Brides of the West (22 page)

***

Annabelle made her way to the boardinghouse.
Barry left her all his property! She would use the money to make a
new life for herself.

One thing was certain; she didn’t have to go
home. Did she want to stay in Shiloh? She didn’t know, but she
owned property now and didn’t have to make a decision right
away.

Admittedly, accepting Barry Woods’ proposal
had been a pretty bad idea. He lied to her about owning a hotel and
restaurant. Did he lie about loving her? Of course he had, but his
marriage proposal was real. Why did he want a wife? What happened
that made him secretly make out a will and leave all his earthly
possessions to a woman he’d never met? She’d never know what kind
of a man he was or the husband he would’ve made, but one thing was
darn sure—his gift was real and had no strings attached. Woods
must’ve loved her in his own strange way. Silently, she thanked
him.

The boardinghouse loomed before her. Fanny
sat on the porch snapping a pan of beans. Annabelle pushed all
thoughts of men to the back of her mind.

“Let me help you.” She sat beside Fanny,
picked up a handful of the beans and began to work on them. Her
younger, agile fingers worked more quickly than the older
woman’s.

“You have a nice trip around town?” Fanny
was clearly fishing for information on her business with Mr.
Landers. Annabelle avoided it.

They discussed the Johnsons at the store.
She learned Patricia, the daughter, thought the sheriff would marry
her. For some unknown reason that bothered her, but it explained
Mrs. Johnson’s hostility toward her.

Annabelle finished snapping the last of the
beans. Fanny picked up the bowl and started inside. “Better get
these on if we’re gonna eat them for dinner.”

Together they fixed supper. It wasn’t any
different than meals back home. Annabelle volunteered to do the
dishes and help straighten the kitchen.

“Goodnight, Fanny,” she said after they’d
finished. “I’m going to bed.”

“Go right ahead,” Fanny replied. “You need to
peel potatoes in the morning.”

She gave Fanny a quick smile as she stopped
on the stairs. She squeezed the banister so hard her knuckles were
white. What had just changed? Was she a paying tenant or a charity
case?

The next two days, Annabelle stayed at the
boardinghouse and Mrs. Appling treated her like the hired help. Her
patience was beginning to wear thin when Mr. Landers sent for
her.

She put on the only clean dress she had and
told Mrs. Appling she was going out. Before she got out the door,
Mrs. Appling handed her a shopping list. She shoved it into her
reticule.

At the lawyer’s office, Mr. Landers ushered
her to his desk.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Yeager. The
Judge signed the papers and you’re now the legal owner of the
Chances Are Saloon and Social Club. Money at the bank has been
transferred to an account in your name. All that remains is my
fee.” He presented her with a bill.

It was over a hundred dollars. “I don’t have
this much money,” she lamented.

“Yes, you do—at the bank. We can go there and
I’ll introduce you to Mr. Webber.”

“I’m not sure what to do next.” She pushed
the panic away, certain he’d tell her.

“You’re the owner of the saloon and social
club. The employees work and have to be paid. Rufus, the bartender,
has been paying them out of the daily receipts. I’ll take you there
and introduce you to him, too.” He pulled his watch out of his vest
pocket. “We can do it now.”

“Now?” she stammered.

“Yes, it’s a perfect time.” He gathered up
some papers and put them in his dispatch case, then led her to the
door and locked it behind them.

At the bank, Mr. Landers introduced her to
the bank employees. Mr. Webber wasn’t in. To her surprise, over
five hundred dollars was in an account with her name. She arranged
payment for Mr. Landers and thanked the attentive clerk.

***

Mr. Landers then led Annabelle to the back
entrance of the saloon and knocked on the door. A fat man with
greasy hair answered. “Mr. Landers, come in.” The man stared at
her.

“Rufus, this is Miss Annabelle Yeager, Mr.
Woods’ fiancée.” They went inside to a small office. “Mr. Woods
made a will out after Miss Yeager agreed to marry him. It was
important to him to provide for her. He left the saloon, the social
club and all his assets to her.”

Rufus sat as if he had been pole-axed. “What
does that mean?”

“This young lady is the new owner of the
Chances Are Saloon and Social Club.”

