by Zina Abbott
Eustace fought back a smile as he studied the look of triumph on Fancy’s face. He allowed her to grab the back of his hand and move his palm to the front of her hip. He opened and closed his fingers over the fabric several times. Beneath the taffeta, he felt, as well as faintly heard, the crinkle of paper inside a pocket.
Fancy drew his hand to her lips and kissed it before she leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “That Clyde is a snake. Lorena was right that he was keeping some of her letters from her. As buried in his desk as they were, hopefully it will be awhile before he realizes they’re missing.” She leaned back and smiled as she continued to keep her voice soft. “Now, sugar, unless you’re ready to take me upstairs, I need you to shake your head and send me on my way. I’m making no money sitting here entertaining you while you sip that brandy.”
Eustace shook his head and waved her away.
Wearing a knowing smile, Fancy rose from the chair. She leaned in one last time. “Take your time with that brandy, sugar. It’s about time for Lorena to go to her room for the night. I need to make a quick trip to the kitchen before then.”
Upon hearing Fancy’s final words, Eustace felt his heart race. I might see her again today. He watched Fancy walk away and wrap an arm around another potential customer. As he picked up the glass and twirled it by the stem, he turned his gaze to the front once more. He knew he had either helped the woman who captivated his interest or been played for the biggest fool in the world.
Eustace turned to gaze across the room. With a cup and saucer in one hand and the other holding a basket with a teapot peeking over the top edge, Lorena stood with her back against the wall. Her gaze locked on his and a smile lit her face. She glanced down at the side of her gown.
His gaze next sought Clyde, who stood at the bar talking to Al. Did he see the exchange between the two of them?
Eustace turned once more to where he had seen Lorena. The wall stood bare. He saw the hem of her skirt as she climbed the stairs. He turned away and took another sip. This is exceptionally good brandy.
.
.
.
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Chapter 8
~o0o~
April 6, 1866
E ustace entered The Stockade Saloon and walked straight to the bar.
Al, wiping a shot glass with a white cloth, walked over. “Whiskey today, or do you want peach brandy again?”
“No brandy.” Eustace shook his head as he placed his coin on the counter. “Just my usual whiskey.” Since when did Al decide to socialize? As soon as he held his drink in his hand, he walked to the small table he sat at two weeks earlier. He moved the second chair to a larger table by the front of the room before he sat with his back toward the side wall. He laughed at the thought that men often chose to sit with their back to the wall to protect themselves from another man with a weapon sneaking up behind him. Here, the way the three prostitutes worked the saloon, he did so in order to see them coming so they could not blind-side him.
Sure enough, it did not take long for Fancy to laugh and tease her way with the other customers as she moved in his direction. She grabbed the back of the chair he had moved to another table and sat down next to him close enough his knee pressed into her thigh.
“Afternoon, sugar. I’ve been hoping you’d come. I need another favor.” She danced her fingertips up his arm.
Eustace offered her a wry smile. “I already told Al I’m not interested in any brandy today.”
“That’s all right, sugar.” Fancy reached her forefinger over until she hooked Eustace beneath his chin. She leaned forward as she pulled his face toward her. Her cheek brushed against his as she moved her lips toward his ear. “Lorena wants to ask a favor of you. She would like to meet you outside the saloon. You willing, sugar?”
Eustace felt his body jump into a state of hyperawareness. She wants to speak with me? He felt his heartrate increase and his breathing come in shallow bursts. “I’m willing. Where?”
“You know where they’re building the hotel for when the railroad gets here, sugar? There’s a clump of trees this side of it. She’ll wait for you there. She’s got to get there and back before it’s time she usually goes upstairs or Clyde will wonder what she’s up to.” Fancy leaned back and placed her hands on both of his shoulders. She slid her left hand to the back of his neck and pulled his head to her so she could reach his right ear. “You sip on that whiskey like you always do. Rosa will stop by and tease you some. She doesn’t, you know Clyde will get after her. After Sabrina takes her turn at you, that’s when you get up and leave. Understand, sugar?”
