by Matt Braun
Lulu Banes stepped into the dressing room. She was in full war paint, wearing a skimpy peekaboo gown that left little to the imagination. The chorus line always opened the show, and the girls were usually costumed before anyone else. She paused inside the door.
“I couldn’t wait till later,” she said with a bee-stung smile. “How’d it go with Handsome Hank?”
“Oh, very nice,” Lillian said, seating herself before the mirror. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Honey, they all are till they get their way. C’mon, skip straight to the hot stuff.”
By now, Lulu was her confidante. Last night, Lillian had related the details of her dinner with Jake Tallant. She’d never before had a close woman friend, and she was pleased to have someone to talk to. She knew Lulu thrived on gossip.
“You have to remember,” she said, “everything is in confidence. You can’t repeat a word to anyone.”
“Cross my heart.” Lulu drew a sign over her breast. “My lips are sealed.”
“Well …” Lillian patted rouge on her cheekbones. “I know it will be hard to believe… .”
“Uh-oh, here it comes. What’d he say?”
“Hank was really quite open. He told me he doesn’t want Jake’s ranch. That isn’t why he sued.”
“Nooo,” Lulu said slowly, with a look of undisguised amusement. “And you bought that?”
Lillian nodded. “I most certainly did.”
“Sounds like malarkey to me.”
“Not when you know the reason. Hank was in love with Maria Tallant, Jake’s wife. He waited until she died to bring legal action.”
“Omigod!” Lulu’s eyes went round. “He was having an affair with Tallant’s wife?”
“No, no,” Lillian said dismissively. “They were rivals for her affections long before she married Jake. Hank has loved her all this time.”
“You lost me there, kiddo. What’s that got to do with the lawsuit?”
“Hank wants Jake to suffer the way he’s suffered. How tragic that they both loved the same woman … and lost her.”
“Uh-huh.” Lulu raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sounds to me like Hank is after revenge. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, perhaps a little,” Lillian admitted. “But only because he’d loved her all these years. I mean, think about it, he never married!”
“Sweetie, I hate to say it, but you’re a soft touch. That’s the most cockamamy story I ever heard.”
“I think it’s rather romantic.”
Lulu humphed. “Are you going to see him again?”
“Saturday,” Lillian said. “He invited me to see his ranch. I accepted.”
“And you’re having Sunday dinner at Jake Tallant’s ranch? You’re an awfully busy little bee.”
“Yes, but they’re both such nice men. How could I refuse?”
“Far be it from me to give you advice… .”
“Oh, don’t be silly, go ahead.”
“Whatever sad tale they tell you …?”
“Yes?”
“Forget a grain of salt, honey. Take it with a spoon.”
Later that evening, Lillian went on for her opening number. Tallant and Warner, as usual, were seated at tables down front. They applauded mightily even as she stood bathed in the footlights, each trying to outdo the other. She blushed, avoiding their eyes, as the maestro lifted his baton and led the orchestra into Aura Lee. Her voice floated dreamily across the theater.
Aura Lee, Aura Lee
Maid of golden hair
Sunshine came along with thee
And took my heart for fair
Lillian thought the song was suitable to the moment. Never before had she had two such handsome and pleasantly wealthy men vying for her attention. She told herself that Lulu was simply too protective, perhaps too cynical. There was no need for a grain of salt.
No need for salt at all.
Hank Warner called for her the next morning. He was attired in range clothes, whipcord trousers stuffed in his boots and a dark placket shirt. His hat was tall-crowned, roweled spurs on his boots and a Colt pistol strapped on his hip. He looked every inch the cattleman.
Lillian wore a muslin day dress, a gay little bonnet atop her mound of curls. She carried her parasol and snapped it open as he assisted her into a buckboard drawn by a matched team of sorrel mares. The sun was in their faces as they drove east from town.
“I’m so excited,” she said happily. “I’ve never seen an honest-to-goodness ranch.”
Warner smiled secretly. “Well, you’re in for a treat today. I arranged a surprise.”
