Evelyn must make a decision. If Lucius would not set boundaries, she would.
* * *
Three nights of dancing with Evelyn Brennan had left Lucius elated, so on the fourth night, when she sat idle by the fire, he thought she must be ill. In his mind, there was no other feasible excuse for her to decline a dance.
He was confident the opportunity would come again another night, but it did not.
The following evening, she disappeared into her tent and did not reemerge. The next, it rained, and there was no music at all. Then, when the band reassembled once more, she danced with Sadie and Whitmore, but declined Lucius’ offer and insisted he return to his violin.
“Come now, Mr. Flynn,” she replied with a condescending shake of her head. “You deprive all these other gentlemen of my company when you insist upon every dance. You should really learn to share.”
He almost would have preferred it if she had slapped him in the face.
From that evening on, Lucius’ violin became his only companion.
It was painful for Evelyn to listen to the way he burned the strings in the evenings that followed. She could almost see the smoke as he worked his bow back and forth so ferociously that his hand disappeared in a blur of motion. He no longer requested her company, no longer watched her as he played, no longer initiated the songs he knew she loved. Their delightful romps became pleasant memories, overshadowed by the cold separation she had wedged between them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The day was hot and the noise from camp was unbearable. Everyone was unhappy.
It had been three weeks since they left the Steam Rose.
Adele was inconsolable. She was having one of her more difficult days, for in the wake of her husband’s death, some were better than others. No matter how hard she tried to hide her distress, the others witnessed it with pitying eyes. The slightest things brought on torrents of tears; a new hole in Bartie’s trousers, a rock in her shoe, the sausages she burned at breakfast. By midday, she had disappeared within the tent, muffling her sobs in her handkerchief.
Bartholomew sensed his mother’s misery and empathized by being miserable himself. Josephine attempted to coddle and play with him, but he only pushed her away and threw his toys upon the ground, his lip pushed out in a defiant pout. He insisted on joining his mother in the tent, but Josephine knew Adele needed to be alone, so she restrained the child. This resulted in a tantrum of the nastiest sort.
Lucius sat upon a mat with his head in his hands. Today was one of those days when no amount of good intentions could prevent him from wanting a drink. He checked for Samuel, who was attempting to learn his letters with Evelyn, and decided he was safe to sneak away. He went to the playing field, where only a few children were kicking the ball, as the heat caused even the locals to retreat beneath sanctuaries of shade. The rain from the beginning of the week had brought in a swarm of flies, which only added to this spoiled day, and Lucius felt torpid anyway. When the sun went down, perhaps he would be compelled to rally some men and play, but the laziness of the afternoon only confirmed that now was a perfect time to get what he really wanted.
He had made up his mind. He was going to have a pint, immediately followed by another.
He meandered through the streets of the city until he came across a gambling house where a crowd had gathered. There must be a tournament, but he could not see through the bodies to the game table.
His idle hands itched to play, but he decided to order a drink first. Take one sin at a time. He was not entirely sure he wanted to slide all the way back to square one in a single hour, and perhaps a beer would make him feel well enough to leave without reviving all his old habits at once. He could watch the others while he drank, and in a short while, he would return to camp. Adele was having one hell of a day, and she might be persuaded to have a bit of entertainment. Perhaps a few rounds of poker, without placing a single bet, of course. She didn’t gamble any more than Lucius these days.
Oy. The things he had sacrificed.
Lucius sighed and drained his glass.
“Another,” he told the bartender.
After three rounds, he was feeling much better. He rose from his stool, his fourth pint secure in his hand, and worked his way through the standing spectators in order to get a proper view of the game table and its players. Perhaps he even knew one or two of them.
When they were in sight, he started.
From behind a thick veil of cigar smoke, Brock Donnigan grinned.
* * *
Their reading lesson was suffering. Samuel was having trouble concentrating, and Evelyn could not get her thoughts in order. Between Adele’s stifled whimpers and Bartholomew’s dramatized wailing, Evelyn was on the verge of screaming.
Samuel noted her quiet distress and offered a sympathetic smile.
“Perhaps we should call it a day, Miz Brennan,” he told her. “Neither of us is getting nowhere.”
Evelyn sighed.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I should have liked to make more progress by now, but with all this ruckus, I fear it is impossible.”
Samuel offered to continue his studies alone if Evelyn wished to take a break.
It was a lovely idea, but she did not just want a break. She needed a holiday. Solitude. She needed an escape without a single familiar face or reminder of her current location and predicament. She wanted out of Panama completely. She knew that was not possible, but she had to find some sort of distraction.
“I think I shall take a walk,” she told Samuel.
From where she sat with Bartholomew, this statement caught Josephine’s attention. She looked to Evelyn, then Samuel, with wide eyes.
Samuel looked around for Lucius, but the other man was nowhere in sight, and no one had seen him slip away. There was no way of knowing where he had gone or how long he planned to be there.
Samuel would have to remain in camp with the others, which left no one to accompany Evelyn.
He did not like this idea.
“I don’t know if that would be the best thing, ma’am.”
