by Zina Abbott
Lorena blinked and shook her head. Could Fancy be talking about the mystery man with the deep Southern accent? He caught her attention one late afternoon when, while she delivered clean glasses to Al, he asked for a drink. She recalled feeling her breath catch when she glanced at him. He struck her as being so ruggedly handsome, it had taken all her willpower not to openly stare. “It sounds like he can’t be bothered with anyone but himself. Why do you think he would help me?” Afraid her face might betray her interest, she dipped her head as she sipped tea from her cup.
Fancy broke into a knowing smile. “I’ve seen him watching you, sugar. I know you avoid looking at the customers, but that doesn’t stop a few of them following your every move when you go up front. He’s one of them who shrugs us off but keeps his eyes glued on you whenever you walk by.”
Lorena, mouth agape, looked up. “Why would he do that? Besides, when would he have seen me today?”
“Don’t you remember Clyde sending you out front to sweep up those mud clods by the bar a couple of men scraped off their boots, sugar?”
Lorena blinked. Yes, she did recall doing that. That mud had contained more than dirt. But, like usual, while she was up front, she avoided looking at anyone else in the room.
“Oh, his eyes never left you until you disappeared through the door.” Fancy’s smile widened. “He’s good looking, sugar.”
Involuntarily, Lorena laughed as she shook her head. I know. “Being good looking is no indication of whether or not a man might be helpful.” Or that he can be trusted.
Fancy leaned in closer to Lorena. “He works for that new stagecoach company.” She paused and brought her index finger to the side of her chin. “I don’t know if he’s a driver or the one who carries the shotgun. He doesn’t like to talk much. Then again…” She snapped her fingers. “He might be one of them that works with the horses at the stations. I know we’re the nearest town to two of them west of here, and they seem to take turns coming into town for a night of relaxation. There’s that fort about forty miles from here, but…” Fancy paused and her eyes filled with laughter. She focused her gaze on Lorena. “He’s a Southern boy, Lorena. Any day of the week, I’ll bet he’d choose to come here rather than share a drink close to home with those boys in Union blue.”
Her eyes wide and her lips parted, Lorena shook her head. “What makes you think he’ll help me?”
“He’s interested in you, sugar. I was trying to persuade him my way when you walked out there. As soon as he saw you, he ignored me.”
“If I’m thinking of the same man you are, I recall getting a glimpse of him at the other end of the bar. I’ve seen him before, but we’ve never spoken. I don’t know why he would pay attention to me.”
Fancy offered her a knowing grin. “Because you’re pretty and unavailable, sugar. That always sparks a man’s interest—challenges someone like him. He’s heard you speak, sugar. He knows you’re from the South, too. He asked about you today. When I told him you don’t work upstairs, but only cook and clean earlier in the daytime, he didn’t say anything. He just looked in the direction where you disappeared. Come on, sugar, I want you to see him again. Then you think about what I said.”
“I’ll go, Fancy, but please don’t do anything to draw attention to me. Let me fill the small pot with some tea and put some preserves on my biscuits to take to my room.”
“Hurry up, sugar. He doesn’t usually stay long. One drink, maybe two, then he leaves. Sabrina and Rosa tried him before me without any luck, either. My guess is, he won’t stay much longer.” She paused and looked around the kitchen. “You have some tea cooled for us, sugar? If I don’t walk out there with a glass, Clyde will want to know why I disappeared.”
Lorena pointed to the white china pot they used for the cold tea the three of them kept in their glasses to mimic liquor. “Over there.” She quickly gathered the small teapot, filled it with tea and hot water, and wrapped her biscuits in a napkin. She placed the pot and food in a shallow basket. Holding the handle in one hand and her saucer with its half-full teacup in the other, she followed Fancy out of the kitchen.
Just as they stepped through the door separating the hallway from the main room, Fancy placed her hand on Lorena’s upper arm. She nodded toward the far end of the bar and leaned over until her lips almost pressed against Lorena’s ear. “You see him, sugar? The one with hair the color of dark honey? I’ll bet he bleaches blond in the summer. You tell me he isn’t one good-looking man, sugar, and I’ll call you a liar.”
