The Great Alone (85 page)

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Justin shook his head in amazement. “I only arrived myself a couple days ago. Did you get my letter?”

“Your letter? No, I … I haven’t received anything—except that note you left me when you took off for the Klondike.”

His glance wavered briefly. “I just couldn’t take you with me. The way it turned out, that first winter was bad. It wasn’t a place for a woman. I was worried you’d come on your own instead of staying in Skagway.”

“I thought you’d probably forgotten all about me.”

“No.” He smiled, the heavy beard and mustache parting to show his teeth. “I guess it’s obvious I never made that big strike. When I heard they’d found gold here, I wrote to tell you I was going to Nome to try my luck. Course you never got that letter.”

“No.” And she wouldn’t have, even if she’d been in Skagway, because he’d addressed it to someone who no longer existed.

“Hey, Glory! You gonna work this bit of sand?” The shout came from a grizzled prospector standing with his partners on the strip of beach that Glory had claimed.

“No. You’re welcome to it,” she yelled back, then noticed the puzzled frown on Justin’s face.

“What’d he call you?”

“Glory That’s my name now. I changed it to Glory St. Clair. I took the last name from you. It seemed only fair, since you took things that belonged to me.” She watched the look of shock and disbelief spread across his face.

“
You’re
Glory St. Clair?” His glance swept her snarled hair, her grimy, tattered clothes, and bandaged hands.

She had to smile. “In a couple of hours I will be—after I’ve had a bath and a change of clothes.” Suddenly, she didn’t want to continue the conversation, not while she looked like this. “Why don’t we meet tonight?”

“Sure.” He was still too stunned to take it all in. “Where will I find you?”

“Ask anyone in town. They’ll tell you where I am.” She smiled as she started to move away from him, now anxious to leave. “Come on, Matty.”

“I’ll … see you later,” Justin said, appearing confused and uncertain about everything, in view of her startling revelation.

“Him a friend?” Matty asked, as they plodded through the sand toward town.

“Yes. I knew Justin a long time ago. Or at least it seems a long time ago.” She wished she knew what he’d said in that letter he’d written her.

“Better you see him. Me not like old man,” Matty declared in an obvious reference to Gabe Blackwood.

Glory made no comment, keeping silent about her reasons for seeing Gabe. She guessed that Matty sensed his prejudicial dislike of her or anyone of native extraction, but she didn’t attempt to explain his attitude. There were too many other things on her mind just now.

They stopped first at the Palace. From the outside, the building looked complete, even to the gold-painted sign that proclaimed its name in a flourishing scroll. But inside, many finishing touches remained undone. The walls were still in their rough state. The mirrors, paintings, and sconces weren’t hung, but the recently arrived gambling tables and chairs were set up in the gaming area, and the mock parlor held the upholstered settees and chairs.

No workmen were about. The place was silent. Glory was about to decide Deacon wasn’t there after all. Then she heard the clink of glass coming from the carved bar they’d imported from San Francisco.

“Deacon?” she called hesitantly.

He straightened from behind the counter, coatless, the cuffs of his white shirt rolled back to bare his forearms. His fingers were looped through the handles of three beer mugs. He did not smile when he saw her. Glory halted, unsure of her welcome.

“I see you finally came to your senses,” he observed dryly and turned to set the beer mugs on the bar’s mirrored back shelf. “You’re just in time to lend a hand unpacking these glasses. I can use your help. Matty’s too.”

“I can’t right now. Neither can Matty. I’m going to need her,” Glory said quickly. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d still want me as a partner.”

“Your money’s in this place, too.”

“Before you commit yourself, there’s something you should know. I ran into an old friend on the beach. We’re going to be getting together tonight. I need Matty to help me get cleaned up so I can look halfway presentable.”

“And that’s why you can’t help me get ready to open,” Deacon guessed. “Obviously this ‘old friend’ is a man.”

“Yes.” She didn’t want to lose Deacon’s friendship. Neither did she want to lie to him. Even though she didn’t know how the evening with Justin was going to turn out, Deacon had to know Justin was someone special to her, and she’d rather he knew that from the beginning.

