The Siren's Tale (17 page)

Cassandra
clapped her hands and giggled like a schoolgirl.

“
What fun! Nick, you will go back again? You will take me?”

He sidestepped the question, his eyes swerv
ing away from her glowing face.

“
By George, speaking of mummers, you would make an awfully cute China doll.”

Despit
e the seriousness with which Cassandra viewed the topic of San Francisco, she had to laugh at his comment. He pinched her cheek playfully, and she responded with a swat at his elegant backside.

Thus, a moment had passed when the pair might have realized they were on mutually exclusive paths. Afterward, e
ach believed the other had been won to his or her way of thinking, as to where and what their future lives would be. 

“
Shall I walk you toward Mill's Creek?” Nicholas said when the sun had gone down.

Again he caressed her face, and again Cassandra was puzzled why he stopped there. Was there something that she was doing wrong, as a human, so that this citified, sophisticated man failed to get her signals to proceed?

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, taking his arm. “Go home and sleep well, Nick. I will go home and not sleep at all. Do you ever dream of me?”

“
Not clearly,” he answered honestly. 

“
That is just as well. They say romantic love never lasts. I have said so myself. I remember, once, there was a military officer riding down the street in Saratoga. He was a total stranger and never spoke to me, but I loved him so intensely I thought I should really die of love. But then, of course, I put him out of my mind entirely.”

Nicholas was not listening to her words. He was l
ulled by her dulcet tones into thinking about their future together as schoolmaster and schoolmistress.

They stood still and prepar
ed to bid each other farewell. Everything before them was a perfect scene for romance—the stone house at a distance, the wild grasses beneath their feet, and their beautiful young bodies, standing so closely together on the precipice of an unknown future.

As he turned to leave her, she had a sudden presentiment of losing him
.

“
I fear the future,” confessed Cassandra, breathlessly speaking the truth. “I will lose you in the end.”

“
No fear of that, darling. I will not allow it.”

“
I wish I was sure of not losing you!” she cried.

His story had charmed her
. She felt sure he was only teasing her about San Francisco, and that he would one day take her there. Afterward, they might part company or remain close friends.

Nicholas stood silent a moment. His feelings were high, the momen
t seemed propitious, and the fair maiden was in distress. She stared into his eyes, and he held her gaze. The current of human attraction surged between them. And then, in one swift moment of decision, Nicholas severed the umbilical cord.

“
You shall be sure of me, darling,” he said, folding her in his arms.”No more dread about the future. We will be married at once.”

“
Oh Nick!” She buried her face in his shoulder, so he could not see the consternation in her face. Why did he keep harping on marriage?

“
You agree to it?”

“
If—if we can.”

“
Certainly we can. We are both of age. Who is to stop us?”

He laughed a bit wildly. At that moment, her white knight had never before looked to Cassandra so rakishly handsome.

On an impulse, she nodded once, and he immediately kissed her. There, it was done. She marveled at the simplicity with which humans profoundly change their lives.

“
I have savings left from my shameful occupation of gold assaying. If you will agree to live in a tiny cottage until I can buy a house and open my school, we can manage it.”

“
How long will we have to live in the tiny cottage, Nick?”

“
Not long. Do you think your grandfather will object?”

“
Oh, grandfather. He will go along with it, I suppose—on the understanding it is to be a short time.”

“
Yes, barring misfortune.”

“
Barring misfortune,” she repeated slowly.

“
Which is hardly likely. Now it is decided, I cannot wait. Name the exact day.” 

T
hey consulted further on that question, and the wedding day was fixed in two weeks time, at the church in Corinthus, with a small reception to follow at Mill’s Creek.     

T
hey parted, and as the distance increased between himself and his goddess, Nicholas grew taller in his own estimation. He felt like a real man. What uplifted him the most was the realization that now the die was cast, his dreams seemed more obtainable. He would leave his mother's house at once; yes, that seemed entirely the right course of action. At first, he would stay in the shed most recently inhabited by Caleb Scattergood. He would do so tonight. Then, he would find a respectable place and a temporary means of income.

