The Siren's Tale (20 page)

As she rode along Hatter's Field, she spotted
her husband in the distance. He didn’t see her approach. His back was to her; he and Sam were both leaning on their rakes.

She took out her grandfather's spyglass from her saddle pouch and pee
red at Nick. She could see his cheeks were puffed out. The dear man was whistling! To see her young husband there, half-blind, earning money by the sweat of his brow, whistling while he worked, moved her. Tears of compassion came into her eyes.

S
he shifted the direction of the spyglass onto Sam, who was facing her. She startled, then looked again. There was no mistaking it. Nick's left hand was inside the front of Sam's pants. Sam's long penis was in Nick's fist, being vigorously pumped. Stunned, she put the telescope down.

While she lived in boredom and despair in an ugly cabin, forswearing the use of her siren powers to get the life she wanted, h
er husband was entertaining himself on a hayfield with a man's cock!

Her cheeks burning
, she turned her horse away and continued to town. There she scandalized the townspeople by sitting down alone and taking a glass of beer in the Plush Horse, while she waited for her grandfather to join her.

After the shock of seeing Nick and Sam
together, all hope faded that I would be able to set in motion an emigration from Alta without resorting to the use of my powers. After almost three months of marriage, matters between Nick and myself were in a deplorable state, which was only magnified in the bedroom. I was secretly relieved when it became my husband's pattern to lie down before the fire and fall soundly asleep in his clothes by sunset. I did care for him deeply, though, and so I delayed the inevitable.

Then
in September, when I thought I could bear no more frustration and must act, there was sudden light at the end of the tunnel—to be precise, there was a string of lights. The first electric light bulbs seen in the district, made by Shelby Electric Company, were on a signboard outside the Plush Horse, advertising an upcoming event.

The district was experimenting with combined events—a county fair/
rodeo and what was called a “rendezvous,” an annual market/social gathering for fur trappers. The various activities were taking place in Corinthus over the first two weeks in September, when the weather would still be fine.

Besides the electric signboard, there were garish street-wide banners
strung up on the main thoroughfares of the three hamlets. Circulars were passed and posted, promising that carnies, circus acts, pie-eating contests, arm-wrestling, tobacco-spitting contests, Indian fur traders, and the ever-popular rodeo were all to be had for the price of admission, a quarter. But what excited me was that there would be dancing!

The fair would run
all day and half the night, as one area would be lit by the aforementioned electric lights, which everyone said was only an Eastern fashion that would not last. 

When Grandfather visited us in August, he said some of the fellows at
Bottomly's planned to go to the rendezvous every day.

“
There is to be dancing at the fair this afternoon,” I said to Nick, looking downward so the gleam in my eye would be less obvious. “I want to try the Spanish polka.”

“
You want to dance? Why?”

“
Why not? You whistle.”

“
Of course, dear. I can see you want to go.”

I frowned, thinking I detected self-pity in his voice. But, as usual when it came to understanding my human husband, I was wrong.

“Cheer up, dearest,” he said sweetly. “Even a blind man can see how down in the mouth you have been lately, but I promise you, we will be all right. One day I will see as well as ever. I will leave off cutting hay as soon as I can do anything better. Meantime, I would like you to enjoy yourself the best you can. Please go. I give you my blessing.”

“
Oh Nick, you really don't mind if I go to the fair? Darling, why don't you come with me? You will enjoy yourself, I am sure. And while we walk, we can speak about getting away from all this.”

I
t was no use. I could see it in his haggard face. He had quite set his mind against leaving, and I had become the worst of all human females: an ineffectual, nagging wife.

I blushed with shame when my husband answered my verbal jab with a self-abasing speech.
“Poor Cassandra. When you first saw me, I was a golden boy. I had accomplished important things and mixed in with brilliant company. I was a strong, delightful, distracting hero; in short, nothing like the blind, weak, boring husband you live with and care for every day.”

A sob escaped me.
“Stop it, Nick.”

Later, as h
e was getting dressed for work, Nicholas seemed to have forgotten all about the painful conclusion to our conversation.

