Chapter 20
No Account, Lickspittle, Four-flushing Rotter
With her oversized satchel in one hand and the handle of her leather-bound trunk in the other, Charlotte moved slowly down the rutted main road leading out of town.
What a sight she must be with two hats on her head, her high-cut boots with the laces together draped over one shoulder, and wearing five layers—one of which was her knee-length wool coat—in the midsummer heat. What choice did she have?
Fenton’s alleged brother had lied about giving her until morning to decide her future. When she and Violet arrived back at the Red Eye, he had commandeered a table in the center of the room, flanked by two rough-looking men with pistols on their hips, swilling a bottle of their best whiskey.
Charlotte stalked to his table to demand that they leave, but he spoke first, smirking, “Just taking a lesson from you and squatting on what’s mine.”
Coming up beside her, Patsy whispered urgently, “He has more men upstairs searching your room and Fenton’s.”
She saw red and exploded, “Get out. All of you. You have no right to be here.”
“As much right as you do for now,” he quipped then tossed back a shot of whiskey.
“Judge or not, you certainly don’t have the right to be in my room, going through my things!”
“Didn’t you hear the attorney? He said all the contents. Your room is in the Red Eye, so it’s mine.”
“Not yet, it isn’t. That’s for the judge to decide.”
“Keep on dreaming. Soon, that’s all you’ll have left.” He threw his head back and roared with drunken laughter, which his men echoed.
She stormed up the stairs, their ridicule fueling her anger even more, if that was possible. Her room was a disaster when she arrived; clothes scattered everywhere, the bed undone, her linens and pillows beneath the mattress in a heap on the floor.
Two men, both tall, one burly, the other lanky, rifled through her things with grimy hands.
“Get out!” she shouted, the sound echoing through the halls. “Or I’m sending for the sheriff.”
“Oo, stop. You’re scaring us,” tall and scrawny taunted. “Ain’t she, Cleve?”
The big one paused, looked at her then at his fellow pillager, and shrugged. “We’re finished here, anyway. Come on, Silas.”
When the tall, skinny one passed, she yanked her jewelry box out from under his arm. It was mainly paste, but it belonged to her.
Patsy, Violet, Molly, and several of the others, even Serena, crowded into her room when they left.
“Where are Morgan and the two other guards?” Charlotte asked them.
“Sneed’s henchmen ran them off,” Patsy answered. “They were outnumbered six to three. Seven, including Sneed.”
“That pathetic little worm doesn’t count for nothing,” Violet asserted, not withholding her disgust.
“I’m not cooking for them,” Molly insisted.
“And I’m not staying if that disgusting Quentin is taking over,” Anna Sue, who’d been with her for three years, declared.
“You’re all fools,” Serena exclaimed. “The other houses only pay half of what we earn here. And what if they’re not hiring? Where will you go? The bathhouse? Or dance for a dime? How does one eat or pay rent on dimes?” she asked, throwing up her hands. “I’m staying.”
Violet, who always had her back, stepped forward and confronted her. “That’s because if Quentin’s in, Charlotte’s out, and you think you’ll become the Red Eye’s new madam!”
“It’s time she retired and made way for someone younger,” she sniffed haughtily, but backed toward the door. When she bumped into it with no room to retreat, she spun and rushed out. Vi could be intimidating.
“I never liked that one,” she muttered, slamming the door with a bang. “Best of luck to her. If she can’t earn the respect of her ladies or get up the nerve to stand up to them, she won’t last a day.”
Patsy gently squeezed her arm. “You’re not old, hon. And you’re twice as beautiful as that witch.”
Although the jab about being past her prime at thirty-two had stung, Charlotte brushed it off. She had more pressing concerns to attend to.
Violet chimed in from her other side. “You’re the reason we’ve all stayed. If you leave the Red Eye, we’ll go too.”
Charlotte acknowledged the support but insisted, “I appreciate all of you, but you must look out for yourselves. Quentin seems like the type to hold a grudge. I can’t pay you, and if the judge doesn’t decide in my favor, you’ll need to work.”
“You mean like offering you a job working on your back again after you slapped him?” Violet asked, still steaming over his insult.
“That bounder! He’s pond scum,” Patsy exclaimed.
“Agreed, but he’s not the priority now. Having a roof over your head and food in your belly is.”
