Frisco seemed to be quite a melting pot. He had passed Mexicans, Chinese, Negroes, even a few Indians. He figured the Chinese were the largest contingent of immigrants. Someone, he couldn't remember who, had told him there were more than two thousand Chinese engaged in the laundry business. In some instances, by switching workers and signs, two firms used the same premises, working around the clock. The Chinese resided in Chinatown, a bustling, noisy section of town that was brightly decorated with calligraphy, fluttering ribbons, and shops crammed with exotic foods and Oriental paraphernalia. Chinatown housed a variety of stores, more than half a dozen pharmacies, a Chinese theater, and several restaurants, which were frequented by many non-Asian citizens.
Most of the black population lived west of Montgomery Street. They were employed as laborers, mechanics, waiters, porters, barbers, and businessmen. The black community had its own cultural organization, as well as its own newspaper, the Elevator, which came out weekly.
Then there was infamous Barbary Coast, a hellhole if ever there was one. Pity the poor fool who found himself wandering the streets near the waterfront, where anyone dumb enough to venture into its bawdy houses or gambling dens was considered fair game by the crimps who supplied crews to the ships. Few men who shipped out of the Barbary Coast went voluntarily. Most were plied with doped cigars or doctored gin and shanghaied.
San Francisco was a hell of a town. Women were in the minority, with young men making up the bulk of the population. In spite of their small numbers, the women had managed to make their presence known. Due to their influence, gambling on Sunday had been outlawed in 1855. But there were countless other diversions to be hadparades, dances, banquets, horse races, sing-alongs, concerts, the theater, cockfights, and bullfights were only a few of the ways the men found to entertain themselves.
Creed sipped his beer as he gazed around the room. If Rose was in town, she'd likely be working in one of the cribs, and while he didn't relish the thought of haunting every dive in the city, he knew it was the only way to find her. He just hoped she'd had enough sense to stay clear of the Barbary Coast, because, as much as he could use the money, he valued his hide at considerably more than four thousand dollars.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was almost suppertime when Creed got back to the boardinghouse. He washed up, using water he found in a pitcher on the commode, while Jassy dressed.
They were the last ones downstairs. He'd never felt comfortable in polite society, and now, as five pairs of eyes swung in his direction, he remembered why. Face impassive, he held Jassy's chair for her, then took the one next to her.
All conversation at the table had stopped at their arrival. Curiosity seemed to roll toward him like the waves that endlessly washed against the beach at Yerba Buena.
Annie Ross stood up and smiled at her boarders. "This is Mister and Missus Macklin," she said, by way of introduction. "Jassy, Creed, may I introduce you to Mabel Downing, Artemis Coleburn, Wyatt and Paul Robinson, and Patricia Spelling."
Conscious only of the speculation in the eyes of the three men and two women seated at the table, Creed hardly heard their names, although he recognized Paul Robinson as the man who had bought their horses.
When Annie Ross finished her introductions, she sat down and passed a platter of fried chicken to Creed. Gradually, conversation at the table returned to normal.
Jassy smiled and made polite chit-chat with the woman beside her. For his part, Creed kept silent. He'd never been good at small talk, and he saw no reason to indulge in it now. Listening to the conversation around him, he learned that the Robinson brothers owned the livery. The Downing woman was the schoolmarm, and unmarried, though he could have guessed that. Patricia Spelling owned a small millinery shop. Artemis Coleburn worked in the bank and was courting Patricia Spelling.
The meal was almost over when Wyatt Robinson asked the question Creed had known was bound to be asked sooner or later.
"Am I wrong, Mister Macklin, or do I detect some Indian blood in your ancestry?"
Creed took a deep breath. Laying his fork aside, he turned to face Wyatt Robinson. "My father was Sioux."
Wyatt grinned at his brother. "Pay up, Paul."
With a grunt, Paul Robinson dug a dollar out of his pocket and slapped it on the table. Then he turned to Creed and explained, I bet him you were Cheyenne."
