Jasper Mountain (21 page)

“Y’all’ll do no such thang. It’s my turn,” Suzanne said with an edge of jealousy in her voice. She turned to Milena. “Ambrose is a scientist and quite inquisitive about the functionality of the human body. I am more than pleased to allow him all manner of experimentation with mine. He certainly adds to my repertoire, not to mention …” She sighed and shivered. “Sometimes I think I should be paying him.”

“You are, idiot,” Claire interjected. “And please don’t include me with those pining away for Dr. Kline. I find him as revolting as every other man in this town.”

“Why, Claire, you’re sour as a rotten grape,” Suzanne said, sneering. “I imagine a good dose of Ambrose might cure what is ailin’ y’all. He can cure just about anything wrong with me.”

“Ladies,” Isabella interrupted. “Have we forgotten payment is at the discretion of the good doctor? He is the one to choose. Haven’t I taught you anything, Suzanne? Never, ever become enamored of a customer. Such emotions will only cause trouble.”

“I’m not enamored of anyone,” Suzanne said. “I simply enjoy Ambrose’s bedside manner.”

Cassandra kept her eyes downcast, and Milena noticed the girl’s shoulders drooped.

“Cassandra,” Milena said softly. The pale face looked up, sadness heavy in her eyes. “May I tell your fortune now?” Milena asked. The girl nodded.

“What a glorious idea,” Isabella said, rising. “And, Milena, perhaps the doctor would enjoy a reading.”

From what Milena had heard, the good doctor would enjoy just about anything. Milena hardened with resolve. She refused, under any circumstances, to become part of the Boarding House offering.

Dr. Kline would not have the opportunity to enjoy her.

B
eth stood in the back of Angelina’s tiny shack, listening. What was she doing down in the cribs? This was a place for fifty-cent whores, not a Boarding House lady. She took a terrible risk being anywhere near here, let alone inside one of these hideous shanties.

But what else could she do? She was in love.

She was also one of Miss Isabella’s ladies, at least as long as no one caught her here. She’d almost been found out when Luke, the Boarding House guard, came to visit Angelina. When Luke pushed open the door, he stopped, his head turned to talk to someone outside, and Beth dove for the back room.

Now she stood on the other side of the wall with no choice but to listen to Luke and Angelina. Miss Isabella would never understand. As if to punctuate the threat, Luke howled like a coyote from the other side of the wall, then his voice broke into giggles.

Beth rubbed her sweaty palms against the plain brown dress she wore. She’d left all her beautiful clothes behind and covered her blond hair with a brown bonnet. She wished she’d worn one of her fancy outfits so Digger would see how pretty she could be. Beth met Digger after her father died in the mine explosion of ‘65. Two weeks after her father’s death, her mother jumped from the north face of Jasper Mountain. When Beth entered the orphanage, Digger was thirteen and about to leave for his grown-up job. For both, it was love at first sight. They became best friends, joined by loss and childhood laughter.

Beth’s heart broke when Digger went to work in the mines, but they found secret ways to meet. When she was finally released from the orphanage, she went to work for the Creelys. Eighteen hours a day of the worst kind of work, scrubbing all kinds of filth from someone else’s clothes and home, with only Sunday mornings off for church. She lived in the Creelys’ attic and worked every day until exhaustion, her hands raw and her eyes bleeding tears. She lost track of time. She found it near to impossible to see Digger. Her life as a scullery maid trapped her, a sentence for eternity.

After church, Beth used to take a stroll through town, free from the Creely Mansion for one precious morning. She met Isabella face-to-face when the madame waited for her in Husband’s Alley, a small wood walk leading behind the town and straight down to the Boarding House.

“My dear Beth,” Miss Isabella said. “You are much too lovely to be emptying chamber pots and scrubbing floors.”

Beth wholeheartedly agreed. Miss Isabella was not only beautiful, but rich and smart. She longed to live a luxurious life like this stunning woman.