“What will you do, Charlotte?” asked Molly.
“I’m going to fight him in court.” As she looked around her disaster of a room and thought about her disaster of a life, she didn’t have the energy to, especially since she suspected, like Quentin had boasted, that the law was on his side.
“I can’t stay, not with him here,” she said quietly, sounding as defeated as she felt.
“Where will you go?”
“The inn, I suppose.” She’d quickly go through the little money she had, but her options were limited.
Charlotte accepted a hug from each of them as they exited. Patsy and Violet were the last to go.
“Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye!” Patsy warned.
“I won’t,” she said, scanning the room. “It’s going to take me a while to pack. What are you two going to do?”
They exchanged uncertain glances.
“Since the railroad opened to California, I’ve dreamed of seeing the Pacific Ocean,” Vi mused aloud. “I have some money saved. This seems like as good a time as any.”
Patsy’s plan was more shocking. “I think I’ll say yes to Oren Fillmore. He’s proposed at least a dozen times.”
“He’s sixty if he’s a day,” Violet reminded her, with an appalled expression on her face.
“He’s fifty-six,” she clarified. “He has a farm out past Rawlins and says he has household help, so I wouldn’t have to lift a finger. And a baby would be nice.” She gazed into the distance. “He’s not the man I envisioned marrying one day, but he has always been sweet to me, and I’d finally be out.”
Even Violet had no argument for that.
With them gone, Charlotte bolted the door and dashed to her hiding spot. She pushed aside her dresser and pried back the loose wall plank. Taking out the metal box, she almost wept in relief, finding the cash, Fen’s valuables, and her few pieces of genuine jewelry tucked safely inside.
It took two hours to pack. There were more hugs and tears when she hauled her luggage out the door.
Some were tears of fear when Quentin ordered his men to search her trunk and satchel.
But his henchmen weren’t very bright or worldly wise and didn’t find the false bottom where she’d hidden all she had of value.
***
“No account, lickspittle, four-flushing, rotter!” she muttered as she trudged along beneath the late afternoon sun, the layers of extra clothing causing sweat to trickle between her breasts. “If I had Fenton’s Peacemaker, I’d settle this dispute, sure as certain.”
But Quentin’s men had found it in her trunk and taken it, along with the bullets.
The Laramie Inn was her first stop. The clerk, upon one look at her, stuck his nose in the air and declared there were no vacancies. Seeing at least a dozen keys on the hooks behind him, she knew he was lying. Arguing with him was a waste of time and energy. She left, dragging her trunk behind her.
The three boarding houses she knew about also turned her away. At one, she saw the curtains move, a disapproving set of eyes peer out, and they didn’t even open the door to her knock.
Her only other option was by no means certain. If her plan failed, that left her to go crawling back to Quentin, which wasn’t an option at all and wholly unthinkable.
“I’d rather die,” she muttered, her anger reigniting.
A sudden jolt when the trunk got stuck in another deep rut caused her arm to nearly pop out of its socket.
Almost as tragic, the handle snapped off.
Charlotte threw the useless piece of leather into the trees on the side of the road, but it didn’t go far as pain pierced her shoulder and ran down her arm.
She plopped down on her trunk, beyond frustrated, miserably hot, and thirsty—and something was digging into her foot.
She removed her walking shoe and turned it over, watching as dirt and a jagged piece of rock fell out.
As she sat there, unsure whether to rub her sore shoulder or her sore foot first, she fought back tears and the desire to give up. But that would assure Quentin acquired the saloon, and she refused to let the imposter win.
Taking only a short break, Charlotte stood on aching feet and rubbery legs to set off again, although she really didn’t want to.
But the sun was setting over the mountains.
If darkness fell before she found the turnoff to the property, she would have to spend the night in the open, surrounded by bugs, possibly snakes, and forest animals—wolves and bobcats called the woods around Laramie home.
If she saw signs of either, or, heaven forbid, heard them in the trees, that would be her breaking point.
Her trunk was still a problem. It was too cumbersome to carry, and heavy. She’d have to leave it. Out of frustration, she kicked it but instantly regretted her impulse when pain shot through her foot and up her leg.
“Why is everything so damn hard?” she asked the empty road and surrounding wilderness.
