Miner's Daughter

by Duncan, Alice

  That’s not fair, Mari, she scolded herself, even as she smiled inside at the image the thought had created.

  And anyway, how had she got back on that old, bedraggled subject again? She didn’t know why her brain insisted on wallowing in the differences between herself and Tony. Recounting them all only made her unhappy. But wallow it did; she felt as if she were the victim of her own rebellious brain, and she didn’t enjoy the feeling at all.

  George stopped the motorcar in front of the hotel and hopped out to open Mari’s door. That was one thing she’d learned since Peerless came to town. She now waited for the gentleman to open her door and didn’t jump the gun and open it for herself. It still didn’t make any sense that society should consider women incapable of opening doors for themselves, but she was too tired to fight tradition this morning, even if she wanted to. She didn’t, either. After all, it had been she who’d asked Tony to teach her how to behave; she’d be foolish to ignore his kindly imparted lessons.

  There she went again: thinking about Tony. She wished she could simply press a switch and turn off the Tony-dwelling part of her mind. No such luck.

  “Want to go out back and see what’s happening?” George asked eagerly.

  “Sure. Let me put Tiny’s leash on him so he doesn’t scare the insurance men away.”

  George chuckled, and Mari got her dog more or less under control. Tiny was excited and really wanted to be loping up and down the street and greeting all of his old buddies in town, but Mari didn’t want any trouble or misunderstandings that might ensue because of the size and disorderliness of her dog. “I’ll let you run later, boy,” she promised.

  Tiny woofed once, wagged his tail, and she guessed he understood. The three of them went toward the shed in the backyard, hastened along by Tiny, who dragged them after he figured out which way they wanted to go.

  Once she was close enough to distinguish forms and faces, the first person Mari saw was Tony Ewing. He had his fists on his lean hips and was frowning down at the remains of the two cameras. They had been dragged outside in the sun by pulling the canvas upon which they lay.

  Mari’s breath hitched. The day was hot already and promised further delights, if one enjoyed broiling in the sun. To accommodate the weather, Tony had shucked off his jacket, unbuttoned several top buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. He hadn’t bothered to don a celluloid collar at all, and he looked deliciously rugged sans all of his fine trappings. Mari’s heart started thudding painfully.

  Tiny gave an excited bark, Tony glanced up, and his gaze locked with Mari’s for several seconds. Confused by the emotions tumbling inside her, Mari blushed, finally managed to drag her gaze away from his, and lowered her head, pretending to watch where she was stepping.

  “Oh, there you are, Mari.” Martin left the group of men and hurried over to her. “We’re almost through here. Why don’t you go inside? We’re using room three as a change and makeup room. Your costume is in there waiting for you. We should be ready to start filming soon.”

  “Without cameras?” Her glance kept sliding over to Tony, but she pretended her interest centered solely in the ruined cameras.

  “We got two more cameras in this morning, one of which I’ve already sent out to the mine to do some site testing in the mine shaft. I cabled the studio, and Phin sent them right out. I don’t know what this is going to mean, money-wise, but we have to keep going with the filming or we’ll get hopelessly behind schedule, and the insurance fellows will just have to catch up with us.” He cast a worried peek at the wreckage. “At least, I sure hope they will.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I do, too. It would be awful if somebody got away with doing this.”

  “Yeah. That fellow over there”—Martin pointed to a burly man in khaki slacks and shirt—“is investigating from a police angle.”

  “Oh, it’s Mr. Jones.” Mari waved at the man, who waved back. “He’s been the sheriff here for ages.”

  Martin nodded. “Why don’t you go on in and get ready for your first scene now. The costume and makeup people are waiting for you.”

  Bother. Mari had wanted to go over, stand beside Tony, gaze at the demolished cameras, and masquerade as an interested bystander. In truth, she just wanted to be near Tony for a few minutes. Even a few seconds. She felt an awful need to have a dose of him, as if that would make her feel better.

