Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “Don’t I? You would be surprised what I would dare, for the right reasons.”

  In her distress, Serena barely heard him. “Then there is your friendship. You wouldn’t want to destroy that for the sake of — of—”

  “Of a beautiful woman we both want? It wouldn’t be the first time friends had parted company for such a reason. But neither of those things counts in this. What matters is how you feel. Are you making excuses for me, to make it easy for me to turn you over to him? This is your big chance, Serena. Here is your mining millionaire ready to drop into your lap. All you have to do is say that’s what you want.”

  “You would let me go, just like that?”

  “If you tell me you want Nathan and his money it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Serena looked away from him across the room. “I understood Nathan already had a woman, Consuelo.”

  “That will be her problem.”

  “I don’t think I would like being the cause of her losing so much.”

  “There is that, of course.”

  (”As for Nathan, I’m not certain I like the idea of being — bought.”

  “A valid objection.”

  He was not going to help her. Straightening, swinging around, she found him watching her through narrowed green eyes. She managed a small smile. “Moreover, I doubt that he would appreciate anything which came to him so easily. Add to that my reluctance to have you think you know me too well, and I believe Mr. Benedict’s answer must be — no. That is, of course, if you are positive his offer doesn’t tempt you beyond your power to resist?”

  “You really intend to refuse?”

  She was aware of the intensity of his stare, the shading of disbelief in his voice. “I believe I must.”

  “Knowing you are unlikely to get a better offer?”

  “Are you suggesting I am holding out for marriage? I assure you, I know how futile that is.”

  “Serena—” he began, then stopped.

  “Yes?” She met his eyes, her blue-gray gaze unflinching. There was a suspended look in his face, as if there was something he wanted to ask, but was not certain he would like the answer.

  “It doesn’t matter,”he said finally. “Nothing matters except this.” He took her in his arms, drawing her close against him, holding her as though he meant never to let her go. His kiss was deep and cherishing, unending even as he sank to one knee upon the thick carpet before the hot glow of the stove, pulling her down with him. With trancelike slowness, they undressed each other, and, stretched upon the sybaritic warmth and softness of the rug woven in ancient Persia, they moved together in fearful harmony. Tasting, exploring, they endured the torment of holding the final crest of pleasure at bay, until it could be held no more, then with piercing, aching apprehension they plunged toward satiation.

  Afterward Serena lay staring at the wavering shadows cast by the coal-oil lamp that burned on the table. The proposition put to Ward by Nathan Benedict, though admittedly no compliment to a woman of principle, was flattering in its way. As much as she might dislike the idea of having a value put upon herself, it must be taken into account that Nathan Benedict had not meant for her to be informed of the offer; that much was obvious since he had seen fit to discuss the matter with Ward in private. Doubtless if he had thought she could be swayed by money alone, he would have made her a handsome offer and swept her out from under Ward’s nose without regard for how his friend might feel. That he had chosen the way he had to go about it indicated not only that he did not think so, but that he, as Ward had suggested, considered she had some feeling for the man with whom she was living. That was Nathan’s mistake, of course. By the same token, didn’t his offer indicate that he was fairly certain Ward had no such affection for her?

  Was it possible? Could he call her beautiful, say how he had missed her, make love to her with such caring gentleness, and feel nothing stronger than lust? It disturbed her to think so. Not that she wanted Ward to love her. It made no great difference, after all. But if he should come to care for her, it would be a fitting punishment for what he had done, a fine revenge. She closed her eyes, trying to dismiss that train of thought. A petty thing, vengeance. But so satisfying.

  “Are you certain this is where she is living?” Serena voiced the anxious question as she came to a halt in the middle of the frozen ruts of the road. Before her sat a one-room house with a single door and one sagging window. Built of green lumber at no distant date, its board siding was warped and twisted, leaving gaps for the wind and rain to enter, and the roof was canted at a strange, hip-shot angle. There was no name painted upon it, no red curtains, and yet it was without doubt one of the notorious Poverty Gulch cribs where women too independent, too unattractive, too old or diseased for the dance halls and parlor houses solicited customers.

