The Roswell Women

by Statham, Frances Patton

  It was not so much the lyrics but the motions she went through that brought down the house and caused the men to dream of being that man.

  The show went on, with the men getting rowdier and drunker, and the songs becoming more risqué. Yet, Madrigal, outwardly gay and calm, glanced uneasily toward the bar where Wolf Perkin leered at her.

  Then the curtain came down and she rushed behind the stage.

  "Hold on, Madrigal. Where do you think you're goin'?"

  "I got a terrible headache, Mr. Sudderth. I'm goin' back to bed."

  "Not yet, you don’t, girl. I hired you to mingle with the customers. There's a man that's paid a lotta money for you to sit at the table with him…."

  "If it's somebody named Wolf Perkin, I quit. Here and now. You can have your old costume back…"

  "It ain't Wolf," he assured her. "So don’t get so het-up."

  Warily, she glared at him. "Who is it?"

  "Some new fella by the name of Forsyth. Now be a good girl and go on out, Madrigal."

  "If I was goin' to be a good girl, Mr. Sudderth, I wouldn't be workin' for you."

  She looked up and saw Wolf walking toward her. Quickly, she said, "Where did you say the man is?"

  "I'll take you to him."

  Madrigal followed the owner, but Wolf stopped them "Madrigal, you're to spend the rest of the evening with me."

  She looked from Sudderth to the intimidating man towering over her. Her voice was smooth and sugary. "I'm so sorry, Wolf. But Mr. Sudderth here tells me I have a better client. Maybe I'll be free another night."

  Wolf pulled out a bag of gold dust. "Here, Sudderth. I'm buying Madrigal for tonight. Let the other man have someone else."

  "Can't do that, Perkin. I've already taken the man's money."

  "Well, give it back to him."

  "That's not the way I do business, Perkin. Just hold on to your money and come back another night."

  Sudderth shoved Madrigal past the angry man, and as she appeared on the main floor of the saloon, the men began to whistle.

  "Which one is he?" Madrigal asked, scanning the room through the dense smoke.

  "The sandy-haired man standing up at the far table."

  She stared at him for a moment as the smoke cleared enough for her to get a better view. "Why, he looks exactly like Allison's husband, Captain Forsyth, from Roswell, Georgia. But he's supposed to be dead."

  "A lot of dead men come west," Sudderth said in a dry tone. "Easier that way."

  "No, you don’t understand—"

  "Hey, Sudderth, who's the high bidder tonight?" a voice called out.

  "I am," Wolf Perkin said, directly behind them. He threw his bag of gold at Sudderth's feet.

  The owner ignored Wolf and nodded toward one of his bouncers. He wanted no brawls tonight, especially with Wolf Perkin involved. The man was in an ugly enough mood to ruin his entire Saturday night take.

  Sudderth walked to the table where Coin was waiting. "Mr. Forsyth, this is Madrigal, the girl you asked for. She's yours for the rest of the evning."

  "Won't you sit down, Madrigal?"

  But Madrigal still stood, gazing into the man's face, as Sudderth left. He was older, but the features were the same. She had stared at him long enough in church every Sunday when she was little to recognize him anywhere. "Do you have a wife named Allison?" she blurted out.

  Coin's eyes lit up and his voice was eager."Why, yes I do. I've been searching for her for the past two years. Do you know her?"

  "Yes. And Morrow, too. Flood Tompkins and me were on the same —"

  Suddenly, a shot rang out. The clink of glasses at the bar ceased. At the gaming tables, men looked up from their cards; then they relaxed and continued as if nothing had happened.

  "You were saying…" Coin prompted the young woman before him.

  Madrigal's mouth hung open for a moment, but no words came. The red-haired girl in the fancy green silk dress reached out for the table. But it eluded her as she slumped to the floor.

  "Madrigal!"

  "Somebody's shot Madrigal!" another voice cried out.

  Sudderth, looking about the room, saw Wolf Perkin lurking in the shadows. And he held a gun in his hand. "Get that man," he shouted, pointing to Wolf.

  Wolf backed away toward the door. "Stay where you are," he warned. And looking at Sudderth, he added, "I told you no one else was gonna have her tonight. You shoulda listened to me." Wolf lifted his pistol again, but this time a shot rang out from another source and blasted the man who had shot Madrigal in the back.