Evelyn waved him away.
“Nonsense,” she said. “I know this place well enough now, and the men know me. I shan’t go far, and I shan’t take much money.”
“Excuse me, Miz Brennan, but it’s not your money most men will want. It ain’t safe for you to be alone.”
But Evelyn was already dusting off her skirts and smoothing her hair. She had never liked being told what to do, and she was determined to leave. Samuel’s arguments were just silly. They had been in this city for weeks and nothing bad had happened, and she was confident nothing would.
“Everyone here is aware that I am not alone,” she argued. “Even if they do not see you, they will know that you and Lucius look out for me. They will not tempt your wrath with foolishness.”
Samuel looked uneasy.
“I still don’t care for the notion, Miz Brennan.”
But Evelyn was already walking away.
“Then tell Lucius to come find me once he returns. He shan’t be gone long. He never is.”
“But Miz Brennan, where am I to tell him to look?”
“I shall keep to the main roads, and be in and out of shops. You must not worry so, Mr. Davies. I shall not wander far, and I will not go anywhere we haven’t all been before.”
Josephine’s heart raced as she listened to the exchange between Samuel and Evelyn. What was Evelyn thinking? She could not go into town on her own! Josephine must go with her. In a place like this, where men lived without justice, there were far too many dangers that prowled upon a lone woman.
Josephine jumped to her feet, lifted Bartie in her arms, and ran to Evelyn. She grabbed her hand and when Evelyn met her gaze, Josephine shook her head insistently.
Evelyn saw the desperation in Josephine’s eyes and for a moment, she was tempted to invite the girl along. But the girl came with the boy, and the boy was the main reason Evelyn needed to get away. His tantrums grated upon h
er nerves and one more fit would be more than she could bear. If Evelyn did not have some time alone, she knew she would go mad. Josephine could not come with her, so she clicked her tongue in sympathy. Perhaps when she returned, she would feel refreshed enough to take the boy from his nurse and send Josephine to the football field, where she could play with the other children, and Evelyn and Samuel could keep an eye on her from a distance. It would all work out, surely. If only she could disappear for a while.
“Don’t be silly, Josephine,” she told the girl, adopting a light tone of voice. She did not want to hurt anyone’s feelings. “Let me go. I will be all right, and I’ll return before you know it.”
Josephine’s hold tightened, but Evelyn patted her hand, then pried it loose.
“I need to be alone, Josephine,” she insisted. “Please, dearest. Remain here with the others. When I return, you may have a break yourself. Shouldn’t you like to play with the other children a while? I’ll see to it that you do, but you must let me go now.”
Evelyn broke away, leaving a disconcerted Josephine, an oblivious Bartholomew, and a concerned Samuel to watch after her as she disappeared behind a shroud of white canvas.
* * *
“Lucius Flynn,” Brock Donnigan babbled through the edge of his mouth, his lips wrapped around his cigar. “I wondered when you’d show.”
Lucius cocked his head to one side as all the eyes in the room turned on him. The crowd seemed to disappear as the men stared across the table at one another. Just the sight of Brock set Lucius on edge. The man had an uncanny ability to evoke the most violent emotions, and Lucius was forced to conjure great self-control in order to refrain from leaping for Brock’s throat.
“I haven’t quite had the time to play as of late,” he replied, surprising himself by the ease with which he spoke. “Been taking care of widows and orphans, and all.”
Brock smirked. Lucius loved to play that self-righteous card.
“Such a saint,” the Australian scoffed.
“Got to live up to my name now, don’t I?”
“You sure the church doesn’t frown upon your other habits?”
Lucius regarded his mug of ale and shrugged. He was a rather unorthodox representation of his namesake.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he said.
“We talking about the church?” Brock goaded. “Or Evelyn and the others?”
Lucius considered.
“Both,” he replied.
Brock smiled. He had been waiting for this: for Lucius Flynn to stop pretending he was a changed man. He had made a point of sobriety after Stephen Whitfield’s death, but Brock saw it was all a show. Didn’t last long, did it? Lucius was weak, and delightfully, predictably so.
It was time the tables turned.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Brock offered. “We’ll deal you in.”
Lucius remembered the many times he had made this same offer to Brock.
“You sure you want to extend that invitation?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.
“I’m not a man of idle words, Mr. Flynn.”
“Is that a recent development? I seem to remember you making a speech about how you didn’t have the self-control to play these kinds of games.”
“I told you the time would come.”
“For me to rob you blind?”
“For me to put an end to your streak of luck.”
Lucius laughed. If Brock wanted to go all-in, Lucius was not about to stop him. In fact, stripping Brock of everything he owned was just the sort of revenge Lucius craved.
He cracked his knuckles. Four beers, with any number more to come, and Brock Donnigan’s ruin, were all ingredients to a perfect day. If he had known his afternoon would hold such luck, he might not have spent all morning in such a sour mood.
Oh well. All was put to right. In an hour or two, he would return to camp a victorious man.
“All right,” he conceded, pulling up a chair. “Deal me in.”
