Fireblossom (12 page)

Fox shook his head in admiration and disbelief. That Madeleine was trying to create a civilized garden in the midst of a bog struck Fox as absurdly touching. "So," he murmured, "we are both reaching beyond our surroundings. Others may think us ridiculous for wasting time in an effort to make our circumstances more bearable, but I won't laugh at you or your garden, Madeleine."

Her face was warm, and she surrendered to a smile. "Perhaps we understand each other... in this instance."

"Tell me about your garden. Have you enough sunlight? What have you planted? Are the seeds growing in that soil?"

"Yes, they are growing, but I may not have blooms until August!" Maddie laughed. "My mother loved an English garden, so I planted foxglove, pansies, sweet william, columbine, verbena, and... oh, much more. If it had been spring, I would have planted a border of primroses, but this year I had to be content with white alyssum."

Fox had to suppress an exclamation of amazement. "You are incredible, do you know that?"

"Gramma Susan might use a different word to describe me. She thinks I spend far too much time trying to create a fantasy world that simply does not exist here. I'd rather read about more civilized, romantic worlds than surrender to this one. The prospect of slaving in the kitchen or trying to shop on Main Street, amid the mud and all those unsavory people, makes me feel entirely unsuited for my new role." Maddie sighed. "I only came because my mother died and Father asked that we join him. For Benjamin's sake, I thought that we should be a family, and I dreamed of taking care of Father... but he is rarely present."

"You haven't been here very long—and it
is
a huge change from Society Hill in Philadelphia. Perhaps one day you'll relent and begin to see the good qualities of life here." Fox gave her a tolerant smile. "It's better than most of us deserve."

"What makes you think I lived in Society Hill?" she demanded. "How do
you
know of it?"

"You might be surprised to discover how much I know," he replied enigmatically, then rose to his feet. While they had been talking, Susan and the others had finished picking up, and now the baskets were repacked. Fox held out a hand to Maddie and watched as she rose in one graceful movement.

She wanted to press him to say more, but he turned immediately to Gramma Susan, thanking her for the wonderful, nourishing lunch. The old woman basked in the warmth of Fox's tone of voice, then remarked without a trace of meanness, "Maddie told you the truth, you know. It's probably best that she avoids the men here because she'd never make a fit wife for any of them. It's all I can do to get her to take instructions in the kitchen—she's hopeless alone!" Then she turned to Madeleine and added, "It's not your fault, my dear, and heaven knows we love you just as you are. I can't help thinking, though, that we probably shouldn't have come."

"Well, I didn't particularly yearn for marriage in Philadelphia, either, so it really doesn't matter much if I spend a year or two on the frontier. Perhaps by the time we return I'll have been too long on the vine...."

Fox had been taking all this in, but before he could form a comment, Benjamin burst into the roofless cabin.

"Here!" he cried, pushing the shiny new chisel into Fox's hand. Perspiring and wild-eyed, he could scarcely contain his excitement. "There's news, big news!
Guess
who's come to town! All of Deadwood's in an uproar!"

For an instant Fox's heart clenched and he felt the blood drain from his face. Could it possibly be...? "Who?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Is it... President Grant?" Maddie was teasing.

Titus Pym laughed and joined in. "Queen Victoria?"

Obviously Benjamin didn't really want to play this game, for he shook his head as if impatient with them for wasting his time. "No, no! Listen to
me!
I saw Wild Bill Hickok leading a wagon train up Main Street. Saw him with my own eyes! Wait'll I tell Johnny Gordon about
this!"

Fox's heart gave a jump of relief, then his interest was piqued. "Hickok is in Deadwood? Are you sure it isn't someone who just looks like him?"

"Yeah, I'm
sure!"
With that, Benjamin ran back onto the hillside, his red hair sticking up in spikes. "I'm going to Johnny's!" he yelled before disappearing.

