[Dakotah Treasures 01] - Ruby

by Lauraine Snelling

  Far stared into his younger daughter’s eyes, and she returned the favor.

  “I . . . wish . . . I had. But the frontier was no place . . .” He paused and coughed again. His voice when it came was weaker. “For my treasures.”

  But you brought us here now. Why? What kind of inheritance did we come all this way for? Why didn’t you just send it in the mail?

  But Ruby knew they would have come anyway, even had there been no promise of an inheritance, even if she had to buy their tickets. Yes, she would have come anyway. Just to see her father one last time. Although the man in the bed bore little resemblance to the man she remembered, the man she had adored and all her life wished Opal had known like she did.

  “Turn up the lights.” His whisper made Ruby draw closer to the bed.

  “The lights?”

  He nodded.

  She went to turn up the wick on the lamp and saw a packet of spills on the dresser by the base. Taking one, she stuck the dry slender stick down the lamp chimney and, once it was lit, crossed back to lift the chimney and light another lamp on the small chest nearer to the bed.

  “That better?”

  “Yes.” He patted the bed beside him, and Opal sat, her stockinged legs hanging over the edge. “Your trip, tell me.”

  While Opal recited their adventures, Ruby glanced around the now more visible room. Women’s dresses hung in the chiffo-robe, unmentionables draped over the doors, the exotic three-paneled screen across the corner, and puddled on the floor. His wife certainly was not a good housekeeper. So where was his wife? Was he married to Belle? The thought sent a shiver through her. How could he marry someone like her after having loved Mor? The two were as different as the moon and the sea. Her mother had been a lady in the gentlest and finest of terms, and Belle? Ruby refused to allow that thought to continue and went back to studying the room. Two tall windows would let in air if they weren’t so heavily shrouded by floor-length red velvet drapes. Gold tasseled cords hung ready to pull them back. She tuned back to what Opal was saying.

  “I can read and write. Ruby is a very good teacher. She could make even Jason want to do his lessons.”

  “Jason?”

  “He is the oldest Brandon son. Bernie is the baby.”

  “When. . . ?” Per shifted his gaze from Opal to Ruby.

  “We moved to the Brandons’ when Bestemor died five years ago. I wrote you that. Did you never get my letters?”

  “Some . . . not that.”

  “I needed to work, and they allowed me to keep Opal with me. We have been well cared for and happy there.” And wish we had remained there instead of coming on this wild trip to . . . She cut that thought off and sank down on the bed. Standing was suddenly more than she could manage. Tired or weary did not begin to describe the fatigue that pulled at her bones, the despair that dragged at her heart. Surely there was no way this man could regain his health. With every slow breath, she doubted he would take another. But he’d held on this long, so who was she to question the ways of almighty God. Surely He had a reason for bringing them out from their comfortable home to this land of . . . of what? She’d know more in the daylight, but the memory of doors slamming in their faces did not elicit a sense of joy about the inhabitants of the town.

  A burst of male laughter from down the hall caught her attention.

  “Ruby.”

  “Yes, Far.” She ignored the ruckus in the hall and bent closer to her father.

  “The medicine . . . there on the stand . . .”

  “This brown bottle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two.” Two fingers on the hand that had been holding Opal’s spread in indication.

  “Two.” Ruby looked for something to measure with and located a large silver spoon. “This?” She held it up and at his nod pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured a spoonful. She held one to his mouth and then the second.

  “A drink.”

  She looked around for a water pitcher but saw only a crystal decanter with caramel-colored liquid—liquor. She touched a finger to the crystal stopper. “This?”

  He nodded.

  “Is there no water?”

  His wrinkled nose told her what he thought of that idea.

  She poured a minuscule portion into a cup standing by and held it to his mouth.

  Per inhaled, closing his eyes as if to make it last longer, then downed the draught, expelling his breath on a long sigh. He lay still for a long moment, then said, “Envelope.”

  “Our letter?” This guessing game was getting old quickly.

  He shook his head and pointed toward a chest of drawers against the far wall. All the drawers were closed, silver-backed hair brushes and a comb lay on a silver tray that graced the top.

