Chapter 7
“Jane?” Temperance rushed to knock frantically at her door. “Jane? Mavis? I’m coming in!”
She snatched up a piece of the short branch wood stacked outside the door. What she thought she would do when she confronted their knife-wielding rapist, she didn’t know, but the door was unlatched, so she thrust herself inside.
Jane was perfectly fine. She was kneeling on the floor, sweaty and wearing the thin, gray gown she’d worn when Temperance had met her on the trail.
“Close the door.” Jane looked surprisingly calm given the fact that Mavis was also on the floor, half-slouched against the side of her bunk, writhing in agony. Her chemise was rucked up to her waist, her drawers off, her bent legs open.
She was birthing a baby.
Temperance pressed the door shut, heart at a dead stop.
Mavis seemed to be doing as well as any woman pushing out a new life, which was to say she was crying and sweating and throwing her head back to release curses of acute pain. Bloody fluid soaked the blanket beneath her.
Temperance fought to keep her light head from falling off her body. She had never seen even a kitten being born, but she couldn’t leave.
“What can I do?” she asked fearfully.
“Fetch clean water.” Jane gave the rag she held a quick wring into its basin, then nudged the near-empty basin toward her. She patted Mavis’s brow with the cloth. “Ask around for a clean towel to wrap the baby. Hurry now. It’ll be here soon.”
Temperance snatched up the basin and ran to do as she was told. Thankfully there was a pump behind the saloon and even though the miners in those shacks up the hill were as down on their luck as anyone else, one pulled a scrap of cotton off his line when she called out what was needed and why.
“This is clean. She can have this.” Another gave her a scrap of wool blanket. A third offered his flask of whiskey. Two more gave her their best handkerchiefs.
Temperance arrived back in time to see a reddish-purple baby enter the world in a fresh gush of fluid.
“It’s a boy, Mavis. You have a son.” Jane set him on Mavis’s bare belly. The little being had the posture of a treefrog. He was covered in milky white and gave a tiny squawk.
Mavis sagged and folded her shaking hands over the tiny boy.
Jane had already torn a ruffle off her own petticoat. She used her teeth to tear it into two strips then tied off the cord.
“My sewing scissor, Temperance?” Jane wore a sheen of sweat and her voice held a tremor, but she looked as calm as could be.
How?
Temperance hurried to comply, then picked up the branch she’d brought in and threw it into the stove, keeping the fire roaring. When the afterbirth appeared, Temperance ran outside for a fresh scrap of wood and carried the organ to the outhouse.
“Shall I make coffee?” Temperance asked when she came back.
“Please.” Jane was washing the baby and Mavis and herself. Jane was smiling now, still wearing that mask of supreme calm—which Temperance was starting to realize Jane had adopted for Mavis’s benefit, since she’d done something similar for Papa.
Temperance’s hands were shaking so badly, she nearly spilled all the grounds, but she got the pot filled and took it to the kitchen.
Mr. Fritz wasn’t at home, which was probably for the best. She used the time it took the water to boil to gather her composure. When she returned with the coffee, Mavis was fast asleep. The baby was swaddled in Jane’s arm.
“Thank you,” Jane said with heartfelt gratitude as Temperance poured the cups.
“I thought my day was eventful. Did you know she was expecting?” Temperance asked in whispered astonishment.
“No.” Jane shook her head and allowed her eyes to widen with belated alarm. “Not until her pains were on her. I don’t think she wanted anyone to know. Maybe she hid it from herself even. Will you hold him while I fix my hair?”
“Of course.” Temperance set aside her cup and eagerly held out her arms for the tiny bundle with the serene little face. “How did you know what to do?” She was still in a state of wonderment. “Oh, your mother. Of course.”
“Yes, but I only ever did for her what you did—fetched water and such. I’ve never caught a baby.” She spoke around pins as she moved them from teeth to hair. “I was so scared when I realized what was happening. Anything can go wrong. I was so glad you came along.”
Temperance managed a wobbly smile of emotive sympathy. Her own mother had died in childbirth. She knew how badly things could go.
“You did very well,” she assured Jane. “You both did.”
Temperance had arrived feeling very sorry for herself, but Mavis’s predicament sobered her. Mavis couldn’t work, not immediately, and she now had another mouth to feed..
“What will she do?” Temperance asked in a faint whisper.