"Sorry."
The conversation at the table picked up again, and Creed relaxed. Maybe he had misjudged these people.
After dinner, the two women boarders went into the front parlor, while the men went outside to smoke.
Jassy looked at Creed. "Do you want to join the men?"
"No, I think I'll go upstairs, but you go on and get acquainted with the ladies, if you want."
"Not tonight."
Hand in hand, they walked up the stairs to their room. Creed closed and locked the door, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he watched Jassy as she sat at the vanity table brushing out her hair and then, rising, he crossed the room and took the brush from her hand.
"Let me."
She smiled up at him, then closed her eyes as he began to brush her hair. It was oddly sensual, having him pull the brush through her hair.
"I'll have to look for a job tomorrow," he remarked.
"Where?"
"One of the saloons, most likely."
"Do you think Rose is here?"
"I don't know."
He laid the brush aside, then drew her back against him, his hands lightly kneading her shoulders. "How are you feeling, honey?"
"Fine." More than fine, she thought, basking in the touch of his hands.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head. Then he knelt behind her, his hands cupping her breasts. "Tired?"
"A little."
She heard his sigh of disappointment, felt him begin to draw away. "Not that tired."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
She turned to face him, lifting her face for his kiss, and as his mouth covered hers, she forgot about Rose and the money, forgot that they were strangers in a strange town. There was only Creed holding her, his hands unfastening the bodice of her gown, slipping under her chemise to caress her skin.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and let her hands slide over his shoulders and down his back, reveling in the muscles that flexed beneath her fingertips. Lifting the edge of his buckskin shirt, she explored the smooth expanse of skin under the soft cloth.
"Jassy . . ."
"Yes." She slid her tongue over his lower lip. "Yes."
With a soft cry, he swung her into his arms and carried her to bed. His hands were trembling with restraint as he removed her shoes and stockings, freed her of her dress and chemise.
"Beautiful," he whispered. Shedding his own clothes, he stretched out beside her. "So beautiful. Motherhood agrees with you."
"Does it?" Overcome with tenderness, she stroked his cheek, the curve of his jaw.
"Hmmm." Propping himself on one elbow, he rained kisses over her breasts and belly. As always, touching her stoked the fires of his own desire, but he kept it in check, afraid to go too fast for fear of hurting her or the child.
But then she began to touch him, to tease him unmercifully. "Jassy," he warned, his voice a low growl. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," she said. "You won't. . . ."
With a low groan, he rose over her, careful not to crush her as their bodies became one.
She drew him closer, wrapping him in her love, until he was a part of her, body and soul.
He held her in his arms long after she'd fallen asleep, one hand splayed over her stomach, marveling at her ability to conceive life, to carry it and nurture it. Marveling at her ability to love him wholly and completely.
With Jassy at his side, he felt that anything was possible.
By noon the following day, Creed had a job dealing in the Gold Strike Saloon from seven till midnight every night but Su
nday. Jassy tried not to let it show, but the thought of spending her nights alone in a strange town filled her with trepidation.
"I'm sorry, honey," Creed said. "It's the best I could do."
"It's all right," she said brightly.
Creed's expression was solemn as he cupped her chin in his hand. "No lies between us, Jassy. I know you don't want me working in a gambling hall. I know you don't like the idea of being alone at night, but . . ." He shrugged. "We need the money."
"I know." She rested her forehead on his chest.
"Jassy . . ."
Her head jerked up, and she glared into his eyes. "Don't you dare tell me I should have married someone else, Creed Maddigan, do you hear me?"
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I wasn't gonna say that, honest!"
Head tilted to one side, she continued to stare at him.
"I was just gonna ask if you'd like to go have some lunch. I got an advance on my salary."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Maddigan, I'd like that very much."
Their days fell into a routine after that. They slept late, then spent the afternoon and early evening together. Creed spent a part of each day prowling from one saloon to another, looking for Rose, but it was Jassy who found her sister.