“Oh, I love surprises! What is it?”
“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Will it be worth the wait?”
“I’ve got a notion you’ll approve.”
Near the edge of town, they had to wait until a train pulled out of the railroad station. As they crossed the tracks, she gave him a quick sideways inspection. He caught the look.
“What?” he said. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing really.” Lillian titled her parasol against the glare of the sun. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you wear a gun before.”
“You’ve never seen it because I was wearing a suit. I carry it tucked in my waistband. You shy of guns?”
“No, not in the right hands.”
“Well, I have to say, I’m right handy.”
“I think you are making fun of me.”
“You’re too pretty to make fun of. I’m plumb struck blind.”
“In that event”—Lillian playfully batted her eyelashes—“I insist you tell me your surprise.”
Warner laughed, “Now that would spoil the fun. Wait till we get there.”
The ranch was located some five miles east of Pueblo. Warner explained that he owned nearly a hundred thousand acres of grazeland, all of it north of the Arkansas River. The range was well watered, sheltered from plains blizzards by the walls of a canyon, and covered with lush grama grass that fattened steers. He ran about ten thousand head of cattle.
Lillian was stunned into silence. She couldn’t imagine anyone owning so much land, and as the road wound along the canyon, she was mesmerized by vast herds of cattle grazing beneath a forenoon sun. The headquarters compound, situated leeward of the canyon walls, consisted of a main house, a large bunkhouse, and a corral. The buildings were stout log structures.
“Not the grandest in the world,” Warner said, halting the buckboard in front of the main house. “But it’s warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Built to last, too.”
“Yes, I can see.” Lillian thought it looked like a fort with windows. “It’s really very nice.”
She realized he was trying to impress her. The land, the cattle, the house, an empire built on an ocean of grass. There were at least thirty men gathered outside the bunkhouse, and Warner explained that they were some of the cowhands on his payroll. A whole steer, cleaved down the middle, was being roasted over a bed of coals. The day, he told her, had been planned to honor her visit to the ranch. Later they would celebrate with a traditional Western feast.
The festivities started with an exhibition by Warner’s top broncbuster. A buckskin renegade was blindfolded with a gunnysack while Alvin Johnson, the broncbuster, got himself mounted. When the sack was removed, the horse exploded at both ends, like a stick of dynamite bursting within itself. All four feet left the ground as the buckskin swapped ends in midair and sunfished across the corral in a series of bounding catlike leaps. The battle went on for what seemed an eternity, with the men whooping and shouting as the horse whirled and kicked with squeals of outrage. Johnson rode the bronc to a standstill.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Lillian cried, clapping loudly when it was over. “I’ve never seen anything so exciting in my life. It was just wonderful!”
Warner seemed pleased. “No doubt about it, Alvin’s the best. Glad you liked it.”
“Your surprise really
was worth waiting for.”
“There’s more to come, lots more. All for you.”
The men took turns aboard pitching broncs. None of them were as good as Alvin Johnson, and most got thrown off. But there was a spirit of camaraderie about it, and everyone hooted and cheered when a rider got dumped. After the broncbusting, there was a demonstration of fancy work with a lariat. Longhorns were hazed onto open ground near the corral, and horsemen would cast loops at a dead run, snaring the steers’ horns and hind legs, and neatly drop them in midstride. Lillian applauded the men’s feats like a young girl at her first circus.
Late that afternoon the feast was served. Cooks sliced choice cuts off the roasted steer and loaded plates with beef, beans, and sourdough biscuits fresh from a Dutch oven. The men scattered about the compound, wolfing down their food, while Lillian and Warner were served at a table in the shade of a leafy oak tree. Afterward, Warner gave her a tour of the house, which, much as she expected, was a masculine domain. The parlor was dominated by a huge stone fireplace with a bearskin rug and lots of leather furniture.
Warner drove her back into town as sunset fired the sky beyond distant mountains. Lillian was exhilarated, still bubbling with excitement, and yet oddly reflective. She had the feeling she’d spent the day auditioning for a role. Mistress of the manor or perhaps queen of the cowboys.
