A Claim of Her Own

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  As the village idiot tended his horse, Jonas took the measure of Deadwood: businesses that were little more than unadorned boxes, most of them without so much as a permanent sign, one long cesspool where there should be a street, and that cursed gumbo everywhere. If Dillon O’Keefe was raping the earth for gold in any of the valleys or gulches near here, if this was where Mattie had run to, she had to be sorry she’d ever left Abilene. Maybe he should rethink his intentions. Convince her he only wanted his money back. She might be ready to beg him to take her back. The idea opened up all kinds of new possibilities for making an example of Mattie O’Keefe that the girls in Abilene would never forget.

  From what he’d seen so far, there wasn’t a man in Deadwood who knew the first thing about how to run a gambling hall or a saloon. Not a single one of the places he entered was worth the cost of the lumber it’d been built with. Only one had so much as a piano. Most were furnished with a haphazard arrangement of chairs and beat-up tables Jonas wouldn’t have cut up for firewood, much less used to furnish a place he owned. Some didn’t even have real tables. Rough-cut boards balanced atop barrels served in those hovels. After a while Jonas stopped even going in those. Mattie O’Keefe would starve before she’d work in a place like that.

  A person sometimes learned more by listening than by asking questions, and Jonas was a good listener. As the night wore on, he learned a lot about the area just standing at the bar drinking whiskey in several different saloons and dance halls. The lead was southwest of here at a place called Homestake. Bobtail was taking five dollars an hour. Claims in some of the side gulches were averaging five dollars a pan. Everywhere Jonas went he heard about the wealth found in the next gulch, the quartz with a promising vein, the miner who’d struck it rich. Apparently it was not uncommon for a man to own several claims. More than a few seemed eager to sell out, and from what Jonas could see, none were half as eager to work as they were to drink and gamble.

  It took most of the night, but Jonas finally admitted that, with all its exposed brutality, Deadwood had its allure. Time after time he saw a prospector toss a bag of gold dust on the bar. Time after time he saw the bartender pinch out fifty cents worth for a drink. It was impressive to see men dressed in rags with bags of gold hanging around their necks. Appearances aside, Deadwood appeared to be primed for a man who knew how to run an entertainment palace.

  What they needed was women. Beautiful women, not the aging cow billed as the Fascinating Danseuse, who gyrated through a pathetic series of supposedly seductive moves at the Bella Union. He couldn’t bear to watch for long.

  Turning away, he ordered another drink and pondered the idea of how, with his polished veneer and Mattie’s charm, the two of them could have the miners of Deadwood literally throwing money at them every night. He’d only heard one singer tonight and she could hardly carry a tune. Mattie could have anyone in the room eating out of the palm of her sweet little hand after one verse of “Annie Laurie.”

  Sweet. There hadn’t been anything sweet about Mattie’s hand the last time he’d seen her. He touched the scar on his face. Ah well, all cats had claws, didn’t they? He should have known she’d bare them sooner or later. They’d been playing a game of cat and mouse for months with him pushing and her dancing away. He’d let that go too far, letting her think she was far too independent for far too long. All that talk of “keeping accounts” and “planning for the future.” As if she could choose a future. As if she could just up and walk away after all the imported brandy and stunning gowns he’d provided. As if she didn’t owe him for teaching her about the finer things in life.

  As he leaned against a bar in one of the older establishments—he couldn’t even remember the name—and looked around him, Jonas could not believe that Mattie O’Keefe would have willingly stayed in Deadwood. Unless her brother had actually found some gold and bought her a place of her own. That was something to ponder.

  Turning around, Jonas sipped his drink. Now that he thought about it, he could see Mattie using what she’d learned from him to rejuvenate a place like this. With enough money she could own the jewel of the Black Hills. And she’d left Abilene with his three thousand dollars.

  There was a staircase at the back of this place. Was Mattie up there right now, lounging in one of those rooms, waiting to come down later and play the role of the queen of Deadwood? Maybe that was it. Maybe she wasn’t working one of these dives. Maybe she owned one.

