Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

  “Damned bitch," he muttered darkly. “This is all your fault."

  “My fault!" I bounced angrily. He sucked in his breath. I knew I had bothered his wounds but I didn’t care. If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t be alive and capable of experiencing pain. “I should have left you in that river," I seethed. “Should have worried about saving myself and not given you a thought. That’s what you would have done if you’d been in my place, isn’t it? I should have left you for the fishes! What an ungrateful fiend you are. I bring you to life with my two hands, after you have no life. I nurse you and feed you and clean up after you as if you were a giant baby! Bah! I hope your leg rots and your hands fall off. I don’t ask for thanks, do I? I don’t even ask for kindness. But to blame me—! It is unfair and unjust. But what could I expect from you. I can’t stand being close to you." I hopped out of bed and dragged a blanket with me. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the King of England!"

  I rolled myself up in the blanket and lay down on the floor. I heard him cough, then sigh, then snore. And I was almost certain that I detected a grim chuckle in there somewhere.

  He grew stronger day by day and he chafed at our delay. Finally he persuaded Herr Geller to take us to St. Louis. I kissed Frau Geller’s weathered cheek and pressed one of Ludwig’s baubles into her hand. Even if she didn’t need to sell it, she would have something bright and shining to look at on her dreary farmstead.

  Every bump and jerk on the road pained Seth, I could tell. But this time I made no effort to soothe or to cushion him from the punishment. I sat on the opposite side of the wagon bed from him, arms folded across my chest, glaring at him. My valise stood between us like a low wall. The pain of being jounced around like a pea in a bucket turned his skin white, and beads of sweat broke out all over his face. I steadfastly ignored his discomfort until he fainted, then remorse flooded over me and I sprang to his side like a mother rushing to her wounded child. His leg had knocked against the crudely-hewn upright at the side of the wagon, and his bandages were blood-stained. I shouted to Herr Geller to stop and we discussed the problem. There was a tiny settlement upriver about ten miles. We decided to stop for the night there, and to try and finish the journey to St. Louis the following day.

  St. Louis was crude and raw and bustling, not sophisticated and well-established and beautiful like New Orleans. But it had an excitement and energy all its own. I checked us into the Grand Palace Hotel, which was neither grand nor palatial, and after I had bathed and changed I went off to see if I could learn anything about Boris and Gabrielle. Everywhere I went the talk seemed to be of California and the gold strikes. The streets were clogged with men from all over the east—Boston and New York and Philadelphia—who were eager to exchange their broadcloth suits for the rough clothes of a miner. I didn’t have to see California to know what they would find: blistered hands and dysentery and back-breaking work that was harder than any they had ever known. I was willing to wager that there wouldn’t be many Gypsies in the gold fields. Gypsies and hard work are like oil and water, as they say. But I decided that there could well be Gypsies on the fringes of the work areas. They would be telling fortunes, trading horses, even stealing a little.

  Late that afternoon I returned to the hotel. My arms were filled with packages. I found Seth limping around our room, holding on to pieces of furniture for support.

  “What are you doing! Do you want to tear that wound open again!” I cried. “What a big idiot you are. You’d think a doctor would know better, but not you. Sit down at once.” He started to give me an argument but I wouldn’t let him. I pushed him into a chair and slid a low stool under his bad leg.

  “Where have you been?” he growled. He looked terrible: gaunt and pale and unshaven. His blue eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and the scars on his face were vivid and evil-looking. “You couldn’t wait to get away from me, could you? Shopping,” he sneered, eyeing my purchases. “Women!”

  “I only permitted myself to shop after I had finished my detective work,” I informed him. “Most of these things are for you anyway. Look!” I tore open the packages and displayed shirts, a fine pair of riding breeches, warm underwear, and a beaver hat with a low crown and a broad brim. Then I unwrapped my prize: a carved oak walking stick, not fancy but serviceable, sturdy and straight, with a lion’s head carved at the top. “Isn’t it wonderful? This nice man was walking down the street, swinging it, not even using it properly, and I bought it from him! He asked me to have dinner with him, but I refused. Don’t look so cross. I haven’t been out seducing every man in St.. Louis.”