H
e might seek to lease a cabin in Bulette, as Caleb had done.

His mind continued to linger on Caleb.
The ice man’s business was growing fast. He was a success by anyone's standards. And reportedly he was looking for help in doing the difficult and tedious work of finding ice sources high up in the mountains, where small ponds stayed frozen throughout the summer. Nicholas liked him very much, knowing Caleb to be a serious man who kept to himself, much as he himself did. Indeed, if Caleb were not always out of town, Nicholas might have confided in him instead of Cassandra. But fate had dictated otherwise.

It didn't occur to Nicholas
his future wife might be displeased about his tagging along after the ice man up and down the mountain to earn money. He himself was pleased with the idea and resolved to put it into action.

As for Cassandra, that evening she felt dazed and out of her element.

On the one hand, she had scored a victory over a powerful native woman and entrapped a man without leaning on her siren powers.

On the other hand, she had just agreed to a human marriage.

Never yet had she seen a marriage that was a successful model, a union that was a joy to its components. What had she done? Had she fallen into her own trap?

“
You are looking well today,” said Widow Brighton to Clare, with a rare smile for her married niece, who was big with child. “How is your husband?”

“
He is well.” Clare lowered herself carefully onto a kitchen stool. 

Her aunt looked at
her narrowly. “Treating you well?”

“
Pretty fairly.”

“
Pretty fairly,” she repeated. “He has not been rough with you, has he?”

Clare blushed.
“Oh no. He just—well, I don’t know if I should complain to you, but I want some money, you know, aunt, to buy a few little things for myself and the baby. But he don’t give me any, and I don’t want to ask him. Should I?”

“
You mean you never have?”

“
I had money of my own until lately, and I hated to ask. I said something in passing last week. But he seems not—not to remember. What should I do?”

“
Make him remember,” said the Widow grimly.

“
But I do not want him thinking I accuse him of failing in his duty to me.”

The Widow considered
for a while. Finally she said, “Clare, I have a box under my bed with two sacks of minted silver coins in it from the Colorado Silver Exchange. Your uncle never told me how he came by them, and I never asked. A week before he died so suddenly, he showed them to me and said, 'This farmer's legacy can easily be turned into dollars.' Perhaps the time has come for you to have your portion, Clare.”

“
Oh, Aunt, that would be so helpful. That is, if you don't mind.”

“
You shall have it. But it is only proper you should go to your husband first. Tell him clearly you need money, and then let's see what he does.”

On her part,
Clare was too kind to remind her aunt that her interference in their affairs in the past had caused only hard feelings. She said, “Thank you, Aunt.” Then she remembered the other reason she had come.

“
Aunt, where is Nick? I have something to tell both of you.” She smiled shyly and patted her tummy. “Curly has given his permission to name our child Nicholas Samuel Drake, if it is a boy. Will Nicholas be pleased?” 

Tears welled up in the W
idow’s eyes. She wiped them quickly away. “I don't know, Clare. Nicholas no longer lives with me. He has rented a cabin in Bulette, where he plans to live after he marries that Vye creature. I suppose you have heard about it. Oh Clare, how can he be so cruel, when I have lived only for him? And now he hates me!”

“Hates you—oh, no,” Clare said soothingly. “It is only that he loves her so much. You are too hard on him. Think about the mothers whose sons have committed crimes or violence before you criticize Nick for his choice of a wife. She is both beautiful and talented. Is that so bad?”

“
I expected more of my son. When Samuel died, I was still a young woman. I might have had another husband and more children, but now…” She spread her work-roughened hands out melodramatically.

“
I will come and see you more often, Aunt. I promise.”

“
God bless you, dear.”

“
But do try to think better of Nick and Cassandra. They do so hope you will attend the wedding. We could go together.”

But Mrs. Brighton shook her head adamantly.