  He couldn’t just go from place to place asking about her, though. That would tip his hand. And the brother might be a problem. Again. And even if he didn’t think caution was wise for those reasons, the idea of just showing up had provided endless enjoyment on the way up here. He loved envisioning the surprise in those violet eyes, the barely masked panic. She would go pale. She might even faint. If he couldn’t make her believe he just wanted her back … if her worthless brother was working with her … he would do whatever it took. First, to get his money back. But almost more important than the money was the need to drag Mattie back to Abilene and show the others what happened to trollops who thought they could run out on Jonas Flynn. If she wouldn’t cooperate, he’d threaten to kill the brother. It had worked once when he needed to keep her in line. It could work again.

  Once he had the upper hand, he would appear to be generous. He might even offer the brother a job. He’d gain Mattie’s trust again, and then a terrible accident would befall Dillon. Something like that should have happened in Kansas long ago. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Jonas took his pocket watch out. He’d given this place enough of his time. He was tired and he wanted to get at least some of the grit and grime off him. Stepping out into the street, he headed for the Grand Central Hotel. What a name. Grand. If he opened a place here that’s what he’d name it. The Grand. And it would be grand compared to the rest of these dives. As he made his way back to the hotel, he wondered if the imbecile who’d offered to tend his horse had remembered to take his bedroll and saddlebags to the hotel and get him a room.

  Gunfire broke out up the street. No one dodged for cover except a Chinaman with a deer carcass slung over his shoulder. Which reminded Jonas of another way to find Mattie. Opium dens. Dillon O’Keefe had had his problems in that regard. Find him and Mattie wouldn’t be far away.

  The village idiot had done what he was told. Jonas’s bedroll and saddlebags were waiting at the hotel desk, and for the first time since he’d arrived in this town, Jonas smelled something that didn’t make his eyes water and his stomach roil. The man behind the desk noticed when Jonas inhaled.

  “That’s the promise of tomorrow, sir,” he said with a smile. “The Grand Central offers the finest dining experience in Deadwood, courtesy of Aunt Lou Marchbanks, the best cook in Dakota. Maybe the best cook in the West.”

  Jonas only grunted. Best? He’d be the judge of that. Of course if Aunt Lou was a proper mammy he supposed she had learned a thing or two about cooking. At least that’s how things had worked where he came from.

  Up in his room, Jonas undressed and washed thoroughly, hoping he could sleep without battling the vermin that often mounted a full attack on hotel guests in places like this. Happily, when he stretched out on the lumpy mattress, it became clear that he was the only living resident in the bed. Good.

  He would spend tomorrow in Chinatown, and if he didn’t find any trace of either O’Keefe, he’d head to some of the other camps. Sonny Manning could be trusted to keep things going at the place back in Abilene for at least a little while longer.

  Jonas fell asleep reviewing his plans for Mattie. One of the things he’d realized on this journey was that he’d failed to frighten her properly. That mistake would have to be corrected. A woman’s fear could be useful. Jonas liked it when terrified women did what he told them to do. There was a raw pleasure in it that he couldn’t quite experience in any other way.

  CHAPTER 12

  A friend loveth at all times,

  and a brother is born for adversity.r />
  Proverbs 17:17

  You turned out to be an easy man to find.” Mattie plopped down beside where Wild Bill Hickok sat leaning against the back wall of the Grand Central Hotel.

  At the sound of her voice, Hickok lifted his head, squinted at her, and closed his eyes again. Groaning, he took off his hat and put his hand to his head. “What day is it?”

  “Sunday,” Mattie said. “And I came down the gulch hoping we could have a talk. A private talk.”

  Bill moaned, “Sunday? Sunday morning? Please tell me I didn’t black out before I got to my room.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you much of anything, seeing as how I just got into town,” Mattie said. “Thought I’d help Aunt Lou with breakfast—and earn my own—then look for you early this afternoon. But here you are. And I’d say, based on the evidence, that what you don’t want to hear is exactly what happened. You blacked out before you got to your room.”

  Bill opened his eyes a little wider and tilted his head to look her way. “Coffee?”