Lorena saw him. It was him, the man she had noticed before—more than once—when she brought glasses out to Al. She recalled him watching her the one time she was called out front to clean up a spill on the floor. Fancy was right. She could not tell what color his eyes were, but with his sharp, angular features beneath his tanned skin, he was a handsome man.
“His name’s Mr. Cantrell, honey. Wouldn’t tell me his first name. My guess is, if anyone can help you get away from here, it’s him.”
Startled by Fancy’s words, Lorena jerked her head to meet Fancy’s gaze. It would be one thing to ask someone who works for the stagecoach company to help with her mail, but to expect him to help her get away from the saloon and Timothy?
Fancy flicked an eyebrow upward and offered a knowing smile. “Well?”
Lorena studied the man once more.
Just then, the man Fancy called Mr. Cantrell lifted his gaze until it connected with Lorena’s.
Lorena’s breath caught. She felt a connection, the kind that had not stirred her since she first met Edward. Heat flooded her face, and the hand holding her teacup began to tremble. She feared she might end up with more of the beverage in her saucer than the cup. No, this cannot be right. He is not Edward.
Feeling embarrassed over being caught looking at him, she turned away. Keeping her face down, she turned to Fancy. “I have to go upstairs now, Fancy. I hope you and the others have a profitable night.” Upon hearing heavy footsteps approach, she looked up. Clyde walked toward them. She fled for the stairs that would take her to the safety of her room. Behind her, she heard Clyde confront Fancy.
“You aren’t making any money for me standing over here talking to the likes of her. She wants to be downstairs, I’ll put her to work.”
“Just saying good night to her, sugar. Now I got my glass of tea, I’m ready to socialize and bring in some money for both of us.”
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Chapter 7
~o0o~
March 23,1866
E ustace felt his pulse begin to race as he turned the corner and saw the front of The Stockade Saloon. Why the sight of the wooden log structure that already showed the wear and abuse of the weather affected him the way it did, he did not know.
I wonder, will I see her today? That was it, he realized. He wondered why the shy woman in the drab clothing who cooked and cleaned for the saloon had captured his interest. She usually refused to look at any of the men outside of the bartender, Al. She wore a dark wool gown covered with an apron and only entered the public room long enough to perform housekeeping chores. Once late afternoon came, she disappeared upstairs by herself.
During the months he came there, he learned very little about her. He knew she arrived in Salina with her husband, who left her behind while he traveled to Denver with a string of freight wagons. The last time he came, the working girl, Fancy, in the process of soliciting him, let it slip the woman’s first name was Lorena.
Coming to Salina once a month had become Eustace’s break from the monotony of working in the confined spaces of the Ellsworth Station. Being stuck inside the station designed to protect the people and stock from Indian attacks struck Eustace like being in a prison. The differences were, there Caroline Peterson saw they were fed well. Isaac appreciated the experience he brought to the station, and he earned a steady wage.
His first time in Salina had been in December, the Friday night after payday. He had com
e again in January, although the snow on the road made the trip more arduous. He pushed down his resentment over spending so much of his “free” time helping driver, Benny Jessup, and his shotgun messenger, Charlie Bean, dig out of the drifts that blocked sections of the road. He managed to keep uppermost in his mind the knowledge he helped two men who had become congenial work associates, if not friends. He liked Benny more than Charlie, since it didn’t take much for Charlie to get on his nerves. More than once, Eustace missed going to town due to weather that grounded both him and the stagecoach.
In the end of February, the other driver who teamed up with shotgun messenger, Danny Ralston, quit. Citing he had endured driving through one snowstorm too many, he declared his intent to seek a driving job on a more-southerly route. To keep the stagecoach running, Isaac—with his prior experience of driving mule-pulled freight wagons for a local St. Joseph, Missouri, company—reluctantly agreed to operate the coach until the division agent could find a replacement driver.