  “Second drawer.”

  “For whom?”

  He pointed at each of them, his eyes fighting to close.

  Ruby crossed the room and pulled out the second drawer. Only neatly folded piles of men’s underthings filled the drawer. Feeling like an intruder, she felt beneath them. Nothing. But he’d said it was here. Perhaps he was confused. After all, taking painkilling medicine followed by a shot of whiskey would mix up anyone’s mind, let alone someone as ill as he. But instead of returning to the bed, she felt along the sides and the back of the drawer. Sure enough, the crinkle of paper. The fat envelope she pulled out was addressed to the Misses Ruby and Opal Torvald.

  She brought it back to the bed, only to find him sound asleep with Opal curled up like a kitten at his side, sleeping like the innocent she was, her father’s hand still resting on her head.

  Ruby leaned over to kiss his forehead, something he used to do for her every night when he’d been home to tuck her into bed. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Take . . . care . . . of . . . the . . . girls.” He grasped her hand.

  “I always do.” Who does he think has been taking care of Opal all these years, and I learned early how to take care of myself.

  “The girls, take care of the girls.” He strained to add emphasis to his words.

  “Yes, Far, you rest now, and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. I . . . I . . .” He looked directly into her eyes, as if searching her soul. “I love you, datter.”

  “I know and I love you.”

  “For . . . give . . . me.” The words were barely discernable, as if he’d used his last ounce of will. He mumbled something that she leaned closer to hear. “Buksbom. See . . . the . . . buksbom treasures.”

  “Yes, I forgive you.” But she wasn’t sure if he heard her or not, for a slight snore puffed his lips. And had she heard right? Buksbom. What did that mean? She thought hard for a moment. Oh, that was the word for box. Box? What box, and what treasures?

  She sat in the chair she brought over from the desk and watched them both sleep, fighting the weariness that descended upon her, weighting her down in the chair as if her bones had turned to mush. As she felt her eyes close, she heard the tapping of high-heeled shoes in the hall, and Belle entered the room.

  “How is he?”

  “Sleeping again.” She watched as Belle laid the back of her hand along his cheek, then adjusted the sheet, smoothing it across the once broad chest. “Did he talk with you?”

  “Yes, although strained.”

  “Good. He wanted to.” Belle turned. “If you bring your sister, I will show you to your room. Do you have any more baggage than that?”

  “A trunk and boxes down at the train stop.” Ruby pushed herself to her feet, not sure for a moment if she would make it.

  “I’ll send Charlie down for them first thing in the morning.” Belle picked up the two valises. “Come along.”

  Guiding Opal with one hand and carrying the remainder of their things with the other, Ruby followed Belle down a hall that seemed to lengthen as they walked. Would they never reach the end?

  “Here, this one is yours. You better not go wanderi
ng around in the night. There’s a pot under the bed.”

  “Where is the bathroom?”

  Belle snorted. “The outhouse is out back. We haul in a tub for bathing. Anything else?”

  Pot? Outhouse? Ruby’s mind refused to function. “You will call me if my father needs me?”

  Belle planted her hands on well padded hips. “Look, I been taking care of him for months now. I can make do another night.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Ruby rubbed her forehead with weak fingers, too tired to argue. “Thank you, then, and good night.”

  Belle left with a nod that seemed curt rather than courteous.

  Ruby turned to find Opal flopped on the bed. She pulled a nightdress out of the valise and, after undressing her sister, settled the garment over her head. Folding back the cover, she rolled Opal over to the side and tucked her in.

  Once in her own nightclothes Ruby belted her wrapper and crossed to the draped window. While this room was sparsely furnished compared to her father’s, the drapes kept out the cold. She parted them to look outside into total blackness. It was never this dark in New York City, where gaslights lined the streets, and even with a foot of snow on the ground, the streets of New York were never this silent. The only sound she heard came from the saloon downstairs, and even that was muted. Dark, quiet, what else had she to learn of Dakota Territory? She cupped her hand around the glass chimney on the lamp and blew out the flame. The acrid smell of smoke followed her as she climbed into bed and snuggled under the quilt. Sleep overtook her before she had time to adjust the pillow or say her nightly prayers.

