Hallie's Comet

by Denise Dietz

  “Why didn’t you say so? I would have trapped an elephant and cut off its sleeves.”

  “Ears, Gabriel. They’re called elephant sleeves because they look like an elephant’s ears. See how the material flares out before being gathered tightly at the waistband?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t?”

  “All I can see is your naked body.”

  “Bilge-water. You look at my naked body every day. Who do you think poses for your paintings?”

  “I’ve never seen your body hidden by elephant ears.”

  “Sleeves, Gabriel.”

  “Put the dress away.”

  “Why?” She saw the wicked light in his eyes. “Oh, no. We don’t have time.”

  “Sure we do. We’ll eat our fancy dinner after the comet.”

  “But I want to watch the comet through the restaurant’s plate-glass window. It might be less…”

  “Frightening?”

  She nodded. “I’m playing jellyfish again, aren’t I?”

  “Yup.” Carefully, he folded her beautiful new gown over the screen. Then he nuzzled her neck. “Your hair smells like rain,” he said into her ear.

  His huffy breath produced an instant wave of desire. So did his rough unshaven chin when he kissed the deep cleft between her breasts. She could hardly unbutton his trousers fast enough. “Now, Gabriel!” she cried, wild to have him.

  “Soon, and that’s a promise.” Seated on the edge of the bed, he removed his boot and clothing. Then he stood, his balance remarkable for a man with only one leg. “I want to play elephant,” he said. Clasping his fingers together, he swung his arms like an elephant’s trunk, until his elbows bent and he captured her head between his arms. Then he kissed her.

  She felt the familiar belly warmth, then the familiar weakness, and she sank back, onto the mattress.

  Gabriel dropped to his good knee, spread her legs, and began his ministrations. His tongue was eager, her response immediate. She found his hands, placed them on her breasts, and arched her back. Flinging her arms over her head, she searched for something to hold on to. But there was nothing, so she buried her hands in the thickness of his hair, and when he finally molded his hard body to her pliant body she welcomed his entry with a glad cry.

  Afterwards, she twined her long legs about his waist, holding him prisoner, capturing him inside, hoping his hot need would build anew.

  “It’s late,” he said.

  “It’s early.”

  “I don’t want to miss the comet.”

  “Won’t there be other comets, Gabriel?”

  “Not for seventy years.” He disentangled her legs. “Let’s get ready, Knickers. I must shave and that takes a while.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, caressing his jagged scar with her fingertips. “But I always forget.”

  Since the cabin had only one room, she didn’t dare dawdle.

  She donned her new gown, marveling at the perfect fit.

  Twisting her hair into a braided topknot, she cast fond glances toward the spool bed, the leather-thonged chest, and the dragon-decorated screen, all retrieved from Mama Scarlet’s bedroom. Gabriel had paid Madam a small fortune for the items, eager to please the young girl he’d won in a poker game.

  “Are you ready?” Gabriel asked, hot-to-trot.

  Men! Always so impatient! Knickers joined him at the door.

  Goodbye chest and screen, she said silently. Goodbye dressing table with your bottles of Crème de Marshmallows and Milk of Cucumber. Goodbye spool bed. Goodbye paintings of Mama Scarlet and Beatrice, my pretty baby sister. Goodbye paintings of me. Goodbye mirror. Goodbye reflection. Goodbye me.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  While Gabriel saddled Bucket and Dottie, Knickers visited the outhouse.

  Then she gazed fearfully at the sky.

  Thunder still sounded, but it was a distant echo. Gabriel said that thunder was God’s cough.

  Knickers loved horses more than anything, except Gabriel, and yet she fervently prayed that Dottie would catch a stone in her hoof. Maybe then Gabriel would turn back. But the dappled gray mare pranced along the trail as if she were trotting on air. So did Bucket, son of Gabriel’s mare, Nantucket. When Knickers, curious, had asked about the name, Gabriel had laughed.

  “There once was a man from Nantucket,” he’d chanted, “who kept all his coins in a bucket. But his daughter, named Nan, ran off with a man, and as for the bucket, Nantucket.”

  Knickers gave Dottie’s neck a few pats, then looked up again. The thunder had hushed, but a herd of clouds grazed, chomping at the sky.