When Clare got home, she related to her husband how immovable the Widow was on the subject of Nicholas's wedding. Drake barely heard her words. His beautiful vixen would soon belong to another, and the feeling of loss was unbearable.

Towards evening on the day of her son's wedding, to which she remained unreconciled, Widow Brighton was surprised to see her son-in-law appear at her white gate. The Widow wondered if Drake had a touch of the apoplexy, which ran in his family, for he looked like a man who was about to explode.

Drake's message was that Clare was unwell, had not attended Nick's wedding, and would not be able to visit the Grange for some days.

“
Too bad. I had something to give Clare,” murmured the Widow. She was thinking of the silver coins.

“
Well, just give it to me,” offered Drake. 

“
I certainly will not!” she snapped. 

Her curtness rocked Drake back on his heels.

“All I mean,” she murmured hastily, “is that it is women’s stuff. She would be more comfortable if I bring it to her.”

That was the end
of their conversation. But as Drake went on his way, he grew angrier by the minute. Something was amiss. What had he ever done to either Brighton woman to deserve their continued disrespect? 

There was a
dice game out on Hatter's Field he had a mild interest in. His ailing wife could just wait longer on him. And as for the Widow, he would see her in hell before he volunteered to do her a courtesy again.

Widow Brighton was saying to Thomas Hawker, her day laborer: “Repeat your instructions back to me, Thomas.” As she did so, she handed him a wood box with the two sacks in it.

She had decided, after much wrestling with her conscience, to give Nicholas his portion of her husband's legacy via Clare. That way she would be bestowing a wedding gift on him from his father without standing down from her own principles.

“I am to tell them at the Plush Horse that I have come from the Widder and I need to see Missus Drake directly. I am to give this box only to her. I am to tell her there be two sacks, that one is for her and one is to be took to her cousin Nicholas. And if anyone stops me on the road, I am to say it is only rabbits inside.”

“
Don’t say a word to Mr. Drake, if you see him. He is far too busy to be bothered.” 

“
Yes, ma’am.”

“
Now Thomas, I will tell you the contents of the box, because I don’t want you to set it down somewhere. They are silver coins handed down from my husband.”

“
I will guard them with my life,” said Thomas solemnly.

“
It will be better if you use your common sense. That will be all for today. Please return in the morning. There is more work to be done in the garden.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Thomas Hawker
set off wearily, tired from a full day’s backbreaking work. He wanted to be with the others attending the wedding reception at Mill’s Creek, keeping an eye on his father and catching a glimpse of the redheaded bride everyone said was Satan's whore. What if he were accosted by robbers who guessed at the filthy lucre he carried? Besides, he had heard seeing a pregnant woman was bad luck. Thomas squatted down on his heels to ponder these issues before continuing on. 

When he looked up,
Curly Drake was standing about fifty yards away on the crest of a foothill, peering through a spyglass in the direction of Mill's Creek. 

Drake put down the
glass, through which he had been vainly searching for a signal from his lost love. His gaze was vacant and pained. Then he spotted Mayor Hawker’s youngest son staring at him. He grinned, as teasing Thomas was tip-top entertainment.

“
Good evening, Thomas. What brings you out to this lonely place? You should be dancing at the wedding and making love to all the lasses.”

“
Oh, I’m not much for dancing. The young ladies say I step on their feet too much.”

“
Back in Scotland, we would get out our kilts and bagpipes, and dance a bagpipe for the ladies. That impresses 'em, by Mungo.” He noticed the box under Thomas’s arm. “What have you got there?”

“
Just a box with a couple of rabbits in it.”

“
Rabbits, you say?”

“
Bringin’ em home to cook ‘em.”

“
Far be it from me to keep a man from his dinner.”

“
I’ll say goodbye then, sir.” As the young man started off, his feet dragged and his head drooped as if he were on his last legs.

Drake
said, “Man, you look like you could use something more potent than rabbit stew. You are a sorrier sinner than I am tonight.”

  Thomas stopped in his tracks and looked back.

