“Lordy,” Rose murmured when the woman returned with their orders. She rubbed a hand self-consciously across the back of her neck, made bare by her new hairstyle.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had any, too,” Nora said. “The first time I tried it was last summer, right before they ran out of ice. I’ve been starving for another bowl ever since. It was Jessie told me they were serving it again.”
Rose tried a spoonful, closing her eyes, and shaking her head in wonder as the concoction melted on her tongue. “I reckon this is near about as good as Callie’s Kentucky butter cake,” she declared.
“It’ll taste even better this summer. It ain’t hardly hot enough yet. This summer, when you eat it fast, it’ll give you a headache.”
Rose looked out the window at the traffic on the street, the flow of people along the boardwalks. It amazed her how rapidly Miles City was growing. It seemed like every time she came to town there was something new or different to be seen, and she said as much to Nora.
“Were you here in the early days?” Nora asked.
“Not the early, early days, but I remember when they still called it Milestown, and shipped buffalo hides downriver on steamboats. That was before the railroad came in ’Eighty-One and ruined everything. Shoot, they used to be ricks of buffler skins a quarter mile long down by the wharf, and mountains of bones for the china factories and fertilizer plants back East. Wasn’t a drover in sight in them days, either. Now they’re buildin’ all them cow pens over by the tracks … all that fresh lumber … it looks like a whole new city goin’ up.”
“I hear they plan to ship five thousand head out of Miles City this year, and most folks think it’ll just keep growing.”
“That’s a lot of beef. I reckon was a person smart, they’d take up ranching.”
“They’d have to be rich as well as smart. Even on the range, cattle are expensive.”
Rose looked at Nora. “How’d you get to know so much about cows?”
“I’ve learned more about cows than I ever wanted to from peckerwoods who are too bashful to shuck their pants until they’ve talked my ears off first.”
Rose smiled. “Just the same, I can’t get over the way things has changed. Only a few years ago there weren’t no telephone lines or ice cream parlors or ladies’ stores or anything. Just regular businesses and saloons.”
“It’ll keep on changing, too. I remember how Kansas City turned so fast … telephone and electric lines criss-crossing the streets, trolleys to take you anywhere you wanted to go, brick streets downtown instead of mud and dust, gaslights on every corner. After a time it got to be like a foreign city, like London or Paris. Not that I’ve ever been to either of those places, but it was strange to watch. The same thing’ll happen here someday.”
“I ain’t so sure I’d want to live in a place like that,” Rose confessed. “Just thinkin’ about it makes me miss the old days.”
“At least you’ve got that land up the Yellowstone. If I had a place like that, I’d kick the dust of Miles City off my heels in about a minute.”
“Homesteadin’ ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Rose said vaguely.
Nora looked almost surprised. “You sure don’t sound very enthused about it. I was under the impression from Collins that you loved that place.”
“I do. It just ain’t what folks that’s never done it before thinks it is, is all. The loneliness can near about kill you sometimes. Especially in the winter. It weren’t like that in the beginning, but it gets worse after a few years.”
“Get yourself a partner.”
Rose’s voice took on an edge. “Someone like Shorty?”
“Uhn-uh, someone you can count on. Someone who’d love the place as much as you.”
“You?”
“No, not me. I’m just a whore and a dreamer, but … I don’t know. Doris was a dreamer.” Her eyes became unexpectedly moist. “She was one of us, you know, back in Kansas City?”
“Doris?”
“Uhn-huh. A hook shop girl, but she was smart and took care of her money. After a few years she was able to buy a partnership in a dress shop. Not long after that, she got married and turned respectable. That was when she and her husband moved out here. Her husband fell in the river and froze to death that first winter, but Doris stayed.”