  Dottie chomped at the bit.

  * * *

  Knickers felt her eyes almost pop out of her head. Folks might be burrowing in caves elsewhere, but in Cripple Creek they lined the streets. Two, maybe three hundred people. Venders hawked comet pills and weenies on a stick and candy apples. Some even sold bottles of liquor.

  “Shame, shame!” she shouted. Prodding Dottie closer to Bucket, she said, “Those men shouldn’t sell demon rum on the street, Gabriel. It’s indecent.”

  “We don’t have to buy it, honey.”

  She held her tongue, even though she had a feeling that the men who bought the whiskey and apple jack would soon be drunk and rowdy, if they weren’t already. And, oh, how she wanted to go home.

  Gabriel stabled the horses at the livery, not far from Johnson’s Department Store. “I wish I could stay with Dottie and Bucket,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly, Knickers. The horses will munch stale oats while we dine on thick steaks, fresh snap beans, and snails.”

  “I’d rather eat oats than snails, Gabriel.”

  Arm-in-arm, they joined the crowd around a preacher whose skin had the dark shine of coal. Suddenly, the crowd burst into song, a hymn called “There is Sunshine in Your Soul.” Knickers sang too, her voice unspoiled by whiskey or tobacco, scrubbed clean by the mountain air.

  Gabriel’s prideful grin outshone the sun that hovered just above the horizon.

  Soon it will be twilight, Knickers thought, as the hymn ended. Soon darkness will descend and the damnfool comet will streak across the damnfool sky.

  Wending his way through the crowd, a small black boy waved a sign above his head. Printed letters spelled out: GREAT SHOW AT THE TROPIC. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN INVITED.

  “Might we catch the show at the Tropic, Gabriel?”

  “Maybe.”

  After the comet, she thought, echoing his thoughts.

  Vivid colors tinted the grazing clouds. Then the sun disappeared below the horizon and Knickers felt her heart resume its normal rhythm.

  The sun didn’t explode, did it? she chided silently. You’ve got to disremember your fear of sunsets.

  Glancing around, she saw that Myers Avenue was now brightly lit. Mr. Edison’s light bulbs illuminated parlor house windows. Hand-held torches flared and street lamps cast an eerie glow. Overhead, the clouds had drifted away, leaving stars in their wake. If it weren’t for the damnfool comet, she could enjoy this wondrous sight, this wondrous night.

  She pictured her painting, the one she’d start tomorrow morning, after her bath. She’d use umber, sienna, sepia, add some gray shadows and—

  What did a comet look like? Gabriel said it was a moving celestial body with a luminous tail. Celestial, he said, meant heavenly or divine. Divine meant sacred. Sacred meant holy.

  Were comets holy?

  Folks gave way to Gabriel’s crutch, and they soon stood in front of the Old Homestead. Inside, the girls were throwing a party. Knickers heard a piano and the sound of laughter. She sniffed and smelled an all-day roast. She hadn’t eaten lunch and beneath her chemise and petticoats, her tummy growled.

  A yellow-haired, pasty-faced woman thrust her head through the open, second-story window. “Mary Knickers!” she shouted. “It’s been a long time!”

  “Hello, Miss Mollie.”

  “Aw, don’t call me Miss. You’re all grown up. What a pretty gown. I fail to catch
your knickers, though. Lord, how that used to rile Scarlet.”

  “Mama Scarlet always said a girl shouldn’t show her undergarments for all the world to see.”

  “Hullo, Gabriel. You look fit.”

  “So do you, Miss Mollie.”

  Knickers watched Mollie preen and pat her wispy yellow braid. Apparently, she’d never discovered the whereabouts of her Princess Hair Restorer. Or, more likely, the dang stuff didn’t work.

  “Do you still live here,” Knickers asked, “at The Homestead?”

  “Naw. I’m too old. Got myself a room above the Bucket of Blood Saloon, where the miners don’t give a hoot how old you are. Some of them young pups don’t want no spring chickens. They’d rather have a whore who’s well seasoned, someone who’s on the ball, if ya get my drift.” She hee-hawed. “I’m here for the comet wing-ding. It’s an open invitation, Mary Knickers. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Gabriel?”

