Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

  A few of them were already awake and waiting for customers. They stared listlessly at me as I rode past, and I tried not to stare back. I left the area quickly, and I felt sick and sad. A city being born, a city without laws, without leadership, shows man at his best and at his worst. I compared the opulence of the Golden Gypsy with what I had just seen. It hardly seemed fair. But on the other hand, I had been trained from birth to use my wits, to survive. And these poor girls—

  I was shaken from my dismal reverie by angry shouts and shrill screams. I twisted around in the saddle. The sounds seemed to be coming from a ramshackle building on Sansome Street, very near the docks. I dismounted, gave Fire’s reins to a child and told him he could earn a dollar by looking after her. I went inside, riding crop in hand, and my Bowie knife stuck in the top of my boot.

  I followed the screams to a room on the second floor. I pushed the door open. A burly Sydney Duck, a man who reeked of whiskey and filth, was savagely beating a young girl. She was sitting on a low bed and cowering, trying without much success to protect herself with her thin arms.

  I threw myself at the man and dragged him away from her. “How dare you!” I cried. “Leave her alone! She’s just a child.”

  He turned on me, arm raised to strike. I held my knife under his chin.

  “Get back!” I snapped. He obeyed. “And get out of here! If you come near her again I’ll have you shot, do you understand?”

  “Ya got no right—”

  “I have every right! It’s you who have forfeited your rights because you can’t act like a civilized human being!”

  Imagine me, the dirty little Gypsy child who had so strongly resisted her uncle’s attempts to civilize her, preaching to some thick bastard about social responsibility. “Now get out!”

  “She’s me wife,” he said. He reeled slightly. He was very drunk, and I knew it wouldn’t take much to get rid of him. “Ya got no right—”

  I sprang at him, knife extended, hoping to frighten him away. But in stepping back he stumbled and fell, knocking his head against the doorframe. I bent over him. He was alive, but he would sleep for a while. I turned my attention to the girl.

  She lay back on the filthy bed. As I crouched down next to her she turned her head into her pillow and coughed. She was breathing hard. I touched her arm. She was hot, feverish, and very, very sick.

  I leaned out the window. A man was leading an empty cart down towards the docks. “You!” I shouted. “The man with the cart!” He looked up. “Yes, you. I want to hire your cart. Right now. Bring it over here.”

  “What for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “What do you mean, what for? Because I say so. I’ll pay you fifty dollars. Come on, hurry up. And then come up to the second floor. I need some help.”

  I crouched on the floor next to the girl. She opened her eyes and stared at me. Her face was pinched and white. Her lips were swollen and both eyes were ringed with bruises. Her black hair was matted and dirty. She stretched out her hand to me and then dropped it again. She had no strength.

  "Rhawnie,” she said weakly. “Rhawnie.”

  My hair stood on end. My mouth opened but no sound came out.

  "You—don’t know me.” Tears welled up in her blackened eyes.

  “Oh, yes, darling,” I said, trying to hold back my own tears. “I know you. Oh, Gabrielle. Poor Gabrielle.”

  I held her in my arms and we cried together. She had no flesh left, no meat. And she was burning with fever. “I’m so sick, so tired. Oh, Rhawnie.”

  “It’s all right now, Gabrielle. It’s over, all over. I’m taking you away from here, to a fine, bright place. My casino, the Golden Gypsy. And we’ll make you well and strong and beautiful again. Oh, my poor darling, my poor sweet Gaby. Don’t cry any more. Don’t cry. I won’t leave you.”

  Then I heard a feeble mewing sound. A rat? “My baby,” Gabrielle sighed. “My baby. My Adam.”

  The infant Adam was lying in a wooden crate in the corner, on a pile of rags. He was naked and cold and as thin as a starved kitten. He wasn’t very old. Two weeks? Two months? It was impossible to tell. I picked him up and brought him over to her. She held him to her breast to suckle him but she had nothing to give. Poor little mite. Poor Gaby.

  The clumping of boots on the stairs drew me to the doorway. The carter was there, with two of his friends.

  I said, “There’s a sick woman in here. I’m taking her to the Golden Gypsy on Washington Street, but I need a few more minutes to get her ready.”