She wasn’t sure it was the part for her.
The Fontaines were invited to Jacob Tallant’s for dinner the following day. The noon meal on Sunday, commonly called dinner by country folk, was considered the occasion of the week. Fontaine rented a buggy and team at the livery stable.
The ranch headquarters was located some three miles east of Pueblo. On the drive out, Lillian thought Jake Tallant was playing the diplomat by inviting her father and Chester. His intent, clearly, was to win over the entire Fontaine family. His designs on her would only be furthered by her father’s blessing.
The casa grande reflected its Mexican heritage. The main house was one-story, constructed of native adobe, with broad wings extending off the central living quarters. Beneath a tile roof, hewn beams protruded from walls four feet thick. The window casements gleamed of tallowed oak, and the double doors were wider than a man’s outspanned arms. The effect was one of old-world gentility.
The house, which overlooked the river to the north, commanded the ranch compound. The buildings formed a quadrangle, grouped with a symmetry that was at once functional and pleasing to the eye. Corrals and stables, flanked by storage sheds, angled off to the south. A commissary and an open-sided blacksmith forge were situated on a plot central to a compound that covered several acres. It looked like a small but prosperous village.
Fontaine brought the team to a halt in front of the house. Tallant hurried outside and assisted Lillian from the buggy. “Welcome to my home,” he said cordially. “I trust you had a good drive from town.”
“Yes, we did,” Lillian replied. “The views are simply marvelous along the river.”
“Quite an operation,” Fontaine said, gesturing about the compound. “How large is your ranch?”
“Just over a hundred thousand acres. We run in the neighborhood of ten thousand head.”
“How do you keep up with that many cows?”
“Mr. Fontaine, I often wonder myself. Please, won’t you come inside?”
The interior of the house was even more impressive than the outside. The floors were tiled, and off the foyer was an immense parlor with furniture crafted of rich hardwood. Waiting in the parlor were Tallant’s children, dressed in their Sunday best. The girl was nine, with the olive complexion of her mother and hair the color of a raven’s wing. The boy, who was ten, favored his father, with dark, curly hair. Their eyes fixed immediately on Lillian.
“This is Jennifer,” Tallant introduced them, “and this is Robert. And I warn you, they’re dying of curiosity.”
Lillian smiled warmly. “I’m so happy to meet you, Jennifer and Robert. Thank you for having us to your home.”
“Father says you’re a singer,” Jennifer said, overcome with curiosity. “Will you sing something for us?”
“Why, yes, of course I will. Do you have a favorite song?”
“Father likes Aura Lee,” Robert said with boyish enthusiasm. “He told us how you sang it the other night. He likes it a lot.”
“Mind your manners,” Tallant broke in. “Perhaps Miss Fontaine will favor us with a song after dinner. Although I’m afraid we don’t have a piano.”
“Miguel plays the guitar,” Robert reminded him. “Want me to run down to the bunkhouse?”
“Not just yet, Son. I think it’ll wait till we’ve eaten.”
Dinner was served in a spacious dining room. There were two servants, a man and a woman, and they brought from the kitchen platters of spicy Mexican dishes. Fontaine, as well as Lillian and Chester, found the food delicious, if somewhat zesty to the palate. Jennifer and Robert peppered them with questions throughout the meal, eager to learn everything about their life in the theater. Fontaine, playing to a wide-eyed audience, gave them a running discourse on the wonders of Shakespeare.
After dinner, Miguel was summoned from the bunkhouse. Lillian hummed the melody for him, and he quickly found the chords on his guitar. Everyone got themselves seated in the parlor, and with Miguel strumming softly, she sang Aura Lee. The children were fascinated, watching her intently, and applauded wildly on the last note. When they clamored for more, Fontaine stepped into the breech, delivering a stirring passage from Hamlet. As her father’s baritone filled the room, Lillian joined Tallant, who was standing behind the sofa. He gave her an apologetic shrug.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “They get carried away sometimes.”