  Quit being an idiot, Mari Pottersby. You have a headache from not sleeping enough. Which was Tony’s fault, too.

  Exasperated with herself, Mari said, “Okay.” She was about to turn and do her duty when she remembered Tiny. She didn’t know how she’d managed to forget about him in the first place, since he was practically pulling her arm out of its socket, trying to get to where the action and the people were. “Um, Martin.”

  “Yes?” He’d been peering anxiously at the small crowd of people surrounding the entrance to the shed.

  Mari hated to ask but knew she had to. “Um, would you mind watching Tiny for me? Or I can take him with me.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Except that he really wants to see what’s going on. He’s a snoopy dog.”

  Martin eyed Tiny with what looked like a good deal of affection. Mari’s heart lightened considerably. “Snoopy, is he? Sure, I’ll be glad to renew acquaintances with your cow—I mean, your dog.”

  Mari giggled. She felt better already. “Thanks, Martin.” Casting one last glance at Tony, whose concentration seemed to be wholly on the mess at his feet, she sighed and walked, drooping slightly, to the hotel. Judy Nelson greeted her at the front door with a dust rag in her hands and her hair in a scarf.

  “Hi, Judy.”

  “Hi, Mari. Say, did you see what happened to those cameras out there?” Judy’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

  Mari understood that. The making of a motion picture in Mojave Wells was probably the most thrilling thing that had ever happened or ever would happen here.

  “Yes. I saw them yesterday. What a mess.”

  “I’ll say. They called in Sheriff Jones, too.”

  This was exhilarating because, as a rule, the sheriff only got to suppress rowdy drunks. He probably couldn’t remember the last time a real crime had been perpetrated in Mojave Wells. He must be as excited as the rest of the community now.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I saw him out there, trying to look official.” Both girls giggled.

  “That’s a stretch. Usually he just looks sleepy.”

  Out of curiosity and because she wanted to know if Judy had been given any juicy tidbits of information that Mari had missed from the distance of her cabin, Mari asked, “Has anybody become a suspect yet?”

  Judy shook her head. “Not that I know of.” Her smile vanished. “You know it’s got to be one of them, Mari. Nobody in Mojave Wells would do anything like that.”

  “You’re right. I think so, too.” Folks in Mojave Wells had too much respect for personal property rights. Mari couldn’t imagine a soul who’d think it a good idea to smash expensive equipment like those cameras. “But who could it be? Aren’t all those guys employed by Peerless? They wouldn’t want to jeopardize their own production, would they?”

  With a shrug, Judy began polishing the furniture in the hotel’s lobby. “Search me. All I know is it isn’t anybody who lives in Mojave Wells. We simply don’t do things like that.”

  Mari nodded and went off to seek out room three. She guessed Judy was right, although she wasn’t as absolutely positive about the integrity of her fellow citizens as Judy. When folks needed money, they were apt to go a little crazy. Mari knew as much from bitter experience. How else could she account for agreeing to act in this picture, if not for insanity brought about by financial desperation.

  “Excuses, excuses,” she muttered as she walked down the hallway. “If a person has true moral strength, such things shouldn’t matter.”

  That was downright depressing, when she added it to all the other uncertainties her life contained at the moment. Fortunately, before she coul
d begin to wallow again, she reached room three. She considered knocking, decided not to, and opened the door. Everyone in the room turned to look at her, and she paused, embarrassed, before grabbing the bull by the horns and walking in as if she belonged there. Which she did, darn it.

  “Hi, there,” she said, trying to sound relaxed and friendly. She felt like picking up her skirt and running fast in the opposite direction.

  A woman she recognized as the one who’d prepared her face for the camera during her screen test, gestured for her to climb up onto the tall stool beside her. “Hello, Mari,” the woman said. “Ready for your first scene?”

  No, she was ready for no such thing. “I guess so,” she said, and sat on the stool, folding her hands in her lap. “Have at me.”

