A Claim of Her Own (22 page)
Once he had the upper hand, he would appear to be generous. He might even offer the brother a job. He’d gain Mattie’s trust again, and then a terrible accident would befall Dillon. Something like that
should
have happened in Kansas long ago. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Jonas took his pocket watch out. He’d given this place enough of his time. He was tired and he wanted to get at least some of the grit and grime off him. Stepping out into the street, he headed for the Grand Central Hotel. What a name.
Grand
. If he opened a place here that’s what he’d name it. The Grand. And it
would
be grand compared to the rest of these dives. As he made his way back to the hotel, he wondered if the imbecile who’d offered to tend his horse had remembered to take his bedroll and saddlebags to the hotel and get him a room.
Gunfire broke out up the street. No one dodged for cover except a Chinaman with a deer carcass slung over his shoulder. Which reminded Jonas of another way to find Mattie. Opium dens. Dillon O’Keefe had had his problems in that regard. Find him and Mattie wouldn’t be far away.
The village idiot had done what he was told. Jonas’s bedroll and saddlebags were waiting at the hotel desk, and for the first time since he’d arrived in this town, Jonas smelled something that didn’t make his eyes water and his stomach roil. The man behind the desk noticed when Jonas inhaled.
“That’s the promise of tomorrow, sir,” he said with a smile. “The Grand Central offers the finest dining experience in Deadwood, courtesy of Aunt Lou Marchbanks, the best cook in Dakota. Maybe the best cook in the West.”
Jonas only grunted.
Best?
He’d be the judge of that. Of course if Aunt Lou was a proper mammy he supposed she had learned a thing or two about cooking. At least that’s how things had worked where he came from.
Up in his room, Jonas undressed and washed thoroughly, hoping he could sleep without battling the vermin that often mounted a full attack on hotel guests in places like this. Happily, when he stretched out on the lumpy mattress, it became clear that he was the only living resident in the bed. Good.
He would spend tomorrow in Chinatown, and if he didn’t find any trace of either O’Keefe, he’d head to some of the other camps. Sonny Manning could be trusted to keep things going at the place back in Abilene for at least a little while longer.
Jonas fell asleep reviewing his plans for Mattie. One of the things he’d realized on this journey was that he’d failed to frighten her properly. That mistake would have to be corrected. A woman’s fear could be useful. Jonas liked it when terrified women did what he told them to do. There was a raw pleasure in it that he couldn’t quite experience in any other way.
A friend loveth at all times,
and a brother is born for adversity.
Proverbs 17:17
Y
ou turned out to be an easy man to find.” Mattie plopped down beside where Wild Bill Hickok sat leaning against the back wall of the Grand Central Hotel.
At the sound of her voice, Hickok lifted his head, squinted at her, and closed his eyes again. Groaning, he took off his hat and put his hand to his head. “What day is it?”
“Sunday,” Mattie said. “And I came down the gulch hoping we could have a talk. A private talk.”
Bill moaned, “Sunday? Sunday
morning
? Please tell me I didn’t black out before I got to my room.”
“Well, I can’t tell you much of anything, seeing as how I just got into town,” Mattie said. “Thought I’d help Aunt Lou with breakfast—and earn my own—then look for you early this afternoon. But here you are. And I’d say, based on the evidence, that what you don’t want to hear is exactly what happened. You blacked out before you got to your room.”
Bill opened his eyes a little wider and tilted his head to look her way. “Coffee?”
Mattie stood up. “Coming right up.”
Aunt Lou was bustling around the kitchen with more than her usual energy. When Mattie asked for a cup of coffee for Wild Bill, she poured it, but while she was pouring she scolded. “I don’t care how famous that man is. He still don’t have no right to bring his drunken self to my back door.”
“You are absolutely right, ma’am.” Bill stood in the doorway and invited himself into the kitchen, sliding into one of the chairs at the table. “I apologize for my uninvited presence. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But I sincerely hope you’ll put up with me until I can get a cup of strong coffee in me.”
Aunt Lou glared down at the man slumped at her kitchen table. “You didn’t frighten me,” she said, and proceeded to turn the flapjacks cooking on the stove. “At least not much. After I realized you was just sitting there on the ground—that you wasn’t
dead
.” She continued to rattle pans and clank lids as she worked, sending the message that she was busy and this was her kitchen.
