“Ya dirty bed faggot, tell me where it is.”
“I don’t know where it is, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you.”
He forced her head back. She made a grab for his mask. He punched her again, but she fought to stay standing. If she fell to the ground this creature would probably kick her to death. His eyes were full of crazed hate. She opened her mouth to scream, but so much blood poured in, all she could do was make gurgling sounds.
Grabbing hold of her hair he drove her head into the wall. Once, twice, a black veil descended on her.
Rachael woke up. She was lying flat on her back amongst the rubble. She could barely see out of her eyes. Trying to move caused agonizing pain to shoot through her chest. Each time she took a breath pain seared her ribs. Her head spun, and spots danced before her eyes. The pain was excruciating. She lay quietly for a time, then carefully looked around. Her whole face burned and ached.
No-one was here, her assailant had left her for dead. If she took small careful breaths it didn’t hurt so much.
Using her hands and arms for support, she managed to sit up, but slumped against the wall. Gasping and choking in agony, she wiped the tears from her cheeks because they stung her lacerated skin. Gingerly, she explored her face with her fingertips. It felt about twice its normal size. Her lips seemed stuck together; she forced them open with her tongue.
Only one person knew she was coming here. Mrs. Gleeson not only knew, but had encouraged her to come. Fearfully she glanced around. She was alone. Her assailant had fled, probably thought she was dead, and if she couldn’t get back into town she well might be.
How long could an injured person last without food or water? Did anyone ever come out to the graveyard to visit a loved one? I have to get out of this shack, get on to the main road and hope some kind soul will help me.
What if she couldn’t make it to the road? When would the next burial be? The longer she waited the weaker she would become. If she died, her baby would die also. It mustn’t happen. One more thing she had against men. The list was rapidly mounting.
Her gown was ripped and dirty, her reticule gone, and all her money with it. She tried to push her loosened hair behind her ears, and it felt sticky with blood. Endeavoring to stand, had her whimpering with pain. It took three attempts before she was upright. Shaking and moaning with the effort, she placed her palms against the wall for support.
Stumbling to the doorway, she glanced out. It seemed the only living person around here was her. The sun’s glare hurt her eyes. How long had she been unconscious? Two or three hours at least. She found a length of broken floorboard and used it as a crutch.
I have to get into town. I have to.
The brightness of outside after the dimness of the shack made her blink. Groaning, gasping and sobbing she hobbled to the side fence of the graveyard, and leaning against it, tried to gather her strength before continuing the slow tortuous journey.
Finally, she made it to the road and slumped under a tree to rest. Three riders passed by, also a buckboard containing a middle-aged couple. After a cursory glance at her they passed on. Probably think I’m some dirty, drunken whore.
It was soul destroying knowing no-one cared enough to stop and render aid to a woman in obvious distress.
She couldn’t walk into town, it was beyond her. But if she didn’t, she would die out here on a lonely dirt road like a discarded mongrel dog. Crying out with pain, she used the crutch to rise, then trembling with the exertion, struggled along. Her throat burned, her head and face throbbed, and she leaned heavily on the crutch. Without that, she wouldn’t have been able to move at all. Progress was slow, tortuous, and she was able to cover only fifty or so yards before needing to rest.
Wheels crunching on the gravel road had her carefully turning her head. A buckboard driven by a woman came into her blurry field of vision. Waving her free hand, she leaned heavily on the crutch. Please God, let her stop she prayed desperately. The driver pulled her horse up and climbed down.
“Help me, please,” Rachael croaked. “I’ve been attacked.”
The woman wore a green gown and had red hair; that was about all she could see as a misty veil covered her eyes.
“My dear, what happened?”
“Attacked.” Rachael collapsed into the woman’s arms and almost brought both of them to the ground. “Tried to kill me.”
“Don’t faint, I can’t get you into the buckboard on my own.”
Rachael gritted her teeth. With much groaning and moaning, and with the woman’s help she somehow managed to get into the buckboard.