Ironically, Beth left the employ of Victor Creely’s household to become Victor Creely’s mistress. Not such a horrible trade-off. She made more money, which meant she and Digger could be together all the sooner. Once they saved up enough, he’d take her to San Francisco. They would get jobs, respectable jobs, and live happy and have babies.

Beth heard the front door creak open.

“Digger! Come on in!” Luke’s voice welcomed.

“Oh, beg pardon. I thought you was ready for me, Angelina.”

“She is, Dig. I got her warmed up for you,” Luke quipped.

Beth’s stomach dropped right down into her boots at the life these women of the cribs were forced to lead.

“Why Luke.” Digger’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “That is very kind of you.”

“I’ll leave you to your pleasure,” Luke said.

Beth heard the front door shut, and she leaned against the sink, thinking she might faint. The door swung open, and Beth’s heart climbed up from worry when she saw Digger’s grin. She threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, thank God. This was a crazy scheme!” She buried her face in his neck. He’d taken a bath and been to the barber for her; he smelled like soap and cologne. When Beth looked up, she saw Angelina leaning against the door frame, watching them, a cold, mean flash in her eyes. Beth let go of Digger and he dug two dollar bills out of his pocket.

“Thanks, Angel,” he said, handing the bills over. Angelina tucked them in the waistband of her skirt. Digger turned back to Beth, excitement animating his boyish features. His handsome face made her heart flip. His misshapen nose—broken twice in brawls—and the scar running along his cheekbone from a knife fight only added to his charm. Beth knew exactly why she came. When she gazed into his face, she knew she’d always take such a risk. He was worth everything.

“Ready?”

She shook her head. “We can’t go anywhere. I’ll be seen.” “We’re goin’ on a walk, down away from town. No one’ll see us.”

“What if someone does?”

“We’re safe outside of town. Let’s go down to Sunset Pass. When Jack and me looked for Rolfie’s wife, I saw a place where fluoride is runnin’ up the rock face. I need to take a close-up look. This might be it, Beth. Our strike!”

Digger constantly searched for a vein of gold to make him as rich as Victor Creely. Beth believed in Digger and his dreams. So much so, she built her own dreams on his.

“I have to be back before three or I’ll be missed,” Beth said.

A shadow passed over Digger’s face, and Beth regretted reminding him of her Boarding House life.

“I’ll go if she don’t want to,” Angelina piped in.

For a moment, anger twisted through Beth, then a pang of guilt and sadness replaced the hot feeling. Angelina wasn’t to blame. Life in the cribs made a girl mean.

“Beth,” Digger said, taking her hands in his, “I didn’t show up to work. I might get sacked.”

She’d only risked sneaking away from the Boarding House for a few hours. He was right. No one would see them. Digger grinned and led her out the back way. She held tightly to his hand. She was so lucky to have him. She would follow him anywhere.

The doors of the church stood open, most likely in hopes of catching the cool breeze coming down off the mountains. Instead, the open doors of sanctimonious welcome caught none other than Isabella St. Claire. She stopped at the threshold of the rectory office, where she knew he’d be. Indeed, there he sat, the good Reverend McShane. He appeared lost in a world of his own, a world contained in a sheaf of papers he held in his hands. Most likely, he prepared some devout dribble for Sunday services. Beyond the rectory the side door to the church stood open in sacred acceptance, but not, she knew, for someone like her.

“Reverend McShane?” Isabella’s voice echoed through the austere office, no carpets or draping to soften noise. The preacher’s head snapped up from the manuscript he held, and he leapt to his feet, his papers scattering across his desk.

“I don’t dare come in any farther.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’d hate for your church to be struck by lightning or the walls to come tumbling down.”