Eustace thought the man insane to allow himself to be talked into that position. For one thing, his driving experience took place when he was younger. Also, it left the station short-handed, since his coach arrived and departed three times every two weeks, alternating with Benny’s coach. Only every other week did Isaac arrive on Saturdays and stay through Sundays before he left again on Mondays. The opposite weekends he spent at the other end of the route.
Eustace could not complain that Isaac arranged to pay him extra to supervise everything during his absences. He oversaw the station with Caroline the weekends Isaac was gone. To help keep enough men at the station for protection, on the Saturdays he was in charge, he only allowed either Jim or Tom—one at a time—to venture over to the fort sutler, and only if they paired with either Benny or Charlie.
Eustace realized, if the B.O.D. offered the position of assistant stationmaster, he would be one. Instead, he settled for the extra pay, even though he did not have the title. The money went toward paying the taxes the new federal-controlled government claimed he owed from the years Georgia was gone from the Union. He could only hope Isaac put in a good word with the division agent that might allow him to move up in the company one day.
Then again, just the past week, Isaac privately shared the rumor that David Butterfield had gone broke and sold the B.O.D. line to Ben Holladay. Since Eustace’s dealings with Holladay had left a bad taste in his mouth, he realized he might be better off not drawing too much attention to himself.
Going into Fort Ellsworth still held no interest for Eustace. He stuck to his schedule of going into Salina on the two Fridays of the month that Isaac returned to the station to oversee things. Eustace caught a ride with Benny Friday afternoon for Salina, and Tom and Jim stayed at the station with the driver and messenger for the Ellsworth to Big Creek Station run, Amos Danvers and Paul Brown, until he and Isaac returned Saturday.
The last time he came to Salina, Isaac offered for him to stay longer and come back on Benny’s return trip on Tuesday. That was how he happened to be at the saloon the Sunday afternoon he caught the mystery woman, Lorena, watching him. He knew when their gazes met. He tried to convince himself it was idle curiosity. He had learned through the war it was best if he refrained from getting close to people. Too often, people disappeared from his life as quickly as they entered it. When it came to women, especially, he knew with the emptiness still inside him, he had nothing to offer. Yet, something about her drew his attention and caused a part of him he thought permanently dead to flame back to life.
This weekend, to save money, he intended to only stay the night and ride back to the station in the morning with Isaac. He figured he would walk around town. He needed to spend as much time away from the station as he could before it grew dark. He did not like to stay and visit with stationmaster, Herbert Owens, and his wife because he did not feel like tolerating their teen-aged daughter, Susan, who was infatuated with him. He knew he was far too apathetic and war-worn for any woman, let alone a girl as young as she was.
It was his desire to avoid Susan Owens, with the longing in her eyes, that led to him finding the saloon the first time. He started going there as a means to kill time once he had seen everything in Salina there was to see. Now, he could not wait to return—not for the whiskey, which was mediocre, at best. Not for the working girls. Certainly not for Clyde, who struck him as being one step above a hooligan. It was because of her—Lorena.
As he entered the saloon, he sought his favorite place at the far corner of the bar—away from the mirror flanked by shelves of bottles and glasses—and ordered a drink. He watched Lorena bring a tray of glasses to Al. He waited to see if she would look at anyone else in the room—anyone. She did not. She transferred the glasses to the top of the bar and quickly disappeared around the corner. She looked at me last time, but not today.
Not long after, he stared at the last sip in his glass and contemplated the wisdom of leaving the bar for the day.
Fancy, wearing the peacock blue gown she seemed to favor, approached him.
Eustace braced himself for her advances.
“Hello, sugar, good to see you again. You didn’t wait until Sunday this time, did you?” She leaned in and tapped his earlobe with her fingertip. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from us that long.”
Eustace jerked his head away from her touch. “As delectable as you are, Fancy, I’m still not interested in sampling your charms. Your time would be spent better going after some other man.”