Eustace jerked his head back and away from her grasp. “That’s enough, Fancy. I told you, I’m not interested.” He turned his head to the side. As he slowly blew out a breath, he nodded.
Fancy leaned back and allowed her right finger to trail down his arm. She spoke loud enough that anyone within ten feet could hear. “All right, sugar. I’ll check with you again next time. You sure I can’t get you a peach brandy?”
Eustace, his eyes half-closed, shook his head. “Not today, Miss Fancy. I just want to sit here in peace and enjoy my whiskey.”
“You say so, sugar.” She sighed as she rose from her chair and scooted it in.
Eustace watched her walk up to Clyde and shake her head. “I’m going in back to get some tea, Clyde.” She walked past the saloon owner and, behind Clyde’s back, tipped her head toward Rosa.
Eustace met Clyde’s gaze when the man focused his attention on him. Eustace slowly lifted his glass to his lips and sipped before he turned his head to stare into space in front of him.
After Rosa spent time trying to solicit him, he felt his awareness heighten. Based on what Fancy told him, as soon as Sabrina had her turn, he could leave and seek out Lorena. Perhaps then he could get some answers about her and what all this subterfuge was about.
His right arm resting on the table, Eustace slouched in his chair as he studied the room. He watched Fancy walk to the back of the kitchen, only to reappear with another shot glass full of tea. She nodded to Sabrina.
Sabrina walked over and sat in his lap. Rather than hold her waist to keep her in place, Eustace kept his free hand on his thigh as she slid an arm around his neck. “Mr. Cantrell, it looks like you’re ready for another drink. Can I get it for you?”
“Not quite yet, Miss Sabrina.”
“If you’re ready for something else, I can help you with that, too.” She leaned in and whispered, “When you leave here, go left, and then left again. Keep going north. She’ll be waiting.”
Eustace shook his head. “Same answer as always. No. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He set his glass down and, using both hands, nudged her from his lap. He stood as she walked away and turned to pick up what was left of his whiskey. He lifted his drink toward his lips as he faced the room once again. His hand paused mid-air when his gaze met Clyde’s, who now stood only a few feet away.
His hands at his hips, Clyde stared at him. “You know I don’t make any money off you drinking only one or two whiskeys when you come in.”
Eustace’s fingers twirled his glass. He shrugged. “You don’t want my business, Clyde, I’ll go elsewhere.”
“When are you going upstairs with one of these girls, Cantrell? It’s not like you don’t have the money. You proved that when you were in here last time.”
“You mean the peach brandy?” Eustace shook his head. “It was a special occasion, Clyde. I won a pot in a card game and got a little nostalgic for home. That does not happen every week, or even every month.”
Clyde shook his head. “I never see you playing at any of the tables in here.” He glared at Eustace. “Any man who can afford to drink brandy when he wins at cards can afford one of them.”
Unless a man is trying to keep his land from being stolen from under him by a bunch of Yankee carpetbaggers. “It was a friendly game elsewhere.” He tossed back the last of his drink. “You know, sir, I ride for miles to sit in here to relax for a few ho
urs. Instead of being left alone, I have every one of your working girls pestering me. Now, you are, too.”
“I have the best women around. They know how to ease a man’s troubles. You should pick the one you want and take her upstairs.”
“They don’t interest me.” Only one woman here interests me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going someplace a little quieter.”
“I’ll convince you yet, Cantrell.”
“We’ll see.” Eustace tossed the words over his shoulder before he reached the exit and walked outside.
~o0o~
Eustace avoided the more populated parts of town as he wove his way through the streets of Salina toward the railroad hotel. Because it was not far from the stagecoach station, he already knew its location. Both the Butterfield Overland Despatch and the railroad tended to seek the smoothest, most level ground, which meant both of them stuck fairly close to the Smoky Hill Trail established almost a decade earlier.