  As some of the men rushed to Wolf, a frantic Coin knelt beside Madrigal. His one chance to find Allison was now ebbing away with Madrigal's lifeblood. "Where is she?" he begged. "Tell me where I can find my wife."

  "Flood," she whispered. "Shirt-tail Canyon…"

  "Move aside, mister," a gruff voice said. He looked up to see a large, fat woman hovering over him. She nodded to one of the men beside her. "Pick her up and bring her upstairs. And call Dr. Masoni."

  "I don’t think it's any use to call the doctor, Sally Jean. She looks done for, if you ask me."

  "I didn't ask you, Marvin. Go find the doctor while we get her upstairs."

  Sudderth, seeing the pall settle over his customers, called out, "The next round of drinks is on the house. Everybody, belly up to the bar. Horace, play something on the piano while Hercules drags Perkin's carcass on over to the sheriff's office."

  In the space of a few minutes, the Gold Nugget Saloon was cleared of all signs of the brawl, with the exception of a little blood seeping through the sawdust on the floor.

  "Sorry about that, stranger," the old-timer said to Coin. "But it's just another Saturday night as far as we're concerned. Can I interest you in a game of poker?"

  "I don't think I have the stomach for it," Coin replied, leaving the table and finding the stairs.

  While Horace, the piano player, played especially loud, Coin sat on the landing above and silently watched the comings and goings. The doctor appeared but didn't stay long. Finally, a wet-eyed Sally Jean came out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  "Excuse me," Coin said, following her down the hall. "Is she dead?"

  The woman nodded.

  "Did she say anything…at the end?"

  "No."

  His disappointment welled up in his throat, threatening to choke him. He'd come so close. "She tried to tell me something. Please. Did she say anything at all? Even one word…"

  "I don't know who you are, mister," Sally Jean said, "or what you wanted from Madrigal. But whatever it was, she can't help you now."

  "Wait," he begged, reaching out to touch her plump arm. "Madrigal mentioned a flood. Do you know what she was talking about?"

  Seeing the look of desperation in Coin's eyes, Sally Jean softened. "She had a friend she talked about sometimes. Name of Flood Tompkins. Made it big in the goldfields, I understand. Does that help?"

  Flood. So that was a person's name, not a disaster they'd been through. Coin suddenly smiled. "Yes, it does. Thank you, ma'am." He looked at the woman's face, puffy and red with tears. "I'm sorry. About the girl…"

  Sally Jean's voice cracked as her memories took over. "You'd never know it, but I looked that way once…."

  She turned her back to Coin and walked slowly down the hallway to her own room.

  There was nothing left to do but to return downstairs. Coin had only one more piece of money in his pocket. With a purposeful stride, he went back to the table where the old-timer was still sitting.

  "If you don’t mind, Calcott, I'll take you up on that game of poker."

  Chapter 40

  Along a canyon ridge encircled by the gold of the sun, soft, white cumulus clouds began to gather in intensity as if to prompt a memory of rain in the dry red earth.

  In the valley below, a quiet, meager stream glinted with the golden particles that had escaped from the hills. For Flood Tompkins, sitting on the porch of her house and viewing her domain, there was nothi
ng in the bare landscape to remind her of the lush greenery of the Georgia hills.

  She had been lucky, finding the special vein of gold that had been overlooked time and again by other miners. But her sixth sense had told her where to look, even as her sixth sense now told her that a stranger was heading her way up the canyon.

  The big brown mansion was almost finished. And she didn't care that some people had watched its progress and pronounced it a monstrosity. She was rich enough to have anything she ever wanted. The house now had real windowpanes, brought by ship to California and hauled overland to Shirt-tail Canyon. The stained glass decorating the heavy oak front door had come the same way, as well as the cupola and gingerbread trim of the porch.

  But Flood was proudest of all of the statuary in the garden—the cast-lead deer and bears—the evening shadows giving them a real-life look. She liked to sit on the porch at twilight and imagine some grizzly coming down from the hills, or some wild fawn coming into the garden to nibble at the leaves of the tender plants.

