Whose Sin Is Her Love – chapter four
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There was a knock on the door. Adah left what she was doing and went to answer it. A small part of her hoped Ben Cartwright had returned. He was the best man she knew – kind, generous, gentle, and loving. Life to him was a gift, a blessed thing; something to cherish and nurture. That was the reason she'd turned him down when he proposed. Isaac Menken had been such a man. They'd been happy for a time, but then the discontentment – the longing and need for something more – had risen up within her and spewed forth, black as bile, poisoning everything they had. Isaac asked for a divorce. She gave it to him.
She had to admit the prison she lived in was of her own devising. It was her personal and private hell. There was enough goodness left within her that she would not condemn another to it, not unless they deserved it.
Like the man waiting outside the door.
She'd seen his carriage roll into town and stop beneath her window. She knew the large dark shadow that disembarked as well as she knew herself, and knew as well that she didn't have the power to resist him.
Adah drew a breath and turned the knob.
"John," she said.
When she said nothing more, he pushed past her. Without pause, the mountain of a man made his way to the decanter of expensive champagne that sat on the hotel's table and poured himself a glass. After he tossed it back, he indicated the bottle with a nod.
"Cartwright?"
She shook her head. "It's from the management of the theater."
John dropped into the chair beside the table and reached for the bottle again. "They've got taste."
"You would know," she said, her tone curt. "After all you've been wined and dined by the finest in the United Kingdom."
"You could have been there with me, Adah."
"You know why I didn't go! Why I couldn't!"
He pretended to look around. "You have the brat hidden somewhere?"
Adah sobbed. Her hand went to her now empty womb. The silence there echoed the despair in her heart. "Don't be cruel. You know. Your child…our child is dead."
John put the bottle down and rose to his feet. Once he reached her side, he stopped; his shadow covering her like a blight.
"Get this straight." His words were meant to hurt. "You and I were never married. If you had some man's brat, it sure as Hell wasn't mine!"
"I have the papers to prove we're married!"
"Those papers mean nothing. Even if there was a ceremony, it wasn't legal" His finger shot out and punched her in the shoulder. The contact was painful. "You lied to me. You were still married to Menken."
"I did not! Isaac and I were divorced…."
"By a rabbi?" He sneered. "Don't tell me you were gullible enough to believe a Rabbinic divorce would hold up in a Christian court."
"We are married!" she shouted as she took hold of his vest. "John , we are! Our child was legitimate!"
"Your child was a bastard, fathered by some fool stupid enough to believe he loved you." He caught her by the throat. "Some fool stupid enough to think you know what love is. Face it, Adah. It's all about you. It's always been about you. There's no room in your heart for anyone else."
"You're wrong!"
"Am I?" He pulled her close. "What about Ben Cartwright? You could have had him and his money. Why'd you turn him down?"
"I…was in love with you. I'm not anymore. You're despicable! Ben was here. He…."
John's grip tightened. "I know he was here. He and I had…words." He snarled. "Ben Cartwright will never look on you with anything but horror and disgust. I nearly killed his precious boy and you did nothing! You were in my bed within the hour!"
"I… I…." She sobbed. "I was frightened."
"Were you? Or were you aroused by the violence – the power?" John's grip tightened as he gazed into her eyes – before he released her and shoved her to the ground. "Face it, Adah, you're worthless. Whoever's kid that was, it was lucky it died. I can't imagine you as a mother! You would have sucked it dry and spit it out before it turned two!"
"John, no…."
He stepped over her and went to the door. "I came here to tell you that, just because I am riding your coattails, doesn't mean I want anything to do with you. You're all washed up, Adah. I know you had to come out West because none of the reputable theaters in the East would have you, and that's saying a lot considering the type of women who take to the stage." John paused with his hand on the knob. "Come to think of it, you'll fit in here just fine here. I hear Virginia City has more whores than the Barbary Coast."
His words were a knife to her soul. Adah raised her hands above her head to ward them off.
"What a pathetic excuse for a human being you are. Why don't you just end it and put us all out of our misery?"
With those words, her husband, her lover – her taunter and tormentor, was gone.
Adah lay where she had fallen as the sun passed its zenith and began its descent, heralding the end of another day of desolation and despair. Her fingers clutched the thick lush fibers of the Oriental carpet she lay upon. She used them to drag her weary body up and onto the settee. Beside it lay the leather-bound journal she used to record her thoughts. Her hand shook as she took up the pen and opened the journal and began to write.
oooooooooo
Where is the promise of my years;
Once written on my brow?