Mattie set a mug of steaming coffee in front of Bill. He took it with a grateful sigh before addressing Aunt Lou. “I am beholden to you for the best cup of coffee I’ve tasted in many a day, ma’am.” He laid a gold coin on the table. “Is there any chance you would consider feeding me breakfast before I go upstairs to my room?”
“Breakfast is served in the dining room starting in about fifteen minutes,” Aunt Lou said without turning around.
“I—” Mattie cleared her throat. “I need to talk to Bill, Aunt Lou. And I’d rather do it back here. If you don’t mind too much.”
Aunt Lou turned around. She looked with surprise from Mattie to Bill and back again. Mattie’s heart thumped as she realized that she cared very much what this good woman thought of her.
Good women crossed the street to the other side rather than come face-to-face with gambling hall girls like Mattie O’Keefe. Good women assumed such women were prostitutes, and unless they were the rare woman who held out a helping hand to the girls trying to escape that life, good women did not speak to, did not smile at, did not acknowledge the existence of gambling hall girls. These were the facts that had continued to haunt Mattie the day before, when Bill had walked into Swede’s store and greeted her by name. These were the facts that would not let her simply hope for the best when it came to Wild Bill and his knowledge of her past.
And so Mattie cast a smile in Aunt Lou’s direction and said, “Yes, ma’am. I know Wild Bill Hickok. Pretty well, in fact. You see, Aunt Lou, I’m a—”
“She’s a prospector,” Wild Bill interrupted. He smiled at Aunt Lou. His most charming smile. “A prospector and a good woman.” Bill nodded. “I’d say that about sums it up.”
“I followed Dillon here because I want a
respectable
life,” Mattie croaked, wiping her clammy palms on her skirt.
Aunt Lou put a hand on Mattie’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Calm down, honey. Not a soul in Deadwood doesn’t have something in their past they’d like to forget. Shoot, there’s not a person
alive
doesn’t have
something
in their past they’d like to forget. As far as Aunt Lou’s concerned you are a sweet girl who has faced a terrible loss and is working hard to make good. Anything else doesn’t matter. Not one bit.” Aunt Lou pulled another chair out. “Now, you sit down and calm yourself.”
Mattie plopped down, and Aunt Lou set a mug of coffee before her. For a few minutes she and Bill drank in silence. Finally, she mentioned Jonas. “I’ve been worried he might come looking for me. Worried he’d see
you
and start asking questions.”
“You know what I think of that snake in the grass,” Wild Bill said. “It’s good you’re free of him.” The glint of hatred in his eyes faded. His voice gentled as he said, “I was mighty sorry to hear about Dillon.”
“How’d you learn about Dillon?”
“Aron told me. He felt compelled to try and save my soul last night. Calamity’s, too.” Bill took another sip of coffee. He leaned close. “And he’s wondering about you, same as you are about him.” He sat back. “But you know the code.” Bill was talking about the code of silence that reigned in a gambler’s world, where past lives were counted dead and a man who asked too many questions could end up the same way. “So while I didn’t say much about you to him, and I can’t say much about him to you, I will tell you that I’d trust Aron Gallagher with my life on any day of the week. You have nothing to worry about from him, especially now that he answers to an even higher power than Winchester and Colt.” He paused. “And as for Jonas Flynn—” he swept his coat back behind the pistols at his side—“I’m happy to keep an eye out for you.”
While they talked, Aunt Lou had been alternately growing a mountain of flapjacks, cracking eggs into her giant iron frypan, and cooking bacon. Hearing Bill say he’d keep an eye out for Mattie, Aunt Lou turned about and, beaming kindness and approval, asked, “Now, how do you like your eggs, Mr. Wild Bill?”
When he’d finished his breakfast, Wild Bill reached for his hat and stood up and, with a little nod at Aunt Lou, said, “Thank you for sharing your kitchen with me, ma’am. I won’t impose on your hospitality again.” He headed for the door leading toward the front of the hotel.
