Sabrina's Man

by Gilbert, Morris

“A man who works for the railroad. He knows if he lied I’d kill him. Anyway, we’ll do some planning here.”

  The plans were all made, and Callie warned Waco as the men left. “Don’t turn your back on him.”

  “I won’t.”

  They rode out, and as always Waco kept to one side where he could watch all the men. Trey had made a good plan pointing out that there was one spot where the train had to slow down practically to a stop in order to make a sharp curve.

  “You and me will get on that train, Waco,” Trey said. “We’ll go up and force the engineer to shut down. The rest of you go through and find that gold.”

  Waco did not particularly like it. He didn’t like working with other thieves. He made up his mind he would leave after this particular robbery.

  The heist went as planned. The train had to slow down, and it was no trouble for Trey LeBeau and Waco to get on board. They made their way along the top to the engine, jumped down and put their guns on the engineer and the fireman, who was holding a shovel and staring at them with wide-open eyes.

  “You fellows be still, and nobody’ll get hurt,” Waco said. But no sooner had he spoken than he heard a shot.

  Trey had shot the fireman, then turned and shot the engineer. Even as they were falling, he had raised his gun and brought it down on Waco’s head.

  As everything began to fade to black, Waco realized he had been betrayed yet again.

  Out of the darkness Waco came, and he heard voices. He felt something tying his arms, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that he was a captive. A man with a star on his vest said, “Well, I hope you enjoyed your robbery. You’re going to hang for it.”

  “I didn’t shoot anybody.”

  “I’ll bet,” the lawman said. “We’ll let the judge decide about that.”

  Things moved much more quickly than Waco had ever known legal matters to. He spent two weeks in a vile jail, then was brought up before Judge Parker. During the trial, the fireman, who had survived his injuries, testified that it was another man who had shot both him and the engineer, who had died. “He hit this fellow in the head, but this man didn’t shoot anybody.”

  “Well, the longest sentence I can give you for holding up a train is ten years,” Judge Isaac Parker said. “I wish it were for life. If you give me the names of the rest of the robbers, I’ll make it five.”

  For a moment he was tempted to do it, but then he said, “No, I won’t squeal.”

  “Honor among thieves,” Judge Parker said cynically. “All right. Go on to jail then.”

  The days passed in his cell, then the weeks, the months, and finally the years. Time had crawled by more slowly than Waco could have imagined. He had put in days on a road gang chained to other prisoners. Sometimes he had been locked up in the cell for months without getting out to the sunshine.

  Finally one day Mel Batson watched him scratch on the wall and said, “What’s that for, Waco?”

  “My anniversary. I’ve been here five years today.”

  “Well, you only got five more to go,” Batson said. “You won’t get no parole. You’ve been a bad prisoner. Me, I’m trying to be a good boy.”

  “I’m not licking anybody’s boots. I’ll do my ten.” Waco lay down and thought of the five years that lay ahead of him. He had been beaten and mistreated, but his spirit had never been broken. I’ll do five more, he thought bitterly, and then I’ll go looking for Mr. Trey LeBeau…

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 7

  Memphis, Tennessee, 1870

  “Dulcie—you’ve got this water too hot!”

  Sabrina Warren had stuck her toe in the zinc bathtub and jerked it out immediately. Glaring at her maid, her voice filled with irritation as she went on. “Can’t you even draw a bath right?”

  Dulcie, at age twenty, was as black as nature would allow. She was an attractive young woman, but now her lips drew tightly together as she glared at her mistress. “I doin’ the best I kin. If I don’t get it hot enough, you raise a ruckus! I get it too hot, you do the same thing. How I’m supposed to know what you want?”

  Sabrina glared at Dulcie. “You’re supposed to have a little sense! Test it yourself before I boil my feet off!” Sabrina Warren knew she was tall for a woman at five ten. She also knew she was quite beautiful with her auburn hair, green eyes, and peaches-and cream complexion. To top this off, she had a splendid figure. No one had ever questioned her good looks, but she readily admitted, to herself anyway, that her temper was more volatile than one would expect of a young woman in her position. “Well, pour some cold water in there and cool it off!”

