The Chili Queen: A Novel

by Dallas, Sandra

  Ned tried to think of something a farmer might ask. “You got a doctor here? My sister has female complaints.”

  The sheriff shifted as if he were uncomfortable. “Yeah, we got one, but he ain’t worth a gob of spit. I’d say stay away from him, unless you want to kill her. I myself suffer from piles and the bowel complaint, and every potion he gives me makes it worse. I can’t sit a horse worth nothing. Can’t sit down at all sometimes.” He launched into his symptoms, while Ned grunted in sympathy from time to time. “I’m pretty sorry right now,” the sheriff finished up.

  “I best tell her to doctor herself then,” Ned said. He pointed his thumb toward the desk clerk. “He told me about Elsie Mae’s.”

  “I expect he did. It’s all right. But I’d stay away from the French Brewery, if I was you. I guess he told you that, too.”

  “Yes sir, he did.”

  There was a commotion outside, and the sheriff glanced toward the door and winced. “It ain’t such a bad job, as long as I don’t have to deal with no outlaws or ride no horse.” He sighed, and squinted at Ned as if he were trying again to place him. Then he shrugged and walked stiff-legged out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Luck to you, Mr. Smith.”

  Ned had finished only half his whiskey. He picked up his glass, decided he didn’t want the drink, and set it back down, slapping some money on the bar. Then Ned thought better of it. A farmer wouldn’t be so generous. He spread out the coins and pocketed two. Then he went upstairs and knocked on Emma’s door. She emerged into the dark hall, a shawl over her shoulders, and followed Ned back down the stairs.

  The dining room was fancier than the rest of the hotel. A chandelier with candles and crystal drops hung in the center of the large room, which had been painted a dark green, with gold designs on the walls near the ceiling. The floor was striped with alternating boards of ash and walnut. The tables were covered with white cloths and set with white china and candles instead of kerosene lamps. Ned led the way to the most secluded table in the room, and started to sit down. Then something reminded him of the manners he’d been taught long before, and he pulled out one of the little caned chairs for Emma. She sat down gracefully, and before seating himself, Ned looked around to see if he recognized anyone. He didn’t. It was late, only four of the tables were occupied, and Emma was the only woman in the room.

  She had removed her shawl and set it on an empty chair next to her. Ned started to sit down, then stopped as he stared at Emma. She didn’t have on enough clothes to keep a cat warm. She wore a black silk dress that was pulled in tight at her slim waist and cut so low in front that Ned got an admirable view of her breasts. The two frills on the top of her dress not only failed to hide Emma’s bosom, but called attention to it. Nestled in the center of the top frill was a brooch with a lady painted on it. The little portrait stuck up high enough to cover about a quarter-inch of Emma’s cleavage. Her breasts were smooth, not pitted and dimpled like Addie’s. The candlelight gave them a silvery white sheen that reminded Ned of the quicksilver the chemists had used in the mills in What Cheer to extract gold from ore. Emma cleared her throat, and Ned, embarrassed at having been caught, raised his eyes. Emma seemed amused as she stared at him. Ned stared back. A peculiar sensation stole over his feelings as he took in Emma’s face and hair. Instead of being braided or tied in a knot, her hair was twisted on the back of her head into a fashionable series of loops and coils. The flickering light turned her hair a glossy black, with streaks of white, like feathers, shimmering through it. The style showed off Emma’s high cheekbones and made her eyes larger. She was not beautiful in the ripe, delicious way that Addie had been when Ned first met her. Instead, Emma was striking—elegant, Ned thought. His gaze shifted from Emma’s face to her body again. It was lean and firm. He could almost see her bones. Emma was meat while Addie was potatoes. Ned searched for a word to describe her, then remembered what the desk clerk had said about Elsie Mae’s. Emma had class. She was clean, too.

  Ned leaned forward and took Emma’s hand. “You sure don’t look like a…a…” He’d started to say whore, then realized that while Addie would have considered that high praise, Emma might not take it as a compliment. For the first time in his life, Ned was awkward around a woman, and finished, “like a farmer from Kansas.” It was not excessively fine praise.

