Shadow of Legends

by Stephen A. Bly

  “Did you ever choose to love someone before you met Todd?”

  The cheesy grin of Adolphus Conners came to Rebekah’s mind. “Don’t you think that’s a personal question? How about you, Dacee June? Did you ever choose to love someone?”

  The sixteen-year-old dropped her arm and looked up with wide blue eyes. “Yes, but I broke myself of the habit.”

  “Oh? It wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Carty Toluca, would it?”

  Dacee June paced the covered front porch of the stylish house. “Heavens no! I choose to hate him every day. This was years ago. I was just a kid. Did I ever tell you about the time I rode the steamer up to Fort Pierre by myself in ’75? Well, I really wasn’t completely by myself at that time. The March sisters joined up with me in Kansas City. Anyway, I perched on a coil of big thick rope at the front of the boat with no one else around, and it was so cold my face was turning red. But I didn’t want to go inside the cabin because I was afraid I’d miss Daddy standing along by the shore of the Missouri River. Well, this boy who worked on the boat came up and put his heavy wool coat around me and sort of hugged my shoulder. His arms were really, really strong. He looked in my eyes, and he had the softest blue eyes that made my heart start beating faster and faster and faster. I was really glad my face was already red.”

  Dacee June sucked in a deep gulp of air and rolled her eyes. “He said I could keep the coat until we got to Fort Pierre. He said I reminded him of a girlfriend he used to have. His voice was smooth as the river, and I got this tingly feeling way down deep at the bottom of my stomach. I thought for sure he was going to kiss me.”

  “Good heavens, what happened next?” Rebekah asked.

  “The whistle blew,” Dacee June shrugged.

  “The what?”

  “The steam whistle on the stern-wheeler blasted a signal and he said he had to go. And I knew at that very minute if he had kissed me and asked me to marry him, I would have said yes.”

  “Just how old were you?”

  “Twelve,” Dacee June said.

  “And how old was he?”

  “He said he was twenty, but I think he was about eighteen.”

  “Well, I’m glad you could control yourself.”

  “Control myself? I still wonder what would have happened if that ol’ whistle didn’t blow. I cried and cried that night and thought about him for at least a year after that. Every day I’d get up and say to myself, ‘I am in love with Garreth.’”

  “His name was Garreth?”

  “I don’t have any idea. But I just couldn’t pine so over a boy with no name. I named him my dear, precious Garreth.”

  “Did you see him again?” Rebekah asked. “You know, to give him back his coat?”

  “No, Mrs. Edwards . . . well, she was Mrs. Driver then . . . she insisted that his coat be returned immediately when I showed it to them. Mrs. Speaker took it back and said she had spoken to the captain and the young man would not pester me again.”

  “My goodness, I’ve never heard that story before,” Rebekah chuckled.

  “That’s because I never, ever told it to anyone.”

  “Not even your father?”

  “Especially not my father! I made the March sisters promise under penalty of death never to mention it. My father would have chased the boy down and shot him dead. He still thinks I’m a little girl. Look at this outfit he bought me. What other sixteen-year-old would wear a leather-fringed blouse, leather riding skirt, boots, and bandanna?”

  “I thought it was your favorite outfit?”

  “Some days it is. Some days I hate it.”

  “How about today?”

  “Both. I loved the feel of it this morning when I put it on, but when I stand next to you, I hate it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you are so beautiful. And I’m so plain. When I’m around you or Jamie Sue, I just want to go hide.”

  “Dacee June, what are you talking about? You are a very handsome young lady. And you’re the most well-known girl in all the Black Hills.”

  “They don’t really know me,” Dacee June insisted. “Nobody knows what’s inside of me. They think they know me because of my father. ‘Oh, aren’t you Daddy Brazos’s little girl?’ I hear that every day of my life.”

  “That will change soon enough.” Rebekah stepped over to the edge of the porch next to the railing. Both women gazed down the Wall Street opening to Main Street. “I bet there will be plenty of young men asking you to the balls, come winter.”

