by Jeanne Rose
Insane asylums and jail.
Belle would do anything to keep Louisa from seeing the inside of either one of those institutions.
THE SHUTTLE TRAIN climbed upward as it cut through the mountains rimming Santa Fe. Clear golden sunlight spilled over bluish-green shrubs and layered red rock. More mountains hovered on the horizon, lavender with distance.
Frances would have thought the scenery beautiful if she hadn't gone through the hellish scenario in Galisteo Junction. Despite her desire to forget him, she kept envisioning the gunfighter, the cool gray eyes that had chilled her to her bones, the aura of danger that he exuded and which should have warned her. She only half-listened as Louisa babbled about Nate continuously and intently, as if she were trying to exorcise his murder from her soul.
"Uncle Nate ran away from his family in Kentucky, you know, when he was only eighteen. Then he traveled west and ended up on one of those riverboats from New Orleans. That's where he learned cardplaying. He was good at all the games, even blackjack and keno. You never saw such a fast hand with cards. Sometimes he even did tricks with them."
Frances cleared her throat. Her dark state of mind made her suspect the worst. "You mean cheating?"
"No, actual tricks – making cards appear and disappear." Louisa paused. "I guess he did do a fair amount of cheating, too, though he never actually admitted it. All cardplayers do. You know how they trim the edges a tiny bit or mark them?"
No, Frances had no idea.
"But Uncle Nate had a heart," Louisa went on. "He never took advantage of men with families."
"How nice," Frances said sarcastically and then immediately felt badly about it. After all, Nate was dead.
"He was kind," Louisa insisted. "He loaned money to people that he knew would never repay it and he always gave to churches who were taking up collections for the poor."
And he'd married a spinster who had nowhere to turn, Frances thought with mixed feelings.
"Uncle Nate was good-natured. He meant well, though he didn't always tell the truth, especially if he thought it would hurt someone." Louisa's remark made Frances wonder if they were thinking along the same lines. "He was understanding. If I wanted someone to talk to, he always listened. "
Then the girl was silent, which made Frances look at her. She had her fist pressed against her mouth, silently weeping.
"Oh, dear, I've been thinking entirely about myself. This has been terrible for you!"
She put her arms about Louisa, who sobbed against her shoulder. How selfish she'd been. But the sixteen-year old had handled the situation so capably and Frances herself had been so upset, she simply hadn't worried about Louisa. She'd assumed the girl must be used to sudden violence like gunfights in the street.
When Louisa got herself together, she raised her head. "Thank you. I appreciate your kindness, too. I know you're a special sort of person. So did Uncle Nate, or he wouldn't have married you."
A remark that caused Frances's eyes to burn, though she'd thought she was cried out for the moment.
Then both women sniffed and wiped their eyes.
Louisa patted Frances's hand. "It'll be okay. You'll see. You'll live in Uncle Nate's quarters at Blue Sky Palace. He has two rooms upstairs with a real bathtub that came over the Santa Fe Trail."
"The rooms are above the casino?"
"Uh, huh." Louisa frowned at Frances's expression. "You know, there's a lot of gambling in Santa Fe. It's a popular and accepted form of entertainment."
Well, maybe such a place wasn't too disreputable then. If Frances didn't like the looks of it, however, she intended to find the nearest boarding house.
She thought of Nate lying cold and dead in the baggage car. "What will we do with...with the body when the train stops?"
"You don't have to worry about it. Chaco Jones is back there. He's going to take care of everything."
"Chaco Jones?" What an odd name. "Who's that?"
"Well, um, the gunfighter." Louisa met her gaze.
Frances's mouth dropped. "You are letting him pay for the funeral and burial!" She hadn't agreed to that.
"Why not?" Louisa frowned and sounded defensive. "He owes us that much. I gave him the name of an undertaker in Santa Fe."
"But it's blood money!"
"I guess it is," said Louisa unwaveringly. "One of the men in Galisteo Junction said his word could be trusted."
"The word of a gunfighter?" Frances thought of those riveting gray eyes again. "The man is a criminal!"
"Probably. But there are those with a code of honor."
