,” Biddy said shyly. “I hope Mr. MacGregan thinks they're good.”

“Of course he will,” Gloria said through a mouthful of cookie. “It'll be nice to have a treat when we're out in the wilderness.”

“Wilderness." Sadie said, laughing. “Where do you think you are now?”

Gloria and the others joined in her laughter. True, Silver Peak was nothing like the larger cities where Gloria had lived, but she'd heard about the vast miles of loneliness on the trail to Oregon, and she wasn't sure if she was up to the hardships of such travel.

“Well, you certainly can't wear
that
out in the wilderness,” Mae said, gesturing broadly toward Gloria's dress. Although Gloria had worn some of Mae's much larger skirts during the final months before Danny was born, her slim figure had returned and she was again wearing her own dresses.

“What's wrong with this?” Gloria asked. She had never worn flashy clothes, but she did insist on rich, quality fabrics. Now she wore a two-piece dress, peacock green with black velvet trim.

“It'sjustabit…”

“Fancy?” Biddy's tiny voice filled the awkward silence.

“That's the word,” Mae said. “Fancy. You'll need clothes that are just a bit more…”

“Ugly?” Sadie chimed in.

“Serviceable," Mae said, tossing Sadie a disdainful look. “Simple clothes. Looser, easy to clean.” As she spoke, Mae was delving into the satchel she'd brought with her to the cabin. Out
of it came heaps of fabric that, with a flourished snap, were seen to be blouses and skirts.

“Mr. Brady brought such lovely bolts in the last supply,” Mae's musical voice continued. “I've been working on these since you told us you were leaving.”

The cabin was filled with excitement as Gloria tried on the new clothes. They were a perfect fit, the blouses lightweight and long sleeved, each one dressed with a row of pretty wooden buttons. There were three in all, and two skirts of a solid, sturdy fabric to go with them. Mae fussed over every seam, and the women giggled with each new outfit, declaring that Gloria looked like quite the “farmer's wife” despite her protests that she was nothing of the sort. When their giggling escalated, Gloria hushed them, lest the sleeping babies wake.

“Let me just take up the hem on this one,” Mae said. It was a third skirt, made from the same fabric as one of the blouses—dark brown littered with tiny red flowers. “I'm afraid it will just get dragged through mud and ruined. I'll have it ready by morning.” These last words were spoken as Mae headed toward the door, skirt flung over one arm.

“Mae,” Gloria called after her, “that's really not—”

“Let her do it,” Sadie said softly, her hand on Gloria's arm. “It will make her feel good.”

The window was open, and the fresh spring evening floated past the curtains. The absence of Mae's chatter left a comfortable silence in the room. Gloria, Sadie, and Biddy sipped steaming mugs of tea and made a collected effort to ignore the wave of masculine laughter drifting across the yard that separated them from Jewell's parlor.

“Sounds like a crowd,” Gloria said.

Nobody spoke.

“Brisk night like this,” she continued, “brings them out of the woods, it seems.”

Still no response.

“Reckon Jewell's gonna be tearing over here lookin’ for—”

“The new girls can handle it,” Sadie said. “Tonight, I just.

Silence returned for a moment until Biddy's tiny voice said, “You are so lucky.”

“Who's lucky?” Gloria asked.

“You are." Biddy lifted her eyes and forced Gloria to meet her gaze. “You don't have to go over there.”

“Listen, Liebling,” Sadie said, “none of us has to go over there tonight. Tonight, we are just sitting here talking. Like old friends.”

“That's just tonight,” Biddy said. “What about tomorrow night? And the next? Gloria's getting a home. A family She'll never have to do this again.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Gloria said. “I'm going to be back, you know.”

Biddy looked at Gloria with a wide-eyed, incredulous stare. “Why would you come back?”

“Because the alternative is spendin’ the rest of her life dirt poor and pregnant, stompin’ kitchen mice with her bare feet.”

