Robinson wrote his first letter about Jonah and planned out his feature on Millard. Looking at his notes, he remembered the frequent moves, and out of curiosity, wrote to the editors of newspapers in the towns where Millard had operated, asking for information on his activities in those places.
On returning from his buggy ride, Jonah suggested that they spruce themselves up and went to visit Jenny and her girls. After three days of solitude with his notes and pen, Robinson was happy to agree to the charms of Jenny’s parlour house.
There were a couple of other customers there already when they arrived. A buzz of light conversation and laughter filled the air, the sound mingling with the smell of good food from the kitchen. With the lovely women, and the rich fabrics in their dresses and the furnishings, the whole experience was a pleasure for all the senses. Robinson felt more at home this time, greeting Jenny politely as they joined her in the parlour. All the same, he observed Jonah’s confidence with a degree of mild envy when his friend took both of Miss Jenny’s hands as he greeted her in turn.
‘I’m sorry we’ve no real news on finding the scum who attacked Miss Louise,’ Jonah apologised. He’d purposely avoided the subject during their buggy ride.
Jenny smiled. ‘It’s good of both of you to take the trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Jonah reassured her, releasing her hands. ‘You know I can’t resist a damsel in distress.’
‘Is that, can’t resist helping her, or can’t resist flirting with her?’ Jenny asked, making both men laugh.
‘Both,’ Jonah admitted honestly.
As he spoke, they heard the front door open, and Albert greeting another visitor in the hall. Jenny excused herself, and went to greet the new arrival.
‘Why hello, Jonah. I ain’t seen you in a long time.’ A pretty, blonde girl with a sweet, heart-shaped face approached them.
‘Why, Miss Maybelline, you’re looking swell,’ Jonah replied, smiling. He introduced Robinson, who bowed politely.
Maybelline smiled at the newspaperman. ‘I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I’ve been longing to talk to Jonah, here.’
‘I came here to do more than just talk,’ Jonah said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Go ahead,’ Robinson said, gesturing at the chairs around the room. ‘I rather wanted to see if Miss Sandy was available.’
Jonah wished him good luck, and let himself be towed toward a two-seater sofa by Maybelline. Robinson went the other way, back towards the hall to get to the other parlour. At the doorway, he came face to face with Millard.
‘Ah . . . er, good evening, yeah?’ Robinson greeted the owner of the stagecoach line. For once, he didn’t know what to say.
Miss Jenny joined them. ‘Charles is a valued guest here,’ she said, with a slight stiffness in her tone.
‘Of course,’ Robinson replied immediately. ‘I quite understand that everything that happens here in your house is behind closed doors. You have my word on that.’ He looked at Millard as he said the last part.
Millard relaxed, his face switching from thuggish to genial. ‘I know you must be thinking of my wife. She is most precious to me.’ He unconsciously touched the diamond tiepin he wore as he spoke. ‘But I like to spare her the burden of fulfilling my needs as a man. She has done her duty very well as a wife, and given me our four lovely daughters, but I don’t wish to trouble her for more than the ordinary amount of . . . affection, that a husband should share with his wife.’
Robinson nodded. ‘I can see that.’
Millard apparently took the neutral statement as approval, for he smiled and nodded, before moving past Robinson and into the parlour.
Jenny cast a glance after him and then back at Robinson. She spoke softly. ‘Don’t feel sorry for his wife; she knows perfectly well where he is. She’s quite happy for us to ”deal with his urges” but she keeps him on a tight leash. The girls say he’s polite and considerate with them, so it all works out rather well.’
She patted Robinson on the arm. ‘Go and enjoy yourself.’
Robinson nodded and with Miss Sandy’s company, did indeed enjoy himself.
CHAPTER SIX
The house was quiet when Millard returned late that night. He shed his coat and hat quietly, anxious not to disturb his daughters, who were up in their bedrooms and hopefully asleep. The parlour was only lit by one lamp now, the warm light glittering on the jewelry his wife wore.
‘Good evening, Mary,’ Millard crossed to his wife’s chair.
