Pearl

by Vivi Holt

  Both Hank and Pearl nodded at Hilton as he went out the door. Hank took a quick breath. “So …”

  Pearl picked up her plate and carried it to the kitchen. “I’m not feeling hungry after all.” She set it down on the worktable, then rested her hands against the rough surface.

  “So, you’re not marryin’ Hilton?” Hank asked, his hands trembling.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  “You know, I almost married once.”

  Her eyebrows flew skyward. “You did?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I know I’m not the marryin’ type, but I was once. She and I were real young – childhood sweethearts, I guess you’d say.” He felt the familiar ache in his heart at the memories washed over him: the feel of her long brown hair between his fingers, the freckles across her nose, the golden brown of her hazel eyes …

  “What happened?” asked Pearl.

  “She died right ’fore we were supposed to get hitched. Influenza, the doctor said. Nothin’ he could do.”

  Pearl’s hand flew to her throat and she swallowed hard.

  Hank hated this part – people discovering his heart had been broken. It made him look weak, an object of pity. He could see it in her eyes in that moment, and his nostrils flared. “Anyway, that’s when I took off. I’d been lookin’ after Hilton after our folks passed, but when Annie died, I left him to his own devices back in Chicago. Not the most thoughtful big brother, I admit, but as you can see he’s done fine on his own.”

  She smiled. “Yes, he has. And I imagine you did the best you could. That’s all any of us can do – you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “Oh, don’t fret about me, I don’t. If anythin’, I let myself off the hook a lot more than any man has a right to …” He could feel sweat trickling down his spine. He had to get out of there, yet he didn’t want to leave her alone in the apartment, not after everything that had just happened between her and Hilton. She shouldn’t be on her own. But he couldn’t just stand jawing about his dead fiancée another moment. He felt as though his heart might leap right out of his chest, it was beating so hard. “Feel like taking a walk?” he asked suddenly.

  She nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”

  Downstairs the cool night air brushed his face, and he took a mouthful in relief. The heat of the day still simmered off the road, but a light breeze was sending it on its way. The noise of the saloons, gambling and dance halls filled the darkened town, and he could smell rain in the air. He hoped it came soon, though he knew from experience it wouldn’t be likely to last long. He fell into step beside her, taking one long stride for every two of her dainty footsteps. “Do you know how to drive a stage?” he asked, running fingers through his hair.

  Her face looked pinched and white. “No.”

  “Well, I guess you better learn. When do you start?”

  Her voice was faint. “Monday.” She stopped and stared up at him. A nearby streetlamp lit her face with a golden glow, casting black shadows over her eyes. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

  He tipped his head to one side. “Huh?”

  “Some of your clothes. I don’t want to wear mine, they’re too formal. And I think if I were dressed like a man it would serve me better driving a stagecoach than a gown would, don’t you?”

  He coughed into his fist. “Uh, well …”

  “Oh, never mind. If you don’t want …”

  “No, that’s fine, you can borrow my spare clothes. But they ain’t really fit for a lady such as yourself.”

  “Thank you, Hank. I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it. They ain’t gonna fit you, mind.” He wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her everything would work out fine. He could almost see her fear, like a snake wrapped around her pale throat.

  She grimaced. “Well, yes.”

  He glanced around. They were across the street from the Silver Theater, where folks were trickling inside. He hadn’t been to a show since he arrived, and most people generally enjoyed the performances at the Silver. From the look on Pearl’s face, she could do with some fun.

  He gently took her arm, stepping closer until he could feel her breath against his neck. He rested a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head up. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and his heart melted. “What say we go see a show? The Silver Theater’s just over yonder, and they got somethin’ going on tonight.”

  She looked in the direction he pointed and nodded slowly. “All right.”

  They crossed the street together, and he bought two tickets from the woman standing outside the doors in a low-cut bustier and red skirt. Inside, the theater was dark – the performance had already begun – and they made their way to the final row of seats, where there were still a few empty spaces. Pearl brushed the cushion carefully with both hands before sitting.

  He grinned and set his hat on his knee, realizing she looked out of place there. But a bit of entertainment was likely just what she needed – he hoped it would get her mind off her troubles long enough for her to get some clarity. At least, it always seemed to work that way for him. A problem only grew larger the longer you stewed on it. If you gave it some space, you could see it from a different angle – and often it didn’t look quite so big anymore.

  On the stage, a boy was acting up a storm, simpering and whining, and a lady with a pillow quite obviously strapped beneath the bodice of her dress followed him around with great sighs and anxious flutterings. Hank wasn’t too keen on melodramas, but it gave him a chance to watch Pearl, so he threw an arm over the back of his seat and rested his chin in his other hand to study her. She followed the show with great interest, bursting into laughter with the rest of the crowd. Her profile in the darkness made him smile, but he hid it behind his hand.

  Just then her mouth flew open and she turned to him, wide-eyed. “That’s Belle!”

  Chapter 6

  Hank frowned at the stage at the Silver Theater. A hefty woman with dark skin walked across the platform in a tight outfit, covered only by a short petticoat. Wolf whistles and jeers came from the crowd. Was this Pearl’s friend Belle?