* * *
Evelyn took a deep breath and exhaled.
Ahhh. The taste of freedom was so sweet.
She had not been alone since they left the ship in Chagres, and she allowed her thoughts to linger on every moment she spent by herself. She took small steps, advancing slowly, savoring her independence. She disappeared into fabric shops, the bakery, the market, and general stores. In one of the shops, she found a small selection of books, where she hungrily snatched one up and pulled it to her nose, inhaling its sweet, dusty scent. She located the shop owner and asked the price. It was exorbitant, but what did she expect? It was imported from America.
Evelyn had brought her own books, but she had already read most of them, and some more than once. She wondered if there would be books in California. Then she wondered if there would be anything in California. Was it possible it was more rugged than Panama City, where one could find things like fabrics and books?
For the first time, she felt the acute vagueness of the world into which they were venturing. Besides the well-known resource of gold, she had no idea what else to expect. She did not know why she had not thought of it before. Where would she and Lucius live? She had just assumed Lucius would buy a house like the one his father owned in New York; but there were no houses like that in California, were there? Before gold was discovered at the close of the war with Mexico, California belonged solely to natives and Californios, ranchers and farmers from south of the border. Much of the land was wild and undeveloped. Perhaps a tent was the only type of house she would know for months, maybe even years to come. Or would Lucius enlist her services to build a rough cabin in the woods? Would they be all alone in some dark corner of the forest, fending off redskins and bears, while Lucius attempted to dig up his fortune? Would she have to learn to hunt animals and gather plants, like some filthy, stone-aged woman?
She shook her head against such nonsense. Surely these were unlikely scenarios. No one could possibly expect her to live like that. She was a Brennan, for mercy’s sake. And besides, she and Lucius would not be alone. Josephine and the Whitfields would be with her, and perhaps even Samuel. The prospect of their continued company was enough to make Evelyn feel better at once.
After she had perused the books, she decided she was hungry and sought a quiet place to eat, for she did not wish to endure the noise and excitement of a crowd. As she wandered through the street, she noticed every third establishment was an eating house. She surveyed the number of customers as she passed by, waiting till she found one with as few bodies as possible.
She came to a halt at a portion of the street where there was a restaurant on either side. One was nearly bursting with activity, while the other sat dark, quiet, and calm. Evelyn smiled to herself, for the latter was just the place she wanted.
She stepped inside, her eyes forced to readjust to the dim light, and her sense of smell was accosted by the midafternoon recollection of last night’s activities, which reeked of sweat, spirits, and smoke. The dank, sundry scents must have seeped into the wood of the walls and countertops, where it lingered and revealed the truth of this eating house’s alternate identity. It was a saloon, or a hell, as they had become to be called in Panama City, and by the look of the stage in the far corner of the room, it was also a dance hall. There were no dancing girls present at the moment, but there were a few weary old men who sat regarding Evelyn with interest. Their eyelids drooped tiredly, and she wondered if they had been here all night. It would not surprise her. With nothing but a tent to call one’s home, there was little appeal in returning, even if one’s alternative quarters were a musty restaurant. It was quieter here than at camp, with the outdoor sounds of the city muted by the dark, splintering walls. Silence was a luxury here.
As she had done for the entirety of her young adult life, Evelyn pretended not to notice the men as she proceeded into the eating house, sticking her nose in the air and passing them by without so much as a glance. She felt their languid eyes follow her as she looked around for a barte
nder or a cook, but there was no one behind the bar, nor anyone loitering near the tables. The other customers had plates and glasses, however; so someone had taken care of them.
Evelyn’s stomach rumbled. She had been moving about in the heat of the day, and she had not eaten since just after sunrise. Her good humor was beginning to be replaced with irritability.
“Hello?” she called impatiently. “Excuse me, is anyone here?”
One of the old men grunted, and the sound startled her. She turned to look at him, but he said nothing. Instead, he lifted a dirty, gnarled finger and pointed towards the far wall of the establishment.
Evelyn heard voices then. They were muffled, and when she turned to see to whom they belonged, she realized they were hidden behind the thick backdrop curtain upon the stage, and resting below the stage was something that made her stomach leap into her chest.
She actually gasped as her hand flew over her heart.
It was a piano. Of course. This was a dance hall, after all. But she had not imagined that in a place so far from home, so removed from the rest of the world, she might discover something that was once so prominent a fixture in her daily existence. It had been the very extension of her being; the friend with whom she had conversed more than with Lucius, more than her tutors and maids, more than her own father.
“Oh,” she breathed, taking a tentative step towards it. She drew closer, stretching out a hand to press a high key with the tip of her finger. The subtle tinkling sound was enough to curb her appetite for food and direct it towards something else altogether.
Hungry for music, she sat upon the creaking, worn bench and softly ran her fingers along the instrument’s teeth.
“I remember you,” she uttered, her voice so soft and low she did not even hear it herself.
She heard something else, however. The voices behind the curtain had grown in volume. One belonged to a female, who was shouting in French, while a male voice angrily replied in English.
Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Page 30