Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (12 page)

“It’s true. You should see what goes on down at those cribs every night. Long lines of cursing, drunken men waiting to pay their twenty-five cents and take their turn. I can only imagine what goes on inside and how those girls are treated. You never see them. I guess they’re never allowed outdoors.”

Sarah recalled the Chinese girl she’d seen that brief moment in the doorway, the one with the ugly scar on her face. “What happens to them, Mrs. Butler?”

“I’m told they don’t last long. Then they’re thrown away as if they were garbage. Many commit suicide.” Mrs. Butler’s expression brightened. “But let’s forget all that. It has nothing to do with us, now does it?

They returned to more pleasant subjects. Before they left, Ma reached into her makeshift purse and pulled out Florrie’s picture as she’d done many times on the trail. She laid it on the table before Mrs. Butler. “This is Florrie, my daughter. She’s missing. Have you seen her?” She couldn’t conceal the heartbreak in her voice, although, as always, she was making a valiant effort to carry on.

Sarah expected the restaurant owner to make the usual response—a quick glance and then
no, sorry
. Not this time. Beatrice picked up the picture and gazed at it closely. Sarah could have sworn that, for the briefest of moments, a gleam of recognition flared in her eyes. It vanished quickly, if indeed it had been there in the first place. The restaurant owner pursed her lips with regret. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen her. Such a shame. I do hope you find her.”

As they prepared to leave, Mrs. Butler remarked, “If any of you ladies would care to have a job, just come by and I’ll put you to work.”

Sarah was so startled she took a moment to answer. “What would we be doing?”

“Helping with the cooking, waiting tables, washing dishes, that sort of thing.

“I’ve never had a job before.”

Mrs. Butler cocked an eyebrow. “Since you left home, I’d wager you’ve done lots of things you’ve never done before.”

Sarah had to smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Butler. We’ll think about it.”

On the way home, Becky tossed her head indignantly. “Think about it, indeed! Does that woman think I’d work as a lowly servant?”

She wouldn’t if she knew you
. Sarah bit her tongue. “It might not be such a bad idea. Let’s keep it in mind.”

Sarah had a hard time getting to sleep that night, what with all she had to think about. Was Jack avoiding her? They’d hardly spoken since that night by the river. Would Pa and Hiram find gold? Poor Pa, was he really up to the rigors of the diggings? Hiram, the same. Why did the image of that poor Chinese girl keep creeping into her mind? She kept seeing that ruined face, that hauntingly sad expression in her eyes, like the poor girl desperately needed help.
Nothing I can do about it, though
.
Get to sleep.

* * * *

The next few days, Pa and Hiram returned from the diggings so exhausted they ate their supper and went straight to bed. Along with Jack and Ben, they’d staked claims on the branch of a creek high above the town. They’d built a sluice box that could process the gravel more quickly but still had turned up nothing.

Sarah saw little of Jack until one evening he rode up after dinner when everyone else had gone to bed. He swung off his horse with such agility she’d never have guessed he’d been shoveling gravel into a sluice box all day. She invited him to sit by the fire and poured him a cup of coffee. Seating herself, she asked, “So do you think you’ll find gold?”

He shrugged. “No telling, but chances are we won’t.”

“How discouraging. Finding gold is so important to Pa, and Hiram, too.”

“We’ll keep trying.”

“How important is it to you?”

He took his time answering, staring into his cup, then into space. “Men have come from many countries to search for gold. It’s all they want—find enough gold to make them rich or die in the attempt. I’m not one of them.”

“I suspected your heart’s not in it. You’re doing this to help my father and Hiram.”

“Maybe.” His mouth twitched with amusement. “But I didn’t stop by to discuss my goals in life. I came to invite you to dinner.”

“You want to cook me some beans at your campfire?”

“Don’t you remember? I said when we got to Gold Creek I’d take you to the finest restaurant in town—that would be the Alhambra Hotel—and I’m a man of my word.”

She sat speechless. Since that night by the river, they had exchanged nothing but the politest of conversations. He’d hardly looked at her. In return, she’d made it a point to ignore him. Even though her pulse spiked whenever he came in sight, she had her pride and would never chase after him. “Everyone knows the Alhambra. I’ve heard that it’s—”

“Sinfully expensive? You let me worry about that.”

