Tom's Angel (18 page)

After a moment, she stepped back, easing out of his embrace.
“I need some time by myself, to sort it all out. Do you mind?”

“
I'll be at the El Paso if you need me.”

She watched him go, then took the Bible to the front room and sat down.
Carefully, she turned page by page, examining each carefully for anything Rose might have written there. Nothing. She reached the book of John, the Apostle, where a single sheet, folded, rested between the seventh and eighth chapters.

Verse eleven had been underlined.
“And Jesus said to her, 'Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.'“

Rosalie unfolded the paper carefully.

Chapter 14

Tom reached the El Paso, gave Josh another two bits to take care of the horse and buggy, but didn't feel like going inside. On the front porch, a thermometer, nailed to the wall, had swelled to one hundred five degrees. Tom mopped his forehead with one sleeve and longed for the mountains and snow. Seemed every time things got worse with Rosalie, the sun burned hotter.

Josh
came back in a few minutes. “Anything else you need, Mr. McCabe?”

“
Just a cool breeze and some conversation.” He sat on the top step and patted the spot next to him. Josh sat down. “There's some information I need, son, and I figure you might know who I should ask.”

“
What is it you want to know?”

“
I need to find someone who knew William Kincannon, the owner of the Yellow Rose. I want to know where he came from and any personal information about him and his wife. Do you know someone who could help me?”

Josh
studied for a minute. “Well, my grandpa has been in this part of Texas a sizable portion of his life. Could be he'd know.”

“
Where could I find him?”

“
Upstairs.”

Tom got up and
Josh did, too. “Let's go, son.”

Upstairs,
Josh spoke to his grandfather for a minute before Tom came into the room.

“
Mr. McCabe, this here's my grandpaw, Josh Winslow. I carry his name. Grandpaw, this here's Mr. McCabe. He's the nice man who's been paying me to fetch horses for him.”

Tom offered his hand to the elderly gentleman.
“I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winslow.”

“
Same here. Josh said you had some questions for me. The older I get, the harder it is to recollect, but I'll do my best.”

“
I'm interested in William Kincannon. He owned The Yellow Rose Dance Hall in the Acre. Did you know him?”

He nodded.
“You're talking about him like he's dead. Is he?”

“
Yes, sir. Someone shot him in the back earlier today. We don't know who.”

“
Could of been a dozen men around here what done it. Kincannon wasn't exactly what we'd call righteous and upstanding.”

Tom nodded.
“How long did you know him?”

“
Since he come to the Acre, about seven, eight years ago. Had that pretty little woman with him, and two children, if memory serves.”

“
Two daughters.”

“
Yep, that'd be 'bout right.”

“
Did you know his wife?”

“
Nope. 'Cept talk was, around here, she wasn't his wife. She called herself his wife, all right. But someone, can't recall just who it was, had known her before they come to Fort Worth.”

“
Why weren't they married?”

“
Would you marry a whore?”

Tom sat straighter.
“She was a whore?”

“
From what this feller said—wish I could recollect his name—Kincannon took a shine to her in the saloon where she worked, somewhere in East Texas. Didn't want no other men buying her time. Eventually, he brought her to Fort Worth. But as far as anyone could tell, they was never married proper.”

There was that word again.
So, Rosalie's mother had been a saloon girl and never married Kincannon. If Rosalie knew it, she surely hadn't told him. Nor would he expect her to.

The old man went on, as though his thoughts had continued, even after he'd stopped talking.
“That could be the reason, I suppose.”

“
The reason for what?”

“
Why she killed herself. Oh, some folks said she died of consumption, but mostly, they said she killed herself.”

“
Did they say why?”

“
Nope. When folks get a burr in their saddles, they don't usually ask who put it there or why. They just cuss the burr.”

“
I guess you're right. Thanks, Mr. Winslow. I appreciate your time.” Tom tipped his hat.

“
Any time. Any time. Has that grandson of mine been bothering you? I'll tell him to mind his own business if he has.”

“
Not at all. I've enjoyed talking to him. He's a fine boy.”

The old man grinned, revealing two missing teeth.
“That he is, for sure.”

Back downstairs,
Josh met Tom out on the porch again.

“
Did he answer your questions?”

“
He surely did. Thanks, Josh.”

“
Any time. Any time.” He grinned, with one tooth missing in the front.

“
When did you lose that tooth?”

“
Yesterday.”

“
You weren't fighting, were you?”

He ducked his head.

“Fighting won't get you what you want, Josh. You have to use your mind and your wits to make things happen in your favor.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Tom remembered when he was
Josh's age, tussling with Will or Bo in the barn, listening to the same lecture from his father, practically word for word the way he'd delivered it to Josh.

The thought led him to his own son.
Would he have a son someday? He wanted one, of course. Every man wanted a son. That led back to Kincannon, with three daughters. An uneducated man like Kincannon might very well discount his daughters as worthless. He might also blame the woman who'd borne those daughters for not giving him a son.

              <><><><>

Holding the Bible in her lap, Rosalie sat next to the open window, letting the stifling breeze bathe her face. What she'd read in her Mother's letter had shaken her soul. She unfolded the pages carefully and read it all again.

My dearest Rosalie,

I cannot expect you to forgive me for letting you live with a lie all these years.
I can only hope you'll try to understand.

