Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (26 page)

“It’s a saloon.”

“Do you work here?”

Hiram smiled proudly. “I own it.”

Becky’s eyes went wide. Her palm slammed her heart. She looked at Pa. “I’m going to faint.”

Pa took her elbow. “Let’s get her out of here.”

The four made their way to the wooden sidewalk, away from the rowdy noises coming from inside. Sarah managed to find her voice. “I can’t believe this, Pa. You and Becky actually came all the way from Mokelumne City?”

“We just arrived. I wasn’t sure where to find you, so I got us rooms at the El Dorado Hotel. They told us where we’d find Hiram.”

“But why are you here? You never mentioned you were coming in your last letter.”

Pa looked tired, thinner and more stoop-shouldered than ever. “Your mother and I were worried. We knew something wasn’t right. We suspected you were keeping something from us.” He regarded Hiram with disbelief. “You own a saloon? Is that possible?”

“Yes, it is, Pa.” Hiram puffed his chest out. “I had a little financial help from Jack and Ben, but the Bella Union Saloon is all mine.” He patted Sarah’s shoulder. “That’s not all. Sarah owns a pie shop!”

“And you never told us?”

Sarah tried to collect her thoughts. Her father’s unexpected appearance changed everything. She’d known sooner or later she must tell her parents the truth about Florrie, but she’d put off the inevitable. Now that Pa was here, she wouldn’t hold back. She’d tell him everything. A group of boisterous miners walked by, one jostling Sarah’s shoulder. They mustn’t stand here on the sidewalk, not in this wild town. “Let’s get back to your hotel. We’ll talk there.”

Finally away from the hustle and bustle of Main Street, the four members of the Bryan family sat facing each other in the lobby of the El Dorado Hotel. Becky sat stiffly, tapping her foot. She was dying to speak, but she’d have to wait. Sarah took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what happened, all of it. And then perhaps you’ll see why we wanted to stay.”

Pa and Becky sat transfixed as Sarah, with Hiram’s help, unfolded the astonishing story of how they’d found Florrie. She didn’t mince words. “I know how hard this is to believe, but she was working in a brothel—and still is.”

Pa kept shaking his head. “But why didn’t she want to leave when you and Hiram found her?”

“Because she thinks it’s all a party and she likes it there.”

“Unbelievable!” Pa was truly stunned and horrified.

When Sarah told them about the baby, her father got tears in his eyes. “I have a grandchild?”

“Yes, you do, a little granddaughter, only she’s gone now.” She told them about Hannibal Palmer and how he’d stolen Florrie’s baby. “I tried—oh, how I tried! But it’s impossible. We have no rights. I can’t see any way to get her back.”

Hiram added, “Hannibal Palmer is one of the most powerful men in the region, and one of the most dangerous. It would be folly to go against him.”

Pa sadly nodded. “Now I understand. You were right, not wanting us to know about Florrie. For me, it’s bad enough, but you know how frail you mother’s health is. I doubt she…” He paused to collect himself. “She must never find out her daughter is a prostitute. If she does, it will kill her.”

Sarah could tell from the rapid tapping of Becky’s foot that her patience was almost at an end. “You had something to say, Becky?”

Becky’s foot stopped tapping. “I’m not surprised about Florrie. I always thought that girl was—”

“That’s enough.” Sarah swallowed the instant rage in her throat. Ordinarily, she could tolerate her sister-in-law’s narrow-minded, snide remarks, but not tonight. After all the heartbreak and aggravation she’d been through, the last of her patience had fled. “Have you anything else to say?”

Becky drew herself up, full of righteous indignation. She glared daggers at Hiram, who sat quietly listening. “I cannot believe what you’ve done. Never in my wildest dreams did I think you, my own husband, would own a saloon.”

Hiram shrugged his shoulders, looking as if he’d like to flee. “It seemed a good opportunity, so I took it.”

“Gambling is a sin.” Warming to her task, Becky arose from her chair and pointed an accusing finger at her husband. “I saw that bar—all those drunken men under the influence of the demon rum.”

“It’s not a very big bar.”

Not again! Stand up to her, Hiram
. Sarah hated the sight of her poor brother shrinking back in his chair, his weak voice wavering.

Becky crossed her arms and glared at her husband. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Hiram. You will get rid of that—that—house of wickedness immediately. You will return with me to Mokelumne City. You will buy a beet farm and become a respectable farmer, just as God intended you to do. Is that clear?”

