Silver City

by Jeff Guinn

  7

  Gabrielle Tirrito prided herself on clarity of mind. Throughout her twenty-four years, decisions came easily. She was not coldly calculating, weighing options with a view to always choose those to her own best advantage. Rather, she trusted her instincts. Only once had they utterly failed her, in St. Louis, when she’d allowed her heart to be stolen by a glib, ambitious young man named Cash McLendon. Though McLendon served an unscrupulous businessman named Rupert Douglass, Gabrielle sensed an inner decency in him, a yearning to move beyond his questionable employment and live decently. In time her feelings for McLendon deepened from skeptical affection to love. She taught her unschooled beau to read; drew him into a warm family circle that included her widowed father, uncles, aunts, and cousins; and encouraged him to adopt a more generous attitude toward others. Gabrielle and her father, Salvatore, ran a small dry-goods store. She suggested that McLendon consider the life of an honest shopkeeper, and felt he was receptive. Marriage and long, happy lives together seemed inevitable. Then one day she read in her morning paper that Mr. Cash McLendon was betrothed to Miss Ellen Douglass, daughter of the well-known business magnate. Their wedding was planned in three months. He never contacted her to explain and Gabrielle concluded, correctly, that McLendon chose money over love. Her immediate reaction was to wonder what she would do if, somehow, she ever passed McLendon and his wife on a St. Louis street. Should she leave town to avoid that horrific possibility? At least initially, her pride would not allow it.

  Besides feeling deeply hurt and humiliated, Gabrielle also found herself overwhelmed by shame. During their courtship, she and McLendon had what she privately termed “relations.” He pressed, and she found it increasingly difficult to deny him. As a devout Catholic, Gabrielle was forbidden by her faith to have sex outside of marriage. But she eventually reasoned that she and McLendon would soon be married anyway, so in a certain sense relations might be morally permissible. She never mentioned any of this to Father Daniel, her priest, during confession; she kept sex a sweet secret among herself, Cash McLendon, and an understanding God. But after her lover’s betrayal, seeking consolation, Gabrielle went to the priest and confessed everything. She hoped for some compassion. But Father Daniel responded angrily. He completely ignored her emotional pain and made no reference to McLendon’s unconscionable treatment of her. Instead, he told Gabrielle that she was a base sinner whose whoring had turned the Lord’s face from her. No amount of Hail Marys could cleanse her. Father Daniel recommended that Gabrielle seek out a convent and take the veil, after which she should spend the remainder of her life repenting and praying for God’s forgiveness. That might spare her from damnation, though the priest had his doubts.

  “But if you don’t do this, you’ll no longer be welcome in my church,” Father Daniel said emphatically. “Harlots are abominations in the eyes of the Lord.”

  Gabrielle stood straight and said, “I was a fool, not a harlot. And you need not fear that I’ll ever enter your church again.” Having lost first her man and now her church, she went home and told her father that they must leave St. Louis as soon as possible. He loved her enough to agree without any argument. Within a month they’d sold off the stock in their small dry-goods shop and used the limited proceeds to move west. They knew nothing of the frontier other than it was supposed to be a place where hardworking men and women could succeed free of the social and economic strictures that framed the more civilized sections of America. In Tucson they met people intending to build a town in a region reportedly flush with silver. The Tirritos joined in founding Glorious, a tiny settlement with big dreams. Soon there arrived a slender, quiet man named Joe Saint, a former schoolteacher from Philadelphia. After his wife and infant daughter died of a sudden illness, he drifted west and, like Gabrielle, nursed a broken heart. After Saint was named sheriff of Glorious—because of his decency rather than even the remotest ability as a gunman—he and Gabrielle began spending time together. Saint was caring, thoughtful, and, above all, loyal—Gabrielle considered him the antithesis of McLendon. Once again, marriage seemed imminent, though this time she was determined to abstain from relations until after the ceremony. She also discovered that she retained her Catholic faith—Father Daniel had failed her, not the church. Then, just as she’d made her peace with the past, Cash McLendon appeared in Glorious. His wife had died a tragic suicide, and he was on the run—his powerful father-in-law blamed him for his daughter’s death. Rupert Douglass assigned Patrick Brautigan to find and bring McLendon back to St. Louis to die in his own turn. So far, McLendon had eluded his pursuer.