  Dacee June shoved her hand into the pocket of her leather skirt. “How much you want to bet?”

  “That was a figure of speech,” Rebekah said.

  Dacee June glanced at Rebekah, then stood up straight and threw her shoulders back. “I bet Carty Toluca two bits that four freight teams would roll up Main Street before noon today.”

  “You shouldn’t wager away your money.”

  “Yeah, but I won. And then that crummy Carty Toluca wouldn’t pay off. If he asks me to one of the winter balls, I think I’ll ask him for that quarter. Or maybe I’ll punch him in the nose.” Dacee June’s voice softened and deepened. “Do you know why I really dress so outlandish sometimes?”

  “Why is that?”

  Dacee June’s voice was barely audible. “To get people to turn their heads and notice me.”

  “It’s that important?”

  Dacee June’s shoulders slumped, and she stared down at the porch railing. “I see the way people stare at you and Jamie Sue when you walk into a room.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not. The men stare at you like you were a gold bar in the bank window . . . and the women . . . they hold onto their men like they were about to drop over a cliff.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Very few people even know that I’m in town,” Rebekah insisted.

  “That’s because you hide up here at the house too much. You’re the mystery woman on the Forest Hill porch.”

  Rebekah felt her shoulders stiffen. “I am not a recluse. Why, I was just downtown this morning.”

  “Are you going to the Raspberry Festival at the church on Friday night?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Oh, good. Todd said he didn’t think you were going.”

  “I changed my mind,” Rebekah said. Just this minute.

  Dacee June slipped her arm into Rebekah’s. “Forgive me for saying those things. I really do think I have the most wonderful and beautiful sisters-in-law in the world.”

  Rebekah hugged her. “Don’t grow up too fast, Young Lady. You are a joy and a delight to have around.”

  “Are you feeling better, now?” Dacee June asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Maybe I should go down to the store and tell them to wait to unload those freight wagons until after Todd and Daddy get back. Besides, I have more work to do. Todd’s letting me assemble the new bolt bins.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Montgomery and the clerks would appreciate having one Fortune there.”

  “I know one clerk that won’t appreciate it.” Dacee June pointed at the house next door. “I think I’ll go home and change my blouse. This one is too childish. You know what I mean?”

  “I suppose it’s warm also.”

  “Do you know what I’m going to do at 4:00 P.M.?”

  Rebekah tried to suppress a grin. This is one girl who enjoys life to the fullest! “No, I can’t imagine.”

  “Don’t tell Daddy, but me and Irene Seltzmann are going down to China Town,” Dacee June whispered.

  “Good heavens, what for?”

  “To take Mr. Gee his new washboards.”

  “You make deliveries to China Town?”

  “I heard Mr. Gee say that he needed them quickly be
cause Lola Paul and Franette brought a dozen of their dresses for him to clean. We thought if we happen to bring the washboards, he would let us see the dresses. They work at the Gem Theater, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Rebekah glanced across the flat roof of the Gem Theater before them. It was laid out like a barren cube.

  “They aren’t the main actresses, but they are almost the main actresses. I once saw one of Lola Paul’s dresses. It had cattle brands and little roses embroidered all over it. It was red and had a full skirt and little basque, short sleeves, and everything! It was the most marvelous dress I ever saw in my life.”

  “It sounds quite unique.”

  Dacee June stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Do you want to come with us?”

  “Eh, no . . . I think I’ll rest here at home.”

  “You won’t tell Daddy that I went to see the dresses, will you?”

  “No, I won’t tell him.”

  Dacee June strolled toward the top of the steps. “Rebekah, don’t be mad at me, but I pray every night that you and Todd won’t move away.”

  “You do?”

  “With you here, it’s like I have an older sister. It allows me to be just a kid. If you weren’t here, I’d be the only Fortune woman, and I’d have to be grown up and respectable all the time, and wear boring clothes and funny hats. I’m glad I don’t have to do that. Did you enjoy being sixteen?”

