The Great Alone (88 page)

“For a minute, I thought you’d been down the street at our competitor’s, hearing the latest news, and you wanted to toast McKinley’s renomination for the Presidency or the U.S. victory over the rebels in the Philippines.”

He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. “You don’t really think I’d go anywhere else, do you?” he chided, then glanced around at the number of empty seats. “You’re not very busy tonight. Looks like I’ll have you all to myself for a change.”

His coat was damp and cold from the melting snowflakes that clung to it. Glory shrank from the contact. “You’re cold. Come over by the stove and get warmed up.”

“You could warm me up, you know. I spend most of my waking hours, as it is, huddled around a stove. I was hoping for something different to thaw me out tonight.”

“Maybe that can be arranged.” Glory walked over to the carved mahogany bar. “A bottle of good whiskey, Paddy, and two glasses.” The bartender set them on the polished counter in front of Glory. With the glasses and bottle in hand, she turned back to Justin. “A little firewater should warm you up.”

“That’s not what I had in mind either, but it’ll do for a start.” Rubbing his fingers together to restore their circulation, he followed as she led the way to the table by the stove.

She set the glasses on the table and uncorked the whiskey bottle. Deacon continued to play his solitaire game, paying no attention to either of them. “Are you hungry, Justin?”

“Is a polar bear white?”

“Matty, tell the cook to slice off some of that ham and fry some sourdough pancakes for Justin,” she called over her shoulder, her glance absently lingering on Matty’s dark dress with the high lace collar. More than Matty’s outward appearance had changed. She practically ran the domestic side of the Palace now, in addition to doing most of the sewing and mending, and she was learning to read.

“Are you going to stand there all night or what?” Justin reclaimed her attention.

“I’m going to sit.” She swept her satin skirt out of the way and sat down in the chair next to Justin. He took a drink of his whiskey, then glanced at Deacon, drawing attention to his silence. She doubted that Deacon was so engrossed in his card game that he hadn’t noticed who had joined him at the table. “Do you see who’s here, Deacon?” Glory prodded. “Our most faithful and loyal customer.”

“Why would he be anywhere else when he can get whatever he wants for nothing right here?” Deacon drew the cards into a pile and pushed back his chair.

Stunned by his sarcasm, Glory stared at him in disbelief as he strode away from the table to the long bar. He leaned his elbows on the counter, his back turned to them, and rested his foot on the brass rail. The more she thought about his insulting remark, the less she liked it. She had no intention of letting it stand unchallenged.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Justin and rose from her chair. Her satin gown swished about her legs as she crossed to the bar. When she halted beside Deacon, his glance flicked briefly to her, then returned to the glass of whiskey in his hand. He tossed it back, then reached for the bottle to refill his glass. “I think you’d better explain the remark you just made, Deacon.”

“I don’t see what there is to explain. It should be obvious to anyone, even you.” He recorked the bottle and lifted the whiskey glass to his mouth, continuing to face the bar.

“I prefer to hear you say it.”

“All right.” He turned his head to look at her, his hard blue eyes unwavering. “Since we opened the Palace, he’s been coming here two or three nights a week, drinking the best of our whiskey and eating all he wants. And all of it’s free—not to mention your company upstairs. He can drink and eat to his heart’s content and it doesn’t cost him one red cent. It’s all on the house. He’d be a fool to go anywhere else.”

“If it’s the money that’s bothering you, Deacon, you can deduct the price of his meals and drinks from my share of the profits,” she said. “I wouldn’t Want to cheat you out of anything. After all, he is my friend, not yours.”

“I’m not the one being cheated, Glory. You are. Can’t you see that?”

“No.”

“Then open your eyes, because you’re being used!”

She wasn’t even aware of raising her hand until she felt the jarring contact with his cheek and jaw. For a moment, he was totally motionless. Carefully, almost too carefully, he set the whiskey glass down on the counter and straightened. Unconsciously, Glory held her breath, expecting some sort of violent retaliation. Instead he turned and headed for the stairs, his stride as controlled as his feelings.

Instantly she regretted slapping him. The last thing she wanted was an open breach with Deacon. She cast a glance in Justin’s direction just as Matty set a plate of food in front of him.

“Deacon.” She hurried after him. He paused at the foot of the stairs and waited for her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“Well, I’m not sorry. I meant everything I said.”

“You’re wrong about Justin.”

There was a small shake of his head in disagreement. “Remember when I warned you about the shell game, and the time I told you the wheel of fortune was rigged. You listened to me then.”

“I know. But this time you’re wrong.”

“You grubstaked the man. You pay for his food and his drinks. You sleep with him. Tell me one thing, Glory, one thing that he’s given you outside of his company, which you have essentially bought. He has a poke full of gold that he’s taken out of that sand, but he hasn’t spent a penny of it on you.”

“What could he buy me?” she argued. “I have everything.”

“And I suppose you wouldn’t like a present from him—even if it was something as simple as a pretty ribbon for your hair? Any little something to show he cared? He’s a taker, Glory. And if you can’t see that, you’re a fool.”

She made no move to stop him as he started up the stairs. For several seconds she watched him, then turned and walked back to the table.

“What was that all about?” Justin asked.

“Nothing.” But she knew Deacon had raised questions that couldn’t be dismissed so easily.

CHAPTER XLVIII

Nome

Late June 1900

Glory stood at the foot of the four-poster bed and gazed silently at the motionless baby-faced woman lying before her. Gladys almost resembled a sleeping doll. A yellow ribbon, tied in a pretty bow, was around her loose nut-brown hair. Her extraordinarily long lashes lay softly together. A picture of innocence, except that the rosy color was missing from her round cheeks. She looked ghostly pale.

