With Endless Sight

by Allison Pittman

  Once I was back in my room, I slipped off my nightgown and let it fall to the floor. Gloria’s dress was lying across the foot of my bed; I picked it up and dropped it over my head. The skirt, of course, pooled around my feet, but I knew Mae’s gifted hands would fix that. I reached in the back and pulled the bodice tight against me and stood in front of the mirror. The dress was a flawless wool serge, and the dark green complemented my features more than any I’d ever worn. The neckline fell in a gentle scoop, not deep enough to expose my shoulders, but wide enough to bring focus to my collarbones which, thanks to more than a year of Mae’s good cooking, no longer looked as if I’d stolen them from a chicken. My hair was full of waves from the braiding and pinning I’d worn it in all day, and it fell loose around my face and shoulders.

  I looked beautiful.

  “You look real pretty there, Biddy.”

  I was too startled to scream, but my gasp was so violent I was just as likely to choke to death as ever breathe normally again. I spun around and saw Buck’s smiling face framed by my bedroom window.

  “What are you—How did you get up here?”

  “What kind of a romantic would I be if I didn’t have a ladder?”

  “Lower your voice,” I said, speaking in a hushed tone myself. “You’ll get me into trouble.”

  Buck laughed. “Just look where you are, Biddy. Now come over here and give me a kiss.”

  I released my grip and let the bodice expand around me. Then I gathered the skirt so I could walk across the room to the window without tripping. After giving him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, I told him to go away.

  “That sure is a pretty dress,” he said.

  “Gloria gave it to me. It doesn’t fit.”

  He reached across the window sill and grabbed my hand. “Come on out and go for a walk with me.”

  “No, Buck. Not tonight.”

  He stroked the back of my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger before saying, “Then let me come in there.”

  This request shocked me as much as hearing his voice in the window, and that same breathlessness overtook me. “How can you ask such a thing?” I finally managed to say.

  “Don’t worry.” He looked straight into my eyes. “Jewell doesn’t have to know. And if she finds out … well, I’ll work something out with her later.”

  I felt myself growing smaller and smaller. “Is that how you think of me?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean any harm by it.” He mustered up that smile again. “One more kiss and I’ll go.”

  “I don’t think so.” I tugged my hands from his grip and reached for the window sash. “Good night.”

  I slid the window closed and nearly mashed his fingers. The last thing I saw before blowing out my candle was his scowling face behind the glass.

  Once he was gone, I pulled the curtain closed and took off Gloria’s dress. Feeling my way through the darkness, I found the peg on the wall and hung the dress up before gathering my nightgown from where I’d dropped it on the floor.

  No sooner had the white cotton settled on my shoulders than there was a soft knock on my door. And then the door began to open.

  Somehow I found a voice to say, “Get out of here, Buck Danglars! I swear I’ll go get Jewell, and she’ll kill you if I tell her to.”

  “Sshh! Biddy, it is me.” Sadie’s voice spoke from the shadows, and I ran into her arms, sobbing against her. “Hush now, liebling. What is this about that boy?”

  “Oh, Sadie, he thinks I’m a—I don’t want to be like you.”

  “Well now, of course you don’t.” She stroked my hair.

  “I want to go away.”

  “Then away you shall go.” Something in her voice told me she was not speaking mere platitudes.

  “How?” I asked. “You’re always talking about how much money it would take to leave this place. And I certainly don’t have any. And Jewell would never give you—”

  “No, Jewell would not. But Gloria would.”

  “But Gloria’s gone.” I pulled away from her at last.

  Sadie went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. I worried for a moment that Buck’s face might still be at the window, but he had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, and there was nothing left to come into the room but a stream of gray moonlight.

  “You are not the only person to receive a gift from Gloria.”

  Sadie settled on the edge of my bed and patted the mattress, inviting me to join her. Her face was softer than I ever remembered seeing it. Maybe the moonlight smoothed away the roughness, but there was a peacefulness about her that made her seem younger—infused with direction and hope.

  “Do you remember the day Gloria arrived and Jewell asked you to search her bags to see if she had any money?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, Jewell was right to suspect. Gloria did have a lot of money, but she hid it. From Jewell, from all of us. Until now.”

  “What do you mean?” My own kernel of hope was growing within me.

  “Gloria left you that beautiful dress. And to me she left the curtains that were hanging in her window.”

  “I know. I helped you hang them in your room this afternoon.”

  Sadie giggled like the long-lost child within her. “They are not ordinary curtains, Biddy. Tonight, after you left just a while ago, I went to my window. To pray, if you must know. I—I have not prayed in quite some time, but something about tonight. I feel like we all need—”

  “I know. Seeing Gloria leave and start a new life—and just a while ago, Buck was here—”

  “That is all behind you now, my darling. Because when I went to my window, I noticed something odd about the curtains. I found this stitched into the hem.”

  Sadie reached into the pocket of her dressing gown, pulled out a bundle of folded bills, and held them up in the moonlight. I hadn’t seen anything like this since I reached into my father’s case and took our modest family fortune.

  “All of this was hers?”