They had been in San Francisco almost a month. Creed was making good money dealing at the saloon. On this particular day, he was sitting in for one of the dealers who worked days, and Jassy had decided to go shopping.
She was leaving Patricia's Millinery Shoppe when she saw Rose walking across the street. For a moment, Jassy could only stare, unable to believe that the woman she was looking at was her sister. Rose had always been beautiful, vivacious, careful of her appearance. But this woman looked haggard and careworn. Her eyes were dull and her skin pale. Her dress was faded and down at the hem.
Lifting her skirts, Jassy ran across the street. ''Rose! Rose, wait!"
With a sigh, the woman turned around. For a moment, she stared at Jassy, her expression blank.
"Rose, it's me. Jassy."
"Jassy?" Rose blinked at her several times. "Jassy?" Slowly, she shook her head. "Jassy, what are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. Rose, what happened?"
"Happened? Nothing."
Jassy glanced up and down the street; then taking Rose by the arm, she led her to a small restaurant. The proprietor started to object when he saw Rose, but Jassy stilled his objections with a few coins, then led Rose to a table in the back.
She ordered an enormous lunch for Rose and a glass of tea for herself. Only after Rose had eaten did Jassy question her sister again.
"Tell me, Rose, what happened after you left Harrison?"
Rose stared down into the dregs of her coffee cup. "Everything was fine at first. He bought me a new wardrobe, and we had rooms at the Palace. Ray said we'd get married, but he kept finding reasons to put it off. Then hehe started drinking and gambling. He lost every cent we had. We had to give up our rooms, and he sold all my clothes. . . ."
Rose clenched her hands in her lap. "He said he couldn't find a job. I don't know if it was true or not." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And then, one night, he brought a man home with him. He said the rent was due, and we were broke, and the only way we could earn any money was for me toto"
Rose glanced at Jassy. "He wanted me to whore for him. I've done it most of my life, but I never thought the man I loved, the man who was supposed to love me, would put me up for sale."
She lowered her eyes, too ashamed to face her sister any longer. I threatened to leave him and hehe hit me. He told me he'd kill me if I tried to leave him, that I was the best whore in San Francisco, and I was going to make him rich.
"And then II got sick."
"Sick?"
"You know," Rose said, not meeting her eyes. "Sick." In truth, she'd had an abortion. "Ray brought me something to help me feel better. I didn't know what it was."
"What was it?"
"Opium."
"Opium! Oh, Rose, how could you?"
"It did make me feel better," Rose said, her voice defiant. "It made me numb."
Jassy gazed at her sister. Somehow, the fact that Rose had stolen four thousand dollars no longer mattered. Rose was the only family she had left, and she needed help.
"You're coming home with me," Jassy said.
"No."
"Yes."
"I can't." "Why not?"
"Don't you understand? I don't want to leave him."
"Why not?"
"He gives me what I want. What I need. And I . . ."
"And you give him what he wants," Jassy remarked quietly.
"Don't look so shocked, Jassy. I've been doing it most of my life."
"Oh, Rose . . ." Tears of sympathy welled in Jassy's eyes. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." For the first time, Rose met her sister's gaze. "I'm sorry, Jassy," she murmured. "Sorry . . ."
"The money's not important."
"That's not what I meant."
"No? What then?"
Rose sat up straight in her chair and looked at Jassy as if seeing her for the first time. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you. I came here to find you."
"But how did you get here?" Rose frowned. Her gaze ran over Jassy and she blinked, then blinked again. "Jassy, you'reyou're pregnant!"
Jassy nodded. "Yes."
"Butbut how?"
"The usual way."
"Oh, Jassy."
"It's all right, Rose, I'm married."
"You are? To who?"
"Creed."
Rose stared at her sister, the initial excitement in her eyes changing to disdain. "Creed? Maddigan?"
Jassy nodded.
"You married that dirty, rotten half-breed?"
Jassy lifted her head and squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated by Rose's contempt. "I love him, Rose, and he loves me."