  In Glorious, McLendon told Gabrielle he’d realized his mistake. He swore that he was a changed man who still loved her; he asked her to go to California with him. When she demurred, he stayed in town. Gradually, grudgingly, she began to think McLendon might really have changed for the better. To her surprise, she found herself considering taking McLendon back, but the temptation was countered by her new commitment to Joe Saint and memories of what happened in St. Louis. She was determined never to be a fool again. Then, on a terrible, violent, night, Brautigan came to Glorious. Only Joe Saint’s quick thinking prevented Brautigan from capturing McLendon and taking him back East to his death. McLendon fled again, Gabrielle had no idea where. When prospectors found silver on the other side of the mountains from Glorious, the little settlement died and the new boomtown of Mountain View sprang up. Both the Tirritos and Saint moved there. With her father now too ill to work, Gabrielle joined the staff at the White Horse Hotel. Saint became the town schoolteacher. With his rival gone, he assumed that he and Gabrielle would now marry and she did not disagree, but somehow Gabrielle could not take that final step. Then, a year later, McLendon sent a letter from Dodge City, Kansas, saying he’d learned she and Saint had not yet married and begging her again to choose him instead. Gabrielle determined to make a choice once and for all. She invited McLendon to come to Mountain View, emphasizing that she promised nothing beyond hearing what he had to say in person. Saint was understandably unhappy when she informed him.

  “Haven’t I proven myself to you?” he asked.

  “You have. This in no way reflects upon you.”

  “McLendon’s a lying poltroon. You know it.”

  “Don’t blame him for this. Blame me.”

  When McLendon arrived, Gabrielle was unsettled by her own joyful reaction at the sight of him. This time he came to her not as a fugitive, but as a hero of a great Indian battle in Texas. His modesty regarding his part in that fight impressed her most. The old Cash McLendon would have preened and exaggerated his exploits in hopes of benefiting himself further. In Mountain View, he modestly explained his limited role and accepted compliments with a grace she’d never seen him previously display. He appreciated her concern regarding Joe Saint’s feelings, and accepted the very limited physical contact she allowed. McLendon was even respectful of her need for time to decide. Gabrielle’s heart and head were soon in conflict. She knew what she wanted to do, and also the reasons why she shouldn’t.

  She had made two close female friends in Mountain View, and asked their advice. Rebecca Moore, who operated a laundry, urged her to act decisively as soon as she could: “Anything else would be unfair to all three of you.” Marie Silva, who did bookkeeping for the White Horse and another hotel, urged the opposite. “Take your time, all you need and more. This affects the rest of your life. Besides, the longer you delay, the more anxious they’ll both be to win you. Make them sweat awhile.” When Gabrielle said, “That would be cruel,” Marie replied, “It’s what men deserve.” Gabrielle decided Marie must have suffered her own traumatic mistreatment by a man sometime in life.

  Dinner with the Hancocks tipped the balance. Gabrielle carefully observed McLendon’s behavior toward rich, influential Orville Hancock. He was respectful of the older man, but never obsequious. After McLendon turned down permanent employment in Mountain View, Hancock offered to help him find a suitable job in California. Th
at meant he had discerned quality and potential in McLendon, and Hancock was a pragmatic businessman who surely would not waste a recommendation on anyone insufficient. Too, Pauline Hancock’s suggestion that Gabrielle assume the post of town librarian was thrilling—it indicated that, should she go to California with McLendon, Gabrielle might also have possibilities for fulfilling work. Surely there were libraries there.