  “I am sure,” Consuelo answered, “or at least, I am sure there is a girl who lives here that matches the description you gave. She has hair like white silk and is well shaped, though she is a little childish. She speaks often of a babe that died, but never of a husband. And there is a man who comes often to visit, usually in the morning.”

  Serena took a deep breath. “If it is Lessie, I don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  “You will think of something.”

  “I am more grateful than I can tell you for finding her for me.”

  The Spanish girl gave a small shrug. “It was nothing. I am only sorry it took so long. She doesn’t have many friends, this Lessie. She keeps much to herself, never goes out. Even her food is brought by the man who visits. For this reason it took time for me to hear of her.”

  “I expect she is afraid of being seen, afraid Elder Greer will find her,” Serena said unhappily.

  “I can’t blame her for that,” Consuelo answered, her tone dry. “I would not want that one to find me either.”

  “She may not want to see me,” Serena said.

  “There is only one way to find out,” Consuelo stepped to the rock that served as a step, and gave a sharp knock on the loose slats of the door.

  As they waited, Serena glanced at the other girl. Until today, she had not spoken to Consuelo since Nathan Benedict had made his offer to Ward. It might be the result of her own feeling of awkwardness, but she thought there was a change in the other girl’s manner toward her. It was nothing obvious. Cynicism and quick action were in Consuelo’s nature, as much a part of her as her pride and unobtrusive helpfulness. And yet there was a brittleness about her and an edge to her voice that made Serena wonder. Surely Nathan could not have been so unwise as to tell his present mistress that he was inclined to replace her? Such honesty would have been too cruel.

  The door in front of them opened a crack. A whispery voice issued from inside.

  “What do you want?”

  “Lessie?” Serena inquired, her tone doubtful.

  “Serena!”

  The door swung wide. Lessie, her face shining with wonder, reached out to take Serena’s hand, dragging her inside. She looked as though she would protest as Consuelo followed close behind, but relented as Serena, keeping an arm about the girl’s waist, made a quick introduction. The Spanish girl spoke a few cool words of acknowledgment, then, in answer to Lessie’s frantic signals, pushed the door shut.

  “How are you, Lessie?” Serena asked.

  “Fine, but I have so much to tell you.” The white-haired girl sat on the end of the unmade bed, waving Serena to a seat beside her. There was a chair with uneven legs and a sunken cowhide seat, but afar one look at it, Consuelo elected to lean against the wall.

  “All right, begin,” Serena said when they were settled.

  Lessie smoothed the gown of pink outing she wore over her knees and clasped her fingers together. “First, I was sick and my baby was born, only Beatrice killed it. They told me it died, but I know better. I heard it crying; that must have meant it was alive. I told Agatha, but she slapped me. She said I was silly and stupid, that Beatrice wouldn’t do such a thing. Then she told
Eider Greer that I was out of my head, and he believed her. He prayed over me for days and days, and then he — he said the only way for me to stop grieving was to make another baby.”

  Serena, her face grim, looked at Consuelo. “I knew he was a bastard,” the Spanish girl said, her voice dispassionate.

  “Yes,” Lessie said with sudden bright enthusiasm. “I didn’t want to, Serena. I didn’t want to at all, not with him. So I ran away.”

  (The crosscurrents of hate and jealousy, weak wrath, backbiting, and lewd suggestion that Lessie had evoked with her simple words were vivid in Serena’s memory. “That was probably the best thing you could have done,” she said slowly.

  “Yes, because I met Jack. He was kind to me. He bought me taffy candy and hair ribbons and let me ride on the train. For a little while we stayed at a big hotel, but there were too many people, so he found me this sweet little house to stay in where I will be safe. Don’t you like it?”

  Serena looked around at the dreary, unpainted walls plastered with newspapers and pages torn from magazines, at the sagging bed with its dingy sheets, the cracked china chamber pot with its lid covered by a garish crocheted “husher” or cozy, and the rickety washstand holding a mismatched ironstone pitcher and bowl. “It — must be nice not to have to share it with anyone.”

