[Dakotah Treasures 01] - Ruby

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Come, this is not for us.” She headed back down the steps.

  “But why not? Surely they know where—”

  “Come along now.” Ruby interrupted her sister. “Opal, I said now!”

  “But I—”

  “We’ll try the next place.”

  The wind seemed to be picking up, no longer just teasing them but tugging at Ruby’s hat, forcing her to set her satchel down to clamp a hand on her hat to hold it in place. She tucked her parcel under her arm and picked up the satchel again with the same hand, leaving her hat-saving hand free to do just that. The traveling outfit of which she’d been so proud was certainly not sufficient this night, even though she wore a fine wool coat over it.

  They staggered on up the street, at one time stepping into a mud puddle that not only soaked their shoes but also stained the hem of Ruby’s dress. How would she ever get that out?

  They finally made it to a lighted house again and knocked at the door. This time a woman answered. She peered out the door, caught sight of Opal, and said, “Oh, you poor dears. Come inside this minute.” She stepped back and beckoned them in. “What are you doing outside on such a night as this. Why, spring has been here, but I think she bowed to winter and retreated for a spell.”

  Ruby remained by the door, not wanting to soil the floor with muddy shoes. “Thank you, ma’am. We arrived on the train and there was no one to meet us. I had sent a telegram to my father at Dove House, and he—”

  “Dove House! Surely you can’t mean that.” The woman drew herself up and took a step backward.

  “Our father is Per Torvald, and he—”

  “Well, I never. That man . . .” The woman made fluttery motions with her hands. “You must leave. I cannot have such truck here in my house.”

  “But . . . but . . .” Ruby stepped back, shaking her head, feeling as though she’d been badly scratched by her favorite cat. “Could you at least tell me where to find—”

  “Don’t even say that word. Not in my house!” Her mouth pursed like she’d sucked a gingerroot. With one hand she pointed back the way they had come.

  Ruby and Opal found themselves out the door and hearing the resounding slam for a second time that evening.

  “I don’t think she liked Papá. Or maybe she thought we meant someone else?” Opal looked over her shoulder. “She seemed so nice at first.”

  Ruby rubbed her forehead.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be. Guess my cold isn’t all gone after all.” She sneezed once, twice, and a third time, wishing that she could change the thought that was quickly turning into a fear. The only place between this slamming door and the other was the two-story building where men were gathered, laughing and, if she could believe her senses, drinking and most likely playing cards. The music did not indicate a genteel gathering, and the smell of smoke that rolled from the place in waves strongly suggested cigar smoking, many cigars smoking.

  Surely Dove House did not harbor a saloon.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Ruby could feel her sister shivering as she leaned close against her side. I don’t know screamed through her mind. I don’t know anything, and I’m cold and frightened, and I want someone to tell me everything is all right and draw me up to a warm stove and place a cup of hot tea in my hand, and I . . . I want to go back to New York.Right now!

  She sucked in a deep breath, which set her to coughing this time, one step down from sneezing. “We are going back to that building in the middle and ask them if they know where our father is. I think, though, we’ll go around to the back.” There was no way she could take herself, let alone her little sister, in through that front door. Surely there would be a servant or someone in the back who could tell them what to do.

  Ruby squared her shoulders, picked up her things, and chin in the air, strode back to the street and turned left. This time they would keep to the side where there was less chance of encountering puddles.

  Back in front of what appeared to be a rather large building, they followed the porch around to the back. Horses dozed where they were tied up to a hitching rail alongside the building, further reinforcing her idea of the nature of the place. A saloon for sure, and judging by the number of horses, there were more than two or three men in there.

  They’d just reached the back corner when two men rounded the front and headed for their horses.

  Ruby pushed Opal, who had stopped to see the horses, ahead of her, hoping the men had not seen them. She stood in the darkness until she heard the jingle and clop as the horses trotted up the street. Relief made her feel almost warm.