The reverend’s face turned a shade of crimson. She knew she appeared particularly stunning, covered in ivory silk and lace that matched her skin, making her green eyes and red hair the only color in a field of milk and honey. She’d adequately covered Victor’s rough play of the night before. Isabella was smart enough and had the wherewithal to hide this side of her business, the ugly side that constantly lurked just below the surface of the lovely evenings, polite conversation, and delicate laughter. Like a hideous, twisted creature, it watched, waited for a moment to attack. Although it didn’t emerge often, the threat constantly lurked, and Isabella strived to be always ready.

It wouldn’t do to show the ugly side to the world. Not at all.

“Miss St. Claire,” Reverend McShane said, his voice sweet and hushed. God indeed possessed quite a sense of humor, creating such a beautiful man and then giving him a misguided sense of faith, keeping him out of her reach.

She smiled and held her envelope out like bait. “I don’t want you to think for a moment I forgot you.”

He came to her and took the envelope. “Thank you.” He paused and glanced uneasily around. Propriety barred her entry. God forbid anyone should see him consorting with the likes of Isabella St. Claire.

“Hypocritical motivations always feel rather uncomfortable, don’t you think? Like rough clothing that doesn’t quite fit. Not to worry, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your duties of the divine. Good day, Reverend.” She pivoted and walked down the stone path the way she came. Suddenly, he stood next to her. She stopped. “Why, Reverend. Did I forget something?”

“No, I did. Miss St. Claire, I wanted to … I mean … I need to … oh,” he stumbled. Dear Lord, how did this man, with his misguided virtue and pious judgments, endear himself to her? He cleared his throat. “I want to apologize to you for the last time we spoke. I was unforgivably rude.”

Startled, she searched her memory. Rude? She ran through the last time she delivered her donation. “Ah, yes, I recall the Wages of Sin speech. Don’t concern yourself, Reverend. I find slogging through meaningless pontification tiresome. I don’t really listen. No harm done.” She granted him her most radiant smile.

He held up the envelope, ignoring her verbal slap. “You are so generous. I have no right to treat you with anything other than gratitude for your kindness to us.”

Isabella St. Claire found herself in a state she rarely experienced. Speechless. The reverend? Apologizing? To her? And a genuine apology at that. She realized she stared, the smile wiped from her face by his honesty and humility. Neither were attributes she expected to come from a man.

He continued. “You always give me so much.” Color rose in his cheeks. She imagined a few other things to make that gorgeous blush of his grow even deeper. He dropped his gaze to the toes of her boots, then startled her by looking her straight in the eye. “I’ll be honest with you, Isabella. I need every cent you donate. I’d be lost without you.”

His confession cut right to her heart. How interesting. She hadn’t realized, until this moment, she even possessed one. She’d grown used to the lovely numbness she usually operated within and found she actually didn’t care for this mixture of pleasure and pain he evoked.

A group of children tumbled out from the orphanage building attached to the other side of the church. They ran in circles, calling each other names and screaming. From the same building lumbered a portly woman who waved her arms in an attempt to get them under control. Isabella thought of a rather fat goose with a gaggle of unruly goslings. The woman barked out an order, but the children continued running in circles, a blond boy dropping to roll in the grass.

Isabella returned her attention to the reverend. He watched the children, and the compassion in his eyes melted the edges of her guard. She struggled to pull herself back into tight control. Truly, these feelings he evoked, no matter how glorious, were becoming quite complicated and more than a bit bothersome.

Reverend McShane turned to her, and she experienced a swoon. She thought it must be some residual weakness from Victor’s ungentlemanly behavior. That, or she’d pulled her corset too tight.

“I should clarify,” he continued, bowing his head to the group of children. “We need every penny you give us. And we thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,” she said softly, shocking herself. She spoke without sarcasm. She actually meant what she said.

Before she realized what he was doing, he took her gloved hand. Her right hand. Her weak hand. She snatched it back so violently she lost her balance, and he grabbed to steady her. She straightened herself and stepped away, recovering her wits. She was Isabella St. Claire. She didn’t need him, or any man, to help her stand. Best not to forget that, not even for a moment.