  The woman laughed, which made Mari feel not quite so glum “It’ll be all right,” the woman assured her. “You’ll be great on film “

  That was kind of her. “You think so, do you?”

  “Sure. I’ve been at this long enough to spot naturals. You’re a natural.”

  “I hope you’re right.” The woman’s words didn’t do much to dispel the aura of gloom under which Mari had been living since opening her eyes that morning. “Say, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “Helen Bernstein.”

  “Hi, Helen.”

  “Hi, Mari.”

  This was stupid. Because she wanted to calm her anxiety, she decided to get the woman talking about herself. “So, how long have you been working in the pictures, Helen?”

  Her ploy worked. As Helen brushed Mari’s hair back from her face, slipped a band over her head to hold the hair out of her way, and daubed on the first pancake of dead-white makeup, she talked. “I wanted to be an actress, but there was more work available for makeup artists than actresses, so I decided to do that instead.”

  Mari asked more questions. Helen answered them, and before Mari was ready to climb down from her stool and seek out her costume, the two women were fast friends. She was pleased. That hadn’t been so hard. Even her nerves seemed calmer.

  Next, Mari visited Karen Crenshaw, the costume person. She didn’t hesitate to ask Karen her name, or to inquire about how she’d ended up working for the pictures. She was surprised to learn that Karen was employed by Madame Dunbar, the very same dressmaker whom Mari had visited on her trip to Los Angeles.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “She scared me.” Instantly, she regretted admitting how shy she’d been with Madame Dunbar.

  But Karen only laughed. “She’s okay. She only looks haughty.”

  That was nice to know. Mari didn’t quite believe her. “She sounded pretty haughty when I talked to her, too,” she muttered.

  With another laugh, Karen said, “Oh, all right, I admit it. She’s a hard, difficult woman. But she’s a great costumer and a wonderful teacher, and I’ve learned a lot from her. Also, since I do most of my work on location, I don’t mind that she’s difficult because I don’t have to be around her much.”

  Made sense to Mari.

  She’d been ensconced in room three for three quarter of an hour before the door opened once more. Mari, who had become quite lighthearted and gay as she chatted and joked with the other two young women, immediately became tongue-tied when she recognized Tony Ewing as the person who’d opened the door She was especially unsettled to note that he was frowning and looked irked—and they hadn’t even quarreled yet today.

  He rapped out, “Are you ready?”

  Mari swallowed and made a quick survey of the room to make sure it was she to whom he had addressed his question. “Um, I think so.”

  Tony glared at Karen, who’d been fitting Mari’s costume with pins here and tucks there. “Is she ready?” he barked at Karen.

  Karen gave him a crabby look, which he richly deserved in Mari’s opinion. “Sure, I guess so.”

  He turned back to Mari. “Then come with me,” he commanded.

  Mari’s eyes started to narrow. She didn’t like being spoken to in this insulting and peremptory way. Because she also didn’t want to start a fight in front of her two new friends, she waited to tackle him until they were outside room three and the door had shut behind her.

  She didn’t get the chance. Tony turned so precipitately that she bumped into him, and he took her in his arms. The sound that came out of Mari’s mouth then couldn’t properly be termed a word. It was more like a squeak.

  “God, I’ve, been wanting you for hours today already!” he said after he withdrew his lips from hers.”I couldn’t wait a second longer.”

  Absolutely dumbfounded, Mari discovered she also couldn’t prepare a coherent sentence. All the words she knew just sort of clumped together at the back of her throat, and she was too befuddled to sort them out.

  Once more, it didn’t matter, because Tony kissed her again. Her body responded instantly and with enthusiasm. Heat that had nothing to do with the weather prickled her skin, tension puckered her nipples, unfamiliar and insistent sensations danced through her veins like a troupe of ballerinas, pressure built in her private area, and her head buzzed.

  Unlike her body, her brain was having a more difficult time reconciling this assault with a lifetime’s learned values. This sort of behavior was improper, her brain told her, even as her body rebelled at the prudish commentary. Tony Ewing, a man so rich she couldn’t even conceive of his wealth, was taking advantage of her because she was poor, her brain said. If she were as rich as he, he wouldn’t dare take these liberties.