  I searched the room for clothes but found none. I wrapped her in the dirty blanket that was on the bed and called to the men. One of them lifted her and carried her down the stairs. I followed with the baby. We all had to step over the unconscious man who lay snoring on the floor.

  I rode in the cart with Gabrielle while one of the men walked behind, leading Fire. The baby squalled weakly and subsided quickly. He didn’t even have the energy to cry when he was hungry. Gabrielle clung tightly to my hand the whole way

  When we got to the Golden Gypsy I paid the man and alerted the staff. I sent Wang for a doctor at once. We got her upstairs to my room and I called for hot water and soap and scissors.

  “And someone find a wet nurse!”

  I had finished bathing her and was trimming the knots out of her hair when Doctor Clement arrived. I sighed with relief when I saw that he was sober. Then Wang appeared with a short, rotund Mexican-Indian woman in tow. She took one look at Adam and opened her blouse. The little fellow ate until he looked like a stuffed hen.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Maria,” she shrugged.

  Are you a whore?" I had to know. Whores get diseased and I didn’t want Adam to catch anything he didn’t already have.

  She gave me an incredulous look, then looked down at her bulky figure, then looked me in the eye again. “Nobody pay for thees,” she said, shaking her head. “I wash the clothes.”

  We talked and came to a quick understanding. Maria would work for me as wet nurse and laundress. She and her own two children would live in the empty room down the hall, near the Professor’s rooms. And she would help in nursing Gabrielle.

  The Doctor Clement came out of the bedroom. “Advanced consumption with some bronchitis. Easy diagnosis. Good care. Constant nursing. She’ll probably die anyway.”

  I already knew that in my heart, but to hear your fears voiced is hard to take.

  The doctor instructed me in the care of the consumptive: good food, pure air, lots of rest, freedom from worry.

  "You know her?” he asked before he left.

  "Yes, I know her. And her family. Goodbye, Doctor.”

  Kim had prepared the samovar. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat at my desk. Gabrielle was dying. I had found her, but not soon enough. For a moment I almost wished that I hadn’t wandered into Sydney Town. Wouldn’t it be better not to know? It hurt so to see her like that, weak and sick and beaten-looking. Then I pulled myself together and vowed to do everything I could to make her well. Something, some force had led me to her, and I was glad. Glad that she wouldn’t have to die alone and in squalor.

  Gabrielle was pathetically grateful for everything we did for her. She apologized over and over again for being troublesome.

  “What rubbish you talk,” I said gruffly as I straightened her sheets. It was two days after she came to the Golden Gypsy. “As if you could ever be a trouble! Oh, you’ve hardly touched your egg nog. How can you get strong if you don’t eat?”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said meekly. Sometimes I could hardly believe that this was the girl who had defied everyone, society and her family, to run off with a Russian adventurer. She had no fight left, no spirit. A man had done this to her, a man like Seth. I hated him. I hated all of them.

  I never mentioned Boris. I knew it would be painful for her to talk about it, and that she would have to tell me in her own time.

  “How—why are you here, Rhawnie?” she asked me.

&
nbsp; “I came west with your brother to look for you. No, not Steven. Seth.”

  She looked surprised. “But how did you know we were coming—?”

  “We didn’t, I said ruefully. “We were chasing another couple that we thought was you.” I told her about the Andersons, everything except their unhappy end. Soon after we got to Salt Lake City, Seth and I, ah, parted company, as they say here. I think he must have gone south to look for you, or perhaps he returned to New Orleans. I don’t know.”

  “He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Gabrielle sighed. “I suppose I don’t really know him very well. I was very small when he left New Orleans for the first time. But there’s always been something special between us. He used to send me things from far away. He’s so kind.”

  I ducked my head and pretended to adjust her blankets so that she wouldn’t see my face. “Yes, darling,” I said briskly, “he is a veritable prince. Very nice, very kind. Now try to sleep, and I’ll bring Adam in a little later for a visit.”

  She looked forward to Adam’s visits eagerly. He was growing fat in Maria’s care, and he seemed healthy enough for all he’d been through. He certainly shrieked like a steamboat whistle when he was hungry. But Gabrielle wasn’t getting any better, in spite of the care we lavished on her. Kim made tempting dishes, custards and soups and light stews, but she hardly ate anything at all. I suspected that she didn’t want to prolong her life.

