Bert faced the small crowd. “I have, in no way, compromised Miss Macbeth. In fact, anything that has happened between us so far is an open book.” He ignored her squeak, knowing she was thinking of the past life she’d confessed to him earlier. Matilda didn’t need to worry. Even though he might be outraged at her calling him a liar, he’d walk on coals to keep her dignity. “She is a good, if feisty, woman, who should be treated with the utmost respect.”
The silence lasted for a full second before the commotion started.
“He’s sweet on her.”
“They’re so adorable together.”
“The sailor tamed the shrew.”
Bert glanced at Matilda who mouthed the word, “Sailor?” He shook his head. He’d have time later to let her know all about the Black Heart. If anyone would understand an appalling past, it’d be her. He needed to get everyone distracted so he could tell her everything. “Most of you are sweet on each other but won’t admit anything. Asa, you like Sarah, Clem can’t even look Mary in the eyes. Sam’s written the worst love songs I’ve ever heard about Janie.”
The ruckus of everyone talking over everyone else started again until Stew’s voice boomed out. “Where are my dishes?”
Chapter Eleven
Bert rinsed off his plate fork last. Only Matilda and Stew were in the kitchen with him. He set the dishes on the stack with the others before addressing the other two people. “Do you want me to dump the wash water for you?”
Stew pushed away from the counter. “Naw, she doesn’t. I got it. You both get on out of here. It’s late. Morning will get here soon enough.”
Bert tilted his head at Matilda in a silent invitation. She grinned, leading the way out of the kitchen’s back door. Once they were alone outside, he chuckled. “He didn’t have to tell us twice.”
Matilda laughed, skipping down the back steps. “No, sir.” She twirled around once on the ground, her skirt swirling around her. “I’ve had to clean out those tubs often enough to know a good offer when I hear it.”
Behind her, a full moon hovered large over the horizon. Bert noticed no one except them remained in the dark courtyard. He wanted to talk with her along, yet in a public place. Warmth from the ground radiated up in the cool air. “It’s a nice evening. Do you want to go for a walk?” He scuffed his toe in the dirt; a little afraid she might say no to his idea.
“I’d like that. We can stroll toward the moonrise.”
He grinned, returning her large smile. Bert never thought he’d see Matilda so friendly. Her idea of walking into the moonlight? A man couldn’t make the activity any more romantic if he tried. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Matilda chuckled, taking his suggestion, intertwining her arm with his. “Let’s.”
Bert’s skin seemed extra sensitive everywhere they touched. The chill hovering in the air did nothing to calm the burning in his cheeks from walking with such a lovely girl. He glanced over at her to catch her looking at him, too. She blushed, too, giving his arm a squeeze. He floundered for something to talk about as they strolled, the full moon brightening everything as the setting sun dimmed.
She stumbled over an indention in the hard dirt left by a horse’s hoof. He steadied her. She leaned into him for a couple of seconds. They stared at each other until a door in back of the shops opened, banging shut with a clang. She pulled him forward, continuing their walk. “Thank you for keeping me upright. I’m sorry for earlier. I should have known you’d keep my confidences, not cry them out to everyone here.”
He snuck a peek at her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. More than anything, he wanted to bury his fingers in her beautiful hair before combing them through the glistening strands. “You’re worried about the scandal. I completely understand. It’s my honor to be so trusted.” They reached the end of the stores. A gap lay in the space leading up to the next group of buildings. “Let’s take the street back to the hotel.”
“Good idea. I feel safe with you, but would like if the moon happened to be a bit brighter.”
He chuckled. “Even with me here, huh?” Bert looked at her sideways, seeing her shrug. “Next time we’ll take the street both ways.” She didn’t argue about a next time. Happiness squeezed his chest. Still, he wanted to clear up a few possible troubles between them. “You might want to know, I figure your history back home is your story to tell to whomever you please, not mine.” He stopped at the edge of a boardwalk to help her step up.
She accepted his help, waiting until he stood on the raised wooden platform. “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know.”