  “I hated it.”

  “Did you have trouble with a boy?”

  “Sort of,” Rebekah admitted.

  “Well, I like being sixteen.”

  “Good.”

  “Should I come back and check on you later?”

  “Dacee June, you can check on me any time you want.”

  “Except when the shade to your bedroom is drawn.”

  “What?”

  “Daddy says I can never come over and visit you and Todd when you have the shade drawn in your bedroom. And I won’t, either. I’m not completely dumb, you know. Are you sure you don’t want to go see the Gem girls’ dresses?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Rebekah watched Dacee June scurry across Williams Street and down all the Wall Street stairs.

  She stared across to the far side of the gulch at Mount Moriah and the White Rocks on top. Scattered summer clouds blocked the sunlight and darkened Deadwood. This is no place to raise children. It’s like a human zoo. We’re all caged in by these dreary hills. And every type of specimen is wandering up and down the street.

  Rebekah closed the door behind her and meandered back into the parlor. She slumped down into the worn Austrian bentwood rocker.

  Father, you left all your furniture . . . and me! You moved us to a then-illegal settlement in the heart of Indian country . . . started a bank, married off your daughter . . . and went to Chicago to find a new wife. Look at me. What do I have to do today? Now I have to sew a dress to wear at the church’s Raspberry Festival that I don’t even want to attend. And what do I have to do tomorrow? Something equally tiresome.

  Rebekah stood and waltzed across the room. “And Mrs. Fortune, what would you like to do?”

  “Well, thank you for asking . . . I think I’ll rent a hack and ride out on the north side by Lake Michigan . . . Perhaps I’ll stop at Lincoln Park for a concert . . . then maybe meet Sylvia and Daphne at Mayberrie’s across from the Water Tower and we’ll discuss the latest English novel we’re reading over flat salt crackers and Chinese tea.”

  “Those days are forever gone, Mrs. Fortune.”

  “Thank you for being so pessimistic.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She folded her arms and stared down at the rooftop of the Gem Theater. At least the girls who work at the Gem have interesting diversions each day. The reviews say they have a very talented cast this summer. I trust that means their acting.

  Through the narrow glimpse of Main Street that the Wall Street portal offered, she spotted Mert Hart’s hack trot by. There you go, Rebekah dear. Just take a little jaunt on Mr. Hart’s three-seater. Why you can ride up to Central City, over to Lead, and back again for less than a dollar. Of course, the round trip is only seven miles, and we’ll halt sixteen times to pick up and let off other passengers.

  At Lead I can stop and listen to Mr. Hearst’s mind-numbing stamp mill. Why, if I’m just going to complain, I might as well just stay home and sew.

  She scooped up a well-worn mail-order catalog off the open desktop of the fall-front oak secretary. She scanned the pages as she wandered through the parlor.

  All right, “Jordan, Marsh and Company, Boston, Mass.” . . . just exactly what should I sew? “English mohairs and brilliantines will be very popular this season. For durability these goods are unexcelled. All the new and plain colors, gray and brown mixtures. Also brocades, stripes, checks, and fancy weaves.”

  That’s what I want . . . a fancy weave brilliantine!

  She tossed the catalog back onto the oak secretary.

  “And here on Forest Hill, in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, used zephyr ginghams are making a handsome revival . . . and here we have the latest . . . green and white checks. Anyway, it will be good enough for the Raspberry Festival.”

  Raspberry! That’s what I want . . . six yards of raspberry-colored silk lansdown . . . and six miles of black lace!

  She snatched her sewing basket off the glass ball and claw feet parlor table, then instantly set it back down.