  “Then it’ll be too cold. You watch what I says.” Nevertheless, Dulcie picked up a bucket and dumped half of it into the tub. “All right. See if that suits you. Nothin’ else does.”

  “You’re getting too uppity.” Slowly Sabrina stepped over the edge of the tub, and when she stuck her toe in she found it suitable. She stepped over with the other foot and, holding on to the edges of the tub, lowered herself down into it. A look of relaxation came to her eyes then, and she forgot about Dulcie, her fit of temper quickly over. She slid down into the tub, luxuriating in the warm water, and as she did, she looked around the room that had been converted from a large bedroom into a spacious bathroom.

  Many houses had taken this method of adding a bathroom, for most of the mansions in Memphis had not made provision for bathing back when they were built in an earlier day. She glanced around and saw that the ornate gas chandelier had been left in place so that it shed its luminescent beams over the marble floor. She knew it had come from Italy for she had ordered it herself. Her father had almost fainted when he saw the bill, but she had patted him on the cheek and said, “Now, Daddy, you know we’ve got to have a good bathroom.”

  She eased down more into the tub and thought, I’m going to get rid of this zinc tub. It’s ugly. As a matter of fact, it was rather ugly. It had a flat bottom and a raised back, but it did not suit her sense of decorum. The walls had once been papered, but the steam from the hot water had caused the paper to begin to peel. So she’d had to work to take it all off and put instead wooden panels that she had had painted a beautiful shade of orchid. There was an ornate dressing table over to one side and two chairs in front of a full-length mirror. As she closed her eyes, she thought, Must have been awful not to be able to take a bath back in the old days.

  She lay in the bath until it grew tepid then said, “Get some of that rainwater, Dulcie. I want you to wash my hair.”

  “You done washed it yesterday.”

  “Well, wash it again!” Sabrina snapped.

  Grumbling under her breath, Dulcie found the bucket of pure rainwater, and selecting a soft soap, she wet Sabrina’s hair down and worked up an ocean of suds. “Don’t see no need in all this washin’ anyhow,” Dulcie grumbled. Actually she did not mind helping Sabrina. She knew she had an easy place and was not at all unhappy in her situation.

  Sabrina sat up in the tub, and as Dulcie washed her hair with the soft water, she began thinking about Lane and the ball she was going to attend. I wish Lane were more dashing. The thought came to her mind, and it was not the first time. Indeed, Lane Williams was not a dashing man at all. He was, as a matter of fact, two inches shorter than Sabrina. He had brown hair that he kept carefully trimmed, along with a brown mustache and mild brown eyes. He was neat in all of his ways but had never taken a risk in his life.

  Sabrina sighed and relaxed while Dulcie finished her hair. Finally Dulcie rinsed the soap out with several buckets full of soft water then began to dry it. “There. Get out of there, and I’ll dry you off.”

  It was difficult to get out, for she had relaxed almost to the point of going to sleep, but finally Sabrina stood.

  With a huge, fluffy white towel, Dulcie dried her off carefully.

  “Don’t dry me off so hard,” Sabrina complained.

  Dulcie ignored her curt words. “You sit down there, and I’ll fix your hair.”

  “All right.”
Fixing hair right was the one thing Dulcie could do excellently. Sabrina knew that many society belles of her station had to put up with much worse, and she sat quietly, thinking about the ball, smiling slightly. As a matter of fact, her life was made up of parties, balls, teas, an occasional trip to the Memphis symphony, and a traveling opera on occasion. Her family was not in the upper regions of society but just in what was not far from it. Sabrina had grown up with never wanting for anything, and now at the age of twenty-four she was one of the belles of Memphis society. “Don’t pull my hair out by the roots!”

  “I ain’t pullin’ nothin’ by no roots. You just set still.”

  Finally, when her hair was fairly well fixed, Sabrina sent Dulcie off to get some perfume, and while she was gone, she slipped into her underwear that Dulcie had laid out. The garments were all made of silk or fine linen.

  When Dulcie came back, she stopped dead still and stared at Sabrina. “You ain’t got yo’ corset on.”