  They located a back door, and Ruby turned the handle. It was not locked, an answer to a prayer she’d not quite articulated.

  She led the way into a room lit only by the light sifting under a door across the expanse. Wishing for a candle but grateful just to be in a warmer space, Ruby closed the door behind Opal, making sure that the snick of the lock was only that. Although with all the noise from the other room, she was sure no one heard them enter. So now what do we do? She waited, hoping for some sort of inspiration, but nothing came.

  “I’m hungry,” Opal whispered.

  “I know. Me too.” Her stomach rumbled just in time to corroborate her statement.

  Opal giggled, one hand hiding her mouth as if to trap the sign of merriment.

  Ruby put one finger to her lips in the eternal signal of silence, then realized her sister couldn’t see her so she uttered a “shh.” A raucous burst of laughter, the sound of a hand slapping a table, and a string of expletives made her want to cover her own ears but she used her hands to cover Opal’s instead.

  Cigar smoke filtered under the door in addition to the light. Now that her eyes had adjusted, Ruby could see stacked boxes of what she presumed to be liquor. Bags and barrels might hold flour and other staples, but she was in no mind to go searching. She sniffed. Someone, somewhere, was cooking something.

  Both their stomachs grumbled, in unison this time, eliciting another giggle from Opal.

  A woman’s voice sounded right outside the door, and along with her laugh the door flew open.

  “You want one or two?” she called, pausing in the doorway, her buxom form outlined by a tight red gown.

  Ruby wished she were close enough to cover Opal’s eyes this time. One hearty cough or even a slight sneeze would surely pop those ample bosoms right out of the indecently low neck of the gown, which was sleeveless and missing most of the skirt. Gathered lace hemmed the skirt right up the divided front to the waist. A long red feather protruded from her high-piled hair and curved over one cheek.

  Ruby laid an arm across Opal’s chest and did her best to disappear into the stores, at the same time hoping and praying the woman would change her mind and return to the party.

  “Hand me that lamp, will you, honey?”

  “I’ll hand you anything you want, darlin’.” The man’s voice sounded slurred. “I’ll even carry it for you. Perhaps we can find something even more important in that there storeroom.”

  The man held the lamp high as the two of them continued on into the room. “Now what in the world do we have here? You been holding out on me, Belle?”

  “Who the blazes are you?” The woman named Belle stared, red-painted mouth open, at Ruby and Opal.

  Ruby gathered what dignity she could find and stood forward. “I am Ruby Torvald, and I am here at my father’s request.”

  “Your father?” Belle’s eyes slitted. “And who might your father be?”

  “Per Torvald. He said we were to come to Dove House.” Ruby nearly said “to gain our inheritance,” but she stopped herself before the words got to her lips. “So, if you please, could you take us to see our father?”

  “Well, can you beat all that. Per has a daughter that looks like this?”

  “Keep your tongue in your mouth, Jake. These young ladies came clear from New York City, and they won’t have anything to do with the likes of you.” The
sarcasm in her voice penetrated Ruby’s fog. Surely this couldn’t be happening. But if this were a bad melodrama, who would be there to yank them off the stage?

  “I want to see my papá now.” Opal stepped out from behind her sister.

  “Papá. Did you hear that?” He repeated the papá, putting the emphasis on the final syllable as Opal had. Jake’s guffaw threw kerosene on the embers of Ruby’s long-damped rage.

  “You thundering half-wit, picking on a child like that. I hope to heaven that when you are not three sheets to the wind, you have some kind of manners, for you certainly aren’t exhibiting any now. And you, ma’am, from the look on your face I feel certain you know where my father is and how to take us there, so I suggest you do so immediately.” God, you shut the mouths of the lions facing Daniel in their den. Can you do the same here for us?

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Ah, ain’t she a looker!”