  Something pulled her awake from a deep sleep. Had someone called her name? It seemed so. But Opal breathed the gentle sleep of a child. She had not called.

  A cry rent the night air. Ruby threw back the covers, snatched her wrapper, and headed for the door, stumbling in the blackness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “My father! Is it my father?” Ruby met a strange young woman in the hall.

  “I’m ’feared so. ’Twas Belle what cried out.” The two rushed on down the hall, and Ruby entered the room first.

  Belle knelt beside the bed, her head resting on Per’s hand as it lay at his side. He looked only as if he’d fallen asleep and was resting peacefully.

  Belle’s sobs rocked her entire body. She reached with one hand to caress his cheek, then glanced up when she sensed Ruby beside her. “I . . . I didn’t get to tell him g-good-bye.” Black trails of kohl streaked her cheeks, and her hair hung in loops. The combs that had been holding it piled high on her head now dragged and drooped. She’d changed from her fancy dress to a wrapper, belted loosely over her corset and camisole.

  Ruby ordered her attention away from the sobbing woman and onto her father. She didn’t need to listen for his breathing. She could tell he was gone by the immobile way he lay. Even when sleeping, he had been moving, an eye twitch, a hand restless on the quilt.

  Ruby closed her eyes and thought back. One of the things that stood out in her memories of her father was his energy, a force of life that picked up those around him and swirled them along with him. Even as ill as he’d been earlier this evening, that force had caught her, both her and Opal, and had made her love him all over again.

  And now he was gone. Lord, will I see him again in heaven? The thought snagged at her breath. Surely her father knew the Savior. Hadn’t he gone to church with them, nay, taken wife and daughter to worship on Sundays?

  But if he believed, how could he have deserted us like he did? She caught the change in her thinking. Rarely had she used the word deserted, instead she had made herself think of him as leaving them, but only for a time. She had told herself that any day he would come striding and laughing back into their lives. She’d hoped he’d come and make Opal love him as she once had, by tossing the little girl in the air, telling her stories about a tiny girl named Opal who could live in his pocket. A tiny playmate who loved secrets and giggles and who would sneak over into her pocket if she wanted.

  Ruby almost checked her own pocket to see if that tiny Ruby of long ago still lived there.

  Tears rained unchecked as she thought back, wishing for what might have been but now had no chance of becoming. Their tie with him had made her hope grow again.

  But now all was lost.

  She laid a hand on Belle’s shoulder. While she didn’t like her much, Ruby recognized grief and realized that Belle had loved Per.

  How fortunate you were, Far, to be loved by three women, your two wives and me. Opal, too, would have loved you had she known you.

  Ruby turned to see two women, also in wrappers, and a man who looked to have risen from bed as a result of the crying. Perhaps he was the man she’d seen behind the counter in the saloon downstairs. Her quick glance at the premises when she followed Belle up the stairs seemed burned on the back of her mind. Had one of these women been playing the piano?

  If the amount of tears was any indicator of the esteem these people had held for her father, he was deeply loved. But who would be in charge now? Was it her duty to take responsibility for getting her father buried? Surely, as his wife, that duty belonged to Belle. But grief affected some people so as to make them ineffective, like Per when his wife died. Was Belle like that? Somehow it didn’t seem to fit the picture she’d formed of Belle.

  She glanced back to find the others staring at her, not at Belle, but at her. She wiped her eyes with the pads of her fingers and took in a deep breath.

  Letting it out, she straightened neck and shoulders and began. “It seems to me that, since there is nothing to be done here tonight, we should all return to bed and see to things in the morning. I . . . I . . .” She rolled her eyes upward to stem a new onslaught of tears. “I thank you all on my father’s behalf for . . . for your friendship and . . .” Did you all work for my father or were you his friends? Who could she ask the many questions bubbling just below the surface of her mind?

