Chapter Seventeen
"I may be weak, but I still know how to stand up for myself."
When Arthur stepped into that dining room with Charlotte, there was already tension in the air. If these were different sorts of people, he'd have expected everyone with a hand on a gun. But, that weren't the situation, even though he thought he might have preferred it.
Clark and Ben took seats next to each other. They sat upright and stiff, as if they'd had planks shoved down the back of their jackets. Mrs. Dorsch looked wan, but her cheeks were rosy with rouge and her wine glass was nearly empty already.
Mr. Dorsch was seated at the end of the table. His lip had curled with barely concealed contempt when he caught sight of Arthur. Belatedly, he removed his hat and smoothed down his hair. Arthur got a short interrogation right off the bat when he'd been introduced, but after that Mr. Dorsch said nothing more directly to him.
Charlotte somehow managed to greet her parents as if nothing were amiss. She'd shed her nervousness as if it had never existed. She glided over to her mother and father, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks before taking a seat next to her mother. That left Arthur with the last chair at the table, the other end in the direct eye line of Mr. Dorsch.
If Charlotte hadn't warned him of her father's sharp disapproval, he'd still suspect it. The family started a stilted conversation, one he didn't take part in. Mrs. Dorsch volleyed from one topic to another, gabbing about the fashion to the picture shows in Saint Denis. The brothers nodded at the appropriate times, while their father observed them all. Arthur didn't miss the tension in Charlotte's spine or how little food she was actually eating.
After a soup was served, Arthur coughed, but for once, he got it under control with a gulp of water. It weren't even close to some of his worst coughing fits ever. He woulda thought nothing of it, except when he looked up, Charlotte's daddy were giving him the stink eye. A knowing glare that didn't bode well for him.
Halfway through dinner, Arthur felt the ache in his chest again. He drank his water, but it weren't going away. He excused himself from the table, seeing a worried expression flutter across Charlotte's face. He tried to nod a reassurance, but he didn't stick around to see if she believed him.
Arthur thought about hiding in the bathroom, but decided to go outside for fresh air. He made his way out the back door, in the same area he'd talked with Clark. He bent over, coughing until he could clear his throat. He spit and when he turned, Charlotte's father was standing with his hands behind his back, staring at him with disgust.
"What a nasty cough you have there, son."
"Musta swallowed something the wrong way," he lied.
"Hmm..." Mr. Dorsch likely didn't believe him, but he didn't challenge him. "You're close with my daughter, Mr. Callahan?"
"We're...friends." He didn't know what they were right now. Hadn't exactly had time to define it.
"But, you want more?" Mr. Dorsch waved his hand. "Don't deny it. I smell the desperation on you."
Arthur clenched his fists together. "I don't got to take none of that shit-talk from you. You ain't my daddy."
"How coarse, but what did I expect?" Mr. Dorsch raised a brow, apparently unfazed. "It isn't as if I haven't dealt with other riffraff similar to you."
"You ain't never met no one like me, mister. I guarantee you that." Or you wouldn't be alive to talk about it, not with that condescending tone.
"Hmm. We'll see." The man suddenly got a sly look in his eye. "I have a proposal for you, Mr. Callahan."
Arthur crossed his arms. "Why do I got the feeling I ain't gonna like it?"
"On the contrary, I'd consider it a win for the both of us." He reached into his vest pocket and Arthur tensed, half expecting to see a revolver, but it was only a billfold. "I'll offer you $2,000 cash for you to walk away right now."
That threw him. "Excuse me?"
"Ah, so the brute does know his manners. He just refuses to utilize them."
Arthur gritted his teeth. "What the hell you talking about, old man?"
"I'm talking about you leaving my daughter alone." Mr. Dorsch gestured towards Saint Denis. "Take a stroll down to the nearest saloon and find yourself a whore to soften the loss. Two thousand should keep you busy for awhile."
He'd be insulted if it weren't so ridiculous. Arthur snorted. "That all you think your daughter's worth?"
"Would five do it?" The man opened his billfold and Arthur's eyes widened at the insane amount of cash he had on his person. What the hell? "Here's the $2,000. The rest I have in a safe in my room."
Arthur stared. Two thousand dollars. If he had somewhere to be, somewhere to go, he'd grab that money and not look back. But, that weren't the case these days and he weren't that fortune hungry man no more. He couldn't do that to Charlotte, as tempting as it were to rob this bastard where he stood.