She lowered her needles, the fine white lace she was knitting coiled in her lap.
‘Are you satisfied now?’ she enquired, looking at him steadily.
‘Only in the basest, physical sense, my love,’ he said honestly. ‘You know there’s no other woman could mean as much to me as my wife, the mother of my children, my darling Mary.’ He took a small box from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
Mary took out the gold bar brooch: it was etched with a delicate picture of mountains, and had a small garnet set at either end.
‘That’s charming,’ she said with a smile, and offered her cheek for a kiss.
Millard took the chance to rest his hand briefly on her shoulder as he bent for the kiss: Mary didn’t like being touched on the nights he’d been with prostitutes, but tonight she allowed the brief gesture. He sat opposite her and watched as she took up her knitting again.
‘Opal was correct when she said she’d never meet a suitable husband here,’ Mary said, her needles moving steadily as she talked. ‘She needs to be somewhere like Denver, where the big money is.’
‘I’ve only just got the business going here,’ Millard reminded her. ‘You know we can’t make the same kind of success around the big cities. We need to be out where the communications aren’t so good. It takes a particular set of circumstances to make money in the way I have been doing.’
‘The stage line is your business,’ Mary said. ‘But the family is mine. What’s the point in earning money if it’s not being used for the right things? The future of our family is what’s important. We have to give our daughters the best advantages we can. You don’t want them to end up like the women you were visiting this evening, do you?’
‘Of course not!’ Millard protested. He swallowed, horrified at the idea his wife had suggested. ‘But the business needs to be out here,’ he repeated.
‘I’ll write my youngest sister,’ Mary said after a few moments. ‘She can come out and keep house for you while I escort Opal for a month’s visit to Denver.’
‘A month without you?’ Millard queried.
Mary nodded firmly. ‘At least. It’ll take time to get invitations from the right people, and then she can stay with acquaintances at intervals while she’s courting. She’ll need new clothes when we get to Denver and see what’s in style, and we’ll have to stay at a decent hotel.’
‘You know best, my dear,’ Millard said. ‘But it’s going to be expensive.’
‘Once Opal is married, you won’t need to keep her,’ Mary pointed out. ‘You want to walk your daughter down the aisle, don’t you?’ she added with a gentle smile.
Millard nodded, thinking how handsome Opal would look on her wedding day.
‘And once Opal has connections in the right places, it will be simpler and cheaper for the others to find husbands,’ Mary added practically.
‘You’re right,’ Millard said again, and leaned back in his armchair to daydream about his daughters in white lace and diamonds, while his wife continued to knit lace.
The next morning, Robinson stayed in his hotel room, working on his first letter about Millard for the New-York Tribune. He worked at his dressing table, his brush, hair-oil and other sundries pushed aside to make space for his writing slope and the blotting paper and ink set ready to hand. By the late morning, the letter was done and ready in its envelope, and he’d roughed out his next correspondence to the Rhode Island Chronicle as well. Putting his rather blunt pencil neatly back in its slot at the top of the leather-fron
ted slope, Robinson wriggled his fingers and stretched mightily, till the joints in his back popped.
A glance at the window showed him that the earlier cloud had cleared away and it was a bright, fall day outside. Robinson stood, grabbed his jacket and the letter, and paused for a quick glance in the mirror. Remembering Jonah’s groomed appearance, he applied a little more hair oil and attempted to brush his curls into something neater. Not entirely satisfied with the result, he put his hat on, put the letter in his pocket and headed outside.
At the post office, Robinson posted his letter and was pleased to find one waiting for him from the editor, with a cheque enclosed for previous work, as well as replies from two of the editors he’d written to about Millard’s earlier businesses. Whistling cheerfully, he crossed Panhandle Street and walked down to the bank at the other end. He just reached it when the door opened and Miss Sandy stepped out. He didn’t recognize her for a moment, as she was respectably dressed, with full skirts and a matching blue jacket over her white blouse, and her dark-blonde hair covered with a jaunty straw hat.