"I can't believe you're acting so calmly about this!"
"I know." Louisa's eyes were wise beyond her years. "But this isn't Boston. And I don't think Chaco Jones meant to kill Uncle Nate. We'll let him do what he can."
Frances still didn't understand. Though she tried to forget about the awful gunfighter riding with her husband's body as the shuttle pulled into Santa Fe, his spooky gray gaze remained burned in her memory. She couldn't believe she'd thought him attractive in dangerous way. She would never forget that he was a cold-blooded killer or that he'd destroyed her dreams.
Gazing out at the small train station, beyond which were a mix of clapboard and adobe buildings, she thought the place as nondescript and dusty as Galisteo Junction. But then she would have had a completely different view of the old city if she'd been arriving at her new home on Nate's arm. When the train stopped, they went to the door of the car to let the conductor help them dismount with their bags.
"There's Ma!" cried Louisa, waving.
Frances gazed in that direction to see a smiling, middle-aged, red-headed woman approaching. Dressed in a tight gray silk dress with ruffles around the low neck and several flounces about the fashionable skirt, lace mitts, a hat with tall white plumes, a sparkling necklace and dangling earrings, Mrs. Belle Janks was a bit over-dressed but presentable, Frances thought.
The redhead immediately hugged Louisa, complaining gently, "You bad, bad girl!"
"Oh, Ma!"
Then the woman pulled back to look at her daughter's face. "You been crying. What's the matter?" She also glanced at Frances. "You're Nate's wife?" And as her eyes swept over Frances's appearance, she exclaimed. "Damnation! Where did all that blood come from?"
Frances took a deep breath, ignoring the language. "Nate was shot down in Galisteo Junction."
"Shot down!"
Belle's eyes widened, large brown orbs which Frances suddenly noticed had been outlined in black. And the woman was also wearing lip and cheek rouge. Perhaps face-painting, like gambling, was accepted in Santa Fe.
"My God," the woman gasped, "is he dead?"
"Yes, Ma," said Louisa, holding onto Belle when her mother gave a little cry. "But it was an accident. A stray bullet from a gunfight."
"Dead!" Now it was Belle's turn to deal with grief. Her face twisted. "No, not Nate!"
Frances herself felt numb and completely cried out. She watched the other two as they sobbed in each other's arms.
But as Belle regained control of herself, she offered sympathy. "You poor, poor thing! And just married, too!"
The redhead embraced Frances so hard, her ribs felt squeezed. For a while, the three women simply stood on the platform and commiserated. Belle cried some more and wiped away the rivulets of black on her cheeks with a silk, lace-edged handkerchief. Louisa sniffled. And Frances even found a few more tears to burn her already irritated eyes.
"I still can't believe it," Belle mourned. "Old Nate could'a been shot dead a hundred times at the gaming tables. And look what happens...a stray bullet gets him!"
Frances suddenly realized she herself could be at fault. "Oh, dear!" She pressed her hand to her mouth. "I was the one who asked Nate to go for a walk. That's why we were in the middle of the street in Galisteo Junction!" The guilt nearly overwhelmed her! Her knees went weak.
But Louisa was quick to intervene. She grabbed Frances's arm and held her up. "That's not true! A stray bullet can get you anywhere.
"
Belle also had her say-so as she grasped Frances's other arm. "Now you listen here, Frances." She shook her finger. "Don't you be swallowin' guilt, now. That's the way a person makes herself think she has some kinda control of the world. But she usually don't. Never forget that!"
Frances managed to nod. She was feeling odd at being lectured. But the woman meant well. Belle and Louisa took charge of the situation, finding everyone's baggage and having it loaded onto Belle's regal-looking carriage by a brown-skinned driver. Belle also checked on the whereabouts of Nate's body, learning that Chaco Jones had already arranged for the undertaker to cart it away.
"The funeral'll be tomorrow," Belle informed the other two as they all climbed into the carriage. She glanced at the big fancy new trunk Nate had picked out for Frances in Chicago. "You got quite a load there."
"Uncle Nate bought her a trousseau," explained Louisa.
Belle raised her brows.