Two hours ago, Matty had found Gladys lying in a pool of blood, a damning shoe hook in her hand. Glory hadn’t even known she was pregnant. She wasn’t any more. Once a prostitute in Skagway had bled to death in a botched abortion attempt. Glory had barely known her, yet she had been sobered by her death—the loss of two lives.

Pregnancy could put a woman out of business. Despite all the precautions, it still could happen. It was one of the curses of the trade.

After taking her pulse, the doctor tucked Gladys’ arm under the cover, then removed the stethoscope from around his neck and returned it to his black bag on the stand beside the bed. As he snapped the bag closed, Glory started to ask, “Will she—” But the doctor silenced her with a raised finger and motioned toward the door. Glory followed him out of the room into the windowless hall, lit by newly installed electric lights. “Will she be all right, Dr. Vargas?”

“She’s young and seems quite healthy. I think she’ll be fine. Believe me, Miss St. Clair, I have unfortunately seen worse cases,” he said, talking while he walked to the staircase. “She may run a slight fever for a time. That’s to be expected. However, if it should rise, you contact me at once.”

“I will.” Glory accompanied him down the steps.

“I’m sure it will be several weeks before she’s up and around again. In the meantime, she’s going to need rest and quiet.”

“Rest is no problem. But the quiet? I’m afraid that’s an impossibility in Nome.” Glory paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced pointedly in the direction of Front Street.

Outside, the cacophony never stopped—people shouting, hammers pounding, saws rasping, dogs barking, trace chains rattling, hooves clopping, feet tromping, whistles blowing, wagons rumbling—all against the backdrop of the sea’s roar. The predicted invasion of Nome by gold seekers and opportunists had occurred. With the arrival of the first ship in the latter part of May, there had been an almost daily influx of people, an estimated fifteen thousand, and more ships were reportedly on the way. No one had ever seen anything like it. It was a sight that staggered the imagination of even the wildest dreamers.

“Indeed.” The doctor smiled in agreement. “Well, do the best you can.”

“Naturally.” Glory walked him to the bar and saw that he was paid for his services. He regretfully refused the drink she offered him, insisting he had many patients to see.

After he’d gone, she no longer tried to conceal her troubled thoughts. At this time of year, the sun shone twenty-four hours a day. Usually there were as many people in the streets at one o’clock in the morning as there were at one in the afternoon. Yet only a few customers were in the Palace that morning.

The Palace no longer looked like a fancy saloon. All the new furnishings, mirrors, paintings, and art objects had arrived on the first ships to reach Nome after the breakup. It now resembled an exclusive gentlemen’s club where a well-heeled man could drink and gamble at a discreetly positioned faro, blackjack, or poker table. The occasional nude painting and red-globed parlor lamps hinted at the other entertainments provided by Glory’s stylishly dressed “girls.” The price of admission was a mere twenty-five dollars.

Another dealer relieved Deacon at the faro table and he came over to inquire about Gladys. “She’s going to be fine, but she won’t be able to work for several weeks,” Glory told him, then sighed. “And as busy as we are, too. That sounds callous, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that with Mad Alice leaving to marry that photographer, and now Gladys, it leaves only Frenchie and those three new girls.”

“Maybe you can persuade Alice to postpone the wedding,” Deacon suggested.

“I’ve tried that. And her future husband doesn’t want her to continue working after they’re married.”

“How narrow-minded of him,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Glory agreed, then realized he was mocking her. “All right, so maybe he isn’t asking too much. But I just wish she wasn’t getting married now. It isn’t as if she’ll never receive another proposal. With the shortage of women in Alaska, any woman can find a husband if she wants one.”

“And you don’t want a husband.”

“Not now,” Glory answered a little stiffly, knowing that his comment referred to Justin. “Maybe never.” She was tired of these subtle jibes he made. As Matty walked toward them, Glory looked forward to a change of subject.

“Is that why Justin hasn’t been around for more than a week?” Deacon inquired within Matty’s hearing.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Glory retorted, then attempted to ignore him.

“Oliver picked up the mail,” Matty said, referring to the ex-prizefighter who worked as a bouncer and errand boy at the Palace.

“Thanks.” She took the half dozen envelopes Matty handed her and began to flip through them. They were mainly bills—one from her dressmaker, another from a wholesale liquor company. The envelope at the bottom of the stack bore Gabe Blackwood’s name in the return corner.

“You’d better think again, Glory,” Deacon said. “It’s been at least that long since Justin was here.”

“I see Justin this morning when I go to fetch the doctor,” Matty said.

“He was in town?” The letter from Gabe Blackwood was momentarily forgotten as Glory glanced up in surprise.

“He was at the pie lady’s tent when I went by.”

“I understand he spends a considerable amount of time there,” Deacon remarked.

“How would you know?” Glory demanded.

“I’ve made it my business to know,” he replied evenly.

She chose to ignore his implication. “What was he doing there, Matty?”

“He was sitting and talking.”

“Sarah Porter is a widow from somewhere around Portland with two young children to feed. Like a lot of others, she arrived broke, thinking she could magically pluck gold from the sand. Now she’s baking and selling pies for a living. I’m told she’s become quite a pet of the miners since she arrived
two
weeks ago.” Deacon subtly stressed the length of time this woman had been in Nome.

“You seem to know a great deal about her. I take it you’ve met her.”

“I’d heard so many times that no one in Nome could make an apple pie to rival hers that I had to find out for myself. The pie was good.”

“And Mrs. Porter?” Glory wanted to bite her tongue for asking that.

“Very pleasing to the eye.” He looked so amused and complacent that she wanted to scream.

She ripped open the envelope containing Gabe Blackwood’s letter, not wanting Deacon to have the satisfaction of knowing how keenly his innuendos were getting to her. “If this woman is as popular as you claim, I find it strange that I’ve never heard of her.”