  “You might get me a drink,” he said.

  “Yes, I might. Or I might not.” He was so rude, so surly. I bustled around the little room, putting things away, finding the cigars I had bought him, wiping a glass with the hem of my skirt. I poured him a large bourbon and then a smaller one for myself, lit a cigar and shoved it into his mouth, then sat on the floor at his feet and told him what I had learned.

  “You’ll never guess what I saw when I went down to the docks,” I began. Valerie Jane!"

  His eyes widened and he leaned forward quickly.

  “What do you mean? Where? How long—”

  “Don’t get so excited, Seth. Let me tell the story in my own way. Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Two weeks and she’s still here! She had boiler trouble. I went on board and talked to her captain. He got out his passenger list, Boris and Gabrielle weren’t on it. So I described them to him and he thought and thought and finally he said, yes, there was a couple named Anderson who had come up from New Orleans. The man gambled a lot and the girl spent most of her time in their stateroom. It’s them, Seth, I’m sure of it! Of course he didn’t know where they’d gone after they docked here, and so I asked some more of the people on the boat if they knew anything. One of the waiters said yes, he was sure he had heard Mr. Anderson asking someone if there was any place in St. Louis where he could win back the money he lost on the Valerie Jane. Finally I found that person and he told me that he had recommended the Washington Hotel. There is a gambling room there. Very fast play, just Boris’ style. Are you comfortable? Warm enough? Let me get you a pillow."

  I jumped up but he grabbed my hand. “Finish your story. What else?"

  “Well.” I settled back down and took a sip of my drink. The bourbon was foul, but the best I could find in a city overrun with thirsty men. “I hurried over to the Washington. And the Andersons had been there! But they stayed only three days. Boris won a lot of money at the Faro tables, though. And Mr. Belcher—that’s the manager—remembers that he asked where he could make arrangements to go to Independence.”

  "Independence!” Seth sat up straight and winced a little. “Why in hell does he want to go to Independence!” For the gold,” I explained. “I heard all about it today. They are calling Independence the Gateway to Gold. Men are gathering there from all over the country and forming trains of wagons to go west to California. Boris and Gabrielle left over a week ago, so they’re probably there by now. It’s three hundred miles. A long way. But a steam packet is leaving tomorrow. And if it doesn’t blow up we can be there in just a few days.”

  “You got us on it!” He grabbed my shoulder. His fingers dug into my flesh.

  “Certainly.” I firmly pushed his hand away, being careful not to hurt him though. I was still angry with him for his behavior towards me, and after all I’d done for him! “It wasn’t easy,” I went on. “Every man in St. Louis wanted to be on that boat. But I found a man who had reserved a cabin for himself and his friend, and I played a little faro with him and won the tickets.”

  Seth sat back in his chair with a sigh. A frown distorted his already battered countenance. His eyes looked too bright and I knew that he was feverish again. I gave him another generous shot of bourbon: if he got a little drunk he would sleep soundly.

  I stood up and shook out my skirts. “Well, I have done the best I could. I didn’t expect you to fall on my neck with kisses, but you mi
ght at least tell me that you’re satisfied with what I’ve done. If we’re lucky they’ll still be in Independence. I’m sure they’re heading for California. Boris is just the kind of greedy pig who would like to take gold away from the miners at the faro table without even digging for it himself. And from what I hear, Independence is a madhouse. Men are waiting for weeks with their horses and wagons, just for a chance to take the ferry across the river into Kansas! These ‘Andersons’ will have great difficulty in finding horses and supplies. I’m sure we’ll find them there.”

  “I’ll go after them myself,” he said. “You’re going back to New Orleans on the first boat.”

  I looked at him. It would have been a good moment for a glorious prima donna rage, but he was a sick man, after all.

  So I squelched my anger and said calmly, “I know you are eager to get rid of me, and believe me, I would like nothing better than to get away from you and back to my house and the ma—the people I love.” I thought of Steven and suffered a fleeting pang of guilt, but I ignored it. “But I came here not to be with you but to help Gabrielle. Remember that. I will not go back until I have her with me, is that clear?”