  Now she sat and watched. The lone rider on his mule finally came into sight. But Flood wasn't afraid. Her loaded pistol was in the holster she'd worn from the first day onward in the mining camp.

  Down below, Coin Forsyth stopped to rest his mule. He looked upward at the sprawling brown house that sat like a giant squat toad on the land. The glint of gold decorating the dome of the cupola caught the last vestige of sun and caused his eyes to water. Quickly, he looked away.

  "Yes, old man Tompkins was awful lucky, I can tell you that, finding that lode. He don’t come down to the mine much anymore. Just sits on his porch and watches—and waits for the wagons hauling all his geegaws from California."

  Coin smiled as he remembered his conversation three days ago with one of the workers at the Tompkins Mining Company.

  "You think he'd mind if I go up to see him?"

  The man grinned. "He'll let you know whether he wants to see you or not. If he doesn't shoot by the time you get to that big break in the trail where the lead panther stands guard, then you'll probably be all right. Otherwise, you'll have to leave a message in the panther's mouth for his housekeeper to come and get. That's what we do to send a message to him."

  Coin got back on his mule and continued his journey up the ridge. And just as the worker had said, he approached the bend in the trail where the six-foot-high mountain panther jutted out.

  He stopped. Looking from the cast-led animal to the ridge above, Coin had the feeling that he was being watched. It was not so much that he saw anyone. But it was the same feeling he had in battle—some instinctive, primitive response that caused the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

  Feeling foolish, he waved his hand toward some unknown being and slowly edged his mule past the statue. No shot rang out as warning, so he continued along the rocky trail that eventually widened into a passable road.

  "Hallo!" Coin shouted. His cry was taken up by the mountain and echoed along the canyon. "May I come up…up…up?"

  His voice was repeated in triplicate, spreading over the vast wilderness.

  "Yes…yes…yes," the echo responded. And Coin, receiving the go-ahead, kicked the mule to urge him up the incline.

  Like Madrigal, Flood recognized the older Coin Forsyth. For a moment, as he climbed down from the mule, she began to wonder if she hadn't made a mistake in allowing him to come up the trail. But then he had never known her in Roswell. Even if he had, she looked vastly different now.

  "What can I do for you, stranger? You lookin' for a job? If you are, then you've made a wrong turn. My foreman, McKenzie, does all the hirin'."

  "No, Mr. Tompkins. I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for something much more important to me—my wife, Allison Forsyth. I'm Captain Coin Forsyth."

  "And you think she's here, Cap'n?" Flood hedged.

  "No. But Madrigal O'Laney said you might know where she is."

  At Madrigal's name, Flood took her hand from her pistol. "Come onto the porch and have a seat, Cap'n."

  Coin tied his mule to the hitching post and walked up the steps.

  "You must be plumb frazzled if you came all the way from Nugget Canyon. Would you care for somethin' to drink?"

  "Thank you."

  "Tillie," she called out. "Bring our guest a glass of cold buttermilk."

  While Flood waited for Tillie, she said, "How's Madrigal?"

  Coin hesitated. "She's dead. She was killed a month ago by a man named Wolf Perkin." He saw the hurt in Flood's eyes. "I'm sorry."

  Flood quickly masked her sorrow. "But you didn't come here to tell me about Madrigal."

  "No. I'm trying to find my wife. She was in that group of women arrested by Sherman at Roswell, Georgia, and sent north. Madrigal was evidently with her, but she died before she could tell me what happened to Allison. You're my last resort, Mr. Tompkins. Please, if you know anything at all about those women, I'd appreciate any bit of information, no matter how small."

  Tillie came with the buttermilk, and while Flood watched the man gulp it down, she wrestled with her conscience. How much should she tell this man? Should she say that his wife had married another man and that it was best for him to forget about her? But what of Allison, herself? Perhaps she hadn't married Major Rad Meadors after all.

  Coin took his handkerchief and wiped his mouth as he set down the empty glass. "You know something, don’t you?"

  "She's probably still in Kentucky. Between Louisvlle and Lexington, at a plantation called Bluegrass Meadors."

  "Owned by Captain Glenn Meadors? But I was told he pulled up stakes and came out west."

  "He did—before his brother came home from the war. But we all worked for the major. I stayed until the tobacco crop was harvested. Then I left. That's all I can tell you, Cap'n."