  If Emma guessed what he’d been about to say, she didn’t let on. She dipped her head as though she’d just been paid an excellent compliment, and her eyes sparkled.

  Ned wondered what to say next, but the truth was that in the past twenty years, he hadn’t spent much time with women who weren’t whores. He asked himself what he’d say to his sisters, but that didn’t help, because what he felt for Emma just then wasn’t in the least what a man would feel for his sisters. He gave her the sleepy-eyed grin that never failed to stir Addie and said the only thing that came to mind. “The gravy’s first-rate here.”

  “What?” Emma asked.

  “They use cream. Not milk. That’s the secret.”

  “Cream,” Emma repeated, looking at Ned as if the secret of the gravy were every bit as fascinating as being told she didn’t look like a farmer.

  “Maybe you coming from a farm, you wouldn’t think about that, but in New Mexico, there aren’t so many cows. Cream is hard to come by.”

  “Cream,” Emma said solemnly.

  Ned nodded.

  “Is that why you want to buy a ranch in Colorado, so that you can have cream?”

  Ned laughed. “Oh, those are beef cattle. Milking one of them, why, you might as well try shaking hands with a rattlesnake.” Suddenly, Ned knew that never in his life had he sounded like such a fool as he did at that moment. Ever since he’d met Emma, he’d felt superior to her, showing off as he initiated her into the world of crime. Now she was the worldly one, poised, aloof, mysterious even. He’d been right when he said she didn’t bring to mind a Kansas farm woman. In fact, Ned would bet that Emma’s life on a farm was not the whole piece of cloth. She had acquired sophistication somewhere else. He wondered if she had gone to an eastern school.

  Emma watched him, as if she were enjoying his discomfort. She licked her lips and leaned forward. “What do they serve here besides gravy?” she asked.

  Ned chuckled. One of the reasons people found him so good-natured was that he could laugh at himself. “Why would you want anything but gravy?” he asked. “I don’t expect there’s room inside that dress for a muchness of anything else. My, you do look so pretty and fine.” Ned felt like a fly around a pitcher of molasses.

  But he grew more confident as he saw that the remark flustered Emma. “Is the dress too daring? I had planned to be married in it, and I thought it was a shame to waste it.” She reached for her shawl, but Ned shook his head, and she left the shawl on the back of the chair. Emma chuckled. “I do believe Mr. Withers did me a favor in bringing me to New Mexico and discarding me. Why, if I’d married him, I would be cooking supper in an open hearth just now instead of eating in a fine hotel.” She paused and added, “The woman is my mother.”

  Ned raised his eyes. He had been staring at her bosom again, just above the brooch. He was relieved when a waiter arrived to take their order. He took a deep breath and collected himself so much that he referred to Emma as his sister.

  After the waiter left, Emma straightened the silverware in front of her. Then she aligned the salt shaker with the sugar bowl. “You are right about our staying in this hotel. Before you called for me, I availed myself of the opportunity to look about. It appears that we are the only two occupants of the second floor. Since the trains have already arrived from both east and west, I doubt that others will be checking in. A guest with a room on the first floor might use the back door, of course, but there is a jog in the hall there, preventing anyone from seeing the door until he reaches it. I believe we can go and come without being seen. It is an ideal setup.”

  Ned cocked his head. “How would you know what makes an ideal setup?”

  Em
ma considered him a moment. Then she leaned forward and said brusquely, “I have cast my lot with you and propose to know everything I can about our undertaking. I did not think you would want a partner who was ignorant. Or did you bring me here for some other purpose?”

  “If I’d had some other purpose in mind, I’d have stayed at The Chili Queen,” he replied in the same tone.

  “Quite right,” Emma said. “Now, shall we get down to the fine points of it?”

  The waiter interrupted, setting down plates in front of them. Emma picked up her fork and considered the boiled mackerel she’d ordered, but she didn’t eat. Ned, on the other hand, took several bites of his dinner before he said anything. “There aren’t any fine points. If you plan things out too much, you don’t make allowance for anything going wrong. We go to the bank in the morning, when it’s busy, and change a bill. That’ll just give me a chance to see how things lay out, how many people they got working there, whether the safe’s open. That’s all.” Ned forked half of an enchilada into his mouth and swallowed. “Noon. My guess is noon’s the best time to take it. We’ll wait till the banker goes to dinner. That’ll leave one clerk, two at most.”