  The older of the two women came and put an arm around Belle’s shoulders. “You come and spend the night in my room, honey.”

  Belle melted into her arms, and between the two of them, the women got her on her feet and out the door.

  Ruby breathed a sigh of relief at the silence that grew as the others moved farther down the hall.

  “What do you want I should do, miss?”

  “I wish I knew. What is your name?”

  “I’m Charlie, miss. Charlie Higgins. I tend bar and do whatever else needs doin’. Me and Per go back a long way.” He took a few steps closer to the bed. “He been holdin’ on just for you. Said he wanted to see his girls before he took the train to glory. Good thing you come when you did.”

  “He’s been sick a long time.” Just looking at the skin-wrapped bones that had once been a vibrant man told her that.

  “I knew he was ailin’ long before he told us.”

  “I see.” While the thought of pumping this man for information since he seemed willing to talk was a strong one, her need for sleep won out. “Thank you for talking with me, but I’d best return to my room before Opal wakes up and becomes frightened in a strange place. I’m sure I will have many questions in the morning.”

  “Yes, miss.” Charlie leaned over and pulled the sheet up over her father’s face. “Rest in peace, my friend.” His voice choked, and he turned away to blow his nose. Finished, he motioned for Ruby to precede him out of the room, blew out the lamp, and shut the door behind himself.

  “Thank you again.” Ruby nodded and made her way down the hall. She could hear two women talking behind one door on the way down and assumed it to be Belle and . . . She shook her head. How rude not to have asked for their names, to have introduced herself. But then, they all knew who she and Opal were if Per had talked about them, as it seemed he had from her conversation with Mr. Higgins.

  After nudging Opal over to her own side, Ruby climbed back in bed, certain that she would lie awake wondering about the group of people she’d met here at Dove House, about her father and
the life he’d lived since he came west, about when she and Opal could return to New York and their life with the Brandons. Instead, she remembered no more of her prayer than “Please, God.”

  She awoke with the same thought, but “Please, God,” what? And where was Opal? Throwing the covers back, Ruby dressed more quickly than she ever thought possible, bundled her hair into a snood, and rushed out the door.

  The empty hall stretched dark but for the windows at either end. All the doors were closed, and she heard no sound. Surely others were up and about, not just Opal. Gray clouds obliterated the sun that surely must have been up for hours. It felt like midmorning. How had she ever slept so late?

  As she drew closer to her father’s room, she could hear someone moving around in there, opening and closing cupboards and drawers. She knocked, waiting for a response, and when the noise didn’t abate, she pushed open the door. Belle, wrapper-clad and with hair flying every which way, was searching for something. Clothing dangled from half-open drawers, as if the searcher was in too much of a hurry to put everything back—or didn’t care.

  Ruby cleared her throat. “May I help you?” She glanced over to see her father’s body lying where they’d left it.

  Belle spun and took a step back, hand to her throat. “You ’bout scared the wits right outa me.”

  “I’m sorry. I was looking for Opal and heard someone in here. I could help you look for whatever it is you are not finding.”

  “What I’m looking for is none of your business.”

  The snarl caught Ruby totally by surprise. “Pardon me.” She kept her voice even with effort. “I just thought to be helpful.”

  “Best help you can do is get back on that train and head east to whatever life you lived before . . . before . . .” Belle glanced at the bed and dissolved into a sobbing, grief-stricken woman. She sank down into a chair, crushing the pile of petticoats that had been thrown there.

  Ruby fought the tears brought on by seeing Belle’s. “I have to go find Opal.” She left the weeping woman and, resisting the urge to open every door along the hall, made her way down the stairs. Windows covered by thick drapes left a gloom broken only by slivers of light from around the curtains and from two open doorways. The saloon reeked of cigar smoke, spilled liquor, and cheap perfume. She wished for a handkerchief dipped in rose water to hold to her nose. The miasma hung thick enough to chew. She followed the light and a tinkle of sound down a painted hallway that opened into a kitchen where Charlie presided over a cast-iron stove that was providing both welcome warmth and the aroma of frying ham.