  Flood was suddenly impatient. And she certainly didn’t plan to volunteer anymore information. "If you'll excuse me, that's all the time I can give you. And you shouldn't wait any longer if you plan to get off this ridge before nightfall."

  He had traveled so far, wasted so much time coming west, when less than six months ago he had been only twenty-five miles from her. He looked at his mule, at the round pan and pick tied to the side. He had no money left.

  "You wouldn't mind, would you, if I saw your foreman about a job for a while?"

  "It's all right with me, Cap'n. Tell McKenzie that Flood sent you." She watched him walk down the steps. "Good luck, Cap'n," she called after him. She lingered for a few minutes longer on the porch and then watched him disappear down the trail.

  With a heavy heart, Flood opened the door with the stained-glass oval and called out, "Tillie, I'm ready for my supper. And I have a hankerin' to eat on the green-and-gold royal china from that English porcelain factory."

  Months later, at Bluegrass Meadors, Allison sat opposite Rad at dinner. They, too, dined on old porcelain, but theirs was a family heirloom that had been shipped downriver on one of the early riverboats that had brought Rad's mother as a prospective bride to the redbrick mansion.

  It was springtime again and the tobacco had been planted in the fields. But Rad's mind was on the horses and the upcoming race at Saratoga Springs.

  "You have your trunk packed, Allison?" Rad inquired.

  Allison smiled. "Yes. Rebecca still has the children's things to pack. Then we'll all be ready."

  Rad's dark brown eyes softened. "You'll be the most beautiful woman at Saratoga this season."

  She laughed in a teasing manner. "Thank you for the compliment. But I daresay all the stylish clothes you bought me will go to waste. You'll only have eyes for your horse, Standing Tall."

  "For only three minutes, darling. But once he wins the race, you'll be the love of my life again."

  "You could still go without us, you know. I wouldn't mind staying here with Rebecca and the children."

  "No. My family goes where I go. I would never think of leaving you here alone." He smiled again. "Besides, this is the honeymoon we never took."
<
br />   "It's a rather large entourage, don't you think, for a honeymoon?" Allison teased. "A maid, two children, two horses, and a trainer."

  "But we have a separate suite on the riverboat just for us. And Rebecca will be well paid to see that the children don’t disturb us during the night. I don’t mind sharing you in the daytime, but by sunset, you're mine—all mine."

  "But—"

  "The discussion is closed, my darling. So finish your soup."

  Allison picked up her spoon, but she was too excited to eat. Rad had worked so hard during these past months and now he had a chance to win the big race at Saratoga. Big Caesar had already gone ahead with the two horses, Standing Tall and Liberty's Son. Both had proven excellent thoroughbreds, but it was on Standing Tall that Rad's hopes rested.

  "Isn't Royal coming over tonight?" Allison inquired.

  "Yes. Such a shame he's not going to Saratoga, too. But that's luck for you—having your best horse suddenly strain a tendon. Anyway, he's promised to look after things here for me while we're gone."

  The conversation after that was light and casual. And once the dessert had been served, Allison left the table to go upstairs and check on the two children, Morrow and Jonathan, who had been named for her brother at Rad's insistence.

  That night, as Allison slept beside Rad in the canopied bed, she dreamed of Coin. It was strange that, without her bidding, he had begun to occupy her dreams lately. But that night, he was especially real, and by morning, as the first shreds of light came through the lace curtains at the window, Allison had a sudden need to lean over and look at the man beside her.

  "Have I suddenly grown horns, my love?"

  Red's deep, sleepy voice gave her a start. Quickly, Allison replied, "No, Rad—only a dark, stubbled beard."

  She reached out and touched his face. Suddenly, she was in his arms. "Rad," she protested. "It's time to get up."

  "So it is," he admitted, loosening his hold on her. "But let me remind you, the trip this morning is the only thing that has saved you."

  An hour later, Allison stood on the porch and waited for the carriage to pull up. The purple haze in the meadow and the tiny, tender plants of burley tobacco spread before her called up memories of earlier, harder times. She looked at Morrow, standing so sweetly beside Rebecca. And her eyes sought out her dark-haired son, Jonathan, squirming in Rebecca's arms.