  Ned stopped talking as the waiter took away his plate. “Sister, you’ve eaten hardly a bite,” he said sharply.

  “It doesn’t suit me,” Emma replied, sitting back so that the waiter could remove her plate, too. “Except for the gravy, of course.” Ned saw the corners of her mouth turn up.

  Ned asked for coffee and dessert for the two of them. “Anything but vinegar pie. I am heartily sick of vinegar pie.” He glanced at Emma. “Begging your pardon, sister.”

  The waiter returned with the coffee and two dishes. “Indian pudding,” he said, putting the desserts on the table.

  “What’s that?” Emma asked.

  “Cornmeal and molasses,” he replied.

  Emma made a face. “Oh, brother, I do not believe I could eat such a mixture.”

  “Well, you could try,” Ned said. When the waiter turned away, Ned told Emma, “There’s not a person who’s met you here who would consider you to be anything but an ill-tempered spinster.”

  “A heavy clog, a good nuisance,” Emma elaborated. “You have complimented me, to be sure,” she added wryly.

  “It is meant to be a compliment. Whoever would suspect us of being anything but what we pretend to be? I believe every man here gives me his sympathy that I go to farming with such a woman.”

  Emma did not appear to be altogether pleased, and she looked at Ned for a long time. Then she picked up her spoon and tasted the pudding. She looked at the dessert without comment, but she took another bite. “Be careful. There are raisins.”

  Ned gave her a questioning look.

  “You said you didn’t like them, never did. Or am I wrong?”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “I rarely forget a thing. Tell me about your ranch,” she said.

  “It’s at Telluride in Colorado. It’s just a ranch,” Ned replied. But it wasn’t just a ranch. Ever since he’d first seen it, Ned had dreamed about the property night and morning. Ned wanted to tell her about the ranch. And as he looked into Emma’s eyes, he knew she was not just making conversation; she wanted to hear about it. Emma’s hand toyed with her brooch, and she looked at him with luminous eyes, her mouth half-open. As he stared at her, Ned knew he had the heart disease. He set down his spoon and pushed aside his dish, although Indian pudding was an especial favorite of his. He leaned as close to Emma as he could and began to describe the high mountain valleys that made up the ranch. In the spring, when he had first seen the place, its meadows were a bright green, the translucent green of a glass bottle. The mountains surrounding the fields were sharp, like drawings of the Alps in a picture book, and snow stayed year-round in the deep crevices near the peaks. A stream ran through the meadows, a stream that didn’t dry up in late summer like the ones in New Mexico. Ned knew, because he had been there two weeks before. He paused to gulp his coffee, then he looked at Emma shyly.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “There’s a house with a veranda big enough for two rocking chairs. So I guess there’d be a family to go with it, maybe a little girl with a face like that.” He nodded at the brooch and felt himself flush.

  Emma gave him a sliver of a smile, but she was silent, and Ned was sorry he’d said that. After all, it was Addie he should be thinking about taking to the ranch. But at that moment, Ned knew he was finished with Addie. He flushed as he realized that it was Emma he saw sitting in the rocker beside him on the porch.

  Emma looked into his eyes as he talked, staring dreamily and murmuring, “I should like to live in such a spot, with a child, a little girl.” Then suddenly, something he didn’t understand came over her face, and she turned hard. “Well, like you say, for want of money, it will never be yours. Ever,” Emma told him. “You are likely to see it no more.” She paused and as though she had read his thoughts, she added, “And I am not one who would take to ranching.”

  The words were as cold as the water that bubbled in the stream. Ned had told Addie he was looking at a ranch, but Emma was the only person he’d confided in about his dreams for it, and she had just told him he was a fool.

  “Maybe I’ll get enough tomorrow to make up for it.”