“Water.”
“I don’t have any water.” The red head pulled a small silver flask out of reticule. “Drink it. It is whiskey, might help revive you.”
Rachael took a swallow and the liquid burned her throat. “I think my ribs might be broken. It’s painful to move or breathe.”
“Your face looks like it’s been on the receiving end of a few punches.”
“It has, he kicked me, too.”
“Who?”
“A masked man.” Rachael held her head in both hands to try and ease the throbbing pain. “He stole my money. Mrs. Gleeson from the boarding house must have told him.”
“Old mawk,” the women said. “I’m Lottie Donovan. Who are you?”
“Rachael Fairchild. I’ve no money now. Nowhere to stay.”
“Don’t worry about that now, you can stay with me.”
It was too much effort to speak any more, so Rachael touched Lottie’s hand as a gesture of thanks.
“You don’t want to talk. Too painful, I can see that. Don’t thank me until you see where I live. My brother owns the Flaming Star saloon. I have rooms out the back.”
Rachael tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Was this woman one of the soiled doves who worked at the saloon?
“No, I don’t service the customers, if that’s what you’re thinking. Most of the women in town think I do, and treat me accordingly.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. My brother and I make a good living out of the place.” Lottie laughed. “One day I might move somewhere more respectable.
“Thank you for stopping. Several people passed by and ignored me.” Her voice was so husky Rachael barely recognized it as her own.
“Yeah, all God-fearing Christians,” Lottie sneered.
As they passed down the main street of town, Rachael pretended not to notice the speculative glares she received. Lottie ignored them.
They pulled up out the back of the double story Flaming Star saloon. With Lottie’s help, she managed to climb out of the buckboard, then everything went black.
Rachael woke up in bed with an elderly man peering into her face. “I’m Doc Mason,” he said. “What happened to you, young lady?”
She glanced at Lottie who sat in a chair next to the bed.
“Rachael said she was assaulted by a masked man out near the graveyard.”
“She’s certainly taken a severe beating. I don’t think your ribs are broken, but they’re badly bruised. You have two black eyes and your nose could be broken. Liquid food only,” the doctor ordered. “Bed rest for a couple of days at least.”
“Doctor.” Rachael grabbed his arm. “I’m having a baby. Is it all right?”
“I can’t see any signs of miscarriage. No back or stomach pain?”
“No, I used my hands to protect my stomach.”
“You need to rest. I’ll come back and see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” When the doctor and Lottie left, Rachael glanced at her surroundings. She was lying in a single bed in a small room. It was painted cream. There was only a pine dresser and wardrobe. A large floral carpet square covered the floorboards.
Lottie returned carrying a jug of water and a glass. “I suppose you’re mighty thirsty.”
“Yes, parched.” Rachael tried not to gulp the water down, but it was hard when she was so thirsty.
“Would you like something to eat?
”
“No, thank you. I feel as if I could sleep for a hundred years.”
The next time Rachael awoke, it was morning, the spring sun shone through a gap in the curtains. The rattle of crockery heralded Lottie coming in with breakfast. She placed the tray on the dresser.
“Broth like Doc instructed, and a weak coffee.”
“Thank you.” With Lottie’s help she was able to sit up without screaming. “I feel much better.”
“You don’t look it, your whole face is swollen, you’ve got black eyes and there are bruises and scratches on your cheeks.”
“I would have died out there if you hadn’t stopped. I’ve got no money as the robber took my reticule, but in a day or so when I’m up to it, perhaps I could do some housework for you, or bookkeeping, I’m a school teacher.”
“School teacher! What are you doing out here?
Rachael hesitated. Why not tell Lottie the sordid story, she owed her that much? Haltingly at first, but gaining in confidence, she told her the whole miserable saga, leaving out nothing. “Men, I hate them.”