Rufus’ jaw dropped. “The
new owner? I work for
her
now?”

“Yes, you do, Rufus, and I expect Mr. Woods
would want you to extend every courtesy to her. She doesn’t know
anything about running a saloon, so we’re going to have to help
her.”

Rufus’ stare cut through her. Maybe he
expected to end up with the business after Mr. Woods’ death. “I
know this is a shock to you; it was for me, too. I’d appreciate
your help as you obviously know how to run a saloon.” She added
quickly studying Rufus’ reaction.

“You do know this is a saloon and uh—social
club?”

“Yes, I know, but I’m not certain what a
social club is. Is it a hotel?”

The men looked at each other. Rufus finally
spoke. “It’s a brothel, Miss Yeager. Lauren Thamann is the madam.
She pays rent and a percentage to the house—” he pointed a finger
at her—“which is you.”

She owned a brothel! A whorehouse! What had
Barry Woods done to her?

“Of course, you can always sell the business
and the buildings,” Mr. Landers volunteered.

“Lauren isn’t going to be happy about this.
She thought Barry was going to marry her.” Rufus furrowed his brow.
“I don’t know how she’s going to take this news.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Mr. Landers
said. “Judge already signed the papers.”

“What papers?” a female voice asked.

Annabelle stared at the tall woman dressed in
what appeared to be an expensive day gown. Her long red hair hung
loose down her back. Red tint colored her cheeks and lips. A little
on the stout side, maybe even chubby, an air of arrogance and
authority surrounded her.

“Miss Thamann, this is Miss Annabelle Yeager,
Mr. Woods’ fiancée,” Mr. Landers explained. “Miss Yeager, this is
Miss Lauren Thamann.”

“Nice to meet you.” Annabelle offered her
hand.

“I don’t believe it.” She rested her hands on
her hips, ignoring Annabelle. “Barry loved me and we were planning
to be married. She’s lying.”

“No Lauren, she ain’t lying. Mr. Woods told
me about it. Sent for her from Georgia,” Rufus said.

“Mr. Woods also made provisions for Miss
Yeager in the event of his death. He left her all his property,
including the saloon and social club,” Mr. Landers added.

Lauren clenched her hands into tight fists
and her mouth tightened. “Barry wouldn’t do that to me. The Chances
Are is rightfully mine, she can’t have it.”

“The will was offered for probate and the
judge already signed the papers. There’s nothing you can do,” the
attorney explained.

“We’ll see about that.” She spun on a heel
and clomped out of the office. Her heavy footfalls on the steps
echoed through the building as she stomped upstairs.

Rufus opened a drawer and pulled out a book.
“This is the ledger. You can read and write?”

“Yes, I can read and write and do my
numbers.” Obviously Rufus didn’t have a very high opinion of
women.

“I reckon you better start learning the
saloon business. This’ll give you a good idea of what goes on. We
sell alcohol-liquor-all kinds. There’s gambling and each table pays
the house fifty percent of the take. Lauren runs the social club
and pays fifty percent of those proceeds to the house.” Rufus
tapped the books and gave her a short lesson about running a
saloon.

She looked at the ledger, but her head hurt
so much the numbers danced on the pages. “I’ll look at this later.
You’ll stay on won’t you?”

“For the time being. I need to order whiskey
and beer. There’s enough for the next two weeks, but it takes a
week for an order to get here. The barmaids have been paid and I
drew my pay last week. Mr. Landers has been overseeing the books
since Barry died. The piano player needs to be paid.”

“By all means, pay him, please. What about
the...er...ladies?”

“Lauren handles them. She hires and fires the
girls, collects the payments and pays them. The house takes care of
the furnishings and linens. The girls pay a reduced weekly rate for
their rooms.”

“Oh.” She sat, numbed.

“Why don’t you show her around?” Mr. Landers
said.

“It ain’t proper for a lady to be in a
saloon,” Rufus protested.

“She owns it, she should check out her
property,” snapped Mr. Landers, clearly losing his patience.

“Well, I reckon,” Rufus conceded. “We’re in
the office. Out there is the saloon and upstairs is the social
club.”

“I think we would like to see it,” Mr.
Landers said, looking at her.

“You’ve been here before, Landers, including
upstairs,” Rufus challenged.

