Chapter two
I sat on the cot, it was lumpy, the pillow was filthy and I could only imagine what matter of vermin inhabited it. I tossed it to the floor, and lay down, pillowing my head on my arm. I thought of Matt and how alone I was. I cried some and then I must have fallen asleep. A ray of light shining through the room's small window awakened me. I sat up feeling confused, looking for the familiar sights of my pretty room at the Long Branch. It hit me hard - the remembering. I was a wanted woman.
Flossie must have returned during the night, for a pitcher and bowl sat on the washstand along with a cake of soap and a clean towel. There was nothing to eat, and I could only assume Flossie had thought better of leaving food within easy access of rats and mice.
My stomach protested its empty state with a loud growl. I shook the silver dollars in my coin purse and decided I'd have to part with a few to make my circumstances bearable. I made a mental list of the items I would need from the general store. A tin of biscuits, sheeting for the bed, a pillow, clothing and personal items - the list seemed endless. I didn't even know if Ferdinand Kutz would go along with my being here, and realized my first objective was to secure employment.
I washed up the best I could. I pulled the blue skirt and white blouse out of the knapsack; they were wrinkled but not as badly as I thought they might be. I combed my hair and piled it on top of my head. I longed for face paint to hide my freckles and bring some color back to my cheeks, and added that to my list. Still, looking in the mirror I knew I was more than passable. The black hair coupled with my fair skin and blue eyes was very attractive. I was sure Ferd would be happy to have me in his employ, even if it was just selling whiskey.
In the harsh morning light the bare saloon looked anything but inviting. My two years at the Long Branch had spoiled me. This place was filthy. I saw the man Parm Harris had referred to as Ferdinand Kutz standing behind the bar counting bottles. I judged him to be around thirty-five. He was of average height, weak armed and heavy in the middle. His dark greasy hair was parted down the middle, and an ill-kept moustache framed his mouth.
I cleared my throat and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Kutz?"
He turned around abruptly. He smiled, but it held no warmth.
"You're Parm's orphan from the stage." He stated, "Flossie, told me she put you up for the night."
Squaring my shoulders, I said, "I'm looking for a job."
He gave me the once over appraising my `credentials'. "Flossie says you don't take to men paying for your ... ahh ... favors."
"Mr. Kutz, I'm desperate, but not that desperate, at least not yet."
"Well, I can always use a pretty face around here. Since you won't be working the upstairs for me, I'll expect you to do a little extra around this place. You can see it ain't the cleanest of establishments. There's a bucket and mop in the storeroom. You can start by scrubbin' this here floor. When she gets up have Flossie find you something to wear for tonight. The way you're dressed, you look like you're ready for Sunday meeting, and that don't bring in business."
Lifting my chin a little I replied. "Fine, I'll get started as soon as I return from my walk, I've a little shopping that needs doing." I turned to leave, wanting fresh air and freedom more than anything at that moment.
Kutz stopped me, "What's your name puss?" he asked.
The word puss was like a slap to the face, but I didn't let him see the sting. "Adams." I replied, taking pride in the name. "My name is Cassandra Adams."
"Well, Miss Cassandra Adams, just remember who's the boss around here, and we'll get along just fine."
Dust devils inspired by cool northerly winds swirled through the streets of the cow town. I could taste the dirt and feel the grit against my skin as I stood outside the swinging doors of the Trails End.
Rubicon, Texas was alive with sights, sounds and smells. The boardwalk was crowded with farmers and ranchers as they went about their early morning business. A school bell rang in the distance announcing the start of classes for the day. The squeak of a peddler's wagon kept time with his song as he made the rounds dealing fresh milk and eggs. The echo of the blacksmith's hammer ringing against an anvil reverberated up and down the busy main street.
I inhaled deeply, a whiff of coffee and bacon reached my nostrils tempting my empty stomach and pulling me toward the source of the aroma.
A small restaurant was wedged between the General Store and the barber shop called Mrs. Webster's Dining Hall. Clean windows draped with blue checked curtains greeted her customers. Holding a silver dollar in my hand I debated the expense. I thought of my day ahead and decided a good meal would be a worthwhile investment.
The place was noisy with talk, plate clatter and silverware clanging. My mouth watered as I savored the air, it smelled delicious. All the tables were filled except for a small one in the corner. I sashayed to the table and slid into the chair. I didn't give the waiter a chance to say a word when he came for my order.
"Steak, eggs, flapjacks and the biggest cup of coffee you can find." I requested.
The meal was being served when a man walked though the door.