“
If you go out, you might stop by the Plush Horse today to see Clare and little Nick, if you have the time, Cassandra. It has been on my mind we haven't returned the favor of Clare's kind visits while I was convalescing. Would you mind, dear?”

“
But I am not going that way, Nick. Remember? I have a mind to go over to Corinthus and see the fair. I feel restless, and it is close enough for me to walk.”

“
Oh, that’s right. You intend to dance at the fair. What a charming idea, my love. I wish I could join you, but I have to work. I wouldn’t be much fun anyway, wandering around the dance floor half blind. Shall I come on Teddy to fetch you home?”

“Oh, don’t bother, Nick. There is no need. I walk that far most days.”

“
Perhaps if you find a gallant dancing partner, he might escort you home.”

“
You’re not jealous?”

“
No. I would be, if I thought it would give you pleasure. But you see too much of me as it is. Well, perhaps I am a little jealous just the same. Who wouldn’t be, having such a beautiful wife as you, and I only a half-blind haymaker.”

“Don’t talk like that and make me feel sad again. There, I won’t go after all.” I put on my prettiest pout for his benefit, even though he was blind to my act. He held out his hands as if to make peace, and I willingly grabbed them, clinging to him. Where had my knight in shining armor gone? I thought wistfully. It seemed to me the Wyoming wind blowing through the window gave an answer:  he has vanished, on my strong back.

Nicholas said,
“Don't be sad, dear. Do go, for my sake. Dance with the local boys and make them long for you. There's a good wife. It will make me happy thinking of you being gay. Just be home before dark, or I will wear my bad eyes out with worry.” 

I was moved to tears by his thoughtfulness. While I dried my eyes, he
put on his leather leggings, kissed me on the cheek, and went out.

I wondered if I would see anyone I knew at the fair, and what villagers of Alta would say if they spotted me.
“Look at the proud girl no one was good enough for! Look at her thin, gloomy face now!”

I quickly chided myself
. “That’s no way to think, Cassandra! Show some spirit! I will be light of heart from here on out, for Nick's sake as well as mine. And I shall begin by dancing on the green!”

Cassandra went into the tiny room at the back of the cottage that she used as a private sitting room and dressing room. It was there she kept her best clothes and jewelry. She dressed herself with care, putting on the amethyst ring and the gold locket necklace Nicholas had ordered from San Francisco as wedding gifts. She put on a bifurcated skirt, an Eastern fashion that had just reached the district.

She felt a twinge of regret Nicholas had left without seeing her in her finery.

The puffy sleeves gave an airy look to her white cotton dress. They tapered at the elbow, becoming translucent and clinging to her skin all the way to her fine wrist. She had chosen her smartest black walking boots, with a row of tiny buttons along the sides.

She looked in the mirror. The picture
presented there was good enough for twenty new conquests, but six hours of freedom from boredom and anxiety were her sole aim.

As she opened her parasol and went out of doors, Cassandra melted as gracefully into the scene of bright light and billowy clouds as a fresh sprig of cotton tipped with scarlet thorns. The heat of
the day had hardly declined yet, so she went along the sunny foothills at a leisurely pace. She had three miles to go, but walks of this length were commonplace for her, and by mid-afternoon she was there without much effort.  

The site for the combined fair and rendezvous
was a lawn-like oasis near the Corinthus churchyard. It was essentially a village green with an adjacent track for the rodeo. The walkway around it was a green cattle track skirting a cluster of white tents, strung with the new electric lights for the evening events. 

Games of chance
along the track were advertised with garish signs: “Find the Lady,”  “Coconut Sling,” and “Ring a Prize.” The prize for encircling a small pedestal with a wooden ring was a straw doll, much like the one that had been burned on their outhouse roof. Cassandra made her way past the games toward the sounds of musical instruments being tuned. The sounds took her back to happy summer days in Saratoga Springs, when her Aunt Chloe took her behind the band shell where her husband was conducting the town orchestra in his shirtsleeves and taught her how to dance. 