Sarah opened her mouth to defend her brother, but why waste her breath? Apparently he’d forgotten how he’d stood up to Becky when he decided to come to Hangtown. Poor Hiram, he was going to give in as he usually did. What a shame. For a time, with his newfound confidence, Hiram had walked tall and proud, despite his crippled leg. Now, thanks to his overbearing wife, he’d lost his backbone again.

Frowning, Hiram bent forward and clasped his hands between his knees. He appeared to be in deep thought. He looked up, the frown gone. Tilting his head back, he looked directly into his wife’s eyes. “No.”

Becky flinched. “What do you mean no?”

Hiram rose to face her. “I mean, no, I’m not going back to Mokelumne City. Matter of fact, I will never go back to Mokelumne City. Jack McCoy helped me see what I could do if I put my mind to it. He was right. I’m a success here. God didn’t intend for me to own a beet farm. He intended for me to own a saloon. You want me to give that up? Sorry, it’s not going to happen.”

“But—but—” Becky sputtered, “A gambling saloon? A bar? Do you want to disgrace me? I can just imagine what the Temperance Union will say.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn what they say.” Becky gasped, but Hiram seemed not to care. “You have a choice. Go home, spend the rest of your life marching in step with the ladies of the Temperance Union. Or stay here in Hangtown with me. I love you. I can make you happy if you’ll let me. If you’d just stop getting your bloomers in a twist over every little thing, we’ll have a great life together.”

Becky’s face turned red. She looked as if she’d been struck by a thunderbolt. “Here in Hangtown? Never! Mark my words, Hiram Bryan, keep up with this wickedness, and you will come to a sad end.” She spun around and marched to the entrance of the lobby, turned and marched back to Hiram again. “You have twenty-four hours in which to change your mind.”

“Really?” He stifled a laugh. “Let me make this clear, Becky. I will never go back to Mokelumne City. I will never be a beet farmer. You’d best just go on home because I’m staying here.”

“Well!”

After Becky’s gasp of surprise and quick departure, Pa broke the shocked silence. “Are you sure, son? I know she can be difficult sometimes, but she’s your wife, after all.”

Hiram’s brows drew together in an agonized expression. “I love Becky. That was hard.”

Sarah beamed at her brother. “I’m so proud of you I could burst.”

“Even though I’ve lost my wife?”

“But you haven’t. You don’t understand women. Becky will change her mind.”

“How do you know?” Hiram looked skeptical.

“Because you stood up to her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about it, Hiram. Just mark my words.”

“Jack!” Pa cried and rose from his chair.

Jack McCoy walked into the lobby, smiling widely when he caught sight of Pa. “Mr. Bryan! Nice to see you. Don’t tell me you came all the way from Mokelumne City.” He and Pa embraced, clapping each other on the shoulders in the rough manner men had. Sarah’s heart ached at the sight of him, but when he nodded a greeting in her direction, she returned a casual nod. Never let it be said Sarah Gregg wore her heart on her sleeve. “Do please join us, Jack. I’ve told Pa what happened.”

With Jack’s help, Sarah filled in Pa on the details of her ill-fated visit to the residence of Hannibal Palmer. Pa looked more stricken by the minute. “There’s no way?”

“No way.”

“I want to see her.”

“See who?”

“Florrie.”

“But you can’t. She lives in a brothel.” In her mind’s eye, Sarah pictured her straitlaced father hob-knobbing with the skimpily dressed ladies of the night in Hannibal Palmer’s house of ill repute. “You absolutely can’t.”

Pa got his stubborn look. “I can and I will.”

“Could you please hold off? The reason I’m asking is…” She had no idea what the reason was. She only knew her father’s heart would break if he saw Florrie the way she was now. She cast a warning glance at Jack. “We haven’t given up. We’re coming up with a plan to get the baby back. Until then, it’s best you don’t interfere in any way.”

“Well, I suppose…” Pa frowned with suspicion. “Does your plan involve violence? Because if it does, I don’t think—”

“No violence involved. We’d be fools if we thought we could outgun Hannibal Palmer and his gang.” Her mind had gone totally blank. She could hardly think of her name, let alone an elaborate plan to outwit the likes of Hannibal Palmer. She cast desperate eyes at Jack. “We have lots of ideas, haven’t we?”

Without hesitation, Jack nodded decisively. “Sarah’s right. It’s only a matter of which plan we should chose. I think you should wait, Mr. Bryan. It won’t take long before you’re reunited with your daughter.”