“Not all men are like that, there are a few decent ones around.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that Uncle Joe is dead. I won’t be able to work once my condition becomes obvious, then with a baby…”
“You need a husband.” Lottie stared at her intently. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one. I told you, I hate men, and even if I didn’t, who would marry me now? Men want virgin brides,” she went on bitterly. “Doesn’t stop them from seducing innocent women with lies to satisfy their lust, though. What about you, Lottie, are you married?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Well sort of. My husband has been in prison for nine years, and he’s got another five to go.”
“I’m so sorry. You’ve waited for him all this time.” The broth had pieces of bread floating around in it, and was quite tasty. Rachael ate hungrily.
“Peter wasn’t a bad man, just young and foolish. He got mixed up with the wrong people, and they robbed a bank.” Lottie shook her head. “He stood look-out for them and got caught. The others were gunned down. I’ve been working for my brother since then. It’s not a bad life if you’ve got a thick skin, that is. When he’s released from prison I’ll see what happens. Eat up and sleep. Don’t worry, you can stay here until we sort something out.”
Chapter Four
“Benjamin Lonigan, you’ve got yourself in a real fix haven’t you?” Lottie said with a laugh.
“It’s no laughing matter. I’ve worked on that ranch since the war. Uncle Samuel promised it to me. I think he went loco over the last few months before he died.”
Ben scowled. Trust Lottie to think it was funny. He didn’t want to get hitched. Women were trouble. Lying, untrustworthy, cheating… He only had one use for them now.
“How long have you got to find a wife?” Glen’s grinning question cut off his bitter thoughts.
They were in the private parlor of the Flaming Star saloon having a whiskey.
“I had four weeks when I first found out, it’s whittled down to two, and I’m getting desperate. It’s a pity you weren’t available. He glanced at Lottie. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties, a few years older than his thirty-one years, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She was one of only two decent women that he knew.
“You’re wasting your time waiting for Peter, he’s no good,” Ben said.
“He was a good husband to me until the war ruined him. It made him desperate for wealth and security.”
“The war ruined a lot of lives,” Glen agreed.
“I’m sorry, Ben, I know you lost more than most people did.” Lottie touched his hand. “Don’t let bitterness destroy the rest of your life.”
“Lottie’s right. The war has been over for more than ten years. I’ve given up my resentment of what happened. You need to do the same,” Glen said. “Lottie and I are doing well now, and when Amy returns from England we’ll be married. You should have taken my earlier advice and gone for a Mail Order Bride.”
Ben paced the floor now. “I didn’t have time. What the hell am I going to do? Looks like it will have to be one of your soiled doves.”
“What about Rachael?” Lottie suggested.
“Who is Rachael?” He stopped his pacing.
“The Quaker woman I mentioned,” Glen said. “The one who was assaulted and robbed in the graveyard.”
“Quaker!” Ben shot the word out.
“Well, she was born a Quaker, I don’t know what she is now.” Lottie stared him down. “She’d be perfect for you. She hates men as much as you hate women.”
“You think she’d be willing?” For the first time in days’ hope surged in his breast. A woman who hated men wouldn’t expect anything from him except a roof over her head and food. He didn’t care if she couldn’t cook. He wouldn’t be spending much time at the ranch house, anyway.
“She’s in a desperate situation,” Lottie went on. “There’s only one other thing. The skunk of a man who did wrong by her, left her um, in the family way.”
“You mean pregnant? Ah, no, no, no.” Taking on a wife that he didn’t want was one thing, but a kid…
Look Ben, she’s a decent, respectable young woman, a school teacher. I like her. You said yourself you wouldn’t spend much time at the ranch house, so having a child, what difference would that make to you?”
“Yeah. She’d concentrate on the kid, so she wouldn’t bother about you.” Glen agreed with Lottie.
Ben gnawed his bottom lip. “What’s she like?”
“Hard to tell,” Lottie said. “She’s got black eyes and her face is all swollen, but she’s blonde and blue-eyed, has milky white skin.”
“I don’t know.” Ben fixed Lottie with a level stare.