"You can't be happy with him!"
"But I am. He's a wonderful man, Rose, so kind, so good to me. . . ."
"He's a hired gun."
"Not anymore."
"Oh, Jassy, I'm sorry, so sorry." Tears welled in Rose's eyes and poured down her cheeks. "So sorry."
Jassy glanced over her shoulder. The other patrons were all staring at them.
"Rose, let's go. We can go to my room."
Rose shook her head. "They won't let me in the hotel."
"We're not staying at the hotel. We have a room at Annie Ross's boardinghouse."
Rose laughed bitterly. "You're crazy if you think old lady Ross would let me set one foot inside her house."
"Let me worry about that. Come on."
Jassy felt every eye in the place follow her as she paid for Rose's lunch, then left the restaurant.
Outside, the sun was warm. Taking Rose by the arm, Jassy led her sister down the sidewalk toward Annie Ross's house. Rose's arm was thintoo thin, Jassy thought, as if she didn't get enough to eat.
Annie Ross stepped onto the porch as they climbed the stairs, her arms folded over her ample breasts.
"Good afternoon, Annie," Jassy said, smiling.
"Good afternoon, Jassy," Annie Ross replied.
She remained in front of the door, her bulk blocking the entrance. "What is she doing here?"
"This is my sister, Rose."
"Sister!" Annie Ross exclaimed.
"Yes. She's the reason we came to San Francisco."
"But she's a wh."
Jassy stared at the older woman, daring her to say the word.
"I mean . . ." Annie Ross shook her head in defeat. "She can visit, but she can't stay the night."
"Thank you, Annie. Do you think you could fix us a pot of tea?"
Annie Ross glared at Rose, then smiled at Jassy. "I'll bring it up when it's ready."
"Thank you, Annie."
"You've developed some gumption since you left Harrison," Rose remarked as she followed Jassy up the stairs.
"A little," Jassy agreed. Opening the door, she pull
ed off her gloves and removed her hat. "Make yourself comfortable, Rose. The tea should be ready soon."
"Why are you being so nice to me, Jassy? I don't deserve it."
"You're my sister."
"I know, but . . . Never mind." Rose sat down on the chair at the foot of the bed. "How long have you been in Frisco?"
"Not long. It seems like a fascinating city what little I've seen of it."
"Yeah, fascinating," Rose muttered.
A few minutes later, Annie Ross knocked on the door. She stared balefully at Rose as she handed the tea tray to Jassy.
"Thank you, Annie," Jassy said.
Annie Ross harrumphed and closed the door.
Jassy put the tray on the dresser, poured two cups, added cream and sugar, and handed one of the delicate china cups to Rose. "Here. This will make you feel better."
"I doubt it," Rose said.
Jassy studied her sister as she sipped her tea. Rose had been a beautiful woman once. Now her hair was dull and lackluster, her skin was sallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
Rose stared into her teacup, embarrassed by her sister's scrutiny. How could she make Jassy understand what her life had been like these past months? She had gotten sick after the abortion. If Coulter hadn't given her money for a doctor, she would have died. It was Coulter who had given her a place to stay and opium to ease the pain in her body and dull the guilt that had assailed her when she regained consciousness after the operation to face the stark reality of what she had done.
"You look tired, Rose," Jassy remarked, taking the empty teacup from her sister's hand and setting it aside. "Why don't you get some sleep?"
"Sleep? Yes, I'd like that."
Jassy pulled back the covers on the bed, helped Rose out of her dress and shoes, and tucked her into bed. Moments later, Rose was asleep.
Rose was still sleeping soundly when it was time for Creed to get home from work. Jassy had convinced Annie Ross to let Rosie spend the night, then she had spent the afternoon sitting at the window, watching the traffic in the street below. Not long ago she had hated her sister, hated her for refusing to let her testify at Creed's trial, for hitting her, for stealing her money and papa's watch. But she couldn't hate Rose, not now. Now she felt only pity.
Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade Page 24