"She was my teacher at Miss Llewellyn's School, Ma," Louisa went on. "The one I wrote you about. She was dismissed after I got into the fight with that other girl."
Belle gazed at Frances so closely, she felt uncomfortable. "A schoolmarm, huh? No wonder you're so proper-looking."
"She stood up for me, Ma."
"So you got courage," Belle said.
"I've always hoped so." Though Frances wasn't sure she would have been brave enough to defend Louisa if she'd guessed it might get her dismissed. But she wanted to make a more important admission. "I believe Nate may have married me because he knew I had no way to earn money and nowhere to go."
"Hmm." Belle sighed and shook her head. "More to it than that. I don't believe Nate would up and marry you for the hell of it, no matter how sorry he felt for you."
Louisa added, "He really liked her."
Belle smiled. "Loved her, you mean. The old fool finally fell head over heels."
Which Frances had to admit made her feel a tad better, even in her awful state. And even with the swearing. Belle Janks was definitely a rough-speaking woman.
For a while, the carriage remained silent as the driver took the matched set of trotting grays along winding, narrow streets, mostly lined with high adobe walls. Trees and open spaces finally began to appear as they neared what seemed to be the edge of the town.
"I'm gonna leave Louisa at my house," Belle told Frances. "Then we'll go on to the Blue Sky Palace."
Frances noticed that Louisa suddenly sat up straighter. The girl seemed nervous. "Um, Ma? Uncle Nate didn't tell her about the casino, you know."
Belle frowned. "What?"
"He didn't even tell her he was a gambler. She learned about that from me on the train ride up here."
Mother and daughter exchanged what appeared to be meaningful looks, though Frances wasn't at all sure what that meaning was.
The carriage came down a hill toward a neat little house built partially of weathered logs and partially of adobe. Tall trees. the kind Nate had pointed out as cottonwoods, grew in the yard in back, which was surrounded by adobe walls. A large fenced-in meadow adjoined the place and a couple of horses grazed on the sparse grass.
"Home!" Louisa sighed happily.
"Tell Elena to get you some supper," Belle ordered her daughter. "I'll be comin' back later."
The driver unloaded Louisa's luggage and with a last hug for her mother and Frances, the girl disappeared inside. Then the carriage turned and headed back for the main part of town.
Once underway, Belle turned to Frances. "I guess it's up to me to explain things." She took a deep breath. "Damn that Nate. Always giving me the dirty work."
Frances immediately became uneasy. "What else is there to explain?"
"You seem to be a well-bred lady. How do you feel about living above a casino?"
"Louisa said gambling was an acceptable form of entertainment out here."
"Well, that's true." Belle tapped her fingers on the edge of the carriage. "Even when La Tules opened a casino twenty-five years ago, she was accepted by local society."
Frances relaxed a little. But she noticed that Belle kept tapping her fingers.
"The only thing is, the Blue Sky ain't just a casino. We also have ladies there who...well, they entertain lonely gentlemen."
"Gentlemen?" Frances felt confused for a moment, turning Belle's statement over in her mind. Ladies who entertained? Surely Belle didn't mean what she feared. "You're not referring to a – " She couldn't quite bring herself to say the word.
Belle put in hurriedly, "I call it the Blue Sky Gentlemen's Club." She insisted, "But I run an honest, clean place. Nothing to be ashamed of."
Frances's heart thudded against her ribs. Belle did mean what she had feared. "Ashamed?" Her voice rose and quavered. "You are telling me not to be ashamed of a house of ill repute? That's what a gentlemen's club is, isn't it? A brothel?"
"Afraid so, Frances. And you own half."
A brothel! She fell back against the seat, her heart pounding so hard, she felt the stays of her corset pressing in.
"You all right? You look peaked."
Hardly able to catch her breath, Frances didn't answer.
"Damnation, you're turning purple," said Belle, concerned. She whipped out a fan from somewhere, a gray silk one with bright painted flowers. "Your lacing must be too tight. Now don't faint on me. It ain't the end of the world."