“I think they’re wonderful,” Lillian said graciously. “You should encourage them in the arts. They enjoy it so much.”
“Well, I don’t have to encourage them about you. I’ve never seen them take to anyone so fast.”
“Jennifer is so beautiful, and Robert is the very image of you. You must be very proud.”
“Never more so than today, Lillian.”
The afternoon sped past. Tallant gave them a tour of the compound, explaining the many facets of how a ranch operates. The children clung to Lillian, and she sensed they were starved for a woman’s affection. Before anyone quite knew it, the sun heeled over to the west, and it was time to leave. Fontaine told them that actors, unlike the Lord, were allowed no rest on the Sabbath. The show, he noted jovially, must go on.
Tallant and the children saw them off. Jennifer and Robert hugged Lillian, begging her to return, and ran alongside until the buggy picked up speed. On the way into town, Lillian was silent, playing the afternoon back in her mind. Fontaine finally broke into her reverie, looking at her with an amused expression. He shook his head.
“I believe the Bard said it all,” he observed wryly. “ ‘She’s beautiful and therefore to be wooed. She is a woman, therefore to be won.’ You have captured their hearts, my dear.”
Lillian ignored the jest. She stared off into the fading sun and suddenly felt the race was too swift for her liking. All the more so after a visit to the Tallant ranch.
She thought she was too young to be a mother. Perhaps too young to be a wife.
CHAPTER 20
LILLIAN WRESTLED with her uncertainty all through Sunday night. Neither Tallant nor Warner attended the evening performance, and she was relieved by their absence. She needed time to sort out her feelings.
Her ambivalence was unsettling. She genuinely liked both men, though they were as different as night and day. One lived like an old-world Spanish grandee and the other like a devil-may-care plains buccaneer. She’d never known two men so dissimilar.
All of which was part of a larger problem. She had never been courted, and she’d never known any man intimately. Her experiences with men were of a flirtatious nature, a stolen kiss that never led to anything more. Her mother had imparted wisdom about men, but Lillian ha
d no actual experience. She felt oddly like a vestal virgin in ancient Rome. Chaste, even wise, but nonetheless ignorant.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to lose that ignorance to either of them. Jake Tallant was a gentleman of the old school, kind and considerate, almost chivalrous in manner. Yet his children, however delightful, posed the worrisome question of overnight motherhood. Hank Warner was perhaps more debonair, a puckish bon vivant with a devilish sense of humor. Still, for all his protests, he lived with the memory of a dead woman. A wife would never displace the ghost of Maria Tallant.
Lillian’s ambivalence was underscored by an even more personal dilemma. Over the course of her Western odyssey, she had found some essential part of herself in the theater. She loved the audiences and the thrill of it all, the wave of adulation that came to her over the footlights. She thought she loved it more than she might ever love a man, and she wasn’t willing to trade one for the other. Her stage career was, at least for now, her life.
By Monday morning, she had arrived at a partial solution. She wrote discreet notes to both Tallant and Warner, explaining that she felt overwhelmed by their attentions. The notes were identical except for the salutations, tactfully phrased word-for-word appeals for patience. She emphasized that she needed time, needed to be alone with her thoughts, for it had all happened too fast, too quickly. She asked that they not contact her until she was able to reconcile her own feelings.
The notes were secretly delivered to each of the men by Chester. He caught them separately, as they were entering the Tivoli Monday evening, and slipped them the notes in the course of a handshake. That night, and for the three days following, the men honored her wishes. They attended her performances every evening, seated at their usual tables, following her about the stage with the eyes of infatuated schoolboys. True to her request, neither of them attempted to contact her.
Friday morning she awoke with a vague sense of disquiet. Her father and Chester went out to attend to personal errands, and she was left alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t identify the source of her unease, apart from the fact that she somehow felt lonely. She inwardly admitted that she missed the company of the men, Tallant for his courtly manner and Warner for his waggish humor. She wondered if a woman, after all, needed a man in her life.