  I am not going to sew. I’m going to read and wait for Todd to get back to town. He had no reason to dash off after the others. It’s the sheriff’s responsibility. We hire lawmen to take care of such problems. The rest should stay home. Especially those who were not even asked. They chase after robbers like a hero in a melodrama with fake fights and rubber knives. I did not marry a marshal, Todd Fortune. I do not want to spend my nights and days wondering about your safety. I want you to be right down there at the store, where I know where you are at every minute of the day, just like my mother knew where father was. At least . . . she thought she knew.

  Rebekah towed the Austrian bentwood rocker out to the covered front porch, then returned to the house. The volume in her hand had a pressed violet bookmark.

  A breeze skimmed down Whitewood Gulch and conveyed an aroma of dust, pine, and the mercury that was used to separate gold from dirt. Dry, but not hot, the wind drove Rebekah back inside for a glass of lemonade before she even sat down. The sun had now popped out from behind the clouds.

  When she did finally relax in the chair, she unbuttoned the cuffs of her white blouse. Do not worry, Mother, I will not expose the fleshy part of my arms, but at least I can loosen my sleeves.

  The book flipped open to the violet bookmark abandoned on a page next to a quote marked “so true” in pencil in the margin.

  Mrs. Speaker, I am grateful for the lending library you run out of your home, but I wish you wouldn’t write little notes in the borders of your books.

  Well, Mr. Longfellow, just what enamored Mrs. Speaker?

  Her eyes scanned the verse.

  “The holiest of all holidays are those

  Kept by ourselves in silence and apart,

  The secret anniversaries of the heart.”

  Oh? And just what anniversaries of the heart did you have in mind, Mrs. Speaker?

  Secret anniversaries of the heart sound delightful. Somehow these depressing Black Hills have drummed all the confidential jubilees out of me.

  Sunlight reflected on a deep, jewel-tone, burgundy-colored dress on a woman far below who bustled out of the back door of the Gem Theater. Rebekah laid her book on her lap and watched. There’s my Raspberry Festival dress! I’ll order the material from Paris and have one whipped up by Friday night!

  Rebekah plucked up her lemonade from the deck of the porch and sipped it
as the woman in the radiant dress far below stared up at Forest Hill.

  Are you gaping at me? Do you expect me to wave? I don’t even know your name. Of course, I don’t want to be rude, either.

  Rebekah cautiously raised her hand to her shoulder and waved it back and forth twice, then let it drop in her lap. The black-haired woman dashed for the base of the Wall Street stairs up to Williams Street.

  No, no . . . I didn’t want anything. I was just trying to be civil. I hope she didn’t think I was signaling her.

  Rebekah crept over to the front of the porch and waited for the woman.

  Long black hair pinned upon her head.

  Rustling silk dress.

  Considerable makeup.

  Strong, attractive features.

  Troubled eyes.

  “Mrs. Fortune?” the woman called out as she reached Williams Street.

  “Yes? I trust you didn’t come clear up here because you thought I signaled you.”

  “Oh no, I understand. Rather awkward, I know. I hesitated coming up here. But I very much need to speak with you.”

  Rebekah brushed a wisp of hair from her eye. “Yes?”

  “May we sit on your porch?”

  “Yes, of course,” Rebekah motioned. “Come on up. May I get you some lemonade?”

  “That would be very nice.”

  When Rebekah Fortune returned from the kitchen with another glass of lemonade, the woman rested on a rough wooden bench next to the rocker.

  “Would you rather sit in the rocker?” Rebekah offered.

  “Really? You wouldn’t mind? Just for a minute.”

  “Please help yourself.”

  The woman in the beautiful burgundy dress rocked back in the chair and closed her eyes. “It brings back some pleasant memories.”

  “You had a rocker as a child?”

  The woman opened her eyes and surveyed the tops of the Main Street buildings. “It hasn’t been that long,” she murmured. She had a wide mouth and full, dark lips. “I’ve seen you up here lots of days and wondered what it would be like to sit on the throne.”

  Rebekah sat down on the bench, a lemonade in her hand. “On the throne?”

  “Oh, some of the girls at the Gem see you as the queen of the gulch.”