The moving air from the fan cooled Frances's heated skin. She took several careful breaths, before blurting, "I'm the daughter of a minister!" Though she'd never dreamed she would be proclaiming her father's occupation so stridently and to a madam, of all people.
Now it was Belle's turn to act shocked. She dropped the fan. "Nate married a minister's daughter? I can't believe it!"
Frances didn't intend to explain her estrangement from her family. Still catching her breath, she simply said, "I can't stay in a brothel!" Not if she ever had any hope of obtaining decent employment again.
"You can't?" Belle raised her brows. "Well, the only thing is, I don't know where else you can stay, honey."
Frances glanced about desperately, the continuous flat-faced adobe walls seeming to close in. "Surely there are boarding houses in this city."
"Not where a woman on her own would be safe, especially a tenderfoot like you." Belle glanced back at the trunk and bags. "Besides, you'd have to have enough money to pay for the lodging. Looks like Nate spent all he had on you."
All he had? "But he was the owner of a business."
"Uh, huh. Though I can't afford to buy you out, at least not now. Schooling for Louisa has been very expensive."
"But I have his moneybelt and a wallet. There must be something left in them."
"I hope there's some of that three-hundred dollars he borrowed from me before he went on the trip." Belle explained, "Nate got cleaned out at the tables a few weeks ago and hadn't recouped." She shrugged. "Sometimes he was loaded and sometimes he was broke. You know how gamblers can be."
"No, I don't."
The other woman gazed at her. "I guess you wouldn't." She shook her head sadly, then turned away, face toward the street. "What on earth was Nate thinking of?"
Frances wondered that as well, though there would be no asking him now. Drawing herself together, attempting to be practical, she reached over the seat for her smaller bag. Opening it, she took out the moneybelt and wallet and went through them.
"Not even enough to buy a return ticket to Boston! What am I to do?" The same question she'd asked herself the day Nate had proposed. She told Belle, "I would gladly sell you my entire half of the Blue Sky Palace for a ticket, plus the three-hundred Nate owed you, of course."
Belle smiled sadly. "I wouldn't let you settle for so little. No matter what you think about my profession, I'm honest. But I simply don't have much capital at the moment and we have a slew of outstanding bills."
We. Frances had a difficult time thinking of herself as a brothel and casino owner.
"You don't know anyone in Santa Fe, do you?" Belle
went on, musing. "Your pa and ma must still be back east. So, who's to care where you live?"
Frances supposed that was right.
"I don't see why you can't stay in Nate's quarters and work for a while. Unless business falls off completely, you should be able to go back home in a couple of months."
Work? Frances's eyes widened.
"You should be comfortable enough. Nate bought some new rugs and curtains a few months ago. Both of the rooms are large and the four-poster has a real featherbed."
On which Frances would be expected to earn her money? Her heart raced. "I simply can't!"
"Stay where Nate used to live? Don't worry, I'll sort through his belongings, if you want. Save you some pain."
"No, I mean I can't..." Again, she struggled with the words. "I can't entertain gentlemen!"
Belle stared, her expression rapidly changing from concerned to puzzled, then to amused. "You thought that's the kinda work I was talking about?" The redhead threw back her head and laughed. But she hurriedly assured Frances, "I meant you'd do Nate's job. The bookwork and supply ordering, overseeing the casino. Think you can handle that?"
Frances wasn't certain at all. But the idea looked reasonably appealing, especially after fearing she'd have to do the unspeakable to earn money. She took a deep breath and hardened her jaw. "I will handle it."
"Course you will." Belle reached over to pat her hand. "We all gotta do what we must, that's the rule of existence. Welcome to Santa Fe."
So this is where the wind had brought her, Frances thought, plopped her down in a casino, in the midst of a pack of ladies of the evening. Perhaps even that would be safer than the wild desert land outside the town or the sudden gunfights that could erupt on its open streets.
Shivering as she thought of Chaco Jones yet again, of the cold-blooded way he'd shot Nate down, Frances stared out at the alien landscape from the safety of the carriage – red earth, bright blue sky, the seemingly endless vista of blank adobe walls.
The brown-skinned driver shook the reins and called out to the horses, "Vamos, caballos!"