Susan shook her head. "That boy needs a firm hand. Since his father doesn't seem inclined to stay at home, perhaps someone else could step in." She gave Fox a sly sidelong glance, which he acknowledged with a smile, but his thoughts were down on Main Street with James Butler Hickok.

* * *

Fox still visited the saloons most nights, not because he liked to carouse better than he liked to lie on his new cabin floor and look up at the stars, but because he still hadn't heard any news of Custer and the Seventh Cavalry. He'd figured out that it took a long time for information to reach Deadwood since it was so far from a river, a telegraph, the train lines, or even an army fort. Still, it did seem odd that no one who had passed through Deadwood knew how the battle had turned out.

And Fox wasn't sure what he hoped for; it seemed that either outcome would make him feel guilty. Lately he'd begun to dream that someone would accuse him of desertion, and this was not improbable. Had anyone else heard Custer order Dan Matthews to leave? To the others, he doubtless appeared to be making a speedy exit to avoid the battle.

Fox stood on Main Street which was fitfully lit by the coal oil lamps that lent garish illumination to the many saloons, gaming halls, and "theaters." Apparently the wagon train had brought dozens of newcomers to Deadwood, for all around Fox crowded men and boys he'd never seen before, as excited as children in a candy store as they contemplated the enchantments before them. Some of the women tried to help the newcomers decide by venturing out onto the street and boldly parading up and down.

"Fox!" a familiar female voice called from above.

He stopped in the middle of the busy, muddy street and looked back, upward toward the Gem's balcony. The plump, petite figure silhouetted against the lamplit window was easy enough to recognize. He raised a hand in greeting and smiled, wondering whether she could see the expression of goodwill in the shadows.

"Where you been?" Victoria wailed. "Come up here!"

Other men paused in the midst of drinking or spitting to look at Fox, who suddenly felt uneasily conspicuous. "I wish I could," he called back. "But I have other business." Shrugging elaborately, he pointed toward Nuttall & Mann's Number 10 Saloon, then waved and continued on his way.

Physically he craved a woman so much that he forced himself not to think about it. Problem was, he'd had a taste of Madeleine Avery and now these upstairs girls repelled him. He figured he'd reach the point where he wouldn't care and then maybe he'd have a few drinks to kill his finer sensibilities and just do the deed... but he hadn't reached that point yet. Maddie was like champagne, and Victoria and the others were like homemade elderberry wine left in a forgotten cupboard. He'd have to be pretty damned thirsty to resort to the latter.

Tinkling, ill-tuned pianos mixed with the strains of cracked fiddles and the occasional horn, filling the night air with an horrendous excuse for music. However, the shouts and laughter of Deadwood's celebrants would not be drowned out. When Fox crossed the threshold of Nuttall & Mann's, it was as if he'd been assaulted. The more time he spent up on the hillside working on his house, the less tolerance he had for socializing with a lot of loud-mouthed cardsharps, drunks, and whores.

Still, he was curious to see Wild Bill again. Their paths had crossed a dozen years ago, when Hickok had been a Union scout and had yet to acquire his dashing nickname. Over the years he'd made a reputation for himself as a professional gambler, army scout, and a sheriff in Kansas, laying down the law and shooting anyone foolish enough to challenge him. However, when he'd accidentally killed a policeman in Abilene while ostensibly trying to keep the peace, he'd lost his job, and word had it that the past five years had not been kind to the celebrated Wild Bill Hickok. Fox was curious to learn for himself whether the rumors of his deterioration were true. Would he even be able to recognize the man? As he made his way through the crowd to the bar, Fox's eyes examined the men at the gaming tables. There were dozens of new faces, but none that struck a chord.

Then he stopped. J. B. Hickok was leaning against the bar, chatting with Pink Buford and Captain Jack Crawford. He wore his hair and mustache long, but they could not disguise the fact that he had aged dramatically since the Civil War. Fox wondered, not for the first time, whether this was an inevitable consequence of life on the frontier.