Her serious mood left him wanting to hug her until she smiled again. On an almost deserted street, Bert was asking for trouble if anyone saw him be inappropriate with Matilda. Instead, he winked, bumping her shoulder with his. “Everyone has their secrets. You’re not the only one.”
Matilda nudged him back with a grin. “Oh? Is Mr. DuBoise full of mystery, too?”
“Somewhat,” he replied. Only, Bert wanted to tell Matilda everything about himself. She deserved his honesty as much as he had hers. He paused to let a shopkeeper closing up pass in front of them before continuing. “Like a certain Miss Macbeth, I have a past I don’t want reported to the world.”
She leaned against him, her smile fading. “It’s why you’re ashamed of your hand? It’s just us. I’d never tease you or be cruel about your injury.”
“I’m not ashamed as much as embarrassed.” He frowned, not sure what the right words were for his feelings. “Maybe not even that. I don’t like people noticing, asking questions, start a line of talking I don’t want to follow very often, if at all.”
Matilda gave his arm a squeeze. “I completely understand.”
“There’s a lot to my story.” Their footsteps echoed on the boardwalk. He mulled over how she’d trusted him. Not only did he feel a real affection for her, he trusted her as well. “I was shanghaied a few years ago.”
Matilda stopped, staring at him in surprise. “You were? I’ve heard about such things. There were rumors of men abducted to work on steamboats, too, but I never met anyone who had been taken. How did you manage on a ship out at sea? Did you enjoy the travel despite how you arrived?”
The smells, sights, hard labor all came back to him. “No. I hated every minute. Nothing agreed with me out there. I worked hard despite being seasick for a long time.”
After another couple passed them, she asked, “Did they let you go or did you have to escape?”
“They let me go after a couple of years.” He debated telling her more about his experience but shook his head. Some things he’d take to his grave instead of inflicting them on someone he cared for. “I tried to escape with some others, but we didn’t get far. They punished us. No one tried again until the captain dumped us off at Sacramento.”
“How horrible,” she whispered. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What did you do then? Did they pay you for your time aboard? When did you hurt your hand?”
Bert chuckled. He didn’t blame her for the questions. Anyone else asking them would annoy him, but not her. “A rope slid along my hand in a storm, crushing it against the mast. There was no saving the fingertips, so the sawbones filled me full of rum, and then cut them I slept.”
“Oh, no.” She stopped, sympathetic pain for him etched on her face. “You knew they’d be gone in the morning, though?”
“Yep.” He tried to keep the memories distant, not let them affect him. “The next day, everything hurt from my scalp to my toes. I stayed at the ship’s railing for two days. Since then, I appreciate the smell of liquor but want no part of it.” He couldn’t look at Matilda. The events had been too recent for him to keep his voice from wavering at times.
“I suppose an overdose of alcohol would turn anyone away from a life of drinking.”
Bert chuckled, thinking of the other sailors at the school. “You’d think. I’ve seen men who should know better go back to the bottle time again.” He raised an eyebrow as
they continued on past Bromley Hotel. She must be enjoying their time together as much as he was. Otherwise, they would have stopped their evening stroll by now. Bert grinned, pleased she wasn’t in a hurry to say goodnight. “At any rate, no one paid me anything for my time on the ship, but they paid the man who shanghaied me plenty. If not for the Oakems taking me in at the Sailor’s Rest School, I don’t know where I’d be.”
She stopped to face him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. “You don’t have a family to live with?”
Her mentioning the other DuBoise reminded him he needed to write them about his arriving in Cheyenne. “I do, a fine one. My sister Ellen, and her husband Del, are both good people. My brother, Henry, has a new wife named Sally. I love them all but needed time away from their sympathy. It’s tough to explain.”
Matilda waited at the edge of the boardwalk for him to help her step to the ground. “I imagine so. The silent, pitying looks from loved ones would hurt more than anything from a stranger could.”
He snuck a peek at her profile. Every moment with her was better than the minute before, like a sea lion on a small rock, he wouldn’t need much of a push to fall for her. “So, as a way to be as far from either coast as a man can be, I came here. The Oakems knew the Jones, who recommended me to Bromley.”