Of all human activities, dancing was what Cassandra most enjoyed
. When she was dancing, the thump of her excited heart and her feet flying in time with the music created a gyration that seemed celestial, both to herself and those witnessing it. Other dancers would stop to watch, so hypnotic was Cassandra in motion.

When she saw the rough nature of the
crowd gathered by the green for dancing, she regretted not having left her jewelry at home. Looking for a safe place to rest, she found a tree to plant herself under and spread her fringed white parasol to put an invisible fence around herself. But her concern was needless; she appeared so exotically different from the others no rube dared come near her.

“
Good afternoon, Mrs. Brighton,” said a man’s deep voice in Cassandra's ear, startling her. “I'm sorry I missed your recent visit. I heard you graced my humble establishment with your presence.”

“Curly! You scared me to death! What are you doing here?” 

“I might ask you the same thing, Mrs. Brighton. Or may I still call you Cassie, for old times' sake?” He bowed elaborately and kissed her gloved fingers, which he had smoothly taken and now held on to. She quickly pulled them away. 

“You may,” she said stiffly. “You may also go to the devil.”

“Gladly, if you go with me. But first, since I happen to be here and the musicians seem not quite ready to serenade us, shall I escort you around? I have been here every day, and I know all the best amusements. They won't start dancing for another hour.”

“
Where are Mrs. Drake and your son?” she asked pointedly.

“
At home. The kid wails like a wolf hound half the night,” he said bleakly. 

“
I believe that is to be expected.”

H
e sighed discontentedly, and then they both had a good laugh at his expense.  

“
How annoying and how like you,” she said frankly, “to spoil my one afternoon of liberty. You are the last person I wanted to see here.”

“
How very flattering, my darling. I will go away, if you really don’t want me.” 

She glanced at the strangers millin
g past; a dirty man in rough clothes with a string of furs over his shoulder leered at her. Her silence told Drake she was willing to have his protection, if nothing else. His hand was on her lacy elbow as they strolled toward an adjacent part of the village green where most of the action was. 

The sight of the white tents
and the fluttering flags made her heart pound faster. Cassandra's naturally gay spirits rose far beyond that of the other fairgoers, and soon her cheeks were red and her eyes brightly flashing. Sensing her exalted mood, Drake relaxed and began to enjoy himself in his role of interlocutor of the fair's odd delights. They perused items for sale under a tepee where a wrinkled Indian in a stovepipe hat was selling blankets, horsehair wigs, and accordions. They indulged in homemade ice cream and watched the fire-eater swallow his kerosene stick. 

The most popular attraction was the stables where a pair of
Clydesdale draught horses were being watered and fed in preparation for the Wild West Show that would go on later under the lights. Drake stopped before one stall, chuckling. He drew Cassandra's attention to a stallion who apparently had just had a whiff of a romantic filly. Cassandra's eyes rounded, drawn to the stallion's engorged member, which was thick as a baseball bat and two feet long. The horse turned its head, and their eyes met. The stallion's balls quivered and he trumpeted loudly. She could read his mind.
Let's get out of here, siren. Run, run, run, free as the wind.

Drake laughed.
“You have another admirer besides me.”

“
I came to dance, Curly, not to gawk at horseflesh. Let's go back.”

He escorted her to the end of the green
where a crude platform had been raised for dancing. With great politeness, Drake bowed and removed himself to a tree. He knew better than to presume too far. The temptress would enjoy herself dancing among the country girls. His role was to escort beauty home. That (for the moment) was the best position he could hope for, and he was glad to bide his time and watch for opportunity.

Cassandra was
also content, as Drake no longer showed any ironic belligerence toward her, and she hoped they could be friends. As Nicholas was so hopeless about making a place in society, she would be grateful to have someone besides grandfather and little  Horatio Nelson watching her back.

But n
o other thought, no other person, and no other desire crossed her mind once the fiddlers started up. Joining the largest circle, she lost herself in the dance among strangers, forty hearts or more, couples and singles, groups of men, women and children alike, rubbing shoulders and elbows in unbridled motion on a few planks of wood. The love of life was felt by all, and they adored the motion itself.