If it was habit or a coincidence, the gleam of shined tin caught my eye. The man wearing the badge moved with the surety of one who had worn it for years and was not intimidated by the weight of his duty. He was older, late forties at least, but he walked despite his limp, like a man half his age. His tanned skin was weathered as though he had spent too many days in the hot Texas sun on the trail tracking outlaws. I figured that is how Matt would look if his luck held and he lived that long. The thought of Matt gave my heart apull.
The lawman scanned the room, than moved in my direction. He stopped short when he saw me; there was a surprised expression on his face. For a moment I was afraid he had recognized my picture from some wanted poster, but he smiled.
Timidly, I returned the look, then bent my head down and concentrated on my breakfast.
"Excuse me ma'am, I don't mean to be forward but this is usually my spot. You see being a lawman I like to sit where I be getting a good view of all that's going on. Would you mind if I joined you?"
With my mouth full of flapjacks I shook my head and motioned to the empty chair. My body responded to his presence with a keen awareness. I surveyed his finely chiseled features from the cover of my coffee cup. His eyes were hazel, with warm flecks of gold that seemed to give them an extra sparkle. He was taller than most men, with dark wavy hair, graying at the temples. I noticed all these things in a matter of seconds.
He pulled out the chair and sat adjusting his holster and stretching his left leg. He gave his knee an absent-minded rub, as though it were paining him some.
The busy waiter glanced at our table catching the lawman's attention, "The usual Sheriff?" he asked.
The lawman nodded than turned to me. "You're new around here." He stated.
"Yes," I answered.
"Where're you from?" he asked.
"New Orleans." I replied not really lying.
"What brings you to Rubicon?"
"My friend, Flossie Miller lives here."
"Oh." He smiled with a world wise look. "Looking for a little adventure in the wild west before you settle down to a husband and kids?"
"Something like that." I replied.
With a self-conscious chuckle, he said, "Guess I don't have the manners my Ma taught me." Pressing his palms against the table he raised himself to his feet and offered his hand across the table.
"The name be Gabriel Maxwell; I wear the badge around Rubicon."
Hastily I wiped my hand on the napkin before I accepted his warm shake. "Cassie Adams." I replied.
His words game out a curious blend of cowboy drawl and Irish brogue, "Nice to be making your acquaintance, Miss Adams."
"And yours Sheriff Maxwell."
"Call me Gabe, Sheriff Maxwell makes me sound like a stiff old fogy, course there be no denying that's what I am – old that is, especially compared to one so young as you." The waiter served his coffee, and Gabe took a drink. "Ah." He said, "nothing like that first cup of Arbuckle's to put a little hair on a man's chest." He studied me for a bit. "Say," he asked, "Were you on the stage that came in last night?"
I nodded, afraid to give the lawman too much information.
"It's a mighty fine thing Parm Harris was on that stage . . . he be a good man to have around when there's trouble."
"There was some talk at the Trails End last night that it was the Spencer Gang." I ventured.
"Tis possible, Verdon Spencer has been causing trouble for the last five years. Problem is I can't pin anything on him for sure. What people around here don't understand is you need proof to arrest someone – can't ever catch that crafty fool red handed, and he's not apt to be leaving no witnesses."
"They killed that boy . . . it's not right if they get away with that."
"No ma'am it ain't. But, I'm mighty thankful they didn't harm you none. Why you make this here cow town shine like a new penny with your smile."
Our meal passed enjoyably as we left unpleasant topics behind. Gabe entertained me with stories of Rubicon and its residents. I soon forgot he was the law and I was the face on a wanted poster as I was caught in the humor of his tales.
Leaning across the table he whispered in a conspiratorial tone," See that old varmint sitting across the way?" I turned around and saw a scrawny mustached man in his sixties sitting at a table alone. His head rested in his hands as he gazed at me with a decided twinkle in his eyes. I smiled at him and he raised a hand to give me a five finger wave. "That's old Georgie Potter, there's a young Georgie too. Although the boy ain't nearly as sharp as his Pa, some say young Georgie's a tad half-witted, I'm thinkin he just doesn'thave the spark of his Pa, and it makes him look a bit dull by comparison. Now being a pretty lady and a friend of Flossie's to boot, you should be knowing something of Old Georgie."
I gave him half a smile as I tried to imagine any connection between my beautiful friend and this old man. I raised my eyebrows and asked, "Flossie and Old Georgie?"