“You’re welcome in Aunt Lou’s kitchen any time you need it, Mr. Wild Bill.”
Hickok thanked Aunt Lou as he settled his hat on his head. “I’m gonna head upstairs and sleep the night off,” he told Mattie. “It’ll likely take all day.” He winked at her. “I’d be honored to buy you dinner later, though. If you’re hereabouts come sundown.”
“Thank you,” Mattie said, “but I just came into town to talk to you. As soon as I help Aunt Lou get caught up here, I’m headed back up to my claim.”
Bill nodded. “I think you’ve started yourself a good life up here, Mattie O’Keefe. I always thought you were too fine a lady to be dealing cards to drunks and gunslingers.” He rested one palm on the butt of a gun. “Now, don’t you forget what I said earlier. If Jonas Flynn comes sniffing around Deadwood, I will live up to my reputation.” And with that, he was gone. Mattie could hear his spurs rattle as he mounted the stairs leading up to his room.
As soon as Wild Bill was gone, the silence in Aunt Lou’s kitchen grew heavy with unspoken words. When Mattie reached for an apron, Aunt Lou interrupted her. “If you want to get back on up to your claim, I can manage here.”
“That’s good of you, Aunt Lou, but we interrupted your morning, and I’m thinking you could use some help to get caught up.” Without another word she donned the apron and went to work making biscuits. Boots clomping down the hotel stairs and voices in the lobby signaled the expectation of breakfast, and while Aunt Lou served up her bacon and eggs, flapjacks and biscuits, Mattie set great platters of food on trays and shuttled them into the dining room.
The two of them were elbow deep in dirty dishes before Mattie returned to the topic that had brought her back into town. After telling Aunt Lou how Wild Bill and Calamity Jane had come into the store and how Wild Bill had greeted her and Gallagher by name, she asked, “Do you think I should say something to Tom before I leave town? He has to be wondering about me. I-I don’t want to lose his friendship.”
Aunt Lou considered. Finally she said, “Like I said before, honey, there’s not a living soul that don’t have something in their past they’d just as soon others didn’t know about. I imagine that even Mr. Tom English—fine man that he is—has left a thing or two in the shadows of the past.” She squeezed Mattie’s shoulder. “The good Lord takes us where He finds us, honey. And good
people
do the same. You don’t owe Mr. English or me or anyone else an explanation of where you’ve been. We see where you
are
, and we like you just fine.”
He’d never seen anything like Sunday in Deadwood. Thousands surged through the streets in a wave of palpable lust, and as Jonas moved along with them, he understood the lure of Deadwood even more completely. Any caste of human being was welcome here as long as they had gold. No vice was unattainable, and there was no law to interrupt either the pursuit of pleasure or the fulfillment of desire. Once again he thought of how much money a man could make here with the right kind of place. Once again he regretted the loss of Mattie O’Keefe.
He reconsidered his strategy of not asking about Mattie by name. If she didn’t turn up soon, perhaps he’d show the daguerreotype around. He could pretend to be a concerned family member looking for a runaway. It rankled that he’d likely have to pretend to be Mattie’s father if he took that route. But for now, he still preferred the advantage of surprise. If she got wind of his looking for her, she might run again. No, he’d keep her name to himself. Sooner or later she would turn up.
As planned, he skipped breakfast at the hotel and spent most of Sunday searching opium dens, but there was no trace of Dillon O’Keefe. By the end of the day he left Chinatown and returned to the Badlands, finishing his search of the various dives there. Finally he asked the desk clerk at the hotel to draw a map of the area. Montana City and Elizabethtown. Blacktail and Terraville. Gayville and Central City, Anchor, Pluma, and Peck Garden were all within a few miles of Deadwood. He would check them all.
The imbecile named Freddie had taken his horse to the livery the morning after he arrived. He was glad to know he hadn’t ruined the creature spurring it toward Deadwood. Haste hadn’t been necessary after all. In fact, it was looking like he would be in these hills for a while. He couldn’t so much as telegraph Manning back in Abilene as to when he would be back. The telegraph hadn’t reached Deadwood yet and the Indians were doing their best to see that it never would. So be it. Manning would run the place well in his absence, and if he didn’t, he’d be sorry.