The three women turned, startled as Jewell's husky voice invaded their conversation. Her pudgy hand reached in through the open window, grasped the curtain, and snatched it aside to reveal her puffy, rouged face.

“Jewell, you dog,” Sadie cried, blotting at the tea she'd spilled in her lap. “You scared us to death!”

“Hush!” Gloria hissed. “You'll wake up the babies.”

“In case you ladies of leisure hadn't noticed,” Jewell continued, her lowered voice taking on a more menacing quality, “we're getting quite a crowd gathered over at the house. Rumor has it they're looking for some company. And here I see some lovely ladies who would be just perfect for the job.” She perched her elbows on the windowsill and seemed to be settling in for a long conversation. It was the same pose Gloria had seen her in when she first arrived at Silver Peak.

“Please, Jewell,” Sadie said, “we are just having a nice evening here.”

“Yeah. And there's some gentlemen with pockets full of money who want to have a nice evening, too.”

Biddy seemed to be shrinking into her chair. Her head drooped down until her chin touched her chest.

“So break out a bottle and give them some cards,” Sadie said, one hand drifting protectively to Biddy's shoulder. “These men are pretty easily entertained.”

“They don't
pay
to play cards,” Jewell said. “I think it's time you girls remember that you work for me. 1 ain't exactly runnin’ a tea room.”

“Why don't you come in and join us?” Gloria asked, gesturing toward the chair recently vacated by Mae.

“Aw, I don't know,” Jewell said. “I've got some company to tend to.”

“Come on, Jewell,” Sadie said. “Sit and have a drink with us. It is Gloria's last night.”

“I'll get you some tea,” Biddy said, scuttling from her chair.

But the next second Jewell burst through the door holding her slim silver flask. “Never mind the tea, little one. I brought my own drink.”

Jewell settled her generous bottom into the chair. Her breathing was labored, and each puff carried the tiniest whiff of pungent gin. Baby Danny let out a little yelp and stretched himself into a state of full wakefulness.

“So, the little prince is up, eh?” Jewell said before taking a generous swig from her flask. “I don't wanna listen to him scream.”

Gloria scooped Danny up from his bed and held him to her shoulder, delighted at the way his face nuzzled into her neck.

“You know,” Jewell continued, a slight slur invading her speech, “I sure ain't gonna miss listenin’ to them kids wailin’ all hours.”

“Not much of a mother type, are you?” Sadie said.

“No more'n you are. I'm the mama to all my girls. That's enough for me.”

Gloria noticed a slight shudder from Biddy

Jewell leaned forward in her chair and pointed with her flask. “And from what I know, your mamas weren't no different from me.”

“You're not like my mother,” Biddy said quietly “You're not like her at all.”

“Well, listen, little missy,” Jewell said, “you're more than welcome to head on out and make a life on your own. Like our little friend here.”

Gloria held Danny closer. “Stop it, Jewell,” she said.

“But she really isn't on her own, is she? No ma'am. She's living every whore's dream.”

“And just what dream is that?” Sadie asked. “Getting stuck with some man's baby? Or getting hauled off to some God-forsaken wilderness to churn butter and watch crops shrivel in the sun?”

“I'm not going to churn butter," Gloria said, but neither woman acknowledged her.

“It's the dream,” Jewell said, leaning forward, “of some man comin’ along, sweepin’ you off your back, and takin’ you to be the little wife.”

“You are forgetting,” Sadie said, “that lots of us have been the little wife. I have been the little wife. It is not my dream.”

“It's my dream,” Biddy said. Jewell shot her a look that sent her skittering back into silence.

“If you must know,” Gloria said, standing to walk the newly restless Danny, “it isn't my dream, either. And it isn't his.”

“He is a good man,” Sadie said. “He will marry you. I know he will.”

“I don't want him to marry me. Besides, he won't
because
he's such a good man.”