Nora looked out the window, her ice cream momentarily forgotten. “I kind of have that same dream, I suppose. I’ve been cautious with my money, saved what I could. I haven’t decided what I want to do with it, though. I ain’t got the skills for a dress shop, or much else for that matter, but after I met you last year, then some of the boys told me about your place and what you’d done with it … well, I thought that was pretty impressive.” She smiled. “I think I’d actually enjoy some isolation for a change. I sure as hell don’t get much around here.”
“Homesteadin’ ain’t an easy life,” Rose pointed out.
“Neither is whoring,” Nora returned bluntly.
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
Nora shrugged dismissingly, but it was clear she was perturbed. “The hell with it,” she said. “It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”
“We could try,” Rose ventured half-heartedly.
“No, you were right. It was just wishful thinking.”
Rose nodded, feeling suddenly sad again, not so much for herself as for Nora. She knew what it was like to feel trapped and hopeless. She’d felt that way most of her life. But the thought of a friend experiencing that same level of despair troubled her. Nora deserved better than a life wasted in frontier whorehouses.
Glancing at the boxes of new clothes stacked on a nearby table, Rose felt a twinge of guilt for having squandered so much of her hard-earned money on foolishness. Then she smiled and shook her head.
“What are you grinning about?” Nora asked suspiciously.
“I was just thinkin’ how I wasted my money buyin’ dresses, when what I should’ve bought was some britches and new work gloves.”
Chapter
14
The days passed swiftly into weeks and the balmy weather held. The green on the hillsides deepened into a rich emerald hue, and in the flower beds the tulips and crocuses poked their tiny heads above the soil like chicks emerging from eggs. Among the citizens of Miles City an air of indolence prevailed. People went about their chores, but stopped often to gaze at the distant hills or breathe deeply of the fresh spring air. No one neglected their jobs or lost sight of the essentials, but everyone seemed willing to slow down a bit, to enjoy a moment of quiet celebration at having survived another harsh winter.
For Rose, that April of 1886 was a time of rare leisure, an opportunity to recuperate from the strenuous days of wolfing without the usual responsibilities of planting and repair. She would sit on Alice’s porch for hours on end while her imagination roamed, or stroll alone along the Tongue or Yellowstone Rivers, listening to the roar of mountain run-off.
She hadn’t forgotten the more somber images of her recent past, and would occasionally wonder if anyone had informed Jimmy Frakes’s family of the young man’s death. Or she would recall the Indian she’d shot on the Musselshell, and cringe when she remembered the way the Sharps’ slug had flung him backward like a paper doll in the wind. The wolf carcasses she and Shorty and Wiley had left scattered for miles around their Pipestem cabin bothered her, too, as did thoughts of Muggy’s death and the fire-gutted cabin on the Yellowstone. But for the most part she tried to keep those memories at bay, her sights elevated toward happier targets. She napped and walked and daydreamed, and spent at least a couple of hours each day with Albert, currying his coat and brushing his mane and tail, or just holding him out on fresh grass with a long rope and talking.
When the cattlemen’s convention got under way, Nora and the other girls became rare sights. They were almost constantly engaged at either the Silver Star or en
tertaining guests in Alice’s parlor or in one of the cribs at the rear of the house. It wasn’t until the convention ended and most of the ranchers and their hands returned to the range that Nora and Rose were able to spend some time together again.
Mostly they talked. Neither would approach anything too personal, preferring instead to focus on the more benign experiences of their past—things they’d seen or done, stories they’d heard. Rose told Nora of the wild times she’d shared with her pap and brothers, knocking around Montana Territory, while Nora described growing up poor in Chicago, where her father had worked sixteen hours a day in the meat-packing industry and her mother had taken in laundry.
Nora’s description of city life from an indigenous point of view was sobering. The dilapidated wooden buildings constructed side by side and as tall as five stories; the alleys where death was as cheap as a Virginia cigar and the air was rife with the throat-burning, acidic grit of coal smoke spewed from a hundred thousand homes and factories; the stench of garden refuse, excrement, dead cats, dogs, rats, and even an occasional horse or ox, left to rot along the sidewalks. Her memories made Rose realize how unrealistic her notions about the world outside Montana had been, and how unprepared she was for any kind of life other than the one she lived now.