  “Sure, honey. Folks’ll yell when the comet appears.”

  Maybe we won’t hear them. Gabriel will be riled but I’ll be eased. And I know how to hearten his displeasure. She smiled at the last thought, then entered and walked toward the second parlor. Immediately, she was surrounded by girls from her past.

  “Mary Knickers,” one plump girl said, “why ain’t you paid us a visit? We were the same age when you left the profession and—”

  “I never joined the profession.”

  “That don’t explain why you ain’t come callin’.”

  “I’ve been occupied.”

  “Havin’ babies?”

  “No. Posing for Gabriel’s paintings. The Homestead looks the same,” she said, wanting to change the subject.

  “The piana’s new.”

  Knickers sneaked a peek at the grand piano, where a man dark as chocolate played a ragtime piece. Then her gaze swept the room. The wallpaper had been ordered from Europe. There was an Edison phonograph with its large morning-glory speaker. Teakwood tables and banquet lamps shone, the former from polishing, the latter from electricity. She had once thought the Old Homestead handsomely decorated but tonight its opulence seemed cloying, especially when she compared it to her snug but airy cabin.

  “Let’s you and me visit the other parlor, Mary Knickers,” said the plump girl. “There’s food. Puddings, hams, roasts and such. And a cake that looks like a comet.” She licked her lips. “Madam plans to serve the cake after the comet.”

  “Comet, comet, comet! I’m sick and tired of the damnfool comet. If someone says that word one more time, I’ll scream. Where’s Gabriel?”

  “He’s probably standing by the door with the other gents. They don’t want to miss the com … uh, commotion.”

  Knickers stomped down the hallway. Sure enough, Gabriel stood just inside the entranceway. He leaned on his crutch and smoked his pipe and laughed at something Mollie said. He didn’t care that his Knickers was scared out of her wits.

  Shoving the other men aside, she brushed past him.

  “I’m going home,” she called over her shoulder. “If you want to stay, stay. If not, I’ll be at the livery, saddling up Dottie.” She fisted her hands until her knuckles whitened. “If someone tries to stop me, he’ll be puking up teeth.”

  “Wait! Knickers, wait!” Gabriel yelled.

  “I’m tired of waiting,” she said.

  Outside, the street was a mass of bodies and there were so many lit torches, the sky looked like a sunset.

  Two drunken men, one fat, one skinny, reeled toward Knickers. The fat man slanted a glance at the Old Homestead. “Let’s you and me get a room, little lady,” he said, making an obscene gesture.

  The skinny man laughed and said, “You’re too drunk, bub. Couldn’t get it up if you tried.”

  “Who ya callin’ drunk”

  “You, you bastard.”

  “Who ya callin’ bastard?”

  The skinny man jabbed at the fat man’s face.

  Knickers sensed the fat man’s punch before she actually felt it. Holding her chin, she staggered forward, into the street.

  After that, everything seemed to happen all at once.

  “Knickers, are you all right?” Gabriel yelled.

  “I’m fine!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Stay where you are!”

  “Look at the sky!” a gent hollered.

  “The comet!” screamed a lady. “It’s falling!”

  “I don’t want to die,” another lady wailed.

  “You won’t die, you fool,” Gabriel said. “The comet isn’t falling.”

  Nobody paid him any heed. As one, the crowd surged down the street, arms flailing, boots stomping everything in their path, including quite a few women who had fainted. Knickers heard the yowl of a dog. Or was it a cat?

  Desperate, she lowered her head and butted her way toward Gabriel.

  They pressed their bodies against the Old Homestead’s wall. Knickers squeezed her eyes shut, but she could still hear the sound of thundering feet. In her mind’s eye she could see the crushed form of a dog or cat. Tears brimmed, overflowed. At the same time, she felt happy. Happy that her fears had been without substance. Happy that she was alive. Bruised, but alive.

  “And yet, I’d rather have one week, one month, one year with you, Gabriel,” she whispered, “than a lifetime without you.”

  “What did you say, little love? I couldn’t hear—”

  “Nothing, Gabriel. Just hold me.”

  “It’s over, Knickers. The comet’s gone. Open your eyes and dry your tears. Animals got stepped on, but none were killed. Some men are helping the injured. I wouldn’t be of any use. The street has more ruts than I care to count.”

