My Calamity Jane

by Cynthia Hand

  “That’s not helpful,” scoffed Bill. “What else? Does it seem like Jane’s a prisoner?”

  Frank checked. Jane was smiling. He hadn’t actually seen her smile like that since the night of the factory. “Nope, she looks pretty comfortable.”

  “Does she appear to be brainwashed?”

  “How does a person appear brainwashed?” Frank retorted.

  “Well, what’s she saying?”

  “Stop talking to me, and I’ll listen,” Frank said. Garou had excellent hearing, after all. He crept closer.

  “That sounds very nice,” Jane was saying. There was something different about her voice. It was higher-pitched, maybe? And her tone was more respectful than he’d ever heard Jane talk to anybody. Maybe she was under a thrall.

  “You’ll take a room upstairs,” said the top hat lady.

  “That would be delightful,” said Jane.

  Oh my gosh, she’d used the word delightful. Something was definitely wrong.

  “And you’ll take all of your meals with me,” the woman said. “Breakfast, dinner, and supper.”

  “Of course,” agreed Jane. She was being awfully agreeable.

  “And I’ll have some tasks for you to do from time to time,” continued the woman. “A few odd jobs.”

  “Whatever you need, Al,” said Jane. “I’ll do it.”

  Frank’s breath caught. Al.

  “I think the woman might be Al Swearengen,” he muttered to Bill. “And Jane just promised to do whatever she wants!”

  “What? A woman?” Bill frowned. “Let me see. Switch spots with me.”

  Frank didn’t know what good that would do, but he obediently traded places with his father. Bill peeked into the room. Then he stiffened and pulled his hat down, shadowing his face.

  “Do you know her?” Frank whispered.

  Bill shook his head and backed away.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come back to me,” the top hat lady was saying warmly.

  “I’m glad, too,” said Jane.

  “We need to get out of here,” Bill whispered urgently. “Now.”

  “But Jane . . .”

  “We’ll figure out what’s to be done about Jane later,” Bill said. “Let’s go.”

  The two of them stepped outside.

  “What’s going on?” Frank asked. “Was the woman Al Swearengen?”

  “I think so,” said Bill darkly.

  “And you know her?”

  Bill didn’t answer. He was stroking his mustache again, obviously deep in thought.

  “Do you think Jane already got the cure and she’s in Swearengen’s thrall?”

  “I don’t know,” Bill said.

  Right then the saloon doors swung open, and out stepped Jane with Swearengen.

  “I’m gonna follow them and see what I can find out.” Bill tucked his long hair, his most recognizable feature, underneath his coat.

  “I’m coming with you,” Frank said.

  “No,” said Bill. “You go keep an eye on Annie in the alley, before she gets herself into trouble.” Then off he went to follow Jane and Swearengen.

  Frank stared after him, puzzled. Then he returned to the alley where Annie, indeed, was trying to climb the post again.

  “Annie, get down,” Frank said.

  “Did you find Walks Looking?” Annie jumped down and brushed off her dress.

  “Well, no. But we did find Jane.”

  “Jane!” Annie exclaimed, her face lighting up. “How is she?”

  “She seemed good,” Frank admitted. “But she might be in cahoots with Al Swearengen.”

  Annie frowned. “What?”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty confused. Bill went after them.”

  Annie seemed to make a decision. “Well, if Swearengen’s not in there, it will be safe to go in and look for Walks Looking. Be right back.”

  Frank caught her hand. “You still can’t go in there, Annie.”

  “Yes, I can,” Annie said.

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Yes, I can!” Annie argued. “I was tasked with finding my friend, or at least the sister of my friend, and that’s what I’m going to do. Don’t worry. I’m the best finder of lost things in my whole family.”

  “Annie—”

  “I’ve just got to figure out a way to get in without being noticed.”

  Frank sighed. Clearly there was no talking her out of this, but he couldn’t let her go in there alone. “Wait,” he said. “I have an idea.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Annie

  It was the worst idea Annie had ever heard.