Jane gave a dismal shake of her head.
“What sort of day did you have?” Jane asked curiously as she lowered her arms and took up her coffee again.
“Oh.” Temperance hated to recall it. “Mrs. Dudley dismissed me. That was my own fault. I don’t even want to tell you how stupid I was. Then my landlady found out where I was working and gave me the boot after taking all my money. I was going to take refuge here until the saloons opened, then see if anyone will hire me. I’ll finish my coffee then go do that.”
“Let me ask Mr. Fritz first. Mavis can’t work tonight. Perhaps if you—” Jane looked around. “I know there’s not much room in here, but if you offer to help with rent and take her place in the saloon, perhaps he won’t turn her out,” she said with concern.
“Would he?” Temperance’s heart lurched on the other woman’s behalf.
Jane shrugged. Who knew what a man would do when a woman became a burden?
Owen had stayedin Denver to look into opening a saloon, not get himself bent out of shape by a saloon girl, but damned if he hadn’t spent two whole days raising eyebrows all over town by asking after Temperance.
He’d been put out when she didn’t show up at Dudley’s the evening after they breakfasted together, but he hadn’t been worried. Not yet. Mrs. Dudley had claimed Temperance had asked for a day off. It had been a ruse to keep the crowds coming back, Owen had realized when she failed to appear, but the lie couldn’t be sustained. Cecil had finally confided to Owen that his wife had dismissed her. Owen had walked out, annoyed.
He visited the other saloons in Denver, where he asked if anyone had seen her, but he hadn’t had any luck. This morning, the stage office had said she usually came by every day, but they hadn’t seen her, either. Mick at the mercantile said she had bought four eggs and a can of milk, so Owen knew she was alive, but Mick didn’t know where she had gone.
Finally, one of the traders at the post told Owen that a pair of women had come by looking for baby blankets. One of them worked at the Bijou.
The Bijou was located on the outskirts of Auraria. It was as far as he could get from his room above the corral in Denver without arriving in a neighboring state. What it lacked in convenience, it lacked in everything else, offering two-bit tangleleg and no beer. The bar was a few rough planks nailed together and balanced across the tops of some whiskey barrels. There was no mirror behind the bottle shelf to let you see who was coming up behind you, only a fading sketch of a woman whose clothes were very slippery and dangerously close to falling off. The floor was dirt, the poker played on the tops of whiskey barrels with upended crates for stools. There were antlers nailed here and there for hanging coats and hats. The fact it had wooden walls and a roof, rather than canvas, was the nicest thing anyone could say about it.
“Owen,” Fritz greeted him. “Stoney was here a few days ago. I don’t have much for you.”
“I came for a drink.”
“You must be thirsty, then.”
“And wondering if you’ve got a new girl here?”
“Over there.” Fritz jerked his chin, lip curled with discontent. Fritz came across as grumpier than a spring bear, but Owen had the sense his perpetual scowl was one of pain. He always kept his one elbow tight against his ribs and moved with a swaying gait that was more of a limp.
“Thanks.” Owen tossed back his whiskey, trying not to taste it, and threw enough money on the counter that Fritz could treat the rest of the men down the line.
Owen walked to the wall of backs surrounding one of the barrels. Sure enough, there she was, sitting with her eyes covered by one hand, playing a game where she turned a card and guessed what it was. Wrongly, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone.
Owen pushed his shoulders between the men and tapped her shoulder. “Rose.”
“Mr. Stames.” She dropped her hand into her lap. “How nice to see you again.” She greeted him with a bright smile that did something to his insides.
He was glad to see her alive, he really was, but he was annoyed, too. He didn’t want to worry about anyone, least of all someone he wasn’t sure he could trust.
She blinked up at him all innocent, as though she hadn’t promised to meet him then disappeared for two days and nights.
“Have you met Mr. Garvey and Mr. Havershere?” she asked, rising to indicate the young men. “They were telling me earlier about their work on a paddle wheeler in Kansas City. It sounds fascinating.”
“It’s not.” He’d done it and preferred starving in California. “Let’s fetch everyone a drink.” He thumbed toward the bar, not even looking at the rubes.
“It sounds as though Mr. Stames would like to welcome you properly, boys. Who needs a refill?”
Everyone threw back their drinks and set them on the tray she held out.