Ere errors, agonies and fears
Brought with them all that speaks in tears,
Ere I had sunk beneath my peers;
Where sleeps that promise now?
I can but own my life is vain
A desert void of peace;
I missed the goal I sought to gain,
I missed the measure of the strain
That lulls Fame's fever in the brain,
And bids Earth's tumult cease.
Myself! alas for theme so poor
A theme but rich in Fear;
I stand a wreck on Error's shore,
A spectre not within the door,
A houseless shadow evermore,
An exile lingering here.*
ooooooooooo
The pen dropped. Trembling, her hands went to her face. Adah drew in a long breath and then rose and went to her valise where it lay open on the bed. She set the lavish clothing aside and removed from its false bottom the casket that held her jewels. Beneath that casket was another smaller one. It held two things: a silver rattle that belonged to her dead son and an elegant cobalt blue tear catcher bottle over-laid with gold and dotted with pearls. Lotta Crabtree had given the bottle to her. The other woman understood. Tears were precious to the Lord God of Israel and between them they had shed enough to flood the river Jordon.
A river she would – sooner than later – have to cross.
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"Back so soon?" a husky voice asked. Hoss turned his head toward the bar where Sam occupied his usual spot. "Seems funny seeing you without your brothers," the barkeep said.
The big man nodded. He felt funny without his brothers – kind of like a part of him was missin'. The saloon was fairly full, but it felt empty without them at his side. Most of the occupants were local. There were only a few he didn't recognize.
"Pa's havin' a 'talk' with Roy Coffee," he said as he took a seat at an empty table.
"Don't tell me your father broke the law!"
The big man leaned back. "Not yet."
"You want a beer?"
"Just a sarsaparilla. Thanks. I done had enough liquor for one visit to town." Hoss frowned as his stomach let off a long, loud growl. "Fact is, I'm right hungry. I ain't et anythin' today. You got any vittles?"
"Cheese and salami. If you give me a minute I might be able to rustle up some crackers to go with them."
"You're a lifesaver, Sam!"
"That Pa of yours not feeding you?" the older man asked as he began to hunt.
He didn't really want to go into why they hadn't eaten at the hotel. "You know Pa. He's all about business."
The sound of the barkeep scrounging around was shortly followed by an 'aha'! A minute later Sam came to the table with a big old hunk of cheddar, half a salami, and a bowl of crackers.
"I keep 'em for the poker games, but you can have them. You look like you might just fade away from hunger."
"I sure do feel like a ghost." Hoss patted his stomach. "Ain't gonna be anythin' left of me soon."
Sam laughed as he returned to the counter. He'd been polishing glasses for several minutes before he asked, "Where are those brothers of yours?"
"Riding line up north," the big man answered as he dug into the vittles. The cheese was sharp, just like he liked it, and the crackers some of Beth Riley's best.
"Making sure the shacks are stocked before winter, eh?"
"Yep. You know Pa. He wants them shacks fit as a fiddle and ready to go in case anyone needs them to hold up in durin' the cold weather. Us included!"
"Don't you usually go with Adam? Seems to me I remember Little Joe sitting here pouting about being left behind just about this time of year."
Hoss laughed. "That'd be little brother. Pa probably brought him to town to keep him out of trouble."
"How old is Joe now?"
"He'll turn eighteen on the thirty-first."
"All Hallows Eve, eh?" Sam grinned. "Somebody trying to send a message?"
Hoss snorted his sarsaparilla through his nose. "Don't you let little brother hear you say that. He'll pop you in the nose."
"Like he did you a year back?"
Something clutched his heart. Like a hand closing hard.
"Sorry, Hoss. I didn't mean to bring back bad memories." Sam paused. "I hear Regan's back in town."
"You seen him?"
The barkeep shook his head. "No, and he'd better not darken my doorstep again. I don't serve bullies and would-be murderers."
Murder. That's what John C. Regan had tried to do to Little Joe. Kill him. And he'd stopped his father from taking revenge. Twice.
It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"You all right, Hoss?"
"I sure am. I just think, well, I better check on Pa. He was right upset this morning. Sheriff Roy took him over to the jail to cool off."
Sam's grizzled brows rose. "Oh? With or without a key?"
Hoss shrugged. He didn't rightly know.
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"You will let me out of here, and you will let me out of here now!"
"Now, Ben, I'll let you out of that there cell just as soon as you cool down."
The rancher's fingers gripped the cell bars. "I am not going to 'cool down' so long as I am unjustly incarcerated!"
Roy pulled at his chin. "Well, let's see. Threatening to do bodily harm to another man and pulling a weapon in a public place…."