There was a moment when he hesitated. “I have no private claim on you, Glory.” He shrugged, surprising her with the casualness of the gesture. “When you’re finished with Matty, have her move my things into one of the rooms upstairs here.”

She felt a twinge of disappointment that he would relinquish her to another man so easily. Which was crazy in a way, considering that he’d never objected in the least to her profession. But Justin wasn’t a customer.

“I will.” She hesitated. “Deacon, I—”

He interrupted her. “You don’t have to make any explanations to me. Go meet your friend or do whatever it is you’re going to do. The sooner that’s handled, the sooner you can get back here and lend me a hand. I want to be open for business by tomorrow.”

“Sure.” There was nothing else for her to say, although Glory wished there was something that might make her feel better about this. Trying to shake off a sense of guilt, she turned and left, accompanied by Matty.

Back at her quarters in the Double Eagle, Glory managed to procure the use of a bathtub. While Matty hauled water from the Snake River, the source of Nome’s drinking water, and heated it over a fire behind the saloon, Glory combed her snarled hair, her scalp aching from the constant tugging at the roots. When the tub was filled with water, she stripped off her clothes and ordered Matty to burn them. She soaped and scrubbed until her body felt raw.

Afterwards, Matty rubbed her with perfumed oils and brushed her hair dry, then helped her dress, tightly lacing Glory into her corset and fastening the red satin gown with the scandalous décolletage that Glory had been saving to wear for the opening of the Palace. Despite all the creams and balms she’d applied, nothing could be done for her sore, unsightly hands, so she hid them with a pair of long gloves that extended above the elbow. A layer of powder toned down the redness of her sun- and wind-burned face.

Ready at last, she had Matty collect Deacon’s things and take them to the Palace, then sat down to wait for Justin. A hundred times, it seemed, she checked her reflection in the mirror, looking for some flaw in her appearance that could be corrected. She was anxious to make a good impression on Justin and erase his former image of her. Glory was certain she hadn’t been this nervous since the first night she’d gone to work for Miss Rosie.

As she reached for the whiskey bottle to fill one of the two glasses on the tray, someone cleared his throat behind her. She pivoted toward the sound. Justin stood a step inside the partitioned room, fingering the hat he held in his hands. Glory stared at him. This was the Justin she remembered. The beard and mustache were gone, exposing his familiar features that now looked oddly pale. The long, shaggy locks of his dark hair had been shorn, returning its natural curl. His shirt, trousers, and jacket were all new.

Justin stared at her like a man transfixed. His lips moved twice before anything came out. “They … said you were in here. I would have knocked, but that’s hard to do on canvas walls.”

She smiled, his reaction filling her with confidence. “Come in, Justin. Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, I could use a drink.” He walked over to her and took the glass of whiskey she poured for him, his gaze never leaving her.

“We should drink to something.” She raised her glass and waited for him to make the toast, but he seemed incapable of speech. “Here’s to meeting again in Nome. There’s no place like it.” She sipped at her whiskey, but he made no move to follow suit. “Is something wrong?”

He dropped his gaze, but it fell no farther than the white mounds of her pushed-up breasts. “I don’t know what to call you.” He shook his head. “You don’t even look like Marisha now.”

“I’m not. I’m Glory.”

“I guess so.” He quickly downed a swallow of the whiskey, then studied the glass in his hand.

Glory noticed his troubled frown and felt a twinge of unease. “What’s wrong, Justin? Don’t tell me you liked Marisha better?” she scoffed, knowing full well that he had never stared at Marisha the way he stared at her now.

“I knew her.”

“Meaning you don’t know me.” She was mildly irritated by his attitude.

“I don’t understand. I mean … when I left, you had a job.” He gestured wildly, mindless of the hat in his hand. “You were working at that restaurant. You had a place to eat and sleep. I figured you’d be all right. What happened?”

“I quit.”

“But why? Was it my fault? When I left, you weren’t in a family way or anything like that, were you?”