  Pearl’s smile faltered and she leaned forward to watch the show even more eagerly than before. “What’s she doing? And why is she dressed that way?”

  Belle’s height made her outfit appear strange and ill-fitting. Her muscular arms bulged as she leaned forward and picked up a thick log. A hush fell over the crowd as she steadied her stance and rolled the log up over her forearms, holding it in place there a moment. The veins on her neck bulged and her eyes widened. She stumbled forward, the log tipped to one side and the crowd oohed as one, but she managed to right herself and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  Pearl grabbed Hank’s arm without looking, squeezing so tightly she pinched his skin beneath the shirt. “Oh, what if she hurts herself?” He could hear the worry in her voice

  “Looks to me like she’s doin’ just fine. I wouldn’t worry about her.”

  Pearl smiled gratefully and loosened her grip, but kept her hand there. He took a quick breath and trembled at her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched him at all, let alone one like Pearl, who …

  He closed his eyes a moment. He didn’t dare to admit how he felt about her, even to himself. He hadn’t felt that way for so long, and the feelings were stronger than he’d expected. He’d known the day might come when a woman threatened his resolve to be a lifelong bachelor, but hadn’t expected it now, certainly not with the woman who’d been intended for his brother.

  The noise of the crowd brought him out of his reverie. He was astonished to see Belle standing on one leg with a boy on one hand above her head and a large rock on the other, languidly surveying the crowd. When she successfully – and gently – deposited both the boy and the rock on the stage and took an awkward bow, Pearl bounced on her seat in excitement, her hands over her mouth. “Oh, she did it! She did it! That was amazing!” she squealed.

  He
nodded and scratched his chin, wishing she hadn’t moved her hand from his arm. Already he missed her touch.

  The crowd erupted in applause as Belle left the stage. The lights came up, people stood and made their way out of the theater amid a murmur of conversation. Hank stayed seated, as did Pearl beside him. She faced him with a smile. “Wasn’t she wonderful?”

  He grunted noncommittally.

  She grimaced and wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, you’re just a grump.”

  He chuckled softly. “Am I?”

  “Well, what did you think?”

  “Stunning.” He wasn’t entirely referring to the events on stage. As he said the word, his heart skipped a beat, and he could tell she’d seen the flash in his eyes.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him with a new flush in her cheeks. “Well … good. Let’s see if we can catch her before she slips away.”

  “Catch who?”

  She frowned. “Belle, of course. Haven’t you been listening to a word I said?” She stood and pushed past him into the crowded aisle. He followed, putting his hat back on and enjoying the sway of Pearl’s skirts as she angled through the mass of people.

  They waited outside until most of the throng had dispersed home, or to the nearest saloon or gambling hall. Belle and the other performers emerged from a side door on a narrow alley that ran along the perimeter of the theater and walked down it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Belle, dressed in trousers, a button-down shirt and boots, was deep in conversation with a tall pale man wearing a bowler hat.

  “There she is,” whispered Pearl. She waved a hand high over her head.

  Belle acknowledged her with a nod, excused herself and walked over. “Pearl, how nice to see ya!” she said with a wide smile. Her eyes shone in the lamplight.

  “You too, Belle. This is Hank Pullman. Hank, this is Belle Williams.”

  Belle eyed him with suspicion. “Pleased to meetcha.”

  He tipped his hat. “You too, Miss Williams. Great show.”

  Belle half-smiled. “Thank ya kindly.”

  “I have to say I’m surprised to see you tonight,” said Pearl. “I didn’t know you’d joined the theater. You said you wanted a job laboring with Pip.”

  Belle sighed. “Well we couldn’t find none. Then Pip got taken on by the blacksmith as a ’prentice, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Mr. Tanner saw me on the street and asked if I’d ever considered performin’. I said no, but when he offered to pay me I couldn’t turn him down, so here I am. And so far, it’s been fine and dandy.”

  Pearl grinned. “Well, you were wonderful. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.”

  Belle suppressed a smile. “Thank you, Pearl. Now how ’bout you – you hitched yet?”

  Pearl’s eyes clouded over. “No. In fact, I just told Hilton I wouldn’t marry him.”

  Pearl glanced at Hank as if to apologize for discussing the sensitive matter in the open that way, but he just shrugged. “Woo-ee, how ’bout that? Good for you, Miss Pearl. So whatcha gonna do with yourself now, then?”

  Pearl couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve got a job as the new stagecoach driver.”

  Belle’s eyes flew wide and she laughed out loud, slapping her thigh. “Land sakes, I never thought I’d hear those words come from your mouth!”

  Pearl’s cheeks burned. “Yes, well, I didn’t either. And now that it’s happening, I’m beginning to feel nauseated over it.” She put one hand to her chest, shut her eyes and drew a deep breath.

  “Oh, never you fret. It’ll take some learnin’, but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

  Hank frowned. He wasn’t keen on Pearl driving the stage, and had hoped Belle would tell her what a foolhardy idea it was. Instead, she seemed to be encouraging it.

  Pearl’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, Belle, I just had the most wonderful idea!”

