Down the alley she saw a woman come out the side door, adjusting her bonnet. That settled that. If the women of the establishment didn’t go out the front door for fear of being detained, then she wasn’t going in it. For sure, word of this was going to get back to Brad, and for sure, to her mother when she came back from her buying trip. Likely both would be mad. But this was her debt, and she wasn’t going to ignore it for propriety. The memory of Nidia’s face as Bull had taken her arm—the pain, the fear, but mostly the resignation—haunted her. She had to know that Nidia was all right. Had to know why she had done as she had. Adjusting her grip on the soup, she moved forward, feeling the censure like a lash, shrugging it off with absolute logic. Nidia was a parishioner. Checking on the welfare of parishioners was required of ministers’ wives. Granted, Nidia was a parishioner who had to sit to the side in the back behind a screen to spare the sensibilities of others, but Nidia still came to church every Sunday like clockwork. She was still human. And she’d saved Evie’s rear.
Evie strolled down the alley as if she did it every day. When she came abreast of the woman, she nodded. “Good morning.”
The woman stared at her, her expression shifting between shock, disbelief, and wariness. And the one thing that stood out in Evie’s mind, through all the shifts, was that she didn’t look at all as Evie had thought a prostitute would look. There was no paint on her face, no rouge on her lips. She looked like every other woman in town. Except for her eyes. She had pretty grey eyes, but they were haunted and resentful. Probably because Evie was standing here in the middle of the alley, blocking her way, staring at her as if she had two heads. “Would you happen to know if Nidia is receiving callers this morning?”
Another blink. “You came to see Nidia?”
Evie made her smile brighter just in case it would influence the answer. “Yes.”
“You’re the Reverend’s wife.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes, I am. And you would be?”
“Cissy.”
It was a child’s name. A name that implied innocence and vulnerability. “It’s nice to meet you, Cissy.”
Cissy’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to see Nidia?”
She was obviously a woman who got straight to the point. “I’m just paying her a social visit.”
Cissy’s gaze narrowed further as she took a step forward. The shadow of the building cut across her face, dividing her expression into an intriguing dichotomy—a baby face with ancient eyes, a sense of vulnerability wrapped in aggression. As if all the factors of the woman’s life were summed up in that one moment. Evie’s fingers twitched around the bowl. The question just popped out. “Would you mind very much sitting for me?”
Cissy blinked, surprise erasing the moment as if it had never been. “Here in the dirt?”
Evie shook her head, mentally storing every tidbit of the image until she was sure she could re-create it with a reflector and Cissy sitting as a model. “No, I mean I would like to paint your portrait.”
“Why?”
Such a suspicious question. “You have a very interesting face.”
“You just want a picture of a whore to make fun of with all your proper friends.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed and the softness within her was eradicated. “What are you going to do with it then?”
“I don’t know.” She never knew what to do with her paintings when she was done. For her, the passion was in the creation. “I thought maybe you’d like it.”
“You paint pictures to just give them away?”
Evie borrowed one of Brad’s expressions. “Pretty much.”
Cissy’s fingers curled within the folds of her serviceable brown skirt. “Do you want me all gussied up?”
In her whore’s outfit she meant. “I’d like to paint you just like this.”
Cissy blinked. “No face paint or anything?”
“No paint or anything. Just you.”
“I suppose if you’re any good, I could send it home to my ma.”
So she’d paint two portraits, Evie decided. One that reflected the havoc of Cissy’s life and another that would make a mother smile. “I’m very good.”
Cissy smiled, revealing a chipped tooth and an infectious charm. “Not too confident, are you?”
Evie shrugged. “It wouldn’t make much sense to pick a profession I’m not good at.”
“I’ve heard you’re an odd one.”
That seemed to be the one thing everyone heard about her. “So I’m told.”
“The Reverend likes you fair enough though.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Confident there, too.”
Evie shrugged again. “As you said, I’m odd.”
“In a good way, I’m thinking. Are you really here to pay a social call on Nidia?”
“She helped me out last night. I’d like to thank her.”