  How bad was it? It made building a tower in Pisa on soft soil look intentional, and inviting the big wooden horse into Troy sound responsible, and Tesla’s earthquake machine (which wouldn’t be patented until 1898, but that’s a minor detail) seem perfectly reasonable.

  In short, Annie had never—and probably would never—hear of a worse plan.

  Unfortunately, try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a better plan, which left little choice but to go along with Frank’s. Step one: get a room at the Marriott hotel. There had been a number of interesting lodging choices in Deadwood, but the Marriott was nice, and they could afford it.

  “This is stupid,” Annie said as she changed clothes. “I hate this plan.”

  Frank’s voice came from the other side of the hotel room door. “You’ve said that at least a hundred times, but it’s a plan that will work.”

  “No, it won’t. Everyone will see through this costume. They’ll know I don’t belong.”

  “With an attitude like that . . .”

  “Gah!” Annie fumbled with the bodice of the dress—dress being a generous word to describe it—and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Here’s what Annie Oakley, Miss Modesty herself, was wearing: a yellow “dress” that only went down to her knees, and was nothing more than a slip of silk. It had no sleeves and even less cover over her cleavage. And to make matters worse, while it did have a corset, the corset was—for some reason—on the outside, and threatened to force her upstairs assets right out of the dress and its ridiculously low neckline.

  Yep. Annie was dressed as a painted lady. A lady of negotiable affections. A soiled dove. A shady lady. The oldest profession.

  You get the idea.

  Annie thought she might die from embarrassment, even alone in her room. (Alone aside from us, your narrators, and you, the readers. We all get to witness this strange and deeply uncomfortable moment of Annie’s life.) Never had she worn so little with the intent to go out, and now, not only was she expected to leave the room (wearing this!), but she had to do it in front of Frank.

  “This is a horrible idea!” Annie called again. “I don’t even have pockets!”

  “Don’t forget your hair.” Frank tapped the door. “You have to pin it up.”

  “How do you know so much about this?”

  “Uh.” Frank coughed. “Well, obviously I had to go into the Gem to get a look around, and I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  “How closely were you looking?”

  “I’m extremely observant. It’s not a skill I can turn off.”

  “And where did you get these clothes?”

  Weirdly, Frank didn’t answer that.

  Annie finished pinning her hair and peered into the mirror again. If she’d have seen herself on the street, she’d have assumed she was very cold and offered herself a jacket. Maybe a whole coat. Maybe a sheet to drape over her head. Now there was an idea. “If I put a sheet over my head, can I go as a ghost?”

  “Ghosts aren’t real. Are you finished yet? The day’s not getting any longer.”

  And she certainly would be cold once the sun went down.

  Annie gave a deep sigh and opened the door. Frank stood on the other side.

  His Adam’s apple jumped as he engaged his powers of observation. “Wow,” he said.

  “My eyes are up here.” Annie pointed at her eyes.

 
“Right.” Frank shook himself a little. “Right, okay. Should we go?”

  “We can’t stay here,” she said. “I’ll catch a chill and die.”

  Frank winced. “I’d offer you my jacket, but we need people to see you.”

  Annie died inside. No chill necessary. “You have the vial Many Horses gave me?” No pockets meant she couldn’t carry it herself, which made her uncomfortable.

  “For the eleventh time, yes, I have it.” He showed her the inside pocket of his coat. “It’s right here. What is this for?”

  She didn’t have time to explain. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, but he just looked at her. (Her face, we should add. He was smart enough not to get confused about the location of her eyes twice.)

  “Annie,” he murmured, “I—”

  “I know. We need to hurry. I’ve been telling you not to dillydally this whole time.” Annie pushed past him and headed outside. She knew very well what he wanted to talk about, or what he thought he wanted to talk about, but this was neither the time, nor the place, nor the attire. No, when they talked about that fight in Cincinnati, she wanted to be fully dressed.