  “No, I don’t, and I’m not going to wear that old thing,” Sabrina said. “I don’t need it.” Indeed she did not, for her waist was small. She smiled at Dulcie and said, “You don’t have to wear one. You don’t know how uncomfortable those things are, and the bustles are just as bad.”

  “All the respectable women wear corsets to them balls.”

  “I don’t need one. It rubs me wrong.”

  “You know your momma ain’t gonna let you go to no ball without a corset.”

  Sabrina laughed. It made a pleasant sound. She knew well how to work her parents. “We just won’t tell her, Dulcie.”

  Dulcie was shocked. “Maybe you won’t—but I will.”

  “No, you can’t tell her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why should I wear an old corset? I look well enough without it.” Indeed she did, but corsets were standard equipment for young ladies of her station. An idea came to Sabrina, and she said, “I’ll tell you what, Dulcie, if you don’t tell Momma that I’m not wearing a corset, you can have that red dress of mine that you covet.”

  “It’s a sin to covet,” Dulcie said righteously. “I ain’t studyin’ no red dresses.”

  Sabrina drew closer to the young woman and said, “And you can have the petticoat and the shoes that go with it.”

  Sabrina was amused as she watched the struggle going on within Dulcie’s soul. She knew that the girl had longed for that particular dress, but this came in conflict with her idea that her mistress needed to wear a corset. She said nothing, and finally Dulcie threw her hands up in a gesture of despair. “Well, if you’s bound to dress like a hussy, I guess I can’t help it.”

  Sabrina laughed and said, “You can take it today. Maybe there’ll be a party you can wear it to. You’ll have to take it up a little bit.”

  “I ain’t studyin’ no parties.” Dulcie pouted. “I’m thinkin’ ’bout how you treat your poor momma and daddy. You ain’t never minded them a day in your life.”

  “Of course I do—when I want to.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Dulcie said, “you better start being nicer to Mr. Lane or that Aldrich girl is gonna take him away from you.”

  “Melissa Aldrich couldn’t take anything away from me.” She was confident and knew that none of her friends could take her gentleman friend away from her. “Well, finish my hair.”

  “All right. I’ll finish it, but you better ask forgiveness for foolin’ your poor old momma. If she knew the stuff that goes on in your mind, she’d be shocked, and your daddy, too.”

  “Oh, I never tell them things like that, and you don’t either, Dulcie.”

  “I don’t reckon I can, but you’re gonna get caught one of these days.”

  As Dulcie finished her hair, Sabrina was thinking of the ball, though not with any particular excitement. It was just another ball, and she had been to a thousand of those it seemed like.

  Mick Sullivan pulled the buggy up in front of the Warren mansion and clambered down to the ground. He was a ruddy faced Irishman, sturdy, with huge hands, and was known to be the best horse trader in Memphis. He walked up to the front steps and knocked on the door.

  A butler came to the door and said, “May I help you, sir?”

  “I’ve got a horse here for Miss Sabrina Warren.”

  “Well, you can’t bring the horse in here,” the butler said.

  “All right, but I’ve got to have her sign for it.”

  “You take the horse around to the stable. I’ll tell her you’re here. You wait until she comes.”

  “I ain’t waitin’ forever,” Mick growled. He went back, unhitched the beautiful bay mare, and led her around the house. This was what was once the center of Memphis and now was merely a neighborhood. There was plenty of room, and the grass was green. Mick shook his head. “These folks got too much. Spoiled rotten is what they are, especially that girl.” He had sold horses to Sabrina before and knew there would be no question about money. He found Morris Tatum, the groom, sitting on a barrel whittling.

  “Got a horse here for Miss Sabrina.”

  Morris jumped down and said, “Well, she’s a beauty, ain’t she? How much did you gig her for?”

  “I give her a fair price. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Morris was a small man. He had spent some time working as a jockey. Now his blue eyes sparkled. “The last time you gave anybody a fair price, Adam and Eve was in the Garden of Eden.”

  “You got anything to drink here?”

  “Soft or hard?”

  “Just whiskey.”