  Mattie stood up. “Coming right up.”

  Aunt Lou was bustling around the kitchen with more than her usual energy. When Mattie asked for a cup of coffee for Wild Bill, she poured it, but while she was pouring she scolded. “I don’t care how famous that man is. He still don’t have no right to bring his drunken self to my back door.”

  “You are absolutely right, ma’am.” Bill stood in the doorway and invited himself into the kitchen, sliding into one of the chairs at the table. “I apologize for my uninvited presence. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But I sincerely hope you’ll put up with me until I can get a cup of strong coffee in me.”

  Aunt Lou glared down at the man slumped at her kitchen table. “You didn’t frighten me,” she said, and proceeded to turn the flapjacks cooking on the stove. “At least not much. After I realized you was just sitting there on the ground—that you wasn’t dead.” She continued to rattle pans and clank lids as she worked, sending the message that she was busy and this was her kitchen.

  Mattie set a mug of steaming coffee in front of Bill. He took it with a grateful sigh before addressing Aunt Lou. “I am beholden to you for the best cup of coffee I’ve tasted in many a day, ma’am.” He laid a gold coin on the table. “Is there any chance you would consider feeding me breakfast before I go upstairs to my room?”

  “Breakfast is served in the dining room starting in about fifteen minutes,” Aunt Lou said without turning around.

  “I—” Mattie cleared her throat. “I need to talk to Bill, Aunt Lou. And I’d rather do it back here. If you don’t mind too much.”

  Aunt Lou turned around. She looked with surprise from Mattie to Bill and back again. Mattie’s heart thumped as she realized that she cared very much what this good woman thought of her.

  Good women crossed the street to the other side rather than come face-to-face with gambling hall girls like Mattie O’Keefe. Good women assumed such women were prostitutes, and unless they were the rare woman who held out a helping hand to the girls trying to escape that life, good women did not speak to, did not smile at, did not acknowledge the existence of gambling hall girls. These were the facts that had continued to haunt Mattie the day before, when Bill had walked into Swede’s store and greeted her by name. These were the facts that would not let her simply hope for the best when it came to Wild Bill and his knowledge of her past.

  And so Mattie cast a smile in Aunt Lou’s direction and said, “Yes, ma’am. I know Wild Bill Hickok. Pretty well, in fact. You see, Aunt Lou, I’m a—”

  “She’s a prospector,” Wild Bill interrupted. He smiled at Aunt Lou. His most charming smile. “A prospector and a good woman.” Bill nodded. “I’d say that about sums it up.”

  “I followed Dillon here because I want a respectable life,” Mattie croaked, wiping her clammy palms on her skirt.

  Aunt Lou put a hand on Mattie’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Calm down, honey. Not a soul in Deadwood doesn’t have something in their past they’d like to forget. Shoot, there’s not a person alive doesn’t have something in their past they’d like to forget. As far as Aunt Lou’s concerned you are a sweet girl who has faced a terrible loss and is working hard to make good. Anything else doesn’t matter. Not one bit.” Aunt Lou pulled another chair out. “Now, you sit down and calm yourself.”

  Mattie plopped down, and Aunt Lou set a mug of coffee before her. For a few minutes she and Bill drank in silence. Finally, she mentioned Jonas. “I’ve been worried he might come looking for me. Worried he’d see you and start asking questions.”

  “You know what I think of that snake in the grass,” Wild Bill said. “It’s good you’re free of him.” The glint of hatred in his eyes faded. His voice gentled as he said, “I was mighty sorry to hear about Dillon.”

  “How’d you learn about Dillon?”

  “Aron told me. He felt compelled to try and save my soul last night. Calamity’s, too.” Bill took another sip of coffee. He leaned close. “And he’s wondering about you, same as you are about him.” He sat back. “But you know the code.” Bill was talking about the code of silence that reigned in a gambler’s world, where past lives were counted dead and a man who asked too many questions could end up the same way. “So while I didn’t say much about you to him, and I can’t say much about him to you, I will tell you that I’d trust Aron Gallagher with my life on any day of the week. You have nothing to worry about from him, especially now that he answers to an even higher power than Winchester and Colt.” He paused. “And as for Jonas Flynn—” he swept his coat back behind the pistols at his side—“I’m happy to keep an eye out for you.”