“I’ve nothing to wear.”

“That dress with the purple flowers will be fine. In case you’re wondering, the dining room at the Alhambra is separate from the saloon. A lady can dine there without ruining her reputation.”

Dinner at the Alhambra? Among the ladies of the camp, the hottest topic of conversation concerned the scandalous doings in the hotels of Gold Creek. The Alhambra had a reputation as bad, if not worse, than the rest. Because it stood closest to their camp, sounds of drunken revelry from the saloon disturbed their sleep. Gunshots were common. Through the front doors, painted women could be seen dancing and drinking with the customers. God only knew what wickedness occurred in those rooms on the third floor. Still, according to Jack, the dining room was respectable. Even if it weren’t, she’d go because she wanted to talk to him again, discover what he was feeling. She tipped her head and tried to look casual. “What time?”

* * * *

As Jack walked away from Sarah, he blew out a frustrated breath. Ever since they’d made love by the river, he’d done his best to ignore her. She was not for him, never would be, and it wasn’t fair to lead her on. Since he was twelve, he’d known he’d never marry. Up to now, he’d never questioned the life he’d chosen for himself, but now…what the hell was he doing? He’d half convinced himself he was inviting her to dinner out of companionship and good will. Because he’d be leaving soon, he would give her a pleasant, friendship-filled evening. At the end, they’d say goodbye and shake hands. But how could he manage when just the sight of her made him want her so bad he could hardly see straight?

But he had no choice. The demons that plagued him would never go away. Tonight he’d remain polite, courteous, and slightly distant, and would take care not to lay a hand on the achingly desirable Widow Gregg.

* * * *

After all those months of eating in the open by a campfire, Sarah could hardly imagine what it would be like to dine in a real restaurant again. To her surprise, both her mother and Becky not only approved of her going but helped her get ready. Ma laundered her dress with the purple flowers and mended a small tear in the hem. Becky, who had a knack for fixing hair, piled Sarah’s long, auburn tresses atop her head and pinned them with a jeweled comb which had mercifully survived the Humboldt Sink. Ma even went to town and bought her a new, white-beaded reticule so she wouldn’t have to carry one made of a dishtowel. Now, as she sat in the carpeted dining room of the Alhambra Hotel, she tried not to stare like some starving urchin who’d never seen the inside of a restaurant before. How splendid this was, and so unexpected!

From the moment Jack came to get her, he’d been charming and attentive. She’d been hard put to conceal her excitement, and how her pulse raced at the sight of him, but she’d done her best. They’d had to walk through the saloon to get to the dining room, located beyond the lobby behind double oak doors with finely etched glass panels. At one end of the room, amidst potted palms, four musicians in tuxedos played string quartet selections from the works of Haydn and Mozart. She tried not to gawk at the white damask cloth covering the table, the place settings with their gleaming crystal glasses, delicate china, and sterling silverware. “How very elegant this all is.”

Sitting across, Jack looked pleased. “Glad you like it.”

She’d never seen him look as stylish as he did tonight. He wore the same buckskin jacket but with a white shirt and a wide silk tie horizontally folded into a flat half-bow. Other men in the room were dressed in the height of fashion—long frock coats, four-in-hand neckties, yet none looked more at ease than her dinner companion. “Jack, do you know these men? They don’t look as if they’ve been standing in a stream filling sluice boxes all day.”

“Not all millionaires get that way by finding gold,” Jack replied. “You’ve seen the cost of things. There’s a fortune to be made selling supplies to all these mining towns. It’s a lot easier than breaking your back with a pick and shovel all day.”

A waiter with a white cloth over his arm brought them gold-engraved menus.
Epigrams of Lamb—Escalloped Oysters—Fricassee of Chicken—Galentine of Turkey, en Bellavue—Apple Fritters.
No bacon and beans tonight! When she placed an order that included Mock Turtle Soup, the waiter asked, “And what would madam like to drink?”

“Water, I guess.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “God forbid you should lose your membership in the Lady’s Temperance Society, but how about a little champagne? It’s a special night.”

What did he mean? What was he planning? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. She only knew this was indeed a special night and she would not spoil it by acting the prude. “I’d love a glass of champagne.”

The waiter gave Jack a little bow. “I recommend the
Reims Brut Elite
, House of Benet.”