  “Yes,” Sadie said, fanning the notes once before bundling them up again. “And she walked away from it. She left it all behind. If she can do that, Biddy, there is no reason why you and I cannot do the same.”

  “Do you think that’s what she wanted?”

  “I am not sure, but I do know she was insistent that I not tell Jewell about the curtains. And now I know why.”

  “Do you think Jewell will try to take it away?”

  I knew the answer to that already. Jewell could be kind, almost motherly, but deep within that billowing breast of hers beat the cold heart of a businesswoman.

  “She will not have the opportunity. We owe her nothing.”

  Sadie’s eyes had grown cold, but the change in mood was only temporary, as the next minute she smiled again and clutched me to her in an affectionate embrace.

  “Do you realize what this means?” She held me out at arm’s length. “Within a week we could be on a stagecoach to anywhere we want to go. Or a train! I hear there are railroads halfway across the country now.”

  “Would you go back to New York?”

  “Perhaps, though I do not know that anything is left for me there. But I could get on a ship there and go to Europe if I wanted to. Start a whole new life. Now we have a choice.”

  “We’ve always had a choice,” I said softly.

  “I know.” Sadie’s voice matched the softness of my own. “But can you not accept that this is a gift from God? Just as much as it is from Gloria? You have always said that He must have brought you here for a reason. Maybe this is the reason. Maybe you had to come here so that you could go home.”

  I looked at Sadie and remembered the first time I saw her, when, in my delirium, I thought she was the tallest woman I’d ever seen. Now she was also the strongest. Every part of her story, her life, was etched in her face, but somehow she bore it with grace. I leaned forward, wrapped my hands around her waist, and rested my head on one of her strong shoulders.

  “I’m
sorry I said I didn’t want to be like you,” I sobbed into the fabric of her gown.

  “Oh, liebling. After tonight, I do not want to be like me, either.”

  That, when our life of faith is done,

  In realms of clearer light

  We may behold Thee as Thou art,

  With full and endless sight.

  Amen.

  29

  One week after finding the money in the curtains, our camp’s faithful supply wagon—laden with beer, whiskey, and food—made its way up the pass. Jewell set up her usual impromptu party, laying planks across empty barrels to set up a bar and charging exorbitant prices for drinks and dinner. Music pounded out on the piano inside the parlor, drifting through the open window to accent the festivities.

  In the midst of it all, Sadie was quietly talking to the driver, arranging a ride for us to South Pass.

  “You should have seen his face when I told him what I was prepared to pay,” Sadie whispered later that night as we packed our things. “I even convinced him to set back some of the supplies so we can have a nice supper when we camp.”

  All this she told me as I stood on the chair in my room while Mae put the final stitches in the hem of Gloria’s green dress. She had done a masterful job remaking the dress, creating a cascading tier of fabric along the back of the skirt and lifting the neckline to a respectable level. She used the excess fabric to create a matching reticule embellished with shiny jet beads.

  “Oh, I just can’t believe you’re both leaving.” Mae managed to speak without dropping a single pin from her pouting lips. “It’s going to be so lonely here without the two of you.”

  “Nonsense, Mae.” Sadie draped an arm across Mae’s shoulder. “You have Yolanda and Donna to keep you company.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?” I asked. Her warmth would be the one thing I would truly miss about this home.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” She held the fabric away, admired her work, then brought it close to her squinted face and resumed her stitching. “Somebody has to keep Jewell in line.”

  Just then the door flew open, and Jewell stormed inside, startling Mae so much, she pricked her finger with the needle.

  “Don’t tell me you was plannin’ to sneak off in the middle of the night without so much as a good-bye.” She planted her hands on her ample hips and surveyed the scene in front of her. “Seems there oughta be a better way for me to find out I’m losin’ my partner besides hearin’ it from some drunken loon and his pack o’ mules.”

  “I am hardly your partner, Jewell,” Sadie said.

  “You put up half the money to start this place.”

  “And I have not taken a dime since. It is yours, Jewell. I can walk away, leaving it all to you. But this cannot be a part of my life anymore.”

  “And the young one here?” Jewell leaned her head back to look up at me. “Give her another year or so and I could—”

  “No, you could not, Jewell,” Sadie said. “Not with her. And I think deep down inside you know that.”

  “Well, you won’t be leavin’ with my blessings.” She turned to leave the room. “But you might as well take somethin’.”

  She disappeared for just a moment and returned carrying a small satchel covered in a lovely floral tapestry. The bag was open, and inside I could see that it was lined with a rich red silk. She tossed it on the bed.

  “Now, Biddy, you come here with nothin’, and you’re leavin’ without much more. But what you got, you need somethin’ pretty to carry it in.”

  “Oh, Jewell …”

  I hopped off the chair and ran to embrace this woman whose heart was hidden so far beneath such bluster. My arms would not quite encircle her girth, but I relished the softness of her and buried my face in her ample bosom, which always smelled of sweet powder and tobacco.

  I heard the click of her rings as she patted my back. “That driver says he plans to leave before first light, so don’t you get any ideas about wakin’ me up. You know how I am without my beauty sleep.”

  “Of course.” Sadie leaned over me to give Jewell a kiss on her cheek. “Good-bye, Jewell. I will write when I am settled.”