“No. Nothing like that.” It occurred to her that she could have lied, led him to believe that he was in some way responsible for the life she’d chosen. While it amused her that Justin wanted to think that way, she also found it wearisome. “Do you see this gown I’m wearing, Justin? I had it specially made in San Francisco. No waitress could afford a gown like this if she saved for a hundred years. How else would a woman get enough money on her own to be half owner in the Palace, being built down the street? She either strikes gold or marries some rich man and becomes his chattel. I chose to become my own gold mine.”

“But this afternoon on the beach, you were—”

“—briefly a victim of the gold fever. Just for a little while I was caught up in the dream we had long ago. Remember how you and I used to sit up and talk about the gold we were going to find in the Klondike? I let myself think it was going to come true here in Nome. Luckily, I came to my senses.”

“Didn’t you find any gold?” Justin frowned.

“Sure. Eighty … maybe a hundred dollars’ worth after two days of back-breaking labor.”

“What’s wrong with that? If you could average that every day for a year, do you realize how much that would be?”

“And do you realize what I’d look like after a year? My skin would be ruined. My hair would be, too. I’d have muscles like a man, calluses on my hands. I like being a woman, Justin. I like being soft and pretty. I like smelling of perfume instead of sweat. I don’t want to be rich and look like some worn-out old hag.” Angry tears stung her eyes as she struggled to make him understand. “You know what it was like for me growing up—never having anything, not friends or clothes or fun, always being told what to do and how to behave. I’m not going to live like that ever again, and I don’t care what I have to do! I thought you more than anyone would understand that.”

“I do. I guess I just never thought about it that way. It’s just that I never meant for my leaving to hurt you.”

“It did. But that isn’t the reason I became a whore. I’m in it for the money. It’s a business to me.”

“I believe you. But where does that leave me?”

“It leaves you wherever you want to be,” Glory replied. “Maybe I should ask why you came tonight? Was it just to ease your conscience or what?”

“I’m not sure if I know,” he admitted as he continued to study her. “Curiosity was part of it. Practically every prospector from here to the Yukon has heard of Glory St. Clair. And I wanted to see Marisha again. I never expected to miss her—you—when I left Skagway, at least not as much as I did. Hell.” He laughed, but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and a little embarrassed. “When my partners found out I was meeting you tonight, they made me take a bath and dragged the barber away from his diggings to give me a shave and a haircut. I even bought me some new clothes. I’m not even sure if I know what you expect from me. Talk is that you and that gambler have some kind of arrangement.”

“Deacon is a friend as well as my business partner, but you won’t find his things here in this room. I don’t have any one special person, someone that I really care about.”

“None?”

She shook her head. “You were the only one I ever shared anything with—my thoughts, my feelings, my dreams. No one else knows me the way you do. To them, I’m just Glory St. Clair. They don’t even know where I got the name.”

“Mari—” He stopped, a boyish smile of chagrin breaking across his mouth. “Maybe I should get used to calling you Glory.”

She moved close to him and studied the gentle line of his mouth, remembering that long-ago day when she had received her first kiss from those lips. “Maybe you should.”

“Glory.” He started to touch her, then realized that his hands were full, his hat in one and the whiskey glass in the other. For an awkward second, he didn’t seem to know what to do with them. Then he laughed, and tossed his hat and the whiskey glass in the air. In the next second, she was in his arms and he was kissing her with the thoroughness of a man long hungry for the taste of her lips.

With his head pillowed on the crook of her shoulder, Justin lay alongside her, his hand caressing the roundly firm flesh of a breast beneath the covers. Absently, Glory twirled a dark curl of his hair around the end of her finger. Making love with him had been good. He wasn’t as skilled in the art of arousal as Deacon, but he more than made up for it in eagerness and intensity—as if he had to prove he was better than any man she had lain with before. That part didn’t matter to her. The others were business and this was pleasure, but she wasn’t certain he would understand the fine difference. She kissed the top of his head, then rubbed her chin on it, sublimely content.