“I’m glad they did. You’re a good friend even if all of this is a little fast.”
She had his interest now. What did she consider fast? Their friendship? Or did he hope she meant more? “Meaning?”
She shrugged, redirecting them back toward the hotel. “Well, I rarely like someone so soon. I need time to warm up to a person, to see if they’re worth knowing.”
“Ah,” he murmured with a smile. She liked him as much as he did her, he’d bet. Bert couldn’t help but tease an answer from her. “I fit your description?”
Matilda walked backward a few steps, facing him as she replied, “You’re very much worth knowing, Bert. Very much.”
Warmth spread through him when the meaning of her words sank in. Her soft voice echoing what his heart felt for her. As they entered the courtyard, he couldn’t help but confess, “I think the same about you. In fact, our pace doesn’t seem to be fast enough after tonight’s outing.”
She stopped their progress toward the hotel’s back door for a second or two. “I, well, I think a handful of days wouldn’t be enough, ordinarily.” She fidgeted with her apron. “But in this case, I think you’re right.”
No one else was in the courtyard with them. The moon hid behind the stable, casting a shadow over the both of them. His heart pounding, Bert moved closer to Matilda. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you?”
“I should mind very much.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “I should push you away. Flee to my room, hiding before I let you kiss me.”
Bert groaned because she wasn’t running from him, outraged. Instead, she stepped forward in the small space between them, pressing against him. “Matilda, I—” he began until his restraint gave out. He let his lips meet hers. Her sweet taste, rich, warm, inviting, kept him riveted as he deepened their kiss. She moaned, undoing his last bit of restraint. Bert wrapped his arms around her, unsure if she shivered from their intimacy or the cool night air.
Matilda broke their ardor first, taking a step back. “I should go,” she said, her voice quiet in the stillness.
Before Bert could protest, a couple of the bellboys came around the corner of the hotel. They sang a bawdy song he’d heard before but would never repeat to Matilda. She yelped, shoving Bert away from her before disappearing into the hotel.
Chapter Twelve
Matilda ran upstairs, hiking her skirt up enough to take two steps at a time. Only when she reached the second story did she slow to a fast walk. She rested her forehead against her bedroom door for a few seconds before going inside. The small room seemed too lonely, too barren now. She sighed, untying her apron before kicking off her shoes. After tonight, nothing would be as good as kissing Bert had been.
She lit her lamp before washing for bed. Soon, she was under the covers, unable to think of anything but the feel of Bert’s lips.
The next morning, Matilda dumped the breakfast dish’s dirty water. She hurried up the steps, keeping both eyes open for Bert, to no avail. She missed him. They hadn’t crossed paths during the meal. Plus, he’d been scarce during the time she served with the other girls.
Janie opened the door as Matilda entered the kitchen. “There you are.” She held out an envelope. “There’s a letter for you.”
“Oh.” She put the tub in its place, taking the envelope with shaking hands. “Thank you.” Gloria had sent the letter, the handwriting for the return address shakier than usual. Matilda knew the news couldn’t be good. Tearing into the envelope, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, Stew?”
He waved a hand, busy eating his late breakfast. Matilda hurried to her room, sat on her bed, unable to muster up the courage to open the letter. For a few seconds, she stared at the address of the place of her mother’s employment. Hiding from bad news never solved anything, so she removed the letter.
Dearest Mattie,
It is with great sorrow…
She didn’t need to continue. Matilda closed her eyes. Tears leaked out, rolling over her cheeks, falling on the letter. Her mother was gone. Matilda hadn’t been there to ease her final journey. Another tear splashed onto her hand. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The illness had taken its time, certainly. So much so, she hadn’t believed Gloria when she’d sent the news last summer.
Matilda began again, reading the letter in full. Her mother died, hadn’t wanted to see her ever again, plus told Matilda’s father he had a daughter.