  “See that you do.” Jewell pulled me closer and bent to kiss the top of my head before pushing me away. “Get on up and let Mae finish that dress.”

  I obeyed, and by the time I was standing steady, Jewell was gone.

  “She didn’t ask about where we got money for our trip.” I tried to hold very still.

  “Oh, she knew about the money.” Mae wiped a tear before resuming her stitching. “She knew all along.”

  South Pass City was two days’ drive from Silver Peak. Sadie and I rode in the back of Clem’s wagon, bouncing on the hard wooden bed, sometimes unable to talk for fear of biting our tongues. There was, of course, room for one of us to sit next to Clem, but that would leave the other one to bounce alone, and we’d vowed—for the time being, at least—to stick together.

  When night fell we made camp. We had sausages to roast on a stick, and we ate them wrapped in soft sourdough rolls that Mae baked the day before. Clem sat with us, drinking whiskey and talking, mostly about Mae, and it soon became clear why he regularly chose to take on this treacherous delivery route.

  Sadie and I slept in the back of the wagon and woke up only because we were jostling along again.

  When we arrived in South Pass City near dusk the next day, it was obvious City had been added to the town’s name out of vanity. It was scattered across a wide valley with no attempt to arrange the buildings along a straight street. At least two of them had the familiar look of what we’d left behind, with their doors thrown open to the summer evening. Groups of men gathered around bars while fancily dressed women circulated throughout.

  “Ladies,” Clem said, after bringing the wagon to a halt, “I believe this is where I will say my farewell.” He tipped his hat and disappeared inside the first saloon, receiving a boisterous welcome from the crowd within.

  Sadie and I looked around, taking in all the town had to offer. A small stream ran straight through, and several small wooden bridges allowed passage from one side to the other.

  “There it is.” I pointed to a three-story building on the other side of the stream. “There’s the hotel.”

  We took our bags out of the wagon and made our way across the nearest bridge, though there were plenty of hoots and hollers from the saloon urging us to turn back.

  “What do you think, Biddy?” Sadie stepped gingerly on the wooden slats. “Do you want to try your hand at being a saloon girl?”

  “No,” I said, sharing her humor. “I don’t look good in red.”

  The lobby of the Brasco Hotel was modest but clean, with a well-worn carpet and walls painted in a pleasant, peeling blue. The desk was manned by a tall gentleman with jet black hair and a small mouth surrounded by an equally black, well-groomed goatee. I assumed he was Mr. Brasco.

  “We need a room, please,” Sadie said.

  On the desk sat an oversized guest ledger and a pen. She picked up the pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed the book with the poise and confidence of a world traveler.

  “Now you.” She handed the pen to me.

  “Now listen here.” The man held up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “I run a clean place here. You want that funny stuff, you need to go across the bridge.”

  “Do not worry,” Sadie said. “We are clean girls. How soon can we expect a eastbound stage?”

  “I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to check at the station in the morning, but I don’t think it’ll be more than three days.”

  “Then we will need the room for three days.”

  Sadie handed a bill across the desk, and Mr. Brasco smiled and offered to take our bags.

  The room was like the lobby: serviceable, plain, and clean. We stripped off our dresses and stockings and shoes, and after splashing cool water from the washbasin on our faces and necks, we lay down on the bed wearing only our undergarments. The window
was open, letting in the sounds of the town, and I felt tears gather in my eyes and spill over, falling into my ears.

  “Biddy, liebling, why are you crying?”

  “I’m just happy, I guess.”

  “I am happy too.” Sadie squeezed my hand.

  “To think how everything changes in just one night.”

  Mr. Brasco also owned a small restaurant next to the hotel, where Sadie and I went for breakfast after sleeping until midmorning. We each had a plate full of eggs and bacon, with stacks of fluffy hotcakes slathered in butter and gooseberry jam. Afterward we went to the station to inquire about the next stage and learned that one was due in that night, to leave first thing in the morning.

  “Come back tonight to see if they have any seats,” the station manager said.

  That left us the afternoon free to explore the surrounding countryside within walking distance, which we did, enjoying a leisurely pace. We found a small dry goods store, and it felt like a homecoming to examine yards upon yards of ribbon before choosing a tartan pattern that complemented my green dress. We also bought sticks of horehound candy and two small notebooks and pencils so that we would have no excuse not to write to each other in the coming months. I gave her the address of Phoebe’s parents in Belleville, and she promised to send word once she had decided on her own destination.

  We walked past the edge of the last building in town and saw a crew of men hammering smooth boards into a large square platform raised one foot off the ground.

  “What is this?” Sadie asked, boldly approaching one of the laborers, a big burly man with arms that looked like great hairy cannons.

  “Independence Day celebration,” he said without missing a strike. “This here’s the dance floor. Wanna help?”

  “I am afraid we are not the best carpenters,” Sadie told him, coming as close to flirting as I had ever seen.

  “The lady in charge wants two hundred paper stars.” He pulled another nail out of the leather pouch attached to his belt and moved down the board. “We don’t have time to cut out two hundred paper stars. Maybe you could do that.”