Grateful he had his knife sheathed at his side and his Colt Navy pistol tucked in his belt in back, Eustace slowed as his gaze scanned the clumps of foliage in the vicinity of the hotel. He decided to take at face value Fancy’s claim that Lorena wished to speak with him. However, a part of him was still intent on staying wary in case the whole machination carried out by the women who worked the saloon was a setup. Never forget, you’re in Union country.
Eustace jerked his head to face the direction from which came the sound of rustling leaves. Through the green growth of early spring, he caught sight of Lorena wearing a black cloak over a floral print on light blue gown. You would be more inconspicuous if you had worn your usual dark wool skirt. After she stepped back into the dense growth, he moved several feet past where he saw her and also pushed his way through the brush. He paused as soon as he spotted her standing in an opening where the sun shined down on her straw bonnet with a band of blue ribbon that matched her clothes.
Eustace slowly approached. “Ma’am, I’m Eustace Cantrell. I was told you wish to speak to me.”
Lorena coughed self-consciously and smiled timidly. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Cantrell. I’m Lorena Mayfield. Yes, I do have a situation where I feel the need for assistance. The other women who work where I do thought you might be able to help. I don’t want you to feel obligated, though, if it would be an inconvenience.”
“Please let me be the judge of that, Mrs. Mayfield. What is it you need help with?”
Lorena swallowed. “Sir, can I trust your word of honor that you will not tell anyone of our meeting or discuss anything that is said here with others?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am a man of honor. Anything that takes place or is said will go no farther.”
Lorena sighed with relief. “You work for the stagecoach company, do you not?”
“Yes. I’m a stock tender at the Ellsworth Station west of here. I also help supervise the station.” Eustace watched as her expression sank into discouragement.
“Oh.” Lorena bit her lip. “I had hoped you were one of the drivers who travels to the different towns. I…um…I need help getting some of my mail sent off from someplace other than Salina.”
Eustace cocked an eyebrow and canted his head as he stared. “Is there a problem with the post office in Salina, Mrs. Mayfield.” He watched her shake her head and then bring her fingertips to her lips.
Lorena stared at a spot on the ground. “Not for most people, I imagine. Unfortunately, the postmaster’s wife, whom I understand handles most of the customers, is accustomed to giving all the mail for those of us who live at the saloon to Clyde—Mr. Abernathy. Two months ago, she grew quite indignant when I informed her that I had received no mail for months, and that I did not give her permission to hand any of my correspondence over to Clyde. I confronted him, and he grudgingly gave me two letters from my sister he had been holding—one since before Christmas.” Lorena paused and her gaze met that belonging to Eustace. “Thank you for going along with Fancy’s plan to look for any other mail for me, Mr. Cantrell. She found three letters of mine Clyde kept hidden. One was from my late father’s attorney and two were from…well, some other gentlemen with whom I have been corresponding. The letters had been opened, just like the letters from my sister had been when he finally gave them to me.” She sighed and muttered under her breath, “I only hope it is not too late.”
Eustace shook his head. That is not right. “I will be happy to see your correspondence is mailed elsewhere, Mrs. Mayfield. I don’t drive the coach, but my boss, Mr. Peterson, does. I’m sure he will be willing to handle your mail with all discretion.” Eustace continued to study her. “Do I gather correctly, ma’am, that you wish to respond to those correspondents, but you do not wish to mail them in Salina because of the postmaster?”
Lorena nodded. “His wife, more to the point. She held my mail for me to pick up myself as I instructed, but she has not behaved in a friendly manner. The day I mailed a parcel to my sister, she was barely civil. Perhaps it is my Southern accent. So many people still hold grudges due to the war.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m sure she informs Clyde of my business. A few days after I went to the post office the last time, he commented on it.”
“Do you have any idea why he’s holding back your mail?”
Bitterness entered Lorena’s voice. “Probably as a favor to Timothy—Mr. Mayfield.”