"I did not pull my weapon in a public place! You stopped me before I could!"
"Well then, thinking about pulling it! There's got to be a law against that somewhere in the books."
The rancher leaned his head against the bars. "Look, Roy, if I promise I won't tear John C. Regan limb from limb, will you unlock the door?"
"I would, Ben, but I don't know as I can trust you." At his look Roy added, his tone grim. "It's just about all I can do to trust myself not to shoot the sorry bastard."
"What?"
"I may not have seen that boy of yours, but I saw that alley, Ben. There was so much blood in it, it looked like a pig had been stuck." The lawman swallowed. "The law's fair and just, but there are times it ain't right. Sad to say there's nothin' either of us can do, lessen Regan does somethin' stupid."
"Like trying to kill Little Joe again?"
"Has he threatened to do that?"
The rancher ran a hand through his thick white hair, forcing it back from his forehead. "He did, last year. Joseph told me."
"Would Little Joe make a statement and swear to that?"
"He would if he was here, but he's not. I sent him away." Ben dropped onto the bed in the cell. "He and Adam are riding the line, checking the shacks. I wanted him nowhere near John C. Regan."
"You afraid the boy will try to take that monster on by himself?"
Ben snorted. "I know he will try to take him on. Joseph has never truly recovered from what happened before. It left him…vulnerable in so many ways. Roy, my son is no weakling. Little Joe can take on a man twice his size and win – if the fight is fair." He ran a hand over his jaw. "John C. Regan doesn't know the meaning of the word."
A sound alerted the lawman to the fact that someone had entered the jail. Hoss' massive form appeared in the cell block doorway a moment later.
"You come to take your pa home?" Roy asked with a grin.
"You gonna let him go?"
The lawman shrugged. "I'm thinkin' about it."
"Roy, look," Ben began. "I can't promise I won't confront Regan. He tried to kill my boy and the man needs to pay for what he did." At his friend's look, he went on. "But I can promise you this, I will not kill him. Much as I want to, if I did, I would be no better than him."
One side of Roy's face twitched. He turned to Hoss. "What about you, boy?"
His son frowned. "I want to kill Regan with my bare hands, Sheriff Roy, but Pa's right. That'd be wrong."
"How about poundin' the livin' daylights out of him?"
Hoss winkled his nose. "I cain't for sure swear I won't take a swing at him if I get a chance."
Roy nodded. "Good enough." A second later he jammed the key into the lock and opened the door.
"You're going to let us go? After what Hoss just said?"
"I am." The sheriff pointed the key at his son. "Just you make sure that any poundin' you do is out of my jurisdiction. You understand?"
Hoss grinned. "You got it."
"And Hoss?"
The big man raised his eyebrows. "What is it, Sheriff Roy?"
"You be sure to give that arrogant bastard a good one for me."
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It was late by the time he was liberated and so they decided to stay in town again. Ben wanted to avoid the hotel where Adah was staying, but the performers and crew that accompanied both her and Regan had filled the lower price establishments. All that was left was an expensive suite directly across from hers. The rancher made a vow as he and his son wearily climbed the stairs that he would not seek her out. He'd stated his intentions and made himself clear that morning. There was no need for another confrontation.
Sadly, he found himself drawn to her like a moth to flame.
Fortunately, the suite had two rooms. Hoss was already asleep and snoring away behind a closed door. He loved his son dearly, but sharing a room with the big man and getting a peaceful night's rest was tantamount to getting old chief Winnemucca to allow his daughter to attend the harvest ball!
Ben sat on the bed and reached for his boots, but stopped and walked to the window instead. He'd noted it before as they approached the hotel – a large tent being erected at the edge of town. No doubt it was for the exhibition match between John C. Regan and Tom Sayers, which was set for early Sunday afternoon. Nearly every post and pillar they passed had been plastered with handbills, announcing either the match or Adah's performance. Virginia City's streets were lined with hawkers selling tickets and souvenirs. Little boys made boxing gloves out of paper sacks and strings and pretended to spar with one another, while the little girls adopted Adah's latest hairstyle – shoulder-length sausage curls – and sang and danced hoping, just maybe, they too would be discovered and transported to the world of fame and fortune as she had been.
A world that bore very little resemblance to the bleak one 'The Menken' inhabited.
The rancher lifted his eyes to the land beyond the town, to the tall pine trees that were barely visible and stood as mute sentinels pointing the way home. He missed his home. He missed his boys. By now Adam would have Joseph far beyond John C. Regan's hatred and his reach. Joseph would be angry when he returned home and realized what they had done.