  As they walked back to the White Horse after taking their leave of the Hancocks, Gabrielle was certain, though she stopped short of telling McLendon so. First, she felt, it was necessary to break the news to Joe Saint, and to do all she could to make him understand how her regard for him remained undiminished. Besides her father, Gabrielle considered Saint to be the finest man she’d ever known. He deserved a wife who loved him unconditionally, and that would not, could not, be her. Life with Joe Saint would be secure and—she couldn’t help thinking—somewhat dull. Frontier routine and blowing dust were things Gabrielle had learned to endure, but the lure of a major city with libraries and symphonies and public gardens was far more attractive. And frankly, so, too, was Cash McLendon. After all he’d done wrong, after all the pain he’d caused her, she still felt better, more alive, when she was with him.

  A few nights later, Joe Saint cooked Gabrielle supper in the small house he rented on the edge of town. One of his students had brought him a ham hock that day—parents sometimes indicated their appreciation of his teaching by sending along such tokens. Saint roasted it with carrots and wild celery, and served the food with glasses of red wine from an inexpensive bottle he’d bought at the Scarcellos’ general store. His crockery was battered, and the dining table where they sat listed slightly to the side. Even a schoolteacher should have afforded better, but Saint spent much of his salary on paper and pens that many of his students could not afford, and also on clothes and shoes for some of the very poorest children. Not every Mountain View family was prosperous.

  They both picked at the meal. Saint never ate much, and because of what she was about to tell him, Gabrielle had no appetite. As they pushed the food around on their plates, they chatted awkwardly about inconsequential things. Tension mounted until Saint finally said, “All right. I know what you’re going to say.”

  Gabrielle felt a lurching sensation in her chest and struggled to think of the right words. All she could manage was “I’m sorry.”

  Saint gulped down his glass of wine and poured another, slopping some on the table. “Well, thank you for that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.”

  They sat silently for a while. Then Saint said, “What I can’t understand is, you’re an intelligent woman. You remember what he did to you before. People don’t change that much. Why can’t you see it?”

  “I know this isn’t fair.”

  Saint set his glass carefully on the table. The knuckles of the hand gripping the glass were white and Gabrielle realized that it took all of Joe’s self-control not to slam it down. “I’m not concerned about what’s fair. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you.”

  Gabrielle reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’ll be all right. Will you?”

  “I should have let that big man have him back in Glorious,” Saint said, more to himself than to Gabrielle. “If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have found some way to bring that bastard McLendon down.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” Gabrielle said. “You’re too good a person for that.”

  “I’d do anything to keep you safe.” Saint took several deep breaths. “You can’t be talked out of this?” he asked.

  “No,” Gabrielle said. “I’m determined.”

  “All right,” Saint said. “Then let’s finish our dinner.” For the next half hour he told stories about his students, mostly funny tales about amusing misbehavior. Then, after the table was cleared, Saint told Gabrielle that he was sure she had things to do. He kissed her on the cheek and opened the door.

  “Joe, I don’t want things to end badly between us,” Gabrielle said. “I need to assure you of how grateful I am—”

  “Not now,” Saint said, struggling to maintain his composure. “Good night, Gabrielle.”

  She stepped into the street and heard the door close firmly behind her, just short of a slam. Gabrielle stood there for a long moment, then walked back to the White Horse. Because of the location of Saint’s house, it took some time. The route involved smaller backstreets. When Gabrielle reached the hotel, she nodded to the night clerk at the lobby desk and walked upstairs to the room McLendon shared with Major Mulkins. Gabrielle rapped on the door and the Major opened it. His collar was undone and he had an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. Gabrielle looked past him to where McLendon sat on a chair reading the latest edition of The Mountain View Herald.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said to McLendon. “Now, if you please.”

  McLendon followed her downstairs. The lobby was mostly empty; they took chairs in the farthest corner.

  “All right,” Gabrielle said firmly. “There are things to discuss. I require complete candor. Is that understood?”