  “This is no place for a woman,” he began with as much aggression as he could muster.

  “Faugh! Your sister is a woman, isn’t she? Or if she wasn’t a woman before she left New Orleans she is now,” I said bluntly. His eyes flashed dangerously but he held his tongue. “And I need not remind you that you are still in no condition to travel, and that if I hadn’t come along you’d be lying in the silt at the bottom of the river, along with the rest of the crew from that accursed boat. So far I have been a greater help than hindrance to you, haven’t I? I won’t hold you back, don’t worry. The way you are now, you’re the one who will slow us down. I’m very strong. I know what it is to sleep under the stars on frozen ground. And I can ride better than any gorgio man. As your President Jackson said of Chief Justice John Marshall: he has made his law, now let him enforce it. I can see that you think you have made your law. But I defy you to enforce it!”

  I swirled away from him. You see what you can learn when you fraternize with lawyers? We both knew that he would take me. He was still as weak as an infant and he needed me to look after him.

  Was ever a journey so plagued with misfortune as that chase of ours? Our steam packet ran aground on a sand bar about halfway to Independence and we sat there for two days, stranded, waiting for the current to wash away the obstruction. I left Seth sleeping in our cabin and passed the time in the main saloon with the men, gambling—and winning. I really liked faro, and my old gift didn’t fail me. At first my presence created rather a stir among the men, who were accustomed to ladies sequestering themselves in their own saloons on treacherous journeys like this. But I did not lack partners for play, and once again I noticed that men who most resented losing to other men didn’t seem to mind so much when I relieved them of their gold.

  We passed a whole night and day on that sand bar. Then as day melted into night again, there came sounds of disturbance from the lower deck. I heard a deckhand cry, “Bandits! River pirates!”

  While the others in the saloon smoked their cigars and drank their whiskey and wondered idly about what was happening, I snatched up my loot and dashed back to our cabin.

  I burst into the cabin and roused Seth. “Wake up! We’re being attacked!”

  Sick as he was, his instincts didn’t fail him. He leaped out of the small bunk and snatched up the revolver that was never far from his hand now. He made sure it was loaded and he cocked it. I tossed our things into our valise. I could hear shouts, gunshots, a woman’s screams. Then the acrid odor of smoke seeped into the cabin.

  “They’re firing the boat,” Seth said, voicing my own grisly thoughts. I helped him into his coat and threw on my own cloak. Then I picked up the valise and Seth grabbed his cane, and we slipped out into the narrow corridor. Above us we could hear sounds of battle. The bandits must have been numerous and bold, to attack a boatful of men, most of whom were armed.

  A bearded ruffian appeared in front of us. He shouted at us to stay where we were. Seth raised his pistol and shot him dead.

  We clambered over the body and moved up a short flight of steps to the lowest deck. A battle was raging in the gambling saloon on the second deck—the pirates knew where most of the ready money could be found—and the pilothouse was in flames.

  Seth handed me his cane and slipped over the side of the boat into the water.

  “It’s not deep,” he whispered. “I can stand.”

  I handed down our valise—ours because it contained everything we had—and then I picked up Seth’s cane and slung my leg over the rail. Meaty hands grabbed me from behind.

  “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?” a whiskey voice wheezed.

  “To the devil, like you!” I cried. I gripped that cane tightly and swung it at his head. It struck his skull with a satisfying crack and he fell away from me, moaning and clutching at his hair. I tossed the stick to Seth and followed with great speed. The water really was only waist deep, until we left the sand bar, then we had to swim for it. We let the current carry us downstream. We pulled ourselves ashore about half a mile below the blazing packet. In the glare of the fire I could see men leaping over the side of the boat. They were black specks silhouetted against the flames, hopping around like fleas in a frying pan.

  Seth and I were both soaked and shivering. It was January, and cold enough that we could see our breaths in clouds, even in the moonlight. Fortunately everything in that trusty valise was dry. We changed our clothes and I wrapped Seth in a blanket. My own cloak was sodden.