“Now, sugar, that’s no way to talk to Fancy. You know I only want what’s best for you.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You know our cook you keep watching whenever she comes out in the room? You willing to help her, sugar?”
Eustace tensed. What is this woman up to? He studied her with hooded eyes and lowered his voice. “Depends.”
Fancy ran her fingertip along his left jaw as she spoke softly in his right ear. “I need you to order a peach brandy. You got the money for that, sugar?”
“I have enough to pay for brandy.” What is this, a new marketing tactic? “Why should I want to order a peach brandy?”
“The bar is starting to get crowded, and I don’t want to be overheard. Play along, sugar. I promise, if you’re not interested, I’ll leave you alone.”
He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “What do you need, Fancy?”
“I need you to move to that little table in the corner, sugar.” Fancy hooked her arm in his and gently tugged him in the direction of the table. Once he sat down with his back to the wall, she scooted the other chair over by him and practically climbed onto his lap. She took his face in both her hands and nuzzled his cheek before moving her lips to his ear. “Clyde doesn’t keep his peach brandy out front. He only has a few bottles—for special occasions. They’re locked away in his storeroom. I need to get in there to look for something he’s keeping from Lorena. First, I have to get the key from him.”
Eustace sensed the woman’s words held truth. He felt his body prepare for a mission. “I’m listening.”
She rose to her feet. While Fancy trailed her fingers along his chest and across the back of his neck, she slowly moved to his side and leaned over until her lips reached his other ear. “Now, sugar, you see how Rosa and Sabrina are both working on two men to take upstairs? I need to wait until they call Clyde over and get him busy making financial arrangements. That’s when I’ll ask him for the key.”
Eustace held his body still and his face expressionless, but his mind raced. Whatever is going on, both of the others are in on it.
Fancy kissed his jawbone just in front of his ear. “He might say no, he’ll get it. But I’m hoping he might give me the key to fetch it because he knows I know where he keeps it. Either way, sugar, I need you to play along. Be ready to tell him you’re celebrating a win at the poker table and want to buy that peach brandy. You being from the South, sugar, he’ll find nothing suspicious in your request.”
Eustace watched her gaze turn tow
ard Clyde. Her expression held none of her characteristic flirtation and manipulation. His gaze followed hers and watched Rosa, her arm linked with that of a customer, approach Clyde, who was busy talking to Sabrina and another man. His gaze moved to Al, who set up glasses for two new customers who had joined him at the bar.
“Now, sugar. Wish me well.”
Eustace watched Fancy sashay over to Clyde. “Clyde, sugar, I have a customer who asked me for a peach brandy.”
Eustace watched Clyde look over at him. He slowly nodded.
Fancy gently placed her fingers on Clyde’s upper arm and leaned toward him. “I think I almost have him, sugar. Give me the key so I can get his brandy.”
Clyde stared at her until Sabrina stamped her foot. “Clyde, you letting us do business tonight? I’ve got a customer waiting.”
Clyde fished the key from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Fancy. “None of your dawdling, Fancy. Get the man his brandy and get my key back to me.”
“Sure thing, sugar.”
Eustace watched Fancy snatch the key from Clyde’s fingers and turn toward the doorway leading to the back of the building. He sat back in his chair and gazed at the spot where she disappeared. I could have used a few resourceful women like her during the war.
In an effort to remain inconspicuous, Eustace turned his head and stared in the direction of the high front window. He could tell, from the amount of time he waited, Fancy must be searching for something—either the brandy or whatever it was Fancy claimed Clyde was keeping from Lorena.
Either that, or she played him for a fool.
Fancy returned with a bottle in her hand. She walked over to Al. “Sugar, I need to pour a serving of this in one of those special brandy snifters.”
Eustace watched as Fancy, his glass of brandy in one hand, walked over and handed the key to Clyde. He waited until she rejoined him at the table.
Fancy smiled as she set the snifter in front of him and resumed her seat in the other chair. “There you go, sugar. It’s a dollar. A little pricey compared to the whiskey, but cheaper than taking one of us upstairs.”