“Then the
Brut Elite
it is.”

* * * *

“That was the best meal I ever ate in my life.” Sarah gazed fondly at the scant remains of a Charlotte Russe so delicious she had to refrain from scraping her plate. During the meal, they’d engaged in nothing but frivolous conversation. She was dying to know what he meant by “special night” but had refrained from asking. She picked up her champagne glass, now half gone, took another sip, and wrinkled her nose. “It tickles.”

Jack grinned back. “You don’t like it?”

“I love it.” She raised her glass again. “To a perfect evening. If only the ladies of the Temperance Society could see me now.”

“You deserve it.” Jack’s grin vanished. He drew in a deep breath, as if he was about to perform some disagreeable task. “Ben’s leaving in the morning. He thinks he’ll have better luck in Hangtown. Your father and brother still need me, but soon as I can, I’m leaving, too.”

She went numb inside and had to fight for breath, as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. With more than necessary care, she placed her glass back on the table. When she thought she could speak past the lump in her throat, she said casually, “Hangtown, what an awful name.”

“Yes, isn’t it? It was called Dry Diggins until three men on horseback rode into town with guns blazing. They were hung for their trouble, so the town got a new name.” Jack offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’re going to Hangtown, too?” Amazing she sounded so calm, considering her whole world had just fallen apart.

“Yes, to be with Ben. He’s got some business ideas, so I thought—” He made a wry grimace. “I won’t lie to you. I’m leaving because of you, Sarah.”

The waiter appeared and began to clear the table. Grateful for the extra moments, she tried to put her chaotic thoughts in some kind of order. Above all, she must remember she had her pride and wasn’t going to grovel and beg, no matter what. When the waiter left, she forced her lips into a smile. “You’re leaving because of me? My, my, what bad thing did I do?”

“You know better than that. That night we sat by the river—”

“Oh, really, you remember? I thought it must have slipped your mind.”

He looked away, as if to calm himself and not get angry. “You made me realize a lot of things that night. I’ve had women before, but none like you. I wanted you the moment I met you. Holding you in my arms was—” He bit his lip, as if he was having a hard getting the words out. “I knew I…had feelings for you. Since that night, it’s been torment staying away from you. I’ve wanted you so much, I…” He shook his head, eyes hauntingly dark with some unspoken emotion she couldn’t understand.

This was the first time she’d ever seen him less than utterly sure of himself. She wanted to scream, “If you care for me, why must you leave?” But no, she mustn’t lose her fragile grip on her dignity. “I’m not sure I understand.” Good, she’d sounded reasonable, not desperate.

“You made it clear you don’t want a man in your life.”

Oh, God. Why did I ever say that?
“Anything else?”

“You told me you wanted to get to Mokelumne City so you could feel secure again. All you wanted was to read your books, go to church and—how did you put it?—do good works for the sick and the poor. Admirable, and God knows you wouldn’t get that with me.” The expression in his eyes seemed to plead for understanding. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“You were raised in a brothel. That’s awful. I can’t imagine—”

“Of course you can’t imagine. A brothel is not a home. I know nothing about homes and don’t want to know. I’ve wandered this earth since I was twelve years old, and I’ll keep wandering until the day I die. That’s why I’m leaving, Sarah.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re too fine a woman for me to—”

“Take advantage of, the way you did that night at the river?”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. “

He was right. She wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t help it. Time to leave before she burst into tears and disgraced herself. She jerked her hand back and rose from the table. “That was a lovely dinner, Mr. McCoy. I’m leaving. No need to escort me home.”

She shoved her chair back, grabbed her reticule, and marched toward the heavy oak doors. A waiter held one open, and she swept through into the lobby. The noise from the saloon immediately assaulted her eardrums. She quickened her pace. All she wanted was to get to the street and back to her tent where she could let loose a torrent of tears. She walked through the lobby and into the deafening noise of the saloon. Keeping to the side as much as she could, she passed faro and monte tables surrounded by clusters of boisterous gamblers. She passed the long, mahogany bar crowded with men in working clothes whooping, hollering, and drinking whiskey. Across the room on a tiny stage, a company of dancing girls in scandalous, calf-length skirts kicked up their heels to a tinny piano tune. The doors to the street lay just ahead.
Almost there
.