  “What smart people we are,” I said cheerfully. “To get away before things on that boat got too hot.”

  “Damn,” my companion said. “My cigars are wet. Where's the brandy?”

  We both drank greedily, passing the bottle back and forth. Then we found a sheltered spot under some pine trees and settled down for sleep. I snuggled close to Seth and he didn’t object. He needed me for my warmth, if for nothing else.

  In the morning we set out on foot to search for a settlement or a farm where we could purchase a horse or two. The best we could do was a mule. One enormous jackass who was as stupid and thick-headed a beast as I have ever come across. Not even Gypsy magic could make that one go faster. We did only ten or fifteen miles that day—snail’s pace. Seth was tired and irritated by our lack of speed. He was impatient to get to Independence before Boris and Gabrielle left for the west. His hands were too tender to hold the reins and so he rode behind me with his arms around my waist. We tried to tie the valise to the side of the animal with a girth of rope, but the thing kept slipping down and getting tangled in its legs. That trip was a farce. Finally I walked in front, leading the mule with one hand while I carried the valise with the other. And Seth rode and dozed, like a pampered potentate.

  That night I was so tired that I fell asleep without even thinking about food. I suppose Seth made do with whiskey and cigars.

  In the morning I was ravenous. While Seth was sleeping I scouted around our campsite and came upon a farmstead not too far away. The morning breeze brought the pleasant squawking of hens to my ears. It was time to put my childhood training, long unused but not forgotten, into play. I stole through the pine trees and the winter-browned underbrush towards the henhouse. I squatted behind a smokehouse and made little “chick-chick” noises to attract the hens’ attention. One dim-witted bird actually thought that I had something special for her, and she was right. She moved toward me, making little clicking noises and singing to herself the way a contented chicken will. When she was three feet away I lunged at her with my arms outstretched and I felt the reassuring softness of feathers in my hands. Victory! With a quick, practiced twist of my wrist I put an end to her young life.

  Then I heard a frantic barking and an angry shout. There was an explosion and a piece of the smokehouse splintered over my head. I tucked my chicken under my a
rm and ran back to the camp as fast as I could go.

  Seth was awake. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’m ready to go.”

  “So am I,” I gasped. “There’s an angry farmer with a gun after me!”

  We roused our mule and cleared out fast, somehow managing to hang on to both the valise and the dead chicken until we were at least five miles away from that irate farmer.

  We stopped to catch our breaths. I helped Seth dismount. I felt that he was trembling, but when I looked anxiously into his face I saw that he was laughing. He laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. He clutched at his sides in the time-honored fashion and fell to the ground, roaring and shouting until he was limp. I stood over him and when he was more quiet I demanded furiously to know what was the matter with him. Had he gone mad? Had his illness turned his brain?

  “The—the chicken!” he managed to gasp. “Never—never will I forget—! You, running out of the woods—with that chicken!” He collapsed into incoherence again.

  I wanted to be angry with him for laughing at me, but as I stood there watching him, I felt my lips twitch and my cheeks swell, and in short order I was laughing, too. We decided to roast the bird at once, on the spot, just to dispose of the evidence.

  Later that day we hailed a flatboat and offered them fifty dollars to take us to Independence. Even poling along at five miles an hour was better than trying to cope with that mule of ours. It went against every ounce of my Gypsy blood to leave that beast tethered to a tree near the river. But Seth insisted.

  “Somebody will find him and take care of him,” he said.

  “I know,” I said glumly, “but I could have traded him for a third-rate horse!”

  The situation in Independence was everything we had been led to expect, and worse. The muddy streets were jammed with hopeful prospectors, willing to sell their souls for a shovel or a spade, or even a coil of rope. There were no rooms to be had. No hotel rooms, boarding house rooms, rooms in private houses, not even floor space in bar-rooms. Men drank, gambled, patronized the few whores that were available, fought and tried to go west. That wasn't easy. The town was like a funnel. Hoards of men poured into it, bumping and jostling each other and clogging the narrow opening to the west, which was the ferry to Kansas City.