  Ruby ignored the laughter and the comments as Belle led her and Opal through the smoke-hazed room and up the stairs. She wanted to keep her hands over Opal’s eyes and ears, but that was not possible. No young girl should be subjected to this . . . this . . . She could not for the moment think of a word for the miasma of horrified thoughts that assailed her. She kept her eyes straight ahead, on the part in Opal’s hair, created with such love and caring each morning when she braided her sister’s hair. But like the flyaway wisps that glowed with a red fire in the lamplight, her attention careened around the room, sensing the men staring at them, realizing that Belle was prolonging the agony instead of protecting them.

  Nay, surely not. Ah, but true. Up ahead she could see Belle’s hips sway from side to side as she took each step of the carved oak stairs deliberately. Each hip would bump the side of a normal doorway, the sway was so pronounced.

  A wolf whistle came from the room behind and below her. She saw Belle send a saucy look over her shoulder. She was enjoying every moment of this humiliation.

  Surely this isn’t the way our father would have his daughters treated—humiliated at the hands of these ruffians. If this was any picture of the men of the West, the romantic stories she’d read about cowboys were not only highly overrated but downright lies. A picture of the man on the train flashed through her mind.

  What a difference. So which was true? She reached the top step and followed Opal, who followed behind Belle.

  Ornate red wallpaper lined the hall with dark oak doors set at intervals. She heard a giggle behind one they passed and a man snoring from another. When Belle stopped and knocked on a door on the street side of the building, Ruby sucked in a breath. Were they about to meet their father? Must be since Belle had said nothing about his passing away. She laid a hand on Opal’s shoulder.

  “Wait here.”

  “But, Ruby—”

  “No, let me go in first.”

  “Take your time, ladies, he ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Belle’s voice had lost the purr she used when men were around. And her smile didn’t begin to reach her kohl-lined eyes.

  “Th-thank you. You may go now.”

  “Don’t you want me to introduce you?” The beauty patch at the side of her mouth moved when she talked, a trait that seemed to entrance Opal. She kept staring at Belle as if to memorize every inch of her, and in some areas the inches were considerable.

  “If you like.” Ruby wished she’d kept the words inside the moment she said them. She didn’t need anyone to introduce her to the father she had at one time adored. They crossed the dimly lit, sick-smelling room.

  “Per. Per!” Belle shook the shoulder of the skeleton lying in the bed. She leaned closer and called his name again.

  Ruby glanced around the high-ceilinged room, wondering if she could turn up the lamp. Weren’t there any candles available, or was the only light source the kerosene lamp nearer to the door than to the bed?

  “Ruby,” Opal whispered from the doorway, shielded from the sight of the bed by a short wall. “Can I come in now?”

  Ruby shook her head, then whispered back. “No, you wait there.” Surely this caricature of a man lying in the bed could not be their father. But he had said that he was dying, and from the looks of this man, he’d been dying a long time.

  “Per.” Belle shook him again, seeming with a touch of violence that Ruby found truly abhorrent.

  “Be careful with him.” The words slipped out without her volition, which seemed to have happened a lot in the last couple of days. Where had her manners gone? Even in the dimness she could both see and feel the malevolent look Belle flashed over her shoulder.

  Ruby stopped slightly behind Belle. “How long has he been like this?” She kept her voice low, but even so the man turned his head slightly, and she recognized the finely arched eyebrows and the nick at the corner of his right eye, which he’d gained in some daring escapade, according to the stories she’d heard sitting on his knees.

  Now he had barely enough skin to cover the bones of the hand that he slowly raised toward her.

  “Ruby?” The word would not be heard much further than where she stood.

  “Yes, Far. We have come.” She knelt by the bed and took his hand in hers.

  “Opal?”

  “Waiting in the hall.”

  “Ah.” He slightly nodded. A smile tried to move his lips, dry lips that needed something to soothe them.

  “I’ll leave you then.” The tone of Belle’s voice had lost its edge and, if Ruby was right, held a semblance of caring.

  “Who has been taking care of him?” Ruby glanced up over her shoulder to see Belle outlined by the dim lamplight.