  Frank followed along behind her, then offered his arm. “We should— I mean so that everyone believes you’re— That is, I want to anyway but—”

  “Please stop talking,” Annie said, taking his arm to shut him up.

  “All right, but—”

  “Stop,” Annie begged. “Not now.” She couldn’t bear to think of it again—his parting words back in Cincinnati: The problem is you, Annie. It’s not me. You’re not as nice of a person as you think you are.

  “I was just going to say that when we go in there, you have to act like you like me.”

  “I do like you.” Annie clamped her mouth shut so quickly she bit her lip. “Ow.”

  Frank glanced at her, worry in his eye, but he didn’t say anything. He drew her closer and together they walked down the street toward the Gem.

  It was a drab place, even though it had been built only a few months ago (“reputable” sources say it wasn’t built until April of 1877, pfft), and it looked as likely to catch fire as the theater in Cincinnati. It was all clapboard and narrow windows, but it tried its best to appear like a friendly, welcoming place: a balcony on the second floor held a band, of all things, and their music spilled out onto the street.

  Annie shivered. Beyond those doors was a garou named Swearengen, an evil man who sent his wolves out to bite others. Someone who ripped apart families. (Clearly Frank hadn’t enlightened Annie with the details about Al Swearengen and her relationship with Jane.)

  “Cold?” Frank pulled her closer, and for a moment, Annie forgot all about him being a garou, too. He was just Frank. Sweet, wonderful, charming Frank.

  They entered the Gem, and it took everything in her to keep from cringing. The noise: raucous laughter, glasses slamming against the bar, and a fellow playing the piano in the corner. It was an assault on Annie’s ears. Not to mention the stink of unwashed bodies and too much perfume.

  At first, it was similar to the saloon she’d visited in Cincinnati, but then she noticed the women. They wore heavy makeup and light clothing, and they were perched on men’s laps, laughing at jokes that probably weren’t funny, and roaming the main floor searching for customers. A woman wearing a white slip looked at Frank, then noticed Annie on his arm; she drifted away with a scoff.

  These were the painted ladies of the Gem, the women Annie was attempting to impersonate. And while she was a show-woman now, it had only been the one show, and she’d been doing something she was good at: shooting things.

  “Where do you think we’ll find Walks Looking?” Annie asked as they moved around the room.

  “Hard to say. Probably not upstairs. That’s where the, um, business takes place.”

  Anne jerked her head up and stared at him. “And how would you know that?”

  “Because I read the sign?” Frank nodded toward a sign that did indeed read, “Buy yourself and your lady a drink before you go upstairs.”

  “Oh.” Annie wished she had read the sign first. “Powers of observation. Right. So she’s not upstairs, and she’s probably not on this floor.”

  “Which means you were climbing up the outside of the building for no reason.”

  “I had a plan.”

  “To get upstairs where the business goes on.”

  Annie’s face went red. “I was going upstairs so that I could go downstairs to the basement, which is obviously the only place they’d keep someone prisoner.”

  “Right,” Frank said. “Downstairs it is. But we can’t go straight there. We have to blend in first.”

  Annie tried not to wonder whether he was trying to keep her in this dress longer. The room was warm, at least, but there were dozens of people in here, and they could all see her looking like this. But if Frank wanted to be near her again, and he was helping her find Walks Looking, then maybe he could forgive her for all the horrible things she’d said to him.

  Of course, he was still a garou, but he was also Frank, and which one mattered more?

  He looked at her again, and her whole body flushed.

  They spent only a few more minutes wandering the floor. Frank bought them drinks, but Annie was a Quaker and never drank alcohol, and Frank’s hands were shaking too hard to take a sip. Why? Because of her? Because of what she’d said in Cincinnati?

  Finally, they wandered off the main floor, toward the back of a short hallway, and found a door marked “Cellar” at the end.

  “This is probably it,” Frank said.

  “I’m in awe of your powers of observation.”

  “Tell me again how you bravely fought off that bear.” He tried the handle. “Locked.”