After removing her valuables and stuffing them into her satchel—having to pull out several less valuable items to make room—she pushed the trunk off the road under a tree, covering it with twigs and dried brush. She could only hope it would still be there when she returned.
“Not likely,” she muttered, as she resumed her westward trek. “Most of the so-called ‘decent’ folks in this town are awful.”
An hour or so later—maybe more, maybe less, it was hard to tell—with sweat pouring down her face and her feet throbbing with pain, Charlotte staggered to an uprooted tree by the side of the road and collapsed onto it.
Glancing behind her, she tried to estimate how far she had come.
According to the deed, the property was three miles west of town.
Had she walked that distance? Heaven help her, it felt like thirty.
As she sat there, catching her breath, she looked at the shadows growing longer as the sun sank behind the mountains.
She listened to the bugs and frogs and other creatures chirping and croaking in the trees, and it looked more and more like they would be her home for the night.
Even that didn’t motivate her to move as she sat staring at the poor excuse for a road with deep grooves that appeared to be permanent.
A few were curious as they curved off into the trees ahead of her.
Sitting up, she peered at the thick overgrowth of vegetation, but much shorter trees, some just saplings. Could this be the turnoff to the cabin?
Excited by the possibility, she moved closer, eyeing the weeds, tall grass, and fallen branches almost obliterating the path. But it was a path, or at least it used to be. It looked like it might be crawling with snakes and ticks.
She laughed so loud, several birds squawked and flew out of the trees. But the ultimate irony, after all she had been through, would be to die from a snake bite.
“All I have to say is, there better be a cabin at the end of this.”
Charlotte sallied forth, tromped through weeds and brush for what felt like forever.
Thankfully, there were no snakes, but the mosquitoes were relentless and had feasted on her thoroughly by the time she finally spotted the cabin.
Even in the waning light, she could tell it had seen better days, with weathered walls and crooked shutters, one barely hanging on.
Despite its dilapidated state, to Charlotte, it was a welcome sight.
As she cautiously opened the front door, she half expected the whole thing to collapse, but it stood firm.
The floorboards creaked under her weight as she entered.
She smelled something musty and foul. Covering her nose with her hand, she surveyed the room.
In one corner stood a small fireplace, its stones blackened with years of soot.
Near it was a rickety table and chairs, and beside them a sink with a hand pump.
There was another room with a lopsided frame bed and a dirty straw mattress.
Imagining what might have taken up residence inside it, she decided that would be the first thing to go.
A small closet contained blankets and a dusty man’s coat hanging on a hook.
Neither item looked much cleaner than the bed, but she grabbed the blanket and took it outside to air it out.
When she returned, a firefly darting around above her head caught her attention, prompting her to look up. She gazed up at what should have been the ceiling, but she saw the sky, visible through a rather large hole in the roof.
Charlotte heaved a tired sigh but tried to look on the bright side. “At least it isn’t raining.”
It wasn’t much, but it was home, at least for the night. If it looked better in the sunlight come morning and seemed remotely salvageable, she planned to locate the man who had lost it to Fenton and have him sign it over to her.
“Before Quentin can steal it from me, too,” she muttered.
Charlotte found an oil lamp and matches in the small kitchen.
Once lit, she also found the source of the foul odor—animal droppings.
With the broom in the storage closet, she swept what she could see out the back door and secured it and all the other openings where the creatures could return—except for the gaping hole in the ceiling.
Next, she dragged the mattress out and swept the bedroom. Its roof seemed sound, at least. Then, dead on her feet and too tired to be hungry, she made a bed out of the clothes in her satchel, happy for the extra layers she had on as the temperature dipped for the night.
She wiped away a tear, missing Fen and everyone at the Red Eye.
Thoughts of Seth holding her close flooded her mind.
Oh, to have his strong arms around her now, keeping her safe and warm.
She had been upset with him for not supporting her at Mr. Bennett’s office.
Deep down, she knew he was doing his job and trying to navigate a challenging dilemma.
But what annoyed her most was that he couldn’t see Quentin, a fraud and a swindler, whom she didn’t trust at all, as clearly as she did.
Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard, unforgiving floor. Her last conscious thought was how far she’d fallen from her childhood dreams of breeding thoroughbreds in the Eldridge House stables.