I met William
Kincannon in a small town in East Texas. He came into the saloon, which was owned by a prominent man of the town, and asked to buy me a drink. I declined and explained I wasn't one of the girls available for entertaining gentlemen. I had promised my boss I would entertain only him.

William accepted this without protest
, at first. The more he came into the saloon, though, the more his attitude changed.

One evening, when I had to lock up for the night, William came to the saloon and said he couldn't stand it any longer.
He wanted me to leave the saloon and live with him, as his wife. I didn't know what to say. My boss had never offered marriage. I had long ago given up hope of any respectable relationship with any man.

I cannot explain why, but I said yes to William's proposal.
We left that same night.

Only a few days l
ater, I realized I was pregnant, but not with William's child. That child was you, Rosalie. Elizabeth was two and had the sister she'd longed for.

Rosalie laid the letter in her lap. She still couldn't believe it. All her life, the man she'd believed to be her father was only a man from a saloon, in an unnamed town in East Texas. Her memories were hazy when she tried to recall the days before they'd come to this house, when she was seven. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and read the rest.

I've asked William to give you this Bible after I die. I've known for quite some time now that I will die young from consumption. The doctor says I have less than a month left, so it's time to write all this down. I want you to know the truth. I hope you can forgive me.

I know you're wondering about your father.
When you were ten, I heard he'd left Texas. I have no idea what happened to him.

His name was O.T.
Lattimer. Oliver.

I pray that you'll take care of your sister.
Lord knows she was never any good at taking care of herself.

I love you, child.

Rose Elizabeth Montgomery.

Rosalie tried to remember the years before Fort Worth and Hell's Half Acre.
Only snatches of memory surfaced. Elizabeth falling into the edge of a slow-moving river, getting wet and skinned for her carelessness. Paw—the man she believed to be her paw—scolding her for causing her mother more work, washing a muddy dress.

The realization came like a swift wind.
William Kincannon had cared deeply for Rose. Yet he never seemed to care much for Rosalie or Elizabeth. It was plain to see why, now. They were not his own flesh and blood. Penelope would've been his daughter, if she'd lived. So much made sense at last. His apparent lack of caring for Lizzy, even when she'd been abused and tortured. His willingness to indenture Rosalie to the vilest of men out of greed and disdain.

So clear.

As clear as her path had suddenly become, having read her mother's confession. She had to free herself from Zane Strickland. To somehow bring honor to her mother. This house, the dance hall, the horses—none of it meant anything to her. Thinking about Rusty, she realized there might be a way to accomplish her goal of being free.

The more she thought about it, the more right it seemed.
She'd see to it first thing tomorrow morning. It would mean going to the jail, but she'd endure the stench if it meant freedom.

What would her mother think of the solution?
She had a feeling Rose would've approved.

“
I forgive you, Mama,” she whispered.

              <><><><>

The next morning, Tom sat on the front porch of the hotel and gazed at the sunrise, dreading the heat of the day to come, and the reality of the entanglements to which he'd succumbed since arriving in this sun-blistered city. The hour just before dawn had proven to be the coolest of the day, and the only one remotely tolerable.

Josh
plunked down beside him.

“
Mornin'.”

“
Good morning to you, too. Don't you go to school?”

“
Yep. When the teacher ain't sick with the epizooty.”

“
So, she's sick, and there's no school until she gets well again.”

“
Yep.”

“
You're wishing her a speedy recovery every day, isn't that right?”

Josh
grinned. “Yep. But 'til she's back, it sure is nice not to have to do all them ciphers.”

“
All those ciphers.”

“
Are you some sort of teacher?”

“
Nope. Just went to school and learned how to talk properly, that's all. When you grow up, you'll want to be someone respected and admired. Won't you?”

“
I 'spect so.”

“
Well, then you have to learn all you can in school so you don't sound like a dummy to other people.”

“
I want to be a cowboy and ride with the herds.” He leaped from the steps and pantomimed riding and roping, whooping and hollering at imaginary steers daring to stray from the trail. After a minute, he finished his little demonstration and sat back down on the step.

Tom tried to think of a reason a cowboy would need to speak properly, but couldn't come up with one.
So, he took another stab at it, from a different angle.

“
Seems pretty exciting, doesn't it?”

“
Yeah!” Josh's eyes were as round as billiard balls. “Ridin' and ropin' and yellin'. Being a cowboy is fun.”

“
I suppose.” Tom waited. It didn't take long.

“
You don't think it's fun?”

“
Never was fond of sitting in a saddle from before dawn until after dark every day, chewing dirt, smelling nothing but the stink of sweaty cows and their dung. Then, when your insides are so empty you think your backbone is pushing right through your belly button, Cookie hands you a plate of half-cooked beans and wormy bacon, and a cup of coffee to wash it down with that's so black it could be used to grease the axles of Cookie's wagon. If you think that's fun, Josh, then being a cow hand is what you ought to do, for sure.”

A couple of horses rode past.
Tom took off his hat and waved the dust that swirled in front of his face. Josh's forehead had scrunched up with puzzlement. Finally, he shook his head slowly.

“
I guess that wouldn't be too much fun after all.”

“
Nope.” Time for the next step. “But ranching is great fun.”

“
It is? You have a ranch, Mr. McCabe?”