  “We all take turns, but I take more turns than the others. I didn’t really think you would come.”

  “We left the day after we received the letter and tickets.” Ruby held his long-fingered hand to her cheek. He’d so often stroked her young-girl cheek, telling her that only angels had finer skin than she. When she’d laughingly asked about Mor’s skin, he’d said he was twice blessed. What other man than he had two angels in his house?

  A tear found its way past her resolve and dampened his fingers.

  “Please . . . don’t cry.” Each word came haltingly, as if he had to go somewhere deep inside himself and search for strength to speak. “The . . . letter.”

  “In the morning, Per.” Belle took a step backward.

  “No. Now.” The force of his words sent him into a paroxysm of coughing.

  Ruby was certain he was never going to recover enough to breathe again, let alone talk.

  “All right. All right.” Belle crossed the room to a trunk, lifted the lid, and took out an envelope to hand to Ruby. “He said I was to give this to you if you came after he died.”

  “But you didn’t think I would come.”

  “No. We sent the letter over a month ago. What would you think?”

  “I would have come sooner had I known.” She laid the letter on the bed. “Could we have a bit more light in here?”

  “He likes it dim. He says it is easier on his eyes.”

  “Could we open the windows?”

  “Whyever would you do that? You wanting to kill him off right quick?”

  “No, but some fresh air might make his breathing easier.”

  “Ruby!” By the tone in her voice, Ruby knew Opal had grown tired of waiting.

  If only there were some way she could clean Per up first. No one had shaved him, and his once-thick hair was matted and sticking out every which way.

  “You best let her come in. You never know when he will draw his last breath.” Belle’s voice was harsh, but Ruby thought she noticed a hint of sadness.

  “And yet he has hung on for months?”

  “Wanted to see his two daughters and was too stubborn to die until—” Belle clamped off her comments. “I best get back to work. When you want us to show you where you will sleep, you pull that bell rope. Someone will come.”

  “All right. Thank you.” While Ruby knew she was thanking this woman for more than showing them up th
e stairs, the memory of that degrading experience faded with the urgency of the moment.

  But the way Belle turned on her heel with a huff said she thought she was being dismissed. Her high-heeled shoes snapped their comments too as she flounced out the door.

  Too tired to try to repair the misunderstanding at the moment, Ruby let her go. When Opal peeked around the corner wall, Ruby beckoned her over and curved an arm around her.

  “Far, this is Opal.”

  His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at them both, his gaze more clear than it had been up to that moment. “Pictures . . . of . . . your . . . mother.” His hand gripped Ruby’s with more force than she thought he had in him. “Come . . . closer.”

  Ruby motioned for Opal to sit on the edge of the bed and laid her hand in her father’s. “You can talk with him,” she whispered in Opal’s ear.

  “Papá?”

  A smile twitched the fine skin around his mouth. “Far.”

  “Yes, Far.” Ruby nodded for Opal to use the Norwegian word rather than the French.

  “Far.”

  “Tell him something you like.” Another whisper.

  “I liked the train ride. Thank you.”

  “You . . . came . . . a . . . long way.”

  “Yes, from New York City.” Opal studied the face so dimly lit but stark in its whiteness. She cleared her throat, cast an imploring glance at her sister, and asked, “Are you really my father? Did I ever see you?”

  Ruby inhaled a gulp and coughed accordingly. “Opal.” Her hiss was meant for little ears alone, but Far smiled—if the grimace that stretched his mouth to the sides could really be called a smile.

  His gaze drilled into Opal’s. “Yes, I am your far.” He spoke with more strength than at any moment since they’d entered the room.

  Opal nodded. The silence stretched, broken only when Far coughed, a dry hacking sound that grated on Ruby’s ears.

  “Then why did you never come for us?”

  Opal’s question made Ruby stifle a gasp. Her hand tightened on Opal’s shoulder. Leave it to her to cut right to the bone.