Jewell let out a gasping expletive and settled back into her chair. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

Gloria didn't know how to explain it. Every time John William came to visit, he prayed. Every time he held his daughter, a reverent calm came over him. He had a presence of strength and peace about him, making him so unlike any man she'd ever
known. He had loved his wife. He loved his daughter. He had never shown Gloria any measure of disrespect, but treated her with such distanced politeness that she felt like a piece of furniture in the room. Other religious men made her feel dirty, unworthy John William just made her aware of all she was lacking in her life. He also made it clear that he had no interest in making her anything other that what she was.

“It means men like him don't marry women like me,” Gloria said.

“So’ you think you're just going to come crawlin’ back here
again
when this one's had enough of you?” Jewell gestured with her open flask. “Tell me, is that what happened with Danny's pa?”

“I came here,” Gloria said, “because I thought you'd be able to help me. Give me a place to stay until I figured things out. Well, I've figured things out and I'll be gone in the morning.”

“And just what,” Jewell said, staggering to her feet to confront the now pacing Gloria, “do I get out of this whole deal? Men been climbin’ the walls for you and I got to tell them, ‘Oh, no, she just had the baby. Give her time. Give her a few weeks.’ Well, it's over two months now, you eatin’ my food, takin’ up prime space, and tomorrow you go traipsin’ off with some man without earnin’ or payin’ me one red cent.”

The last of these words were spoken so close to Gloria's face that the sour smell of whiskey was overpowering. Danny balled up a little fist and was working up to a wail until Gloria switched him to the other shoulder to distance him from Jewell.

“She's earned her keep,” Sadie said. “She has done her share.”

“Of what." Jewell swung around to face Sadie, nearly losing her balance. “Of dishes? Washing? Servin’ drinks? She's givin’ this little one ideas that you can earn your place in my house without doin’ the very business my house is here for.”

Biddy cringed further into her chair, avoiding the hand that gestured so near her face.

“Look, Jewell,” Gloria said, “I gave you everything I—”

“Don't start with that, sweetie,” Jewell said. “I know what a
piece like you goes for in the big towns, and I know you had to walk out of there with more than what you gave me.”

“I told you I—”

“And I get nothin’ in return. Nothin’ for givin’ up such a nice place for you and that little bas—”

“Don't call him that,” Biddy said. She stood and held her arms out for Gloria to hand the baby over to her. “He's a sweet little boy, and he's going to have a father.”

“Ah, yes," Jewell said. “The sainted John William MacGregan. Tell me, Gloria, how much of your little fortune did you promise to this man?”

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Sadie said, standing now, too. “MacGregan doesn't need her money”

“I don't have any money,” Gloria said. “Besides, I don't think he'd take it if I did.”

Jewell snorted. “Why, ain't it good enough for him?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Good Glory, girl,” Jewell said, her voice thick with exasperation.
'You're
not good enough for him? Your
money
ain't good enough for him? What kind of saint do you think
he
is? Because I know a few things about this man, and he don't have much right to tell you—”

“Stop right there, Jewell.” Sadie placed herself between Jewell and Gloria. Biddy sat, quiet in her chair, shielding Danny from the confrontation.

“No, I got to say this, Sadie. 1 can put up with a lot of things, but I just can't stand a hypocrite.”

“He's not—”

Jewell threw up a hand to hush her. “This one,” she pointed to Biddy, “thinks a baby ain't illegitimate just because it's sweet. This one thinks that she ain't really a prostitute if she hides her cash and plays at bein’ a pioneer. You think a man can have himself a little family and make everyone forget that he's a—”

“Stop it, Jewell!”

“A what?” Gloria asked, concerned.

“Nothing," Sadie said, looking at Jewell intently Sadie faced her head on, squaring her shoulders and pulling herself to her full height, a full head taller than Jewell. As she spoke, she took step after step, forcing Jewell to back up to the door. “He's a good, honest, kind man. He'll be a kind, gentle, loving father.”