One afternoon they went down to the bottoms along the Yellowstone, where Rose taught Nora some of the finer points of shooting a pistol. They used both Rose’s Smith & Wesson and Nora’s little .32 Colt Rainmaker. Afterward Rose demonstrated some of the tricks Sam Matthews had taught her. Nora was most impressed by the road agent spin, and was soon able to hold her little pearl-handled self-cocker around the cylinder in a grip-first position, as if to give it up, then smoothly tip it sideways and twirl it around on her trigger finger until it was cocked and pointed at an imaginary foe. Although slower than Rose, Nora displayed a natural ability that convinced Rose it wouldn’t take much practice for her to become as good as any gun handler currently roaming the Yellowstone Basin. She was already better than most.
Although the subject of partnering with Nora hadn’t resurfaced, the idea continued to rattle around inside Rose’s skull. It wasn’t until the evening of the day they practiced their pistol shooting that she was able to steer the subject back in that direction.
They were dining in a tiny Chinese restaurant close to the Northern Pacific tracks when Rose started talking about the spring-fed creek and the rich grass on her land. She described the trees along the creek, and the tract of forest to the west where timber was free for the cutting. When Nora wondered aloud how many head of cattle such a place would support, Rose’s reply was: “As many as a person could brand.”
“It’s the water that makes it so valuable,” she continued. “Shoot, you could graze a thousand head over unclaimed land, but you have to have reliable water, and along that bluffy stretch of the Yellowstone, there ain’t a lot of places where a cow can get down to the river. That spring of mine ain’t run dry once in the four years I lived there. Not even during the hottest part of the summer.”
“So it’s just a matter of how many cows you could afford?”
“Plus an outfit. I’ve got just about enough right now to rebuild the cabin and supply it for the winter, but Albert’s too old to pull a plow, and I couldn’t afford a mule to work a big garden, let alone buy a bunch of cattle.”
“What if someone bought the cows for you?”
“It’d be costly. Last I heard, cows was runnin’ eight to ten dollars a head.”
“I know men who’d sell them cheaper, especially a small bunch.”
“Who?”
Nora’s expression hardened. “Arrogant little bastards who’d think it was cute if I asked. But I bet they’d let me buy forty head or so.”
“Forty head!” Rose whistled under her breath. “That’d be a good start, for sure. Not like most of the spreads poppin’ up hereabouts, but enough to keep a place goin’.”
“All you’d need is enough to make a simple living.”
“What about you?”
“Me. Hell, I’m fine where I’m at.” Bitterness coated her next words. “A whore’s gotta stay where the men are.”
Scowling, Rose said: “That ain’t fair. I wouldn’t take advantage of a friend like that.”
“There’re no strings attached, if you’re interested.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t feel right investin’ your life’s savings in something as risky as livestock. Why, a disease could wipe out a whole herd in a week, or one good lightning strike could kill a dozen head in the snap of a finger.”
“There are risks involved in everything,” Nora reminded her.
“That’s true, but I still won’t take your money. Not that way.”
A rail-thin waiter in a white jacket brought their orders—steaming plates of ham-fried rice and chow mein, plus hot tea served from a small porcelain pot, the handle formed in the shape of a dragon. Rose eyed the food skeptically, unsure how to attack it with only a pair of slim wooden skewers, and neither spoon nor fork in sight. Picking up one of the tiny lances, she turned it inquisitively in her fingers. “I reckon I could stab the meat and most of the vegetables with this, but I’m danged if I know how I’m gonna get much rice.”
“They’re chopsticks,” Nora said. “Use them like this.” She maneuvered the two sticks in her right hand, showing Rose how to grip them between her fingers. “It ain’t hard, once you get the hang of it.”