She wiped her eyes. Gloria wanted to know if she’d like her mother’s possessions, the few remaining. Her friend also wanted to warn Matilda of her father’s arrival. Mr. Ronald Pearson was an influential man in town. Once he’d learned of Matilda, Gloria had written, he’d been volcanic. She hoped Matilda received the letter in time, if Pearson intended to carry out his threat to visit her in Cheyenne.
She shook her head, folding away the letter. Certainly, Mr. Ronald Pearson had better things to do than find a whore’s daughter. Even if she was his offspring as well, who would bother with her? He had several legitimate children to carry on his name. They also lived in town, not thousands of miles away from him. She stood, ripping the letter up into tiny bits to burn. Matilda wasn’t worried. Mr. Pearson had far better things to do than visit her in Cheyenne.
She tried to act normal on her way to the main lobby. Matilda tossed the shredded letter into the fireplace as if doing so was a daily task. No one seemed to notice her actions as guests continued to depart for their next destinations. Mrs. Bromley rushed by with a couple of the housekeeping ladies without acknowledging her. Matilda didn’t mind. All she wanted to do was hide in her room to mourn the mother she wished she’d had. She crossed the lobby, heading back to her room.
Passing by Mr. Bromley’s office, she heard him say, “Matilda?” She stopped one step past his office door. His tone meant business, too. Before she could respond, Bert came into the hotel through the back entrance with Asa, who detoured into the Swan. Bert’s grin warmed her heart. She wanted to fall into his arms, letting him comfort her while she cried. He came over to Matilda
“Matilda? Are you there?”
Dragging her attention from Bert, she replied, “Yes, Mr. Bromley?”
Bert frowned, pausing next to her as Bromley said, “Can you come in here, please?”
She tried to smile at Bert, quietly asking him, “We’ll talk later?” He nodded, so she responded loud enough for their boss to hear, “Yes, sir, be there in a second.” She reached out, squeezing Bert’s arm before going on into Mr. Bromley’s office.
Mr. Bromley sat at his desk. An angry gentleman perched on the edge of a chair opposite him. The man couldn’t be a proper guest. He wasn’t someone she remembered serving at breakfast. “You needed to see me
, sir?”
Both men stood, Mr. Bromley first, with the guest following his host’s example. “I do,” Bromley said. “In fact, we both do.” He waved a hand at the man. “Mr. Pearson tells me you’re his daughter.”
“Oh,” she squeaked, looking from one man to the other. “I mean, I didn’t expect you to actually arrive here, sir. In fact, I only learned of your existence today in a letter.”
“Really?” He glared at her. “I am the mayor of Masonville. You’re from there, yet you didn’t know I existed? I find that very hard to believe no matter how dense you are.”
Mr. Bromley frowned, stepping out from around his desk. “Now see here. Matilda has been one of my best employees. She is in no way lacking in wit.”
“I see.” Mr. Pearson dug into his pocket, pulling out a money clip. “Since she’s just a worker here, she’ll want a little nest egg.” He peeled off twenty-dollar bills, one at a time. “I intend to give you enough money to stay away from Masonville. I won’t let you interfere with my run for governor.”
Matilda stared in shock for a few moments. Pearson might be her father by birth, but she certainly wanted nothing else from him. “Is there a menu of prices for what a daughter’s silence costs?”
Her father paused in his count, hands frozen, growling, “I’ll pay as much as it takes to keep you quiet. Name the number, it’s yours. Name the number a second time and you might not survive long enough to spend a penny.”
“Excuse me?” Matilda’s voice escaped her in a yell. Furious, she asked, “What if I don’t want even a half penny from you, ever? What if I never utter your name again in my life, what if I’d rather die than take anything from you? What if I regret ever being begat from a lowlife scoundrel like you?”
Pearson laughed, folding the bills in half before holding them out to her. “You’ll take the money all right. Bromley here will be my witness. I won’t have some whore’s spawn waddle up calling me ‘Daddy’ at the governor’s mansion. So, you’ll take the cash.” He shoved the wad of money into her apron pocket. “Be a good girl and do as I say like your mother did every time I saw her.”
The Sailor and The Shrew Page 8