  Soon after I found her I heard about a man who was planning to travel east, to St. Louis. I decided to give him a letter for Steven. I didn’t know how long it would take for the letter to reach New Orleans, months perhaps, but I felt I had to tell someone in the family about Gabrielle. I knew better than to attempt to write it myself. I sought out the Professor.

  "I want you to write a letter for me,” I told him. “You know how to read and write, don’t you? It’s for Mr. Steven McClelland in New Orleans. And I don’t want you to breathe a word of this to anyone, is that clear?”

  I dictated and he scribbled:

  "Dear Steven, I am sorry that I could not write before I went away. I tried but it was no good. Your brother and I followed Gabrielle and Boris to St. Louis, and all the way to the Rocky Mountains before we discovered we were chasing the wrong people. From Salt Lake City, we went our separate ways, and I came to San Francisco. I have found Gabrielle. She is safe now but she is very ill. She has consumption. I am taking very good care of her, but the doctor thinks and I agree with him that she will probably not live through the winter.

  “Please forgive me for going away so suddenly. I still think of you fondly, but marriage between us is no longer possible. Someday perhaps I can explain things in person. I wish you the very best and I will always remain your dearest and most loving friend, Rhawnie. P.S. Your sister has a fine son, very strong and healthy. His name is Adam McClelland.”

  When I finally got the thing sealed up and saw my carrier on his way, I felt as though a load of logs had rolled off my shoulders. I had done my duty as a friend of the family, and at the same time I had ended my engagement to Steven. It wouldn’t have worked. I had just been fooling myself.

  I gave no more thought to Steven or the McClelland family until two days later. Right before I went downstairs to the gaming rooms that night, Gabrielle called to me. She held my hand tightly.

  “Rhawnie,” she said weakly. Her eyes were large and dark, full of pain and sorrow. “Rhawnie, I don’t want them to know about me. I would rather they never knew—what happened to me. I’m so ashamed, Rhawnie!” Tears rolled out of her eyes and spotted under her head. “Please, please don’t tell them.”

  “Of course I won’t tell them, darling,” I said reassuringly. I knew whom she meant by “them”: her family. “This is our secret, eh? Just us. I have made everyone here swear not to tell about you, so that that bully won’t find you. They won’t tell, I’m sure of it. No one will ever know, ever.”

  I didn’t tell her about my letter. The doctor had warned against needless worry.

  “Seth,” she said, tightening her grip on my hand. “Especially Seth! Swear to me, Rhawnie. If he comes—you won’t tell him! I don’t want him to know what happened to—his little Gaby. He would be so disappointed and he would hate me—!”

  “But he is your brother, darling,” I said reasonably. “He could never hate you. He loves you and he would understand that it wasn’t your fault. A brother will always love, always. And he will forgive.”

  “No, no!” She struggled to sit up. “You mustn’t tell him! Promise me, Rhawnie, please! I would die if I thought he knew—! Please, please!”

  She became more and more worked up. I tried to calm her, and in the end I had to promise that if Seth appeared in San Francisco looking for her I wouldn’t tell him a thing. And as if that weren’t enough, she made me swear it again on the small Bible she kept by her side. Only then did she relax and grow calm.

  “I’m so ashamed,” she sighed. “It was awful. He—he wasn’t the man I thought. You remember—you remember what you told me, that time at Highlands? You said he would use me and break my heart. I should have listened to you. Oh, why, why didn’t I listen?”

  “Love has no ears,” I said sadly. “No one will blame you, Gabrielle. Boris was quite a charming man when he wanted to be. And you had no experience with men like that. I didn’t know, when I was your age. I believed in love then, as you did.”

  “He’s dead,” she said dully. “I saw him die. And I was glad.”

  Customers began to straggle in downstairs. Unlike most of the other casinos the Gypsy didn’t stay open twenty-four hours a day. I opened at six and closed when they got tired and went away, but I had to close for a few hours, just to have some peace and quiet. I heard shouts of raucous laughter. Ordinarily I was downstairs by that time, watching over things, greeting the patrons as they arrived eager to be fleeced. But the Professor would have to cope alone tonight. Gabrielle was ready to talk, and she needed me.