“You could have sent the Reverend.”
So she was sure she’d be told multiple times when word of this visit got out. “It was me she helped.”
Cissy shook her head. “Very odd.”
“So is Nidia receiving?”
“Oh yeah,” Cissy said with a wry smile. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to miss your visit. Just go through that door, up the stairs, and it’s the first door on your right.”
“Thank you.”
Before Cissy could walk away, Evie called, “So you’ll sit for me?”
Cissy turned and called back, “Sure. Why not?”
Evie practically skipped through the door. At last, the kind of excitement she enjoyed.
THE DOOR OPENED to the kitchen. It was nothing like Evie had expected. She’d expected opulence, gaudy colors, broken glasses, filth, visible signs of debauchery. Instead what she found was a clean, orderly kitchen with a stove; a dark wood cupboard with cups hanging from hooks, plates stacked behind glass doors; and a big table around which sat four women in various forms of dress, some still wearing paint from the night before, others as clean faced as Cissy. From the way they stared at her though, Evie would have thought a two-headed snake had just entered the room. She forced a smile and a nod.
“Good morning, everyone.”
A couple of the women nodded back. The others glared. “I’m just going up to see Nidia.”
A blonde with hair so stiff it stood out in chunks grunted. Evie took it as permission and with a “thank you” headed up the narrow stairs to the right. Upon reaching the top, she found she was at the end of an equally narrow hallway. A little of the opulence she’d expected lay on the floor in a well-worn carpet in shades of faded red and gold. There was no name on the door, just the number one. This had to be it.
She knocked. There was a murmur of voices from inside. At least one of them male. Was Nidia entertaining at this hour? The last thing she needed was to be confronted with a customer. Maybe she should just leave. As soon as the thought entered her head, the turning of the doorknob rendered it moot. Evie’s first impulse was to close her eyes. The second to peek. She so rarely got to see anything truly risqué. The door opened. She sighed. Apparently she still wouldn’t, because it was only Elijah who stood there in his shirtsleeves, frowning at her. “What do you want?”
An angry, rude Elijah. She lifted her chin and matched him glare for glare. “Nothing to do with you, certainly. I came to see Nidia.”
He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Well now, once again you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Anything to do with Nidia has to do with me.”
In her nicest, sweetest, softest voice she asked, “Are you her husband?”
She knew he wasn’t. Everybody knew he wasn’t, just as everybody knew Elijah was still somehow an integral part of Nidia’s life.
“No.”
“Then I don’t think I have to give you the time of day.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “I’m her bodyguard.”
“Well, I haven’t poisoned the soup.”
He reached for it. She tucked it closer to her side and took a step forward. “It’s not for you.”
His arm slammed into the jamb in front of her face. She’d never realized just how muscular a man Elijah was. “Nidia’s not up to seeing company.”
Did he honestly expect her to believe he would hurt her? He was Brad’s friend. Had been Amy’s husband. Evie ducked under Elijah’s arm. “I’m not company, I’m her friend.”
From behind her, she heard Elijah’s “Since when?” It didn’t really register, because she was looking at Nidia, who lay on the bed, her natural beauty buried beneath layers of bruises. Staring at the woman, knowing who had done this, guessing why, she couldn’t think of anything to say except, “I brought you soup.”
She thought the other woman blinked. It was hard to tell as her eyes were both black-and-blue and swollen to slits.
“
Gracias.
”
Evie approached the bed, placing one foot in front of the other, trying to get past the horror. With every step, Nidia seemed to get more and more tense. “Bull did this, didn’t he?”
“I didn’t plan appropriately.”
From the doorway came a distinct “Fuck.”
That gained Elijah a look from Nidia. Evie was pretty sure it was a glare. “Your opinion is not asked for.”
“It damn well should have been, before you went outside and took on Bull.”
Evie had the impression they were picking up an argument she’d interrupted. “There was not time to fetch you.”
“What the hell is the point of having a bodyguard, if you’re not going to let him handle the dangerous stuff?”