‘Good morning.’ She greeted him cheerfully with a bright smile.
Robinson returned the greeting as he raised his hat to her, a gesture that made her smile widen further in delight. ‘It’s a splendid day, yeah?’ he added.
Sandy nodded. ‘I was planning to go for a short ride to enjoy the fresh air. It would be more fun to have company, if you’re free – unless you have business here?’ she added, indicating the bank.
‘Nothing that can’t wait until this afternoon,’ Robinson said impulsively. He didn’t do much riding, but Sandy was good company and he’d been in town for a few days now without seeing anywhere new. Robinson was always most curious about other people, their lives and motivations, and he was intrigued by the women at Jenny’s place. He turned and began walking back up the street with Sandy by his side.
‘Jonah told me that you all have banking accounts,’ he remarked.
‘Jenny insists,’ Sandy told him. ‘She doesn’t tell us how much to save, or how often, but most of us put something aside each week. It’s not a job you can earn at for many years, not good money, anyway,’ she added, in a more serious tone than Robinson had previously heard from her. ‘I don’t want to end up like those women in the cribs,’ she said, referring to the rough shacks on the outskirts of town that the cheapest whores lived and worked from. ‘Most of them drink or take laudanum to get through; they need it to help, and it doesn’t, really.’
‘What about playing in the music-halls?’ Robinson asked. ‘Jonah says you’re good enough to sing on stage, yeah?’
Sandy’s face lit up again. ‘I do love music,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t care for moving from place to place so often and living out of cheap hotels.’
They continued talking as they returned to the parlour house and the stables there. Sandy had distinct opinions on how she valued her independence and on the double standards applied to women. Talk on women’s suffrage occupied Robinson’s attention as they left town and rode south along the valley. The conversation was so engrossing that Robinson barely noticed when Sandy increased their pace to a jog, and found himself following her into a gentle lope. He wasn’t sorry though when Sandy slowed them back to walk after a while.
‘Shakes the liver up, doesn’t it, yeah?’ he said, slightly out of breath.
She nodded. ‘Let’s explore up here.’ Without waiting for an answer, Sandy turned her roan into a steep sided valley that led up to a wall of towering mountains just a few miles ahead.
Robinson pointed at the snowy peaks that glittered in the clear, bright air. ‘That’s the Continental Divide, yeah?’
‘I think so.’ Sandy laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t want to climb up there. I’m more interested in what might be along here.’ She turned her attention to the forested slopes either side at the mouth of the gulch.
‘What are you looking for? A bird?’
Sandy halted her horse and looked at him with a mix of mischief and defiance that immediately intrigued the newspaperman. ‘Jonah thinks that the bandits won’t go too far from the area they know, and that they’ll have a hideout someplace.’ She gestured to the thick trees. ‘I reckoned we should go have a look for them.’
‘Why here?’
‘Plenty of cover; it’s as good as anywhere to start looking.’
Robinson grinned. ‘All right.’ He started his horse forward but almost immediately pulled up again. ‘We’re looking for bandits, but we’re not armed, yeah?’
‘I was only going to scout for signs,’ Sandy reassured him. ‘I don’t aim to try arresting them; we can let Jonah take charge of that.’
Robinson nodded, and they started forward again.
This time there was little conversation as they rode. Instead, their attention was on their surroundings, particularly the trees to either side. First Sandy, and then Robinson spotted what seemed to be small paths, but both faded away into nothing. By this time, they had meandered nearly a mile up the gulch, and it was past noon.
‘We’re almost through the trees,’ Robinson said, looking at the steep, grassy slopes leading to the head of the gulch.
Sandy also turned her gaze further up the gulch, and looked disappointed. ‘There are other valleys to search.’ She sounded as determined as she had before.
‘Tomorrow, yeah?’ said Robinson, who was hungry and wanted to get back to Motherlode for some lunch. He was also conscious that he was riding Jenny’s personal mount, a rangy bay that was almost tall enough to suit him, and didn’t want to risk getting it injured.