  She and Boris had set out for California, all right. But they hadn’t taken the route that Seth and I followed. Instead they boarded a ship bound for Panama. Boris had heard that the quickest way to the gold was to dock at Colon, to cross the Isthmus to Panama City, then to take another ship to San Francisco. From Panama City it was a sail of only a month or more. So the pair hired a guide and crossed the Isthmus on foot, hacking their way through jungles and wading through swamps.

  “Boris was very sweet to me for the first few days," Gabrielle said. “I thought I was in love with him, and I wasn’t a bit sorry I ran away. But as soon as our ship reached the Gulf of Mexico he changed. As if when I was out of the reach of my family, he didn’t have to be nice to me any more. He shouted at me, and he hit me. I’d never—I’d never been hit before, never in my life.

  “It only got worse after we docked in Colon. He treated me like a low creature. He used me, and he got drunk and beat me.” She coughed into a handkerchief and struggled to get her breath.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything now,” I said, smoothing her short hair away from her face.

  “Yes, I want to,” she cried. “I must tell someone! Please, let me finish.”

  They had to wait for over a month in Panama City for a ship to take them to San Francisco. Boris gambled and lost. They quarrelled. He drank.

  “Then finally a ship came. We had terrible storms all along the Mexican coast. I was so sick, even though I’d been a good sailor before then. I was pregnant with Adam and I didn’t even know it. Then we were shipwrecked. The ship hit the rocks and broke up in a matter of minutes. I climbed up on a piece of board, a door I think it was, and then I saw Boris. He was shouting to me that he couldn’t swim. I lay face down on the door and I looked at him. He was so close—that if I stretched out my hand—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to save him. I said, “I hope you drown." And he did. He slipped under the waves and I never saw him again. I killed him, Rhawnie."

  “What nonsense," I said briskly. “If you had tried to save him, you
might have drowned yourself. Besides, if ever a man deserved to die, he did. Stop torturing yourself about it. You did the right thing."

  “I wish I could believe that," she sighed. “I’d never seen a man die before. There was a lot I hadn’t seen. I was so simple, so ignorant. I just didn’t know—that life could be this way. I wish I had drowned. I would have been spared so much—the worst things that could happen to a woman have happened to me, Rhawnie.

  “There was another ship in the area that saw our distress flags. They made a great fuss over me. I told the captain that I had no money to pay my fare, and he said I shouldn’t worry about it, that we could work something out. Well, when we got to San Francisco he sold me at auction to get the money I owed him."

  A drunken miner paid the captain one thousand three hundred dollars for Gabrielle. He took her to his claim near Mariposa, and he worked her and used her until she dropped. He was killed in a brawl one night, and she ran away. She made her way back to San Francisco, hoping to find someone there who would take her in and care for her until she got word to her family.

  A Sydney Duck named Ratbane, a convicted murderer from Leeds, England, who had come to San Francisco by way of Australia, found her wandering the streets of the city, and he took possession of her. The baby Adam was born in October in the filthy room in which I found her. A Mexican whore helped her deliver him. Ratbane beat her and insisted that she make his friends feel “welcome.” Her refusal didn’t daunt him. She had no choice. Ratbane’s friends made themselves at home and he turned a profit. And then I appeared, her deliverer.

  “I couldn’t deceive you any longer,” she said, turning her face away from me. “You won’t be so nice to me now that you know— I’m the worst woman in the world, the lowest thing that lives.”

  “You’d better not say that too loudly,” I told her. “You have a lot of competition in this town and they’d give you an argument.”

  “How can you laugh at me,” she said in a hurt voice. “How can you—!”

  “Because it’s stupid of you to carry on like you’re the only girl in the world who let a man take advantage of her and then had to pay the price,” I said sharply. “There are a hundred more like you out there in the streets, girls from nice families, rebels like you, girls who were too pigheaded to listen when anyone warned them. What good does it do to punish yourself? You have suffered enough. Why add to it? You cannot change what happened. And whatever happened, you’re still the same Gabrielle you always were. I suppose you feel guilty because you liked it when Boris made love to you, even after he treated you badly?”