  “Oh?” Belle raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

  “Mr. Goodman needs someone to help me drive the stage. A second driver, you see. Stan Goode has been doing it and he’s promised to show me the ropes, but he plans on joining his family up north as soon as he can. You should apply for the job – we could drive the stage together!”

  Hank’s chest tightened. This wasn’t going at all as he’d hoped it would. Things were getting worse by the moment.

  Belle’s eyes narrowed, her hands clenched in front of her shirt. “Do you think they’d hire me?”

  “I think they’re desperate. No one wants to take on the job after what happened to poor Sam.”

  “For good reason!” interjected Hank. Was he the only one with common sense? Being the most reasonable person in the conversation was a feeling he was most unaccustomed to. He shook his head in disbelief.

  The two women seemed to be deaf to his pleas. “All right,” Belle said. “I’ll go have a talk with Mr. Goodman tomorrow, tell him you sent me. If he hires me, I’ll be happy to do it. Seems like a fine job, gettin’ to drive horses to and fro.” She nodded thoughtfully, as though she’d already decided on the matter.

  Pearl looked as though she might burst out of her skin with excitement. “I start on Monday, so see if you can start at the same time.”

  Hank ran a hand over his face and sighed.

  Belle’s eyes lit up, as if she’d caught Pearl’s madness. “Fine and dandy.”

  They walked back to the apartments in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Hank brooded, only glancing at Pearl out of the corner of his eye every now and then. She had a slight smile curling up the corners of her mouth, and her eyes sparkled in the lamplight. How could he convince her that driving a stage was a terrible idea? He understood that she didn’t want to marry Hilton, but surely there was something else she could do to keep a roof over her head. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

  She looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothin’.”

  “No, something’s bothering you.”

  “It’s just that I don’t want you goin’ out on the stage like that. It ain’t safe. You and Belle out there alone … Heaven only knows what might happen.”

  She shrugged. “That’s true, it is dangerous. But I still want to try it. I’ve never gotten to make my own decisions before, never earned a wage or paid my own way. This is my chance to do that. It feels … invigorating.”

  His brow furrowed. “I can understand that. But still …”

  She stopped walking. “Why are you so worried about me, anyhow?” she asked, staring up at him with wide eyes.

  He paused too, his hands on his hips. Why was he anxious? Well, that was easy – the last stagecoach driver had been crushed to death! But why was he anxious about her? Why did he spend every moment trying to think of ways to help her, protect her, spend time with her? He was Hank “The Pistol” Pullman, quicker on the draw than anyone else in the Arizona Territory and who knew where else. He lived on the trail – wherever his horse took him, that was home for the night. He didn’t fall in love, didn’t pine over women. That just wasn’t who he was.

  He felt his cheeks burn under her gaze and ducked his head. “I ain’t worried …”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  He laughed. “Yeah … well, maybe I’m thinkin’ ’bout things I wouldn’t normally.” He stepped closer to her, and she stumbled back into the wall of the mercantile. They were almost home, almost back inside their separate apartments, alone. He couldn’t take that thought, not with her standing so near, trembling before him. He placed his hands against the wall on either side of her and leaned toward her.

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard. “What … what are you thinking about?”

  He leaned closer, his lips only moments from hers. “This. You. Us.”

  Her gaze strayed to his lips, then roamed back to find his eyes and blinked. “Oh.”

  “You haven’t thought about us?” he whispered.

 
“Not really. I mean … perhaps a little. I don’t know.” Her face reddened and her chest rose and fell faster with each breath.

  He’d been convinced she’d never given him one thought. Hearing that she had, even just briefly, made his pulse race and his palms sweat. He went to kiss her.

  She ducked beneath his arm and scurried down the street.

  He froze for a second. “Good night, Miss Stout,” he called after her.

  She glanced back once over her shoulder, eyes wide, then disappeared around the corner.

  Hank laughed to himself. She looked flustered, and that could only mean one thing, one impossible thing. Pearl Stout had feelings for him too, whether she’d admit to them or not. And the knowledge of that made his heart soar.

  * * *

  Pearl tugged at her scarf and regarded her reflection in the looking glass. It was no use. She’d modified one of her oldest skirts, sewing it together in the middle to form culottes. Then with her most plain blouse and a scarf, she’d tried her best to camouflage the truth – that she was a wealthy socialite from New York transplanted in a dusty frontier town. No matter how she tried, she wasn’t hiding it.

  She sighed and flung the scarf onto her bed. Beside her lay an open letter from her sister Hattie, who sounded as though she’d built something of a life for herself in California. She hadn’t married yet either, though she didn’t say why. Pearl’s throat tightened at the thought that she’d likely never see her sister again.

  She reached for a straw hat and set it on her head. It lolled jauntily to one side. “I look like I’m heading out to the Hamptons for the day,” she cried, then fell back on the bed with a groan. “I’ll never look like I fit in Tucson, never mind passing for a man.”

  There was a knock at the door, and she sat up with wide eyes. Who could that be? She stood and smoothed her culottes, then hurried to open the door. When she saw Hank standing in the hall, hat in hand and a twinkle in his eyes, she felt the breath rush from her lungs. “Hank,” she gasped, then coughed to mask her reaction.