  While they talked, Aunt Lou had been alternately growing a mountain of flapjacks, cracking eggs into her giant iron frypan, and cooking bacon. Hearing Bill say he’d keep an eye out for Mattie, Aunt Lou turned about and, beaming kindness and approval, asked, “Now, how do you like your eggs, Mr. Wild Bill?”

  When he’d finished his breakfast, Wild Bill reached for his hat and stood up and, with a little nod at Aunt Lou, said, “Thank you for sharing your kitchen with me, ma’am. I won’t impose on your hospitality again.” He headed for the door leading toward the front of the hotel.

  “You’re welcome in Aunt Lou’s kitchen any time you need it, Mr. Wild Bill.”

  Hickok thanked Aunt Lou as he settled his hat on his head. “I’m gonna head upstairs and sleep the night off,” he told Mattie. “It’ll likely take all day.” He winked at her. “I’d be honored to buy you dinner later, though. If you’re hereabouts come sundown.”

  “Thank you,” Mattie said, “but I just came into town to talk to you. As soon as I help Aunt Lou get caught up here, I’m headed back up to my claim.”

  Bill nodded. “I think you’ve started yourself a good life up here, Mattie O’Keefe. I always thought you were too fine a lady to be dealing cards to drunks and gunslingers.” He rested one palm on the butt of a gun. “Now, don’t you forget what I said earlier. If Jonas Flynn comes sniffing around Deadwood, I will live up to my reputation.” And with that, he was gone. Mattie could hear his spurs rattle as he mounted the stairs leading up to his room.

  As soon as Wild Bill was gone, the silence in Aunt Lou’s kitchen grew heavy with unspoken words. When Mattie reached for an apron, Aunt Lou interrupted her. “If you want to get back on up to your claim, I can manage here.”

  “That’s good of you, Aunt Lou, but we interrupted your morning, and I’m thinking you could use some help to get caught up.” Without another word she donned the apron and went to work making biscuits. Boots clomping down the hotel stairs and voices in the lobby signaled the expectation of breakfast, and while Aunt Lou served up her bacon and eggs, flapjacks and biscuits, Mattie set great platters of food on trays and shuttled them into the dining room.

  The two of them were elbow deep in dirty dishes before Mattie returned to the topic that had brought her back into town. After telling Aunt Lou how Wild Bill and Calamity Jane had come into the store and how
Wild Bill had greeted her and Gallagher by name, she asked, “Do you think I should say something to Tom before I leave town? He has to be wondering about me. I-I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

  Aunt Lou considered. Finally she said, “Like I said before, honey, there’s not a living soul that don’t have something in their past they’d just as soon others didn’t know about. I imagine that even Mr. Tom English—fine man that he is—has left a thing or two in the shadows of the past.” She squeezed Mattie’s shoulder. “The good Lord takes us where He finds us, honey. And good people do the same. You don’t owe Mr. English or me or anyone else an explanation of where you’ve been. We see where you are, and we like you just fine.”

  He’d never seen anything like Sunday in Deadwood. Thousands surged through the streets in a wave of palpable lust, and as Jonas moved along with them, he understood the lure of Deadwood even more completely. Any caste of human being was welcome here as long as they had gold. No vice was unattainable, and there was no law to interrupt either the pursuit of pleasure or the fulfillment of desire. Once again he thought of how much money a man could make here with the right kind of place. Once again he regretted the loss of Mattie O’Keefe.

  He reconsidered his strategy of not asking about Mattie by name. If she didn’t turn up soon, perhaps he’d show the daguerreotype around. He could pretend to be a concerned family member looking for a runaway. It rankled that he’d likely have to pretend to be Mattie’s father if he took that route. But for now, he still preferred the advantage of surprise. If she got wind of his looking for her, she might run again. No, he’d keep her name to himself. Sooner or later she would turn up.