  Emma snorted and reached for her shawl. “So you are just like the graveyard; you will take anything. I wonder now if there is much money in the bank. Jasper does not appear to be such a rich town as I thought.” She stood up and wrapped the shawl around herself. Ned smoldered as he set down a dollar and four bits for the suppers, then followed Emma out of the dining room. He saw her to the door of her room, then without bidding her good night, he crossed the hall to his own room.

  But he thought better of it and turned and went down the stairs and outside, heading for Maiden Lane. He reached Elsie Mae’s. The gold lettering on the window was edged in black, and he thought Addie ought to paint something like that on the window of The Chili Queen. Thinking about Addie made him uneasy. He did not want to be with a woman who reminded him of Addie. But being in need of female companionship, he continued along Maiden Lane. He turned in at a bit house, where he paid a quarter for two shots of whiskey and got tight very quick. He lost ten dollars in a game of seven-up. Then feeling blue and a great deal sorry for himself, Ned asked directions to the French Brewery.

  Five

  Emma looked older than dirt when Ned called for her in the morning. The night before, on the way to the French Brewery, he had gotten tight as a boot on bellywash at Cockney Jack’s Saloon. Then he’d called at the French Brewery, where he’d engaged a big blonde named Carmel for three dollars—a dollar more than Addie’s girls charged—stripped her to the bare pelt, but did not get much in the way of satisfaction. Afterward, he’d smoked a twenty-five-cent cigar, then went back to the hotel and washed his feet and went to bed.

  The breakfast of pig’s feet and Oregon apples had improved neither his stomach nor his mood. He had not bothered with a shave, telling himself a fresh shave would only make him stand out among the farmers and saddle tramps, but the truth was, he couldn’t endure the sound of the blade scraping across his skin. The only thing that pleasured him was the memory of Emma across the table from him the night previous, her face shining like quartz in the candlelight. But now as he looked at her, he wondered if his bleary eyes had distorted her image. She was indeed a sorry sight.

  Emma stood before him dressed in her traveling costume—the black dress and the sunbonnet of the day before, both still dusty from the trip. Like her clothes, her face seemed to have a layer of something dusty on it, and her skin was dull. Ned sorely could not believe she was the same woman he had found so enchanting just twelve hours earlier.

  She must have guessed Ned’s disappointment, because she asked, “Did you think I would wear my wedding dress to shop for sacks of flour?”

  Ned grunted. She was right of course. He did not want even a sparkle in her eye to
draw attention. Still, he had not gotten her out of his mind since he had delivered her to her door after supper. He expected some spark of recognition on her part to show that she, too, had a few warm memories of their dinner, even if it had ended badly. He was not used to women who remembered him indifferently, so Ned waited, giving Emma a chance to remark on that evening, but she closed her door and brushed past him without another word. He followed her down the stairs and out the door, then caught up as she crossed the street.

  “Other way. The general store is in that direction,” he said.

  “I thought you would want to check out the bank first. It wouldn’t be wise to cash our bill too close to noon, when somebody might remember we had just been there, would it?”

  Ned would have thought of that if he hadn’t been hung over, and he blamed Emma for his state. He grunted, as he set off in the direction of the bank, ahead of her, taking long strides so that she had to hurry to catch up with him. He turned into the side street and reached the bank before she did, pausing at the door for her before he preceded her inside. Half a dozen people waited in line for a teller, and they looked exactly like Ned and Emma.

  The banker was seated at a desk behind a railing, and he glanced at the two newcomers, sizing them up. Ned touched his hat in deference, obscuring his face as he did so, but the banker returned to his paperwork without acknowledging either of them. He had already dismissed them as likely prospects and would be hard-pressed to bring them to mind ever again, Ned knew, and that was just what he wanted. He and Emma waited their turn at the teller’s cage, where the clerk, taking his cue from the banker, made them wait a minute while he finished counting money. Then he looked up, raising an eyebrow instead of speaking.

  Ned cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed to be there. “Think we could get change for this?” He shoved a bill under a metal grate.

  The teller picked it up and examined it. Then without asking what change Ned wanted, he counted out several coins.