Sandy just nodded, already turning her horse towards a gap in the trees. She rode in a little way, and bent over to look at the ground. She leaned a little closer, then sat up and beckoned to Robinson. ‘Hoofprints!’ she hissed.
Robinson immediately forgot his hunger as he joined her amongst the trees, careful to steer his mount away from the patch of ground that Sandy was looking at. Sure enough, there were two or three faint hoofmarks in the soil. He urged his horse on a few more steps, pointing out a squashed wintergreen plant that looked to have been trodden on. Together, they excitedly worked their way deeper into the trees, finding a faint trail.
‘Isn’t this fun?’ Sandy’s face was bright with life as she peered around.
Thinking about what they were doing, rather than simply doing it, made Robinson recall exactly why they had started following this trail. He halted his horse abruptly.
‘Hadn’t we better be more cautious, yeah? If the bandits are further along this trail, we don’t want to come across them precipitately.’
‘My,’ exclaimed Sandy. ‘You sure know some swell words.’ Her mischievous smile took the sting from her joke. She kicked her feet from her stirrups. ‘We’d better go on on foot.’
Dismounting, they led their horses as they went carefully on. Just a couple of minutes later, they saw a brighter area among the trees ahead.
‘It’s a clearing; let’s take a closer look,’ Sandy whispered.
Hitching the horses to trees, they advanced slowly, keeping to the denser undergrowth where possible. Sure enough, there was a clearing with a small shack and a stable partially visible behind it. Both looked as though they’d been through a couple of hard winters, the tar paper that covered the outsides being torn in several places. The shack door was crudely made from weathered planks, and the small window was half dirty glass, half thin hide.
‘Look, smoke,’ Sandy pointed to the tinpot chimney. ‘If someone’s inside, we might be able to hear what they’re saying. Wait here.’ With a quick grin, she slipped away before Robinson could stop her.
Crouching behind a bristly currant bush, Robinson held his breath as Miss Sandy ran lightly across the grass. She approached the nearer end of the shack, where she couldn’t be seen from inside, and pressed herself against the wall to listen. After a few moments, she grinned and nodded at Robinson, then began to walk cautiously around to the front. Robinson had to figh
t down the urge to call out to her, to tell her to come back. Sandy crept along to the door, placing her feet carefully, and slowly bent towards it to listen at the crack. After just a moment, she jerked back quickly, and Robinson gasped at the sudden movement. The door was flung wide open as an untidily-dressed man came out to fling a dishpan of dirty water across the grass. Sandy turned in an instant and began sprinting back to the safety of the trees. Robinson bobbed about, unsure whether to leave cover and try to help.
‘What, hey!’ The man dropped the dishpan and sprinted after Sandy, catching her in a couple of strides. Grabbing her arm, he whirled her round. Sandy immediately boxed his ear.
‘Unhand me at once!’ she yelled imperiously.
‘Hell, no.’ The man grinned as he seized her free arm and pinned them together.
Just as Robinson decided he must do something, two more men spilled out of the shack.
‘Look what I found!’ the first man crowed, turning so they could see Sandy, struggling in his grip.
The two men bounded across; one whistled in appreciation.
‘Say, that’s one purty piece you got there, Chip. Are there any more like you round here?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Sandy replied firmly. Not once did she glance towards Robinson’s position. ‘I came out here on my own to get away from the other girls for a while.’
‘Other girls?’ the one holding Sandy said. ‘She’s gotta be a saloon girl or a whore; there ain’t nowhere else you find a bunch of women cooped up together.’
‘Them smart clothes means she a good one, too.’ A man with thinning, red hair reached out to pat Sandy’s bosom.
‘You might not fancy company but we ain’t had no company for a whiles,’ the first man said, breathing into Sandy’s ear. ‘Especially not nothing so purty as you. You’re coming in to spend some time with us.’
‘After you came all this way out of town and right to our place, it’d be downright rude not to invite you-all in, now wouldn’t it?’ the red-haired one said. He flourished an elaborate bow and gestured to the door. ‘After you, miss.’
Sins of Motherlode Page 5