Still, he'd rather have an angry and alive son than a dead one.
An unexpected knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. Ben frowned as he headed for it, wondering who waited on the other side. It was the hotel manager. They knew each other well enough for him to see that the man was troubled.
"Is something wrong, Matt?"
The young man pulled at his collar. Embarrassment colored his peach-fuzz cheeks red. "Forgive my presumption, Mister Cartwright, but I couldn't help but hear the other day. I take it you know Miss Menken…well?"
He nodded. "We are of old acquaintance. Why?"
"I'm not sure. She refused her lunch and, when the girl went to take her supper, she found the door locked. Miss Menken gave no response to her calls. Molly left the tray outside but it's gone untouched."
"Adah didn't respond at all?"
"No, sir, and there is no light on in her room."
A chill snaked through him, almost a premonition.
"You have a master key I presume?"
Matt pulled it from his pocket. "Yes, sir. I hesitated to go in. You know actresses. They can be as unpredictable as they are temperamental." The young man frowned. "No offense meant."
"None taken."
"Pa, is somethin' wrong?"
Ben turned to find the suite door open and Hoss standing in it. His son's feathery hair winged out on both sides, giving him the appearance of a bird in flight.
"Nothing I can't handle. Go back to bed, son."
The big man was staring at the hotel manager. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
His son shrugged. "Okay. You let me know if you need anything."
"I will. Now go back to sleep."
Hoss yawned widely – and loudly – and did as he was told.
Turning back to Matt, Ben said, "Give me the key."
"Would you like me to accompany you?"
He shook his head. Whatever was wrong, he wanted to do his best to give Adah her privacy and preserve whatever dignity remained.
"Very well, I will go back downstairs. There's a bell pull in her suite like there is in yours. Use it and I will come immediately."
"Thank you, Matt. I'm sure I can handle it on my own."
A moment later Ben was headed across the hall. Adah's door was at the opposite end of the suite from his. He paused outside it and struck the painted surface with his hand.
"Adah? Adah, it's Ben. Let me in."
There was no reply.
"Adah?"
Again, nothing.
Ben hesitated to use the key. Adah was a woman, after all, and could be in various states of undress or going about her personal business. She might have taken a draft and fallen asleep and would not welcome his intrusion. Still, the sense that told him when his boys were in danger was tingling. There was nothing to back it up, but he had a feeling something was terribly and horribly wrong.
He knocked again. Harder this time.
"Adah?"
The silence was all.
Ben placed the key firmly in the lock and turned it. Adah's door swung open with ease. He stepped into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust. The curtains were drawn and it was black as a night without stars. Once he had his bearings the rancher walked to the window and pulled the drapes to one side, allowing the moonlight to stream in. He turned – and then he saw her. Adah lay on the bed. She was still dressed. One arm was thrown haphazardly to the side, while the other lay on her chest, clutching something. Her skin was white as marble; her lips lapis lazuli blue. With dread and caution he approached her. It could have been the moonlight, but he didn't think it was. She didn't seem to be breathing.
Ben clutched the brass footboard, his knuckles gone white.
"Adah," he breathed, 'what have you done?"
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"He had no idea what he done," the weaselly little man said. "I was pretty slick. Slipped in and out of the saloon without him even knowin'."
"Spare me the details of your prowess. Just give me the facts," John C. Regan said. "Otherwise, no money."
The cowboy nodded. "I was sittin' there when that big ape started talkin' to the bar-keep. He spilled the beans right there and then."
The pugilist's hand shot out to catch the slat-thin man's collar in his hand. He lifted him up and off the ground.
"Where…is…Little Joe Cartwright?"
"R…ridin' line, Mr. Regan. Him and his brother. They're on the north side of the Ponderosa. I…I worked for old Ben a few years back. I can take you to right where he is."
"You'd betray the man you worked for?"
His informant spat as his feet touched the ground. "Old Ben fired me 'cause of them brats of his. All them Cartwrights can stand to be took down a peg or two."
"How long will it take to get there?"
The man shrugged. "Depends on how far they traveled today and what they found. There's a lot of damage from the spring floods. My guess is him and Adam aren't too far along the line. A day. Maybe two."
Nature intended a smile to be an expression of happiness, so the look on John C. Regan's face could only be described as a sneer.
"Show me the way there and you'll get your money. Assist me – and keep your mouth shut – and I'll double the amount."
"What are you gonna do?"
The pugilist ground his hands together in anticipation.
"No one - and I mean no one – makes a fool of John C. Regan and lives."
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