  “Of course,” McLendon said. “Are you upset? What’s wrong?”

  “Just be honest. First, there’s my father. He’s ill and will require ongoing attention and care. But I go nowhere without him. He is my responsibility and will be yours too. Are we agreed?”

  “So you’re finally saying it?” McLendon asked eagerly. “You’ve decided?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “Of course I agree. Your father comes with us, and we’ll both care for him.”

  “He still dislikes you for your actions in St. Louis,” Gabrielle warned. “He’s likely to treat you in an unpleasant manner.”

  “I don’t blame him. I think with time I can win him over.”

  “We’ll see. Now, as to our personal arrangement. There must be a wedding. I’ll not be a mistress.”

  McLendon couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll marry you right here and now.”

  “No, that would hurt and humiliate Joe. We can have some simple ceremony in California. But there must be one.”

  “There will.” McLendon reached for her, but Gabrielle pulled away.

  “And there will be no . . . relations, until after marriage,” she said. “I won’t compromise on this.”

  “I accept that,” McLendon said, though he looked disappointed.

  Gabrielle pondered a moment. “Regarding St. Louis.”

  “What of it?”

  “Your former father-in-law, and the man he sent to pursue you. Are you satisfied it’s no longer of concern?”

  McLendon shrugged. “That’s a difficult question.”

  “Respond as best you can.”

  “I’ll try. It’s been almost three years since Ellen died. I’ve seen and heard nothing of Patrick Brautigan, Killer Boots, since that night more than two years ago in Glorious. With the exception of the article in the Herald, I’ve done my best to lay low. In California it’s my intention to find gainful employment and provide well for us, including your father, but in some manner that doesn’t attract undue attention. It’s my belief we can live safely in anonymity. There’s no way to be entirely certain.” McLendon added defensively, “You asked for honesty. All I can say is, I wouldn’t knowingly place you or your father in danger.”

  “And there’s really been no trace of this man Brautigan? To your knowledge, nothing at all?”

  “Rupert Douglass must have all manner of urgent business concerns requiring Brautigan’s special sort of skill. It’s been a long time. At some point, he surely called him off my trail.”

  Gabrielle once again lost herself in thought. McLendon tried not to squirm as he waited.

  “All right,” she finally said. “There’s a last thing. I want us to leave as soon as we reasonably can. The longer we remain
here in Mountain View, the more Joe will suffer. We need to move along and let him get on with his own life. There’s money to save for the journey and resettling, I know, and so we’ll economize. All meals from now on at the staff table. If you want the occasional evening drink, limit yourself. We’ll remain discreet about our plans to discourage local gossip.”

  “Certainly we have some friends who should know.”

  “Only a very few.” Finally, Gabrielle smiled and said, “I must go upstairs to see to my father.” She held out her arms. “One kiss only. Oh, well, perhaps two.”

  8

  Given Ike’s penchant for exaggeration, Brautigan expected very little of Clantonville. But the settlement in the shallow Pueblo Viejo Valley wasn’t the eyesore he’d anticipated. Green crops grew in neat patches—Brautigan didn’t know enough about plants to recognize what they were, only that they seemed to be thriving. Some women and children worked in the gaps between the plant rows, squatting down to pull weeds. The town buildings, a dozen in all, were small but well built from split logs sealed tight with chinked clay. A few of the structures apparently served as barns and storage facilities. A corral held a dozen horses and several mules. Chickens clucked in a pen. Though small, it was an attractive community.

  “Told you,” Ike crowed. “Paradise on earth. It’s good to be home.” He and Brautigan rode up to what apparently was the main house, a somewhat wider structure than the others. “Hey, Billy,” Ike called, and a towheaded twelve-year-old appeared in the doorway. “Take our horses and mule, get them fed and watered. We’ve had a long, hot ride.” Ike got down from his horse; he and the boy hugged. “Billy, meet Mr. Brautigan,” Ike said.