  “Why did they act that way, Gabriel? Why?”

  “I don’t think folks expected the comet to appear so close to the earth. They failed to remember that Colorado has a very high altitude. Lord almighty, that comet’s tail streaked across the night sky. What a sight!”

  “What a catastrophe!”

  He caressed her chin. “Poor baby. How do you feel?”

  “Fine, Gabriel. I’m just glad it’s over. I hope the drunk man who hit me got stepped on real hard. I hope he puked his demon’s rum.”

  “Knickers!”

  “I know. Mama Scarlet wouldn’t approve. She always said a true lady should go quietly about her business when on the street. ‘Swinging the arms, sucking parasol handles, and talking very loud are all evidence of ill breeding.’ I’m just glad Mama Scarlet didn’t witness what happened here tonight.”

  “I’m sorry you did. I should have listened to you.”

  “No, Gabriel. You saw your damnfool comet and we didn’t get harmed. The crows were wrong.”

  “The crows were only half-wrong. It could have been much worse. You could have been trampled. You could have left me. Please don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t Gabriel, and that’s a promise. Let’s go home.”

  “What about your fancy meal?”

  “Home, Gabriel!”

  “Home,” he agreed, limping down the street, trying to avoid the ruts.

  She wanted to help him, but knew his pride would never allow it. So she merely hummed “High Society,” the ragtime piece she’d heard inside the Old Homestead.

  Stars glittered overhead and she felt peaceful. She had meant what she’d whispered, after the stampede. She loved Gabriel with all her heart and soul, and if God took her tomorrow she’d die happy.

  They had navigated most of Myers Avenue when Knickers heard a woman shout, “It’s back! The comet’s back!”

  “There’s no comet.” Knickers glanced up at the sky. “What on earth is that madwoman yelling about?”

  With a grin Gabriel grinned gestured toward the small black boy who had earlier interrupted the preacher’s harangue. This time the boy held a different sign aloft. Someone had painted a huge comet. Directly beneath it, letters spelled out: HAVE A HOT TIME IN THE OLD TOWN TONIGHT. JOIN THE PARTY AT THE TROPIC.

  The sign
was attached to a very long stick and the painted comet, realistically rendered, looked as if it hovered several feet overhead.

  “It’s going to kill us!” the madwoman yelled.

  “They should lock her up,” Knickers murmured. Amazingly, she heard the sound of thundering feet again. “Gabriel, there’s going to be another stampede. Please let me help you. We’ve got to get out of the way.”

  Before she could move, a small crowd rounded the corner and raced down the street. “It’s going to kill us!” the madwoman repeated, her shoe kicking Gabriel’s crutch out from under him.

  “Run, Knickers!” he shouted, falling on his back.

  For one incredulous moment, she thought he meant he was telling her to run from the comet. Then she saw a horse-drawn buckboard. It careened down the street. There was no driver, the wagon was filled with bricks and lumber, and Gabriel lay directly in its path.

  “Somebody help us,” she cried, sinking to her knees, tugging at Gabriel’s shirt. But the crowd had surged past and the only person left standing was the little boy with the Tropic sign. Knickers felt Gabriel’s shirt rip beneath her fingers.

  “Crawl away,” he urged. “Hurry!”

  “I’ll never leave you, never!”

  “Knickers, please!”

  “No.”

  “Dear God, how can I make you leave?”

  “You can’t. God can’t, either.”

  “I love you, Knickers, always.”

  “I love you, Gabriel,” she said, covering his body with hers as best she could. But her slight form couldn’t protect him from the horse’s hooves or the wagon’s wheels.

  Pressing her cheek against his heart, she heard his heart stop beating. She felt as if stuffed bears crushed her. She knew that one hoof had caught her head. She knew that her ribs and legs were broken. But she didn’t feel any pain. She knew that she would soon die, but she didn’t fear Death. Because she was hugging Gabriel, the only man she had ever wanted, the only man she had ever loved.

  A smile creased the corners of her lips and she fisted her small hands. Death wouldn’t part her from Gabriel. If Death tried, he’d be puking up teeth.

  TWENTY-NINE