"Yup, Miss Flossie spends a few nights a week with the ol' boy. Now there is some guesswork going on as to their ummm, shall we say friendship. It be common knowledge she receives the usual gratuity for her demonstrations of affection. But, it's my belief Georgie enjoys the speculation, you see he considers himself a lady's man, despite the fact he lost a leg in the Mexican conflict years back."
"He lost a leg?" I could see one leg was straight, like Chester's while the other was bent at the knee.
"Yeah, got himself a wood leg. Well I just thought you should be knowing, he's harmless, and a real character. And sure as shootin he'll be hanging around you like an old bear to a honey tree."
I glanced back at Georgie. He gave me a double eyebrow raise and a wink. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud as I waved back.
Gabe held up a hand as a shield and pointed with the other to an attractively plump woman in her middle forties, stiffly corseted and primly dressed. "Now, over to the left is the Widow Sasse, she be an independent business woman, runs a boarding house. Folks say it's respectable like, but I be letting you in on a secret, I've been called there a number of times to break up wild poker games in her kitchen. You see she, Georgie's wife Irmagaard, and the preacher's wife, Mrs. Reverend Winkler like to play at the devil's game and sip a little spirited brew."
This time I did laugh out loud, and earned a scowl from the Widow who was watching me with an eagle eye, for my indiscretion. I was disappointed when the Sheriff stood up and said. "Well I'd best be about my business, folks around here find enough reason to doubt my abilities without letting them see me wile away the morning in the company of a pretty girl." He tipped his hat to me and again to the Widow Sasse as he walked by her table. I watched him leave and felt lonely for the loss.
Finishing my coffee, I called the waiter over for my bill. "It's been taken care of Miss, compliments of Sheriff Maxwell." I thanked the waiter and left the restaurant, whether it was wise or not, I had made another friend in Rubicon.
The clerk at the General Store was busy, giving me the opportunity to explore his merchandise. I took my time bent on getting the most for my money and deliberating carefully over even the smallest of purchases. When I left the store, my arms were piled high with brown paper packages. I had little over half my money left, but, I would have two simple cotton dresses to wear, undergarments, sheeting, and fabric to make a curtain for my window and a cushion for a chair. That is if I could find a chair.
Anticipating my return, Ferd had taken the broom, mops and pails from the storeroom.
They were sitting in the center of the bar room floor. Leaning against the bar with his arms crossed over his flabby belly he said, "Bout time you got back puss, I was about to rent out your room . . . "
I stepped around the pail, "Like I said, I had some shopping that needed doing."
"Got lots of money for an orphan . . . maybe Parm gave you a little spending money for your friendship on the stage ride."
I ignored his intimation, "I'll change, and put my packages away . . . then I'll take care of this." I said with a sweeping movement of my hand.
Kutz grunted and turned around to face the bar and a ledger book in front of him. He grunted again, wet his pencil on his tongue and began working the numbers. Throughout the next couple hours while I mucked out the saloon, Ferd tried to make sense of his bookkeeping. Despite my hard work I took enjoyment in watching him struggle with the numbers.
"You know," I offered at one point, "I might be more help to you if you'd let me do your books. I've got a good mind for numbers"
With a look of arrogant disdain he said, "Only two things a puss is good for . . . and you're doing one of em now, and refusing to do the other later."
I bit my tongue, reminding myself how much I needed a job and a place to sleep. I balled my hands into a fist and counted to ten, a trick I'd heard was a cure for a fast temper. When I had myself under control, I finished my job and left Mr. Kutz to his numbers.
By late afternoon I had cleaned both the saloon floor and scrubbed my room from top to bottom. My hands were red and raw from the strong lye soap. My back was in need of a good massage and I had the beginnings of a headache. But, my living quarters were clean.
I glanced at the cot upon which lay my dress for the evening. The faded blue garment was far from new, and carried the odor of the previous owners with it. It was a strapless gown supported in the bodice by severe stays. The hem traveled to just below my knees. To my mind it exposed too much bosom and too much leg. I figured with the cold night air blowing through the saloon doors I would be in danger of catching pneumonia unless I drummed up enough whisky sales to warm my insides.
Placed next to the dress was a pair of scuffed dancing slippers. The heels were uneven and they smelled like they had taken a trip around one too many dance floors. Just looking at them made my feet hurt.
Reverently, I opened the tin containing my newly purchased lavender soap. It was a luxury item that had cost far more than I could afford to spend. But it smelled like heaven, and I sorely needed a whiff of paradise at this point. My bath was a bucket of cold well water. The thought of soaking in a real tub was never far from my mind as I soaped up and rinsed off standing in front of my washstand. I struggled into my costume, carefully applied my face paint and regarded the finished product as acceptable.