“I don’t know. I never wanted a bodyguard.”
Well, that explained the strange relationship between Elijah and Nidia. And also what had likely happened to Bull.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you need one.”
“But maybe not you,” Nidia shot back, the words not losing their heat for being pushed through her swollen lips.
“You find someone else to take over the job, and I’m out of here.”
The exchange had the rhythm of an old argument. The kind one listened to between married couples. It was interesting speculation—Nidia and Elijah.
“Why do you not leave now?”
“Because you’re hurt.”
“The Reverend’s wife is here. She can care for me while you drown your sorrows.”
“Damn it, Nidia. One of these days I’m going to stop humoring you—”
“Today is not that day. Go.”
With a hard glare that had Evie stepping back—and it wasn’t even directed at her—Elijah jammed his hat on his head and left, slamming the door shut. For a second, silence reigned. Evie opened her mouth. Nidia held up her hand. There was a sharp rap on the door, followed by an equally sharp “Lock it.”
Nidia tossed up her hands as if that order was the cap on a bad day. Evie did as ordered. Only after testing the door did Elijah walk away and then it was just Nidia and her. And the bowl of soup.
Evie brought it over and placed it on the utilitarian bed stand. For some reason, she had always thought Nidia’s bedroom would be a place of opulence, decadence. This sparsely furnished, functional space didn’t mesh with her image of the woman. But neither did that moment of self-sacrifice last night. Looking Nidia in the eye, she asked, “Why did you do it?”
Nidia did not pretend to misunderstand. “The Reverend’s wife getting killed in my alley would be bad for business.”
She was familiar enough with the give-them-the-truth-they-want-so-they-won’t-see-what-is-hidden technique to recognize it when it was played on her.
“That’s probably true.” She took the plate of biscuits off the soup, and placed the napkin in Nidia’s lap. “But I don’t believe it any more than I believe my husband slept with you on my wedding night.”
Shaking out the napkin, Nidia sighed. “Young brides often have false illusions.”
“I don’t. When it comes to people, I tend to see things very clearly.” And what Evie saw when she looked at Nidia was the same thing she saw when she looked at Brad. Someone hiding behind a mask. “Thank you for stepping in last night. I’m sorry you were hurt because of it.”
“So sorry you brought me soup?”
She grinned wryly. “So sorry that I didn’t bring you any from the batch
I
made.”
That did get a twitch of a smile from Nidia. “I heard what you did to the Simmons boy.”
“You don’t sound like you disapprove.”
“He is a frequent visitor here, not well liked.”
“I knew I didn’t like him for a reason.”
Nidia smiled and then grabbed her face as the muscles pulled. “If visiting my establishment was a reason to not like a man, then you would not be on speaking terms with most of the town.”
“That math sounds about right.”
Nidia waited a moment before she said, “Including your husband?”
The dart hit home and for a second, insecurity flashed through her. But then she thought back to everything she knew about Brad, everything she knew about how he perceived women, and she found her smile. “Nice try, but if Brad came here, it was because somebody needed help.”
“You do not think your husband needs my kind of ‘help’ sometimes?”
“I have no doubt he’s often needed help, but I also know he would never take advantage of someone to do it.” And he would never avail himself of that help where he lived. It would make him too vulnerable.
“Either you’ve grown up, or you’re bluffing.”
Evie held out the bowl of soup. “Does it matter?”
“No.” Nidia considered while adjusting the bowl. “I do not think it does. And as long as you keep the Reverend happy, you will not have a problem with me.”
“And why does his happiness matter to you?”
She took a sip of the soup, tipping it into her mouth. It obviously hurt too much to move her lips. “We are friends.”
“Then I guess we’re going to have to find a way to be friends, too.”
Nidia laughed and grabbed her face again, tipping the bowl. “Are you planning to invite me over for Sunday dinner?”
Evie steadied the bowl. This woman had used her body as a shield between the children and danger, had employed her wiles to save Evie. She’d done so knowing the kind of man Bull was. She’d done it without hesitating. “It would be a shocking thing to do.”