“As it happens,” said Drake, “there is a dice game commencing any minute now, just down yonder. Me wife is home a-bed, and I am not dressed for a wedding party. Care to join some friends and myself for an hour of manly entertainment? We meet in a gully of Hatter's Field for a fling with Lady Luck.” 

He clapped Thomas on the back
when the lad edged nearer. The skinny, pockmarked young man regarded the innkeeper bashfully. “I heard you're a lucky man, Mr. Drake.”

“
The luck belongs to you tonight, me lad.”

“
Do you really think so?”

“
We'll see.”

They
turned toward Hatter's Field and walked to where, on a level piece of land bordered by two large rocks, were assembled five native men of varying ages. Bator, the undertaker (the young men called him Master Bator behind his back) was the ringleader in the evening's lottery.

As Tho
mas had a superstitious fear of Bator, Drake threw a penny in for him and gave him his numbered stub. The prize was a pack of French postcards. With a shudder, Thomas saw his number was thirteen.

He sat on the box and owlishly watched as the undertaker shook all the pieces of paper inside an earthenware jug
. When Bator drew forth the winning ticket as number thirteen, Drake howled with laughter. He hauled Thomas forward to collect his prize before others could snatch it away.

“
What will I do with 'em?” Thomas whispered to Drake.

“
Why, you dumb ass. You look at 'em, of course. You have just proved Lady Luck's on your side, as I predicted. This is just the beginning for you.”

“
Then I am lucky?”

“
It is a proven fact, lad. 'Tis your night. Now, if you had any money to wager on the dice game, you would walk away with a fortune.”

“
For sure?”

“
I swear by me mother's virtue and me father’s moustache.”

“
What would you say if I told you I have a hundred silver coins in this here box I’m a-sitting on?”

“
I would say you are a liar or a thief.”

“
Nope. It was give to me by Mrs. Brighton. Here, I’ll show you.” Thomas furtively pulled the box aside, opened it, and showed Drake the two money sacks. “I'm to give this one to Mrs. Drake, with the other going on to the Widow's son. I guess she wouldn’t mind my tellin' you, Mrs. Drake bein’ your wife.”  

Drake was stunned. Mrs.
Brighton had trusted this fool over himself? He spoke angrily. “What a vicious thing to do. By rights she should of give her son's coins to the new Mrs. Brighton, as a proper wedding present.”

There was silence between them. Then Drake looked over slyly at Thomas and said,
“First you show you have the luck, son, then it turns out you have a stake under your ass. All you have to do is reach for it.”

“
Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Drake. Something might go wrong.”

Curly pulled on his moustache, his eyes glittering dangerously.
“Lad, I'm giving you my permission to use my wife's money. I’ll be the one to play against you. If you win, you pocket my money for yourself. If I should happen to win, I’ll give the money to my wife. No skin off anyone's nose. What say you?”

“
Oh, that is very kind of you, sir. But I can't.”

“
Tell you what. Oblige me with a game or two, I'll let you have a peek at Diane when she is in the outhouse one day. I'll show you where the secret hole is.”

“
Pshaw. You would show me that?”

“
What's a friend for, lad? Of course I will!”

So intent were both men on their conversation that
neither noticed Caleb Scattergood had come up to the group. He was on his way home from the wedding reception at Mill's Creek. He now stood in the shadows, watching Thomas and Drake.

Thomas sat down
cross-legged on the ground and stared at the dice. “Do you suppose these are really the devil’s playthings?”

“
No more so than women,” said Drake coarsely. Then, as Thomas appeared to hesitate, he spoke more loudly. “Go ahead, man. Roll, and let the devil take the hindmost. It is my wife's money you play with.”

Lurking in the shadows, Caleb Scattergood heard only the last sentence.
 

Unhappily for Thomas, Lady Luck was not on the young man's side after all.
It was nearly ten o’clock when Thomas flung the last of the silver coins on the flat stone table. It went the way of its comrades, into Drake's pocket. He turned his pockets inside out and hung his head in shame, feeling empty after the gambling fever had left him.