  A shadow passed over Lessie’s face. “I don’t mind, not when it’s Jack. I wish the other men didn’t have to come, but Jack says it’s not a sin, and it won’t be for long. He says it I let them — let them do what they want, we will soon have enough money, with what he has saved up, to go away together.”

  “Is that important? Is that what you want?”

  “Oh, yes. I love him. I wouldn’t want to live without him.”

  “You wouldn’t want to come and live with me?” Serene was aware of Consuelo’s quick glance in her direction. It was no wonder she was surprised. Until this moment, Serena had not mentioned what she intended to do when she found Lessie. She had not mentioned it because she had not known herself. How Ward would react to the other girl, she did not dare think. She would face that problem when she came to it.

  “Live with you?” Lessie said, a look of wonder on her face. “I would love to, Serena; nobody has ever been as good to me as you were when you were with the wagon train. But I don’t know what Jack would say. I don’t think he would like it, not if it meant I couldn’t have visits from the miners at night.”

  “I feel sure,” Consuelo said deliberately, “that Ward would not like that.”

  “Ward?” Lessie asked, looking from one to the other.

  “The — the man I live with,” Serena answered, her color high.

  “You have a man too? I’m so glad. You understand then what I mean.”

  Serena refused to look at the Spanish girl. “Not exactly.”

  “Oh, but anyway, I couldn’t come while he was there, your man, I mean. It wouldn’t be right, and I would feel out of place. And if he wouldn’t like the miners, he might not like Jack either. I couldn’t go anywhere where Jack couldn’t come to see me. I like going to bed with Jack, though I never liked it with Elder Greer.”

  “Oh, Lessie.” The impossibility of explaining her position to the girl made Serena feel helpless. But wasn’t she helpless, in truth? What could she offer Lessie that would be better than what she had? A job at the Eldorado, no matter how well intentioned, would be all too likely to lead to the same kind of situation, and the next man to take advantage of her might not go to so much trouble to make himself agreeable. This man Jack was using her, that could not be plainer. One day he would grow tired of her, and then what? Another man? An endless line of men? But, Serena asked herself, how was her own situation any different? What would become of her when Ward no longer wanted her? How could she hope to help Lessie when she could not help herself?

  “Don’t be sad, Serena. You can come and visit me. We can talk to each other.”

  “You can come and see me at the Eldorado. I’ll give you the direction, and then if you ever need help you’ll have somebody.” Reaching out, Serena clasped the other girl’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

  “Is that where you are, at the Eldorado? I wondered what had happened to you, after we left you. We heard you were seen with a man. I — I don’t think I would ever have been brave enough to leave the wagon train if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “Oh, Lessie, you will come to see me?” Serena said, her throat tight with the guilt of knowing she was in some sense to blame for the white-haired girl being here, instead of with the Mormons where she would have been safe, if not happy.

  “I wish I could, Serena, really I do, but I saw Elder Greer the other day. He’s looking for me; I know he is. If he found me, he would make me come back. I — I’m glad you came to see me, but if you can find me, anybody can. I’ve got to be careful, more careful than ever.”

  Serena tried to reassure her. Even Consuelo tried, telling her of her special contacts with the women of the parlor houses and cribs. Lessie seemed relieved, but she refused to talk of leaving her house, even for a few minutes. There was nothing Serena could do except leave her there.

  “Do you think she will be all right?” Frowning as she stared back over her shoulder at the bleak crib whipped by the raw winter wind, Serena put the question to Consuelo.

  “Who can say?” The Spanish girl lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “It sometimes seems God looks after such as she. It may be she will fare better than either of us. If not, she will assuredly have the blessing of suffering less.”

  For an instant Serena met the dark and deep gaze of the woman called Spanish Connie. It was she who looked away first.