She carried it to the bar. Her skirts were barely disturbed as she floated in no particular hurry toward Fritz.
“Refills, please, Mr. Fritz, and one for Mr. Stames?” She glanced at him for confirmation. “How have you been keeping?” she asked.
Now that she was right in front of him, he noticed she had dark circles under her eyes and a pull of exhaustion at the corners of her mouth. Her cheekbones seemed to stand out more starkly.
“I have a bone to pick with you.” He dropped more coins onto the bar, nodding to Fritz that Temperance could have the change.
“About?” she asked, still wearing that look of curious innocence.
“About that damned dog you sicced on me the other day.”
“Clarence? He’s good company, isn’t he?” She was shameless, wearing such an ingenuous expression.
“He chewed a hole in my jacket.” He lifted the bottom edge to show her.
“That’s unfortunate.” She tilted the fabric to examine the damage. “Perhaps Jane can mend it. She takes in sewing when she has time. She’s very good.”
“You should mend it. You stuck a sausage in my pocket! Didn’t you?”
“Do you know, that reminds me of something that happened to our dear Mavis.”
“What?” This woman was making no sense.
“I’m glad you came along, Mr. Stames.” She shifted her touch to his sleeve and gave it a pat. “Are you looking for a wife?”
“Hell, no. I don’t even want a borrowed dog.”
“Do you know any man who wishes to marry? A good man,” she added gravely, then mustered a smile for Fritz as the saloonkeeper added a glass to her tray and refilled the rest.
Fritz glowered at her, then chalked the same number of ticks in a column of his slate while she lingered to watch him do it.
“Why? Are you looking for a husband?” Owen experienced a sharp yank of dismay at the thought.
“Goodness, no.” She picked up her tray. “The more I learn of men, the more I think a dog makes a better companion. Mavis, however, could use a husband. Are you acquainted with her? She was working here until a few days ago, when she had her son. Freddie,” she provided with a smile.
The mousy, full-figured gal? He scanned the crowd and noted she was absent. He hadn’t realized she was carrying.
“I wouldn’t be so bold as to advertise her happy news, but there were several miners in earshot to the event. You would have heard soon enough. We’ve been encouraging anyone who wishes to help her to add some coins to the jar Mr. Fritz has kindly set up.” She nodded toward the pickle jar behind the bar. It had a thin layer of dimes and quarters in it.
Owen offered up one of the company’s ten-dollar promissory notes. They were good for the mercantile. He’d only spoken to Mavis a few times, but she’d always been friendly and struck him as rather shy and sweet. A little too sweet for saloon work because the first time he’d met her, she’d been with?—
“Ah, shit,” he muttered.
Temperance paused in turning away and shot him a startled looked.
“Are you saying the father of Mavis’s baby isn’t doing right by her?” Owen asked.
“He is not.” Temperance’s tone lowered with regret, but her steady stare warned him against judging Mavis for having a baby out of wedlock. The tightness around her mouth told him how concerned she was for her. She took one step closer to confide, “Mr. Fritz said she only came to Denver in June. That would suggest she was fleeing an unworkable situation. Either way, the full care for the boy will fall on her. We want to do what we can to help her. She said she wouldn’t be averse to marrying, if the right man presented himself.”
Owen caught back a loud, Ha. He knew exactly which man she was talking about.
He shot his whiskey and buttoned his coat, pulling his hat down more firmly onto his head as he walked out into the brisk night.
It was a long,cold walk to Madame Beauville’s Parlor House, almost all the way back to the corral, but Owen had enough heat under his collar he arrived in short order.
He loathed men who shirked their responsibilities to a child. Children were helpless. They depended on the older, supposedly smarter people around them. That kind of responsibility was heavy and hard. He knew that. That’s why he wasn’t planning on making children of his own. He didn’t want to fuck up ever again, but it was also why he wouldn’t stand by and allow a selfish knucklehead to pretend he hadn’t made Mavis’s newborn.
“Owen,” Madame Beauville greeted him. She was an ample woman of forty who had turned up in Denver when the rumors of gold strikes here had made their way to California. She’d brought four enterprising women who were known to barter an evening in their company for the framing of a wall or the bricking of a chimney. This brothel was one of the most solidly-built houses in Denver. It boasted a front porch and a parlor full of pretty furniture where men drank and gambled in supreme comfort. “Is this a social visit? We took care of business the other day.”
