Vegas Sunrise (49 page)

“I'll try, Mr. Waring.”

Sallie held out her hands for the small wooden box containing the bankbooks.

Outside in the late morning sunshine, Sallie stared up and down the street. She wondered how things could look the same as they had looked an hour ago when she first walked up the steps to the attorney's office.

Sallie's eye traveled to the line of stores whose owners she knew by name. Toolie Simmons owned The Arcade where beer on draft was sold, The Rye & Thackery run by Russ Malloy, the Red Onion Club, The Gem Counter with the letter N backwards on the rough sign, and on to the Arizona Club, whose sign proudly proclaimed its whiskey was fully matured and reimported. Men sat in the small pools of shade on spindly chairs, tilted back at alarming angles, talking, smoking their cigars and pipes as they waited for the saloons to open at noon. Those men would work if there were work to be had. Maybe she could do something about that. Some of them waved to her, others tilted their straw hats in recognition.

“Gonna sing us a pretty song tonight, Miss Sallie?” one of the hard rock miners shouted.

“Not tonight, Zeke, I'm heading for Texas to see my family, and I have a lot to do. Soon, though. You just tell me what you want me to sing, and I'll do it just for you.”

“Heard the Mercantile got some canned peaches yesterday, Miss Sallie.”

“Thanks for telling me, Billy. Would you like some?”

“I purely would, Miss Sallie.”

“I'll get some on my way back and drop them off. You gonna be at the Arizona Club?”

“Nope. Don't got a lick of money in my poke today I'll be waiting right here for you.”

Sallie nodded as she skirted the barrels of hardware and produce outside the Mercantile Company. She smiled at Hiram Webster as he stopped sweeping the sand from in front of his doorstep to let her pass. “Good morning, Mr. Webster. It's a fine day, isn't it?”

“ ‘Tis that, Miss Sallie. Lots of blue sky today.”

Sallie was convinced no one knew about her good fortune. As she walked along she remembered the tents and the smell of frying onions that permeated the air the day she'd first arrived. The tents were all gone now, replaced with newer wooden buildings. It was still a rough town, a shoddy town, a
man's
town. She realized she could fancy up the town now if she wanted to. She could buy up whatever she wanted. She could knock down all the shabby buildings and start over. Cotton said if the price was right, a person could buy anything.

Sallie stepped aside as three ladies walking abreast passed her, straw baskets on their arms. They didn't acknowledge her in any way Sallie smiled anyway, and said, “Good morning, ladies.” The scent of sagebrush seemed to be all about her as she walked along, past the bakery, the icehouse, the pharmacy, and the milliner. A gust of sand swirled past her. She tried to dance away from the circular swirl that spiraled upward, but her shoes were covered with sand. She stomped her feet and shook the hem of her skirt.

“Mornin', Miss Sallie. What brings you to this end of town? Can we do anything for you here at the Chamber of Commerce?”

“Yes, you can, Eli. How much do you think it would cost to plant cottonwoods up and down this fine street, on both sides?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I'd like to donate them and pay for the labor to plant them in memory of my friend Cotton Easter. Maybe some benches under the trees for the ladies to sit on. I think they'll make the street real pretty”

“That they will, Miss Sallie. The town's coming back to life a little at a time. I like that.”

“I do, too, Eli.”

Sallie fought the urge to dance her way down the street. It was a dream—but if it was a dream, what was she doing with the box in her hands? Well, there was one way to find out for certain. She stopped in a shop doorway, stuck her hand into the box, and withdrew one of the bankbooks. She looked at the name of the bank embossed in gold leaf on the front. Sallie retraced her steps, walked around the corner, and continued walking until she came to the bank. She entered, walked up to the bank teller and handed him the small blue book. “I'd like . . . five hundred dollars, please.”

Five minutes later, Sallie walked out of the bank in a daze, the five hundred dollars safe in her purse. It was real, it wasn't a dream. She tripped down the street, giddy with the knowledge that everything Alvin Waring had said was true.

The money secure in her purse and loose bills in the pocket of her dress, Sallie stopped first at the Mercantile Company for a bag of canned peaches that she immediately handed over to Billy along with ten dollars. She handed out money to all the hard rock miners, admonishing them to eat some good food and to take a bath before they spent the rest in the Red Onion.

Sallie opened the door to the bingo palace with her own key In the bright sun filtering into the large room, it looked like a sleazy, smoky, rinky-dink parlor with rough furniture, a rickety bar, bare windows, a cashier's cage, and a small stage that doubled as the bingo stand, where the bingo numbers were called, and where she sang at the beginning and end of the evening. She walked around, touching the felt-covered poker tables at the far end of the room, sitting down and then getting up from the bingo benches. She straightened the stack of bingo cards into a neater pile. Maybe she should throw everything out and start from scratch. She sat down again and closed her eyes. How best to pretty things up? A real stage, small, with a red velvet curtain that opened and closed. Matching draperies on the windows that could be closed in the winter. Chandeliers over the tables for better lighting. Perhaps a spotlight for the stage. A new bar, the kind the Arizona Club had, shiny mahogany with a brass railing. Leather stools with brass trim to match the bar. A new floor with some sections of it carpeted. No more spittoons. Definitely a new front door with glass panels, maybe even colored glass. She'd have some trees planted around the building, flowers if they would grow. She walked over to the farthest corner of the room, where she sat when things were slow or when she just wanted time by herself. She sat down on a wobbly chair and leaned her arms on a table whose legs didn't match. She smiled when the table rocked back and forth the same way her chair did. Cotton said the man who made the chair and table had a crooked eye. She wondered if she would miss things the way they were now. Old things were comfortable. New things took some getting used to.