Mr. Landers’ face flushed with embarrassment
until he looked like a ripe tomato. “Miss Yeager hasn’t seen it,”
he stuttered in protest.

“All right,” Rufus stood and led them into
the bar. “This is the saloon. Customers drink at the bar or at
tables. Those tables back there are reserved for gambling.” He
walked to the door next to the office and unlocked it—the supply
room. Next, he showed her the bar and all its bottles, before he
pointed out a piano sitting in a darkened corner of the hall.
Unless you knew it was there, it could’ve been just another piece
of furniture.

“Do you serve food?” Barry had written about
a restaurant in his letters.

“No kitchen,” Rufus said. “This is the grand
tour unless you want to go upstairs. All the girls are sleeping,
except for Miss Lauren.”

“I think I’ll wait ‘til another time. Is it
always this dark in here?”

“No need to light the place when it’s empty,
and drunks don’t much like bright lights,” Rufus explained. “The
gaming tables are lit to keep down the cheating. Mr. Woods didn’t
tolerate cheating.”

“I don’t condone cheating either.”

“Thanks for the tour, Rufus. I think Miss
Yeager is a little overwhelmed. I better get her back,” Mr. Landers
said.

Hurrying down the street, they returned to
the front of his office.

“If you need anything at all, just let me
know. Rufus and I will help you through it the best we can.” He
started to go into the office. “Maybe you better come inside a
minute.”

He took a seat at his desk. “I better warn
you. Barry told me someone wanted to buy him out and was trying to
cause problems.” Mr. Landers leaned back in his chair. “If someone
offers to buy you out, check with me first. They may make a real
low offer hoping you don’t know the value.”

“I will, and thank you so much,” she said
shaking his hand.

Annabelle left and went by the mercantile
for some tooth powder. The doorbell announced her presence, and
Mrs. Johnson and an older lady stopped talking. Annabelle felt
their long hard stares. She made her purchases and left the
store.

A soft afternoon breeze caressed her skin
and a sudden memory of a carefree little girl frolicking in the
mountain streams of Georgia on a hot summer day came to mind. The
war had snuffed out her dream of a home and family as one by one
young men marched off to war, never to return. She came to Shiloh
Springs in an attempt to resurrect that dream, but it had been
extinguished again. It was only a few days ago she faced either
going back to Georgia and its hardships or trying to make it on her
own. Now she owned a business and her future looked bright. But
deep in her heart, she still wanted that little girl’s dream.

Before she could get to the boardinghouse,
Fanny came storming up the street toward her like the Confederates
coming out to meet the Yankees.

“Miss Yeager, I heard you inherited the
Chances Are Saloon and Social Club,” she snapped.

“Yes, Mr. Woods was kind enough to provide
for me, despite our not being married,” she stammered. What good
would it do to deny it?

“I won’t have it in my house. You have to
leave right now.”

Mrs. Appling was kicking her out. “You can’t
do that, I paid for a week in advance.”

“You didn’t tell me you owned the saloon. I
don’t allow people like you in my house,” she ranted. “Pack your
things and get out.”

It was senseless trying to argue with her,
so Annabelle returned to the boardinghouse and packed her meager
belongings. Normally she would have removed the soiled linens from
the bed, but she saw no reason to do so now.

“Do you know another place in town where I—”
She stopped, realizing she shouldn’t have asked.

“Why don’t you sleep at the social club,
since you own it?”

Surely there had to be some place for her to
stay.

Minutes later Annabelle stood in the middle
of town carrying her bag. There was no hotel. Perhaps Mr. Landers
would know where she could stay. She hurried to his office, but
found the door locked and he didn’t answer her knock.

She was still standing there when Sheriff
Morrow appeared. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of his
touch. If he was going to order her around again and try to get her
to leave town, he better think again.

“Miss Yeager, is something wrong?” He stopped
a respectable distance away.

“I was hoping Mr. Landers could tell me some
place to stay.”

“I thought you were staying at Mrs.
Appling’s.” A smile quirked the corner of his lips.

“She threw me out because I inherited Mr.
Woods’ property—lock, stock and barrel.”

“You what?” Josh removed his hat and wiped
his brow.