“Different kind of business,” he replied. “I’m looking for— Ah.” Owen spotted Elmer Greenly through the cloud of cigar smoke.
Elmer was the son of Woodrow Greenly, the judge who had recently presided over Virgil and Marigold’s nuptials. Woodrow had also married Elmer to the daughter of an army colonel earlier this July, not long after introducing Owen to the newly arrived Mavis.
“Owen!” Elmer greeted with an oblivious grin as Owen tapped his shoulder. He had shaved for his visit to the cathouse and turned up the ends of his chestnut moustache with a twist of wax. His jacket was brushed, his hair smoothed to the side. He wore the stink of privilege and perfume from pressing up on the girls.
“I hear you got a pretty new gal out at Quail’s Creek. What are you coming here for your entertainment for?”
“Get up. We need to talk. Outside.” Where it was cold enough to sober him up.
Owen could feel every pair of eyes on him. He was never this ill-tempered. He got what he wanted by talking people around with jokes and bullshit, but Elmer’s behavior stood directly on his rawest nerve. Even if you had a strong reason to turn your back on a woman—like marriage to another—you didn’t abandon her to fend for herself when it came to feeding your child.
Elmer took his time gathering his limbs from their sprawl in the oxblood armchair and meandered to the door.
“It won’t take long. You don’t need your coat.” That was a dirty trick on Owen’s part. The wind off the glaciers was dropping frost across the city, but the colder Elmer was, the quicker he’d want to end this conversation.
“What’s so important?” Elmer crossed his arms as they stepped onto the porch. He scowled and shifted to the corner, trying to escape the stiff breeze.
“I thought you’d like to know you have a son. Freddie.”
“What—? Katherine’s not far enough along yet.” The blue light of the moon fell on Elmer’s befuddled features. “Has something happened?”
“Only that now I know you’re an even bigger pile of dog shit than I thought you were five minutes ago.” His wife was pregnant and he was in the cathouse, gambling? “I’m talking about Mavis.”
“Pfft.” Elmer rocked back on his heels. “Is that what she told you?”
“She didn’t have to. You did, when you introduced her as a friend from Springfield. She followed you here, didn’t she? And you left her to work in a saloon, carrying your baby, while you married Katherine.”
“Come on, Owen. You know there’s girls you play with and girls you marry.”
Owen was a lover, not a fighter, but he really wanted to punch Elmer’s nose to the back of his pompous skull right now.
“Has she got family back in Springfield?” Owen asked.
“Mavis? I don’t know. An aunt, maybe?” Elmer was shivering, shoulders huddled up to his ears, looking like he wanted to brush by Owen and get back to where it was warm.
“All right, then. I’ll buy her a ticket on the stage. She has to leave right away, or she’ll be stuck here through the winter.”
“Good thinking. Get her on her way before she makes a nuisance of herself. Thanks, Owen. I’ll pay you back.” Elmer offered his hand.
Owen ignored it. “Hell, yes, you will, along with two hundred and fifty dollars?—”
“Two— Fuck, no! That’s extortion, Owen.”
“Not for me, you sorry, dumb, cock-headed shit-for-brains. For her, to keep her until she’s on her feet.”
“How am I supposed to come up with two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Work it off at Quail’s Creek.”
“I’m not doing that.” Elmer shook his head, firm.
“Well, you’re in here gambling every night so I know you have money. I’ll take a draw from Madame Beauville. You can pay it down in installments. Generous ones, or I’ll send your Daddy in here to clean up after you.”
“Don’t do that.” Elmer dropped his voice, grave. “He’ll shut the place down.”
“And everyone will know it’s your fault. I’ll make sure of it, so you’d better make your payments.” Owen turned to head inside, considering the matter decided.
“What the fuck is it to you, anyway?” Elmer muttered.
Owen swung around and grabbed Elmer by the shirt front, lifting his limp, drunken ass onto his tiptoes.
“What is it not to you, Elmer? How the fuck do you live with yourself, bringing a child into this world and not looking out for it? Show me you’ve learned from this, or I’ll put you in the ground right now and spare your wife her future misery.”
“All right. Fuck.” Elmer knocked his hands off him and gave a shudder of cold, adding, “Asshole,” under his breath.
Owen had been called worse for less so he ignored that and took Elmer inside where they made their arrangements with Madame Beauville.