Sallie stared at the small stage where she called out the bingo numbers hour after hour. She was always happy when a grizzly miner won his four bits and whooped in delight, his dirty boots stomping on the floor, the other miners cheering him on.

The bingo palace didn't make a lot of money, barely enough to pay the winners and herself. The doors opened at noon for her regular customers. By paying close attention she was able to tell which customers were hungry, which customers came to gamble, and which ones just wanted to hear her sing. The hungry ones were her biggest problem. Jeb, the owner of the steak house, allowed her to run a tab for hard-boiled eggs and pickles that she handed out on a daily basis. Most days if she had thirty customers she was lucky. The three poker tables covered in green felt had dust all over them. Most of her customers didn't have enough money to start up a poker hand, and those that did had to extend credit and write IOUs. The bingo cards were safer. Often she sat at one of the tables with her customers, playing poker for dry beans. She always lost. On rare occasions when one of the miners had a little extra in his poke, he'd lay money on the bar for her. Right before she closed at midnight she'd slip that same money under Jeb's door to pay off her marker.

What she really loved about her customers was the fact that they did their best to act like gentlemen when they came into the palace. They'd spruce up by slicking their hair back, shaking the dust from their clothes and boots. Most times they washed their hands even though they didn't have enough money for a room and a hot tub. She could always tell when they trimmed their whiskers, and she'd always compliment them and tell them they looked like fashionable Boston gentlemen. They'd cackle with glee and then she would laugh, too, when she was forced to admit she'd never seen a proper Boston gentleman.

Things were going to change now. For the first time in her young life, Sallie felt fear of the unknown. If only she weren't so ignorant of the world. There wasn't much she could do about the fear of the unknown. She could get some learning, though. She wished again for her brothers, Seth and Josh. If only she knew where they were. All in good time or, as Cotton said, Rome wasn't built in one day, whatever that meant.

 

In her room at the boardinghouse, with the door closed and locked, Sallie opened the wooden box. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, she looked at all the bankbooks—red ones, blue ones, green ones, two brown ones. So many numbers. She tried to comprehend the number of zeros. Mr. Waring made it sound like she could buy the world. The world! She wept then at her ignorance.

When there were no more tears to shed, Sallie's thoughts turned to Cotton Easter, her benefactor.
I don't understand, Cotton, if you had all that money, why did you live like you did? There were times when you were hungry and didn't have the money to rent a room. You didn't have a dollar for a bath. Life could have been so much easier for you.

I wish you had let me know what you were planning. What should I do with all your money, Cotton? I never knew there was so much money in the world. You must want me to do something.
What?
She looked around, half-expecting to hear Cotton's voice. She flopped back against the ruffled pillows, the wooden box toppling over. She saw it then, the crinkled piece of white paper. A letter. Maybe it was for her, from Cotton. She crossed her fingers and then blessed herself.
Please let it be printed letters. Please, God, let me be able to read the words. Don't let me be ignorant now. I need to know why Cotton was so good and kind to me. Please, God. I'll build a church. I swear to You I will. I'll call it St. Cotton Easter. Cotton was a religious man. He prayed every day. He taught me a prayer. I promise I'll say it every day.

Sallie squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers played with the folds of the crinkled letter. When she was calm, she spread the single sheet on her lap. The block letters and simple language brought tears to her eyes.

Sallie rolled over on the bed and burst into tears. “I never got a letter before,” she whispered into her pillow. “I'll keep this letter forever and ever. I'll read it every day and I'll do what you say I'll visit and we'll talk. I'll talk and you listen. That's what you said, Cotton. You have my promise that I won't . . . you know, do what you said.” A moment later she was off the bed and out the door. She ran, skidding around the corners, not caring who saw her or what they thought. She had something to do. Something important. Later she could worry about acting like a lady.

When she arrived at the cemetery she was breathless and disheveled. Her eyes were frantic as she searched out the mound of dark earth that waited for the marker. When she saw the dried flower petals she knew she had the right grave. She'd spent the last of her money on the small bouquet. Now she could bring fresh flowers every day if she wanted to.

Sallie sat down on the hard ground. She brought her knees up to her chin and hugged them with her arms. “Cotton, it's me, Sallie. I got your letter today It was in the box with all the bankbooks. It was real nice of you to leave me all your money I'm going to take the train to Texas and visit my family. I took some of the money out of the bank. I'm going to buy my mama a nice little house and a new dress. I'll get things for the young ones, too, and maybe see about getting them some learning. I can't wait to see my mother's face when I walk in the door. She always said Seth would be the one to make a lot of money Seth was the oldest. I never knew him because he lit out before I was born. So did Josh. Ma was so proud of her two oldest sons. Every day she'd say they're coming back and will bring presents for everyone. They never did. Then Ma stopped talking about them. I don't even know what they look like, Cotton. Ma said they were the spittin' image of Pa. Maybe someday I can find them and help them out. It don't seem right that I don't know what my own brothers look like. All I can see, Cotton, is Ma's face. I know she was pretty when she was a young girl, but Pa, he drained the life out of her. I used to hear her cry at night, but she always had a smile on her face in the morning.