For a moment, Pa deliberated. “All right, you’ve convinced me. I have every confidence in you, Jack. I’ll wait, but whatever you’re going to do, it had better be soon. Luzena is waiting to hear from me.”

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. But what now? How could she come up with a plan to rescue Florrie’s baby when the whole thing was impossible?

They continued chatting until Pa excused himself and went up to bed. The moment he left, Sarah turned to Jack. “Thanks for saving me.”

Jack gave a low chuckle. “What was that all about? Last I heard you were sure there was no way to get the baby back. Have you thought of something?”

“Not exactly…no, I haven’t. Oh, Jack, what have I done? I have no plan. I just didn’t want Pa seeing my sister in that awful place. Now what do I do?”

“What do you do?” Jack twisted his lips and looked toward the ceiling. “I’d say we’d better come up with a plan to get that baby back, Hannibal Palmer be damned.”

* * * *

What to do? What to do?
Next morning, Sarah’s head was spinning as she went to work in the pie shop. After spending a near sleepless night discarding one useless plan after another, she’d come up with nothing. At least the pie shop was running smoothly. Between Cedric and Anming, they’d done a fine job. “We sold more pie than ever,” said Anming. “I just hope Ling returns today.”

Sarah had been so wrapped up in her own problems she’d forgotten how the young Chinese and his friends were working their claim in Sandy gulch and the possible threat from Hannibal Palmer’s gang. “You haven’t heard anything?”

Anming regarded her with troubled eyes. “I worry. He should be back by now.”

Sarah couldn’t find any reassuring words. She’d overheard enough to know that throughout the gold diggings, foreigners were resented and treated poorly, the Chinese most of all.

In the early afternoon, Sarah was serving customers when Anming rushed in from the back and got her aside. “It’s Ling! He’s hurt.”

Sarah slipped outside and found the young Chinese man sitting huddled against the Beehive oven, clothing torn and bloodied, face scratched and bruised. Anming knelt beside him and started talking in Mandarin. At Ling’s first response, a horrified expression crossed her face. It deepened with each of his answers. Finally Anming looked up to Sarah. “Ling says the stream that ran through their claim all of a sudden dried up. They didn’t know what to do because you must have water to work your claim. They were about to pack up and leave when at least fifteen, maybe twenty, men, all with guns, swooped down out of nowhere. These men took all the gold Ling and his friends had collected. They shot up their camp and left.” She spoke to Ling who answered briefly. “Four of his friends are dead. He pretended to be dead or they would have killed him, too.”

“Ask if it was Hannibal Palmer’s men,” Sarah said, a cold fury building inside her.

Anming spoke in Mandarin and got a quick answer. “Ling says yes, it was Palmer’s men. He recognized some of them. They didn’t bother to disguise themselves.”

They helped Ling inside to the kitchen. He appeared to be all right except for cuts and bruises. With Cedric’s help, they got him fed, cleaned up, and a few cuts bandaged. Sarah told Anming to see that he got back to his camp. She was not to come back the rest of the day. After they left, the little cockney went livid with rage, waving a rolling pin as he spoke. “Ruthless men like ’annibal Palmer should be wiped off the face of this earth. That villain thinks ’e’s above the law—gets away with murder, anything ’e pleases, and we’re ’elpless to stop ’im.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”
So frustrating
. More than ever, Sarah wanted to settle the score with Hannibal Palmer. She’d racked her brain, but any semblance of a plan still eluded her.

Cedric calmed himself down. “Did Ling say the water dried up?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why.”

The little cockney snorted with contempt. “You can thank Palmer for that. ’E’s got two claims that made ’im wealthy. There’s the first one, Golden Hill. It sat on a little stream. You’ve got to ’ave water to work your claim, so when Palmer decided ’e didn’t ’ave enough, guess what ’e did?”

“I have no idea.”

“’E went upstream, over to the American River, built a dam, and diverted the river so it would flow ’is way down to ’is claim. What did that thief care about the ’undreds of claims along the riverbed that dried up and were useless?”

“What about his other claim?”

“Looks like ’e did it again. Mad Mule, the second claim, lies to the north of Sandy Gulch. It’s not as rich as the first—what could be?—but it pays off well. Like as not, what ’e’s done is build another dam that diverts the water running through Sandy Gulch. I wouldn’t put it past the low-down skunk.”