  Annie turned the bolt. “Lock’s on this side, genius.”

  “Well, that’s just suspicious. Why would—” He looked at her. “Right. Because you don’t want prisoners getting out.”

  “Hey!” a voice called from the other end of the hall. It was the same woman who’d looked at Frank earlier. “What’re you doing back here?”

  Annie froze. Frank froze.

  Then, with no better ideas about what they were going to do now that they’d been caught, Annie kissed him.

  The move shocked both of them, and there wasn’t much to it beyond pressing their faces together and hoping that the woman on the other end of the hall didn’t realize Annie had no idea what she was doing.

  Buuuut apparently Frank did. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close, and touched her face with his free hand, gently tilting her head.

  Annie gasped as his mouth moved against hers, soft but strong, and suddenly it didn’t matter that she’d previously had no idea what to do here, because instinct kicked in as she echoed him.

  Warmth spread through her, beginning everywhere he touched: her waist, her cheek, her lips. She listed toward him, wanting more and more, but a noise at the end of the hall snapped her out of the moment.

  “No need to show off,” muttered the woman. “Anyway, you know that belongs upstairs.”

  Did she? “All the rooms were taken.” Annie’s heartbeat raced.

  Frank was still near her, close enough to kiss again.

  “We won’t be long,” Annie said.

  The woman gave her a look Annie couldn’t hope to decipher, but she did leave them in peace.

  Frank’s face was red as he stepped back and opened the cellar door. “Did you have to tell her we wouldn’t take long?”

  Annie went first, taking the rail as she stepped down the stairs. The kiss had made her a little dizzy, but she wanted to do it again. But not here. Not like this. They had a job to do. “Why?” she asked stiffly. “Do you think it’s going to take a long time to rescue Walks Looking?”

  “I meant because—” Frank heaved a sigh and closed the door behind them. “Never mind. Let’s go and you can finish emasculating me later.”

  Annie smiled, pleased there would be a late
r for them.

  Then, as she looked around the cellar, which was lit only with the light from the high, narrow windows, her smile fell.

  There was no sign of Walks Looking—or any other nefarious activity—in the cellar whatsoever. It was a normal cellar, filled with boxes and trunks, and walls lined with racks of whiskey and other beverages Annie couldn’t identify but likely didn’t approve of.

  “She’s not here.” Annie slumped. “Many Horses said Swearengen had her, and I assumed she’d be somewhere in the Gem, but . . .” What if she was dead? What if Annie had to go back to Many Horses with the worst sort of news?

  Frank touched her shoulder; his palm was warm against her bare skin. “Someone is here. I can hear movement.”

  “How—” Oh. Right. She bit her lip. “Where?”

  Frank drifted ahead of her, face lifted and head cocked, and paused a beat. Then he faced the western wall. “There. A hidden door. It has a draft coming from under it.”

  They went over and found a sizable gap between the whiskey rack and the wall, big enough for a person to squeeze into. It was too dark back here for Annie to see, but Frank went right to a spot on the wall and felt around.

  “There’s a seam,” he murmured. “We just have to . . .” He pressed the wall and it swung open, revealing a secret room all in darkness. “I’ll go first.”

  “Because you’re a man?” Annie frowned.

  “Because I can see in the dark?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Thank you.” Annie forced a smile, certain it looked more like a grimace.

  He turned away before she could see his expression, then ducked into the other room.

  “Who are you?” asked a girl whose voice was very, very similar to Many Horses’s.

  “I’m Frank,” Frank said. A light flared, and a lantern swung into view. “And this is Annie. We’ve come to rescue you.”

  Annie glanced over her shoulder, through the rack of whiskey, but the cellar was still empty. Quickly, she hurried through the secret door and pulled it shut—but not all the way. She slid a shoe between the door and the wall, just in case.

  The floor was cold on her bare foot as she turned to face the room.

  Walks Looking—she had the same face shape and uneasy expression as Many Horses—sat in the far corner, all four limbs caught in shackles that had been bolted to the wall.