“Your husband? I heard you are working for Clyde while your husband travels to Denver with goods to sell. Why would he not want you to write to your sister or your father’s attorney?”
Lorena paused and bit her lip. “Mr. Cantrell, I am going to ask that your word of honor extend to some additional information, details of my life I don’t wish any more people than necessary to know. Timothy Mayfield is not my husband. My husband died at Cold Harbor.”
Eustace’s heart thumped like it might beat out of his chest. She’s not married.
Through halting breaths and eyes brimming with unshed tears, Lorena told him a short history of her time with Timothy. “That is how I ended up here in Salina, Mr. Cantrell. Rather than leave me in Atchison, or even Kansas City, he kept me with him. He hoped I would conceive his son before we parted. Once he arrived in Salina and found Clyde lived here—a man he knew from his time in the Union Army—he decided to leave me behind. I’m sure his concern was more for his possible unborn son than for me.”
Stone-faced, Eustace listened to her without interruption. A clergyman’s daughter? And a member of her family treated her that way?
Lorena pulled several letters out of her pocket. “I need to get away from Clyde before Timothy returns. However, I must first find a place to go—somewhere he cannot claim me, even if he finds me. There…there were some advertisements in the newspaper from men seeking wives. I wrote to them before Christmas. From the letters you helped Fancy find for me, two responded. I wrote again, in case they have not yet found someone to marry. I dare not mail them from Salina or receive any responses here.”
Eustace accepted the letters and tucked them in his jacket pocket. She’s willing to marry anyone to get away from this Timothy? She has no idea what kind of man she might find. “Does Clyde know Mr. Mayfield is not your husband?”
With her eyes squeezed tight, Lorena nodded. “Timothy insisted we not tell anyone, yet he must have confided in Clyde. Fancy overheard Clyde throw it in my face when I asked for the wages he owed me, so she knows. I don’t know if she told Sabrina and Rosa. I do know they have been willing to help me.”
Eustace’s eyes lit with amusement as he thought about how the trio of women worked together to help Fancy find Lorena’s letters. “From the antics I’ve seen from those three the last few weeks, I believe they support you.”
“They have become loyal friends. They see how Clyde treats me, and they don’t like it.”
“Mrs. Mayfield, I know this is a very personal question that I do not have the right to ask you, yet I will. Is it possible you are carrying this man’s child? Whether or not you are might make the difference in the s
uccess of your plan.”
Lorena shook her head. “No. I’m sure I am not with child.”
Why that statement filled Eustace with a sense of relief, he did not know. “Here is what I will do, Mrs. Mayfield. With your permission, I will work out an arrangement with Mr. Peterson and possibly his messenger, Danny Ralston, to establish mail delivery for you somewhere else along the line—a place where you are not known. I can vouch for their honesty and discretion. I won’t involve any other drivers or stationmasters, especially not the one here in Salina, since he knows who Clyde is. I’m assuming, when I have return mail for you, I can visit the saloon and let Fancy know. She’ll tell me how I can get it to you. Will that be agreeable?”
Lorena met his gaze and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Cantrell. I’ll be ever so grateful. Here.” She fished another paper from her reticule and handed it to him. “This is a letter giving permission to the bearer to pick up the mail for my name. You have my undying gratitude for being willing to help me.” Lorena looked up at the sky. “I need to return or Clyde will notice and ask me where I’ve been.”
Eustace also glanced above them. If your work hours are over, it should not matter to Clyde how you spend your time. Eustace realized, however, if her absence drew Clyde’s attention, it could jeopardize her plan to use a courier for her correspondence. He returned his gaze to Lorena. “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Mayfield. I give my word of honor that I will see your mail is handled properly. Hopefully, I will have some responses when I am here next time.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Cantrell.”
Eustace watched her push her way through the foliage to return to the saloon. He leaned against the sturdiest branch he could find and pulled out his pocket watch. He would wait at least a half an hour before he left the area to return to the station.