  “So what?” her heart asked her brain.

  “It matters,” her brain answered back, “because as soon as he tires of playing with you, he’ll go away again. And, unlike you, he will merely resume his old, expensive, devil-may-care way of life. You will not be merely emotionally devastated but quite possibly pregnant as well.”

  Her brain finally succeeded in shocking her body out of its delight in Tony’s caresses. She pulled from him so hard, she startled him, and he let her go.

  “Mari . . .”

  “Stop it, Tony!” She patted her hair, which Karen had just succeeded in nudging into the correct state of glamour, tempered with Peerless’s notion that a miner’s daughter might have to live rough. Mari could have put the notion of any glamour at all out of their heads if they’d bothered to ask her, but they hadn’t.

  “But—oh, God, Mari, I’ve missed you so damned much I didn’t know it was possible to miss somebody this much overnight’’

  He’d missed her? Had he been pining away all night, as she had, for the sake of her?

  No. Such a scenario was downright impossible. Leastways, he’d have to do a lot more convincing before she’d allow him to take liberties with her person again.

  Like hell.

  Mari groaned when she acknowledged the state of her own mind and heart. She was madly and passionately in love with Tony Ewing. He desired her. No equity of purpose existed in this bleak picture.

  Instead of saying anything so certain to cause her acute humiliation as admitting the state of her heart, she said, “For heaven’s sake, they just glopped all this makeup on me, and you’re rubbing it off. Look at you. Your lips are all white.” If her emotions hadn’t been rioting, she might even have laughed, because he really did look funny.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and frowned. “I didn’t mean to mess up your makeup, but . . .” He looked as if he were struggling to find words.

  This was minimally encouraging to Mari, who’d thought she was the only one. Because what she’d just said was true, and because she couldn’t think of anything to say, she said nothing, but only continued looking at him.

  He took a deep breath. “Listen, Mari, about last night . . .”

  “Are you ready, Mari?” Martin’s cheerful voice rang out. He sounded as if he were on the front porch.

  The question made her jump and Tony swear. But she turned toward the voice and forced herself to call out with aplomb, or as close to it as she could get, “Be right t
here, Martin.”

  Anyhow, she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about last night. At least not with Tony and not now. Maybe in, say, a century or two, she might be able to relate to her great-great-great-grandchildren that she’d once spent an idyllic evening with the man of her dreams. Not now. Now, if she even tried to talk about it, she knew she’d burst into tears and mortify herself.

  “Mari,” Tony said. He sounded fairly desperate, which surprised her. It might even have gratified her, but she was too flustered to tell.

  But she couldn’t possibly think about his desperation at the moment, not with her own threatening to overwhelm her. “I have to run, Tony.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she started trotting outdoors to her doom. Rather, to her first scene. She heard Tony’s soft “Damn” behind her, and an unintentional sob shook her. She ferociously commanded herself to get herself in hand, stopped just before the front door of the inn to gather herself together, yanked the door open, and walked outside, assuming an air of serenity. At any rate, she hoped to heck she looked serene.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The bright sunlight made her blink and squint, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes so she could find Martin.

  She knew she looked pretty good. From a distance. There was no way she’d ever think this dead-white makeup looked anything but ghastly up close. Yet she’d seen herself on screen—well, on a wall—and knew for fact the makeup carried onto celluloid beautifully. According to Helen and Karen and Martin and a whole bunch of other people who ought to know, white makeup filmed much better than natural skin tones or beige-colored makeup.

  So be it. She smiled broadly at Martin when he came up to take her hand and lead her onto what passed as the “set.” It was actually a stretch of dry desert on which some storefronts had been erected. Evidently, the real thing didn’t look authentic enough for the picture folks, so they’d had George Peters design a mining town out of cardboard and two-by-fours.