“Well, it’s either her,” Glen said, “or one of the women upstairs. They’ll be high maintenance. I don’t think any of them would go out to the ranch, they’re making too much money here. You could ask one of the whores working the cribs at Giselle’s bit house. They’d be desperate enough to accept.”
Ben shuddered. His need was dire, but he couldn’t lend his name to one of those wretched women. God alone knew what diseases they carried. “I’ll have to think on it. I’ll go and stay at the hotel for a couple of days.”
“Why don’t you see Rachael while she’s hurt and vulnerable,” Glen suggested.
“What a horrible thing to say.” Lottie glared at her brother.
“Well, once she starts to recover she mightn’t be so desperate to marry Ben.” Glen grinned. He looked like he was enjoying himself Ben thought sourly.
“She’s having a baby; she’s got no money now. I think she’ll agree, she doesn’t have many options,” Lottie told them. “She’s a women of principle who wants to work off the debt she thinks she owes me.”
“Upstairs!” Ben shot the word out.
“No.” Lottie laughed. “Doing bookkeeping or housework. The way she’s feeling at the moment she wouldn’t let a man touch her. You claim you want a woman who wouldn’t expect anything from you other than a roof over her head and food.”
“Yeah, but Lottie…”
“But nothing. Stay the night at the hotel, then come back in the morning. I can’t offer you your usual bed because Rachael’s sleeping in it, unless you want to stay upstairs with one of the girls.”
“I’m not in the mood. Could you ask this Rachael for me? Lay the cards on the table so to speak.”
“No.” She gave him a stern look. “You have to ask her yourself.”
“And what do I say?”
“Tell her the truth. The position you’re in. Of course, you could try to charm her.”
Ben snorted his disgust. Any charm he possessed he saved for the women upstairs. It ensured him a welcome next time he visited, without him having to leave a large tip. Greedy, grasping women. It was obviously built into them. He couldn’t understand why an attractive woman
like Lottie waited for a no good skunk like Peter to be released from prison.
He had never slept with her himself. She was like a sister to him, but she had had a few lovers. He didn’t condemn her for it. Some women had needs, the same as men did.
They had all been friends before the war. His brother Jesse, Glen, Peter and himself had all joined the Union army. Lottie and her sister Susannah had stayed in Missouri. He and Jesse had been wounded. If only Lottie had been home instead of Susannah on that fateful day they had come seeking sanctuary, Jesse would probably still be alive.
On pain of death Lottie would never have given them up to the Confederate army. Beautiful, selfish Susannah turned them in to save her own neck, and to collect a reward. It was a death sentence for Jesse who was badly wounded. He only lasted a few weeks in that hell-hole prison camp.
“Stop thinking about the war.” Lottie interrupted his brooding. “I’ve tortured myself for years because I was staying with Aunt Portia when you came, and wasn’t there to help. I know you loved Susannah, but she was always selfish. Papa spoilt her outrageously. I tried to warn you what she was like.”
“Yeah, well stop rehashing the war,” Glen interrupted. “It’s useless dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. Susannah got her just desserts, a Confederate bullet between the eyes.”
“What about Rachael?” Lottie changed the topic.
“All right, I’ll see her tomorrow.” Ben stood. “It’s late, I best be getting to the hotel if I want a room.”
“Come back here if they’re full. You can sleep on the sofa,” Lottie said.
“Thanks, goodnight.” Once he was out on the porch Ben jammed on his Stetson and strode into the street.
***
“I won’t do it.” Rachael shot upright in the bed, causing every aching muscle in her body to protest. “It’s ridiculous. I hate men. I’ll never let one touch me again.”
“That’s the beauty of it.” Lottie moved the breakfast tray on to the dresser. “Ben wants a marriage in name only so he can keep his ranch. Hear him out at least. He’s a decent man, but is bitter toward women. And he has every right to be.”
“What’s wrong with him that he can’t get a wife in the usual way?” She couldn’t get married. The thought of a man touching her now after what George had done, sickened her.
The Cowboy and the Quaker Page 3