Hickok squinted in his direction, tipped his head slightly, then squinted a different way. "We've met, haven't we, pard?"

Fox extended his hand. "Years ago, during the war. It's good to see you again, Mr. Hickok."

Wild Bill nodded slowly. "What name do you go by these days, son?"

"Fox." He grinned suddenly, and when the older man squinted again, Fox realized that he couldn't see well. This was a sad state for a renowned marksman. Looking at Harry Sam Young, the bartender, Fox said, "I'd like to buy a drink for Mr. Hickok," and watched as another gin and bitters was placed on the bar.

"No need for formalities. Bill suits me fine." Hickok lifted the glass and drank deeply, closing his eyes for an instant, then smiling as he opened them.

"What brings you to Deadwood, Bill?"

"I raised some money leading part of the wagon train. We left from Cheyenne and met up with some other wagons at Fort Laramie." Hickok shrugged and remarked softly, "I got married; did you hear it? My wife is Agnes Lake, the circus performer. She's world-famous. I want to make enough money to give her a proper home, and since everyone knows that Deadwood's the richest and the wildest place on earth at the moment, I figured this was the place to do it...."

"Our card game's about to begin," Pink Buford muttered, leaning between the two men.

"Good. I don't feel my best, but I doubt whether that will impair my talent at cards." Wild Bill gave Fox a philosophical smile.

Pressed now for time, Fox tried to act as if he were idly attempting to make conversation. "Bill, weren't you a scout for Custer a few years back? I hear he's doing some serious Indian fighting up in Montana."

"Yeah, I've heard that, too. Custer's all right, but too eager for my taste. It wouldn't break my heart to hear that Crazy Horse had killed old George."

Fox nearly sighed aloud. So, even the wagon train did not have news of the battle. He needed to know now—even if knowing meant that Wanted posters featuring his own face would appear on every building and tent in Deadwood. The uncertainty was eating at him and his dreams were getting worse.

"Well," he remarked as casually as a man who hadn't a care in the world, "it's good to have you in town, Bill. I'll leave you to your game. Let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you."

Hickok gave him a crooked smile. "I'd be obliged if you'd remember to watch my back when we're in the same room, Fox."

"It would be an honor," he replied, and they both laughed.

Chapter 7

July 20, 1876

It was getting harder and harder to stay in the house. Maddie nearly gave herself away to Gramma Susan and expressed those sentiments aloud, but she remembered herself just in time. It wouldn't do for her grandmother to know that she was bored with
The Scarlet Letter,
bored with polishing silver, bored even with the shopping trip the two women had made to look over the supplies that had come in on the wagon train. Even a glimpse of Wild Bill Hickok, pointed out to Maddie by E. B. Farnum, thrilled her not at all. Farnum, a merchant who was said to have designs on the office of mayor, spent most of each day sitting outside his store on a flitch of bacon, holding forth on a variety of subjects. None of it interested Madeleine.

She was loath to admit it even to herself, but what did seem to interest her these days were the goings-on next door. Sometimes she would peek between the curtains upstairs, or from the kitchen window if Gramma Susan wasn't watching, and try to see what was happening. This was one of those times.

Her grandmother, having risen at dawn to bake while the house was still cool, was now napping peacefully on her son-in-law's bed, and Maddie was stationed at the window next to the back door. Figures appeared and disappeared in and out of Fox's house, their images flickering as they passed the row of pine trees. Benjamin was over there, giggling madly, and someone was singing what sounded like a sea chanty. Hammers pounded. Fox had brought his horse to live with him on the hill, and Maddie gave her brother treats to take to the roan she now knew was called Watson.

Fox seemed to confound her at every turn. Just when she felt he'd proven himself to be tough and crude, he'd surprise her. A horse named Watson indeed! And then there was the matter of the dinner he'd shared with her family, showing up in his fancy clothes, conversing like a gentleman. Sometimes that day seemed like a dream.