Business was picking up as I entered the main room. I caught sight of Flossie and she motioned me to her side.
"You clean up right well Sweetie." She praised. "You and I make quite a picture - my blond hair and your black."
"Too bad we can't sing . . . we could put together a stage act." I joked.
Flossie was just about to answer me when I saw her take a quick breath and hold it; she was looking in the direction of the doorway. I followed her stare. Parm Harris had entered the saloon. Flossie quickly recovered her senses and turned to me acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. But I knew, intuitively, I knew, as one woman understands the inner workings of another.
With a smile pasted in place she said, "Sweetie with our looks, voices don't matter."
Parm paused briefly to exchange greetings with his friends, before making his way through the crowded saloon, until he was standing in front of us. A lazy smile raised the contours of his lips and crinkled his eyes, "Well, I see you do have the right tools for this job Miss Adams." His eyes lingered at the top of my dress for a moment longer than might be considered polite and I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
"What can I get you Parm?" Flossie asked eagerly.
"Flossie, I think I'll just sit for a spell with Cassie maybe you could bring a bottle of house rye to the corner table." Turning to me he questioned, "That is of course if it's alright with you?"
The hurt in Flossie's eyes lasted for just a flash before it was replaced by her usual good grace, "Sure, I'll be right back."
Pressing the palm of his hand familiarly on my lower back, he guided me to the corner table and pulled out a chair for me.
"Thank you." I said.
"A man don't need thanks for treating a woman like a lady."
Flossie arrived with the drinks took Parm's money and left. "If you're talking about a real lady, you couldn't find a finer one than Flossie." I told Parm.
"I ain't sitting here to talk about Flossie, I want to talk about you . . . Have you gotten yourself settled in?"
He was a nice man even if he was preoccupied with my chest "Yes, I have a job and a place to sleep, a girl couldn't ask for more."
"Oh Miss Cassie, I have a feeling you were meant for much more than that. A man can't help but want to give you the world."
I smiled, reaching over to pat his hand, "Parm, it hasn't happened yet, and I'm not holding my breath until it does."
This talk was making me nervous and I figured I'd best change the subject before Parm tried to take me to places I had no intention of going. "Did you see Lou Jenkins' father last night?" I asked.
Parm nodded his head, drained his whiskey glass, and took a cigar from his vest pocket, "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"No." I replied waiting for the answer to my question.
Harris inhaled a long drag on the cigar than turned his head to blow the smoke away from my face before answering, "Big Lou took it mighty hard . . . blamed Gabe Maxwell for not doing more to clean up the territory."
"I met Sheriff Maxwell today." I said.
"Maxwell's a good man, takes his job serious like, always has. But, he's just one man. Folks don't see that though. They figure he's paid to keep the law and he'd damn well better do it. But when it comes to some of them standing ground with Gabe, well . . .them with the biggest mouths seem to be the fastest at up and high tailing it outa here."
I knew enough about lawmen to understand what Parm was telling me. "Has anyone thought of calling in a Federal Marshal to help the Sheriff?"
"Folks around here don't take to the Government getting involved' if they did I reckon they'd call in the Texas Police."
"The Texas Police?" I questioned. "I've never heard of them."
"They're a product of reconstruction, there are them who say they ain't much better than the outlaws they're supposed to protect folks against. No, we don't need no government law to help around here. Hell, we don't even trust our own."
Parm glanced to the balcony above us, with a decided twinkle in his eye he asked, "So what room did Ferdinand give you?"
"Mr. Harris," I replied, "I thought I made it clear, I sell whiskey and beer, nothing else."
He threw back his head and laughed, "Can't blame a man for trying."
It was well after midnight when the last drunken trail hand was ushered from the saloon. The floor I had so diligently swept and scrubbed that morning had returned to its original state. I was tired and smelled of sweat and beer. My feet were blistered from the second-hand shoes and my ribs ached from the pressure of the tight stays.
From up above the last of the visitors could be heard `enjoying' the company of their chosen lady.
Ferd scowled at me. "You can put the chairs on the tables before you go to bed puss." He said.
It had been a long day and I'd had about as much of Ferd Kutz as I could handle. But, I gritted my teeth and did what he ordered, figuring it would be that much less I would have to do in the morning.
My room was cold, and I yearned for strong arms and a gentle hand to warm my bed. In my moment of weakness I let my mind travel to those nights in Dodge when I was loved so completely. Like saying `Amen' to an evening prayer, the final words from my lips that night were, "Oh Matt."