  “When’s the last time you had water?” Morris made a face. Nevertheless, he disappeared inside the stable and came back with a bottle. “Here. Don’t drink it all.”

  Mick took a long drink, then another, and handed it back to Morris. “That girl. She’s spoiled to the bone.”

  “Well, I can’t help that. You’re right though. I don’t think she’s ever wanted anything in her life her momma and daddy didn’t get for her.”

  “One of these days,” Mick said, “she’s gonna want something she can’t get. We’ll see what she does then.”

  Five minutes later Sabrina came out and said, “Hello, Mick.”

  “Hello, Miss Sabrina. Here she is. Prettiest mare in Memphis.”

  “Oh, she is a beauty,” Sabrina crooned. She stroked the smooth hide of the mare and said, “I’ll take her.”

  “We ain’t settled on a price yet.”

  “Well, I know you’ll name a price, and I’ll tell you it’s too high, and you’ll come down. Why don’t we just skip all that.”

  “All right. Price is eight hundred dollars.”

  “I’ll give you seven hundred.”

  “Seven-fifty.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I hate these things.”

  “Okay. Here, sign this. These are the papers on the mare.” Sabrina signed the papers, and then Mick nodded, saying, “Thank you, Miss Sabrina. I’ll let you know when I get some more good looking stock.”

  “Thank you, Mick.” Sabrina stood there stroking the silken nose of the mare then said, “Morris, rub her down and be sure to watch her diet. I think I’ll take her out for a ride tomorrow.”

  “What about today?”

  “Oh, I’ve got to go to a stupid ball. I’d much rather go with you, sweetheart.”

  “Is that what you named her? Sweetheart?”

  “No, I haven’t given her a name yet. I think I’ll call her Cleo for Cleopatra.”

  “Well, she’s a beauty, Miss Sabrina. I’ll take care of it.”

  Charles and Caroline Warren were entertaining Sabrina’s escort, Lane Williams. They were in the larger of the two parlors. There was a large fireplace of polished marble at one end, and the pictures on the walls were either seascapes or Dutch pastoral scenes with cows.

  The long green velvet curtains splayed out on the floor and sagged with braided sashes. There was a large cut-glass bowl of roses on a low mahogany table between two chairs, and all in all the room had all
the Victorian clutter that had been so popular and still was.

  “I expect there’ll be a crowd at that ball, Lane,” Charles said. “Everybody I know is going except us.”

  Lane Williams was a small young man, shorter than Sabrina. “There probably will be, but I’m not going to stay for the entire ball.”

  “Well, you’ll have a lovely time,” Caroline Warren said. At the age of forty-seven she was an attractive woman with the same auburn hair and green eyes that she had passed along to her daughter.

  “I hate balls,” Charles Warren said. He had a square face, was six feet tall, and weighed over two hundred pounds. He was forceful and stubborn. Founder and owner of Warren Steel Mills in Memphis, he loved his family, his church, and his business, in that order. He had planned on having sons to help him with the business, but that had not happened, so he always thought what sort of partner one of the girls’ suitors would make.

  They were interrupted when Marianne Warren came into the room. She was nineteen, with beautiful smooth blond hair and blue eyes. Her parents had long ago learned that she was very romantic. She read romances by the ton it seemed, and once her mother had said, “Marianne, you’re waiting for a knight in bright shining armor to come and sweep you off, but there aren’t any white knights in armor these days.” She had realized, of course, that that would mean nothing to Marianne.

  She was wearing a beautiful bright green satin dress trimmed with glittering black lace and black velvet ribbons. Three black feathers were arranged in her blond hair, held on by an impossibly large emerald and a diamond stick pin.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Marianne. You’ll be the belle of the ball.” Caroline Warren smiled at her daughter.

  “Oh no. Sabrina will be the belle of the ball.”

  Charles grinned, and then a thought came to him. He turned to Sabrina’s suitor. “I can’t keep up with you two. Are you engaged or not?”

  “We were yesterday, but this is another day.” Lane smiled wryly. “I ought to keep a record or a journal or something. You can ask her, and then we’ll both know.”