  The winter wore on. The high mountain snow clouds came down to smother the volcanic valley, scattering their weight of soft crystals, followed always by the brilliant sun to melt them away in an ever-recurring cycle. Often, as the early winter dark drew in, there was a commotion heard on a street corner here and there about town as Elder Greer tried to bring the men parading the streets to a recognition of their sinful ways. Shouting, exhorting over the noise of barkers from the vaudeville theaters and raucous music from the dime-a-dance halls, it was not unusual for him to share his impromptu pulpit with a tall thin man in sackcloth dolorously predicting the end of the world in just six years, at the close of the century. The unruly Saint was also known to preach before the cribs, praying with trembling fervor for the soul of the girls who stood half-naked in the windows. On one occasion he was led away by the sheriff for attempting to force his way into a parlor house.

  Christmas came and went without much notice beyond a few carolers slogging their way through the muddy streets, and a bit of tinsel here and there in the store windows. Ward bought Serena a new cape with a beaver collar and a muff to match; compensation, she thought, for the fur cape from Nathan he had taken from her. She embroidered his monogram with careful stitches on a set of handkerchiefs and made a bowl of wassail. It did not seem much compared to the set of cufflinks in the shape of gold nuggets that Pearlie presented to him, but it was the best she could do. It was some consolation that Ward seemed pleased with her gift, tucking one of the embroidered squares into his pocket, while the cufflinks were shut away in the back of his wardrobe.

  It was not, at all events, a happy holiday. The celebrations, small though they were, reminded Serena of Christmas a year before when her mother and father were still alive and there had been such hope for the future as they planned their westward move. The final seal was supplied late at night after the long Christmas day. A drunken brawl erupted at Pearlie’s parlor house. A belligerent customer claimed he had been robbed; the girl called him a liar. Pearlie supported her girl, the man’s friends took his side. A vase was thrown, someone was slapped. Other girls and their customers joined the fray. Ward was called, arriving with the sheriff in time to put out a small fire from an overturned coal brazier in the bedroom where it had all started.

  In order to get Pearlie away before she antago
nized the sheriff and his deputies to the point of arresting her, Ward brought her to the Eldorado. Long after peace had been restored, she stood at the bar, her hair disheveled, the pupils of her eyes huge and brilliant with the effects of belladonna-leaf compresses, waving a glass and cursing men in general and those in authority in particular. She ended by passing out, and as Ward carried her back to the parlor house, she murmured slurred and befuddled endearments against the strong column of his neck.

  After New Year’s, one-seated cutters and open sleighs appeared in the streets. It was counted a great treat by the men of the town to stand on the wooden sidewalks and watch the ladies from the Old Homestead, clad in silks and satins, with cartwheel hats swathed in veils and blooming with flowers on their heads, and fur lap robes tucked around them just under their bosoms, skim by behind high-stepping teams of blowing horses. The jingle of the sleigh bells made a merry sound that rang far in the cold, clear air.

  Finally the last snow fell. The banks that lay in the shade, protected from the growing heat of the sun’s rays, turned gray with soot and ash, and grew hard-caked, like ancient glaciers. The hillsides took on a haze of green. Rock squirrels darted here and there. At night the dogs kept up a constant barking, and the alleyways on the edge of town echoed to strange thuds and huffing grunts as the black bears came down out of the heights to forage in the rubbish heaps. Bear hides, the basis of next winter’s lap robes, appeared, pegged to the sides of buildings, their rancid and sickly-sweet smell of death hanging in the air. One morning they woke to find wild roses and tiny pink geraniums blooming on the scarred slopes between buildings, and tiny, jewel-throated hummingbirds beating the air with their wings. Summer was upon them.

  Serena stood at the back door of the Eldorado, enjoying the delicate perfume of the roses wafted toward her. The warm wind brought with it also the clean smell of spruce and pine from the crater rim above the town. It reminded Serena of the day she and Ward had driven up Mt. Pisgah and their picnic on the sun-kissed slope. He had made love to her that day, a farewell before he left her. It seemed so long ago, and yet like yesterday. They had been such strangers then, not that they knew each other so much better now, but at least there was little constraint between them. In the last weeks of winter and early spring Ward had seemed more relaxed. She herself had come to trust him, to feel secure as the days passed and he showed no sign of boredom with her company. That was not the only reason for her tranquility, of course.