“I reckon,” Rose replied doubtfully. She tried it, but was immediately showered in a spray of rice when one of the sticks flipped loose in her fingers. “Lively little things, ain’t they?” she said, embarrassed.
Nora started to laugh, so hard that tears soon came to her eyes. The waiter returned with a fork, which he placed next to Rose’s plate with a look of exasperation, then quickly backed away.
Red-faced, Rose picked up the fork.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Nora said. “I imagine you could easily outshoot him.”
Rose allowed a crooked grin. “It’s no wonder he’s so danged ribby. I’d probably be skinny myself, was I to take up eatin’ with sticks.”
“What about the money, Rose. Will you take it?”
“Nope.”
“Will you consider it?”
“Uhn-uh, although I appreciate the offer. Maybe someday, but ….” She burped, looking at her plate in surprise. The rice and chow mein swam before her eyes, and she had to put out a hand to catch the edge of the table.
“Something wrong?” Nora asked.
“I don’t feel so good all of a sudden,” Rose admitted. Then a sharp pain lanced through her lower abdomen, driving toward her groin, and she cried out.
Nora pushed her chair back in alarm, then paused uncertainly. “Rose?”
Sweat beaded Rose’s upper lip as she struggled to her feet. The waiter, who had been watching from a distance, hurried over. His gaze darted between the two women. “What wrong?” he asked. “Food good?”
“I need some air,” Rose said, feeling panicky. She gripped the backs of chairs as she made her way around the table. Then Nora was at her side, slipping a shoulder under her arm. Together they headed for the door, but Rose had to stop when another cramp struck. She jerked convulsively, her body almost doubling over in pain. “Jesus,” she hissed, after the worst of it had passed.
“Must pay,” the waiter said, moving quickly to intercept them. “You pay first!” A second man appeared from the kitchen holding a bloodied cleaver, the sight of it causing Rose’s stomach to heave violently.
“Here!” Nora shouted, flinging a handful of coins against the waiter’s chest. “Keep the damn’ change!”
They stumbled outside, then paused while Rose gulped deeply of the fresh spring air. She felt a little better after that, but continued to support herself against the restaurant’s front wall.
“Are you all ri
ght?” Nora asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t know what it was, but it sure kicked like a dang’ mule.” She tried to smile, then another spasm twisted her guts and she cried out and nearly collapsed.
“I’m getting you to a doctor,” Nora said firmly.
“No!” Rose gasped. “Privy, I ….” She bit down on her lower lip as another wave of agony exploded downward from her abdomen.
“Rose!”
“Privy,” Rose grunted desperately. With Nora’s aid, she rounded the restaurant’s corner and lurched as rapidly as possible down a trash-filled alley. At its far end sat a weathered two-seater, its doors incised with quarter moons to allow ventilation.
Grasping a frayed rope strap, Rose yanked open the right-hand door and stumbled inside. Fighting waves of dizziness, she quickly hiked up her skirt and petticoat and pushed down her bloomers. Another surge of pain rammed through her as she sank gratefully to the time-polished oak seat. She rested her forehead on white-knuckled fists while her elbows drilled into her knees and the pain slid down and out in a warm, soupy coagulation. Then it was over, the razor-sharp spasms passing from her body, her limbs turning weak and trembly.
Nora pounded on the door. “Rose. Are you all right?”
Too weak to reply, Rose sagged against the wall at her side. As the sweat began to cool on her brow, a chill passed over her. Then Nora opened the door, her hand flying to her mouth, stifling a scream.
• • • • •
Rose kept her eyes closed, even after she awoke. She was lying in a bed, distantly aware of strange voices floating through thin walls. There was a male’s husky growl, a woman’s laughter, and, far off, the scratchy squeal of a violin. When her eyelids finally fluttered open, she recognized the cracked ceiling above her as belonging to the room she shared with Nora. Lamplight from the bedside table emphasized the shadows in the corners, telling her night had fallen while she slumbered. Then Callie’s ebony face loomed above her, her chubby cheeks taut with concern.
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