It also made him suspicious to be offered so much, so freely. "And what's to stop you from squealin' for the police and accusin' me of theft?"
Charlotte's father stopped flipping the bills. "Hmm. Not quite as dull as you look I see." He snapped his pocketbook shut. "Why are you so determined to sweep my daughter back to her country life of loneliness and misery?"
The man was swinging and missing with his assumptions. "She ain't neither of those."
His nostrils flared as if he was offended by the very words Arthur used. "Maybe not yet. But what about when you're dead?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You threatenin' me with something, old man?"
"I don't need to. You have consumption," he said in a tone that brokered no argument. "No blood in your sputum so you're not at the end. Judging by the prolonged coughing, the redness in your eyes. I'd estimate you have about six months. A year, if you've led an ordinary and uneventful life. Somehow, I doubt that is the case."
Did this man just predict his death? He'd promised Charlotte he wouldn't let this man's words affect him, but damn, that cut deep. He'd known he hadn't long for awhile now, but hearing it like that, making him face it, was ruthless as hell.
"Does my daughter have to suffer so you can have a comfortable ending to your unfortunate life?"
He refused to flinch in front of this man. "Ain't that her decision?"
"Please. If women knew what they wanted and how to attain it, they wouldn't be referred to as the weaker sex." Mr. Dorsch pressed, "I'll cut the falsehood and make an honest deal with you. I'll provide a written statement as proof the $5,000 is rightfully yours so no one can claim you a thief. You can settle down and die your own way."
Arthur scowled. "I don't want your damn money."
Mr. Dorsch studied him, calculating, and Arthur watched the man's face transform and harden. He put his pocket book away. "On the other hand, perhaps your pursuit of Charlotte will work in my favor. By the end of the year, you'll be taking your last breath and my daughter will be so distraught she'll return to her real life."
He'd met plenty of conniving bastards, but this man was nastier than even some of them. "Charlotte ain't going back with you. She likes it out here."
Mr. Dorsch sneered. "You think you know my daughter better than I do."
"Actually," Arthur said with surety, "I don't think you know your daughter at all."
The other man's posture stiffened. "You insolent cur."
Arthur shook his head, unaffected. "Name-callin' ain't gonna change fact."
Mr. Dorsch spun on his heel and retreated back into the hotel without another word. Arthur followed. He didn't regret what he said. He only hoped Charlotte could recuperate the rest of the night if he'd just put his foot in his mouth.
When he re-entered the room, Charlotte was leaned in as if she were listening to her mother, but her gaze was fixed on the doorway. Her expression cleared with relief when she spotted him walking in behind her father. Did she think he was going to abandon her?
That made him wonder how many beaus her daddy had paid off and left her alone in the middle of dinner or if he was the only lucky one.
Arthur thought what Mr. Dorsch said outside were the end of it, but it seemed as if the man had only wanted to size him up before he went on the real attack.
It started when Mrs. Dorsch pouted at her daughter. "We've certainly missed your company at the city gala."
Charlotte smiled. "I'm sure that's not true. I've never stayed long enough to make an impression."
Her father commented mildly, "Your peers may not miss you, but your aunt Rose has certainly felt your absence."
Beside Arthur, Charlotte stiffened and her smile fell. She said, almost carefully, "Aunt Rosie's health is stable, last I heard."
"When was the last letter you received from her? Hmm? Two months ago? Three?"
"I-I don't know," Charlotte faltered.
"She can't leave the bed anymore. Her tuberculosis has worsened recently." The man wasn't looking at him, but damn if Arthur didn't feel him trying to drive the point into him.
"However, I digress." Mr. Dorsch slid a pamphlet across the table. "I have a more enticing offer for you than coming back as caretaker to a dying woman."
Charlotte picked up the paper. "The Women's Medical College in Pennsylvania?" She glanced at Arthur before asking her father, "What is this all about?"
"I've spoken with several colleagues and women in the medical field aren't unheard of. Generally, they steer towards midwifery, but your previous experience will qualify you for a more advanced occupation."
Her brow furrowed. "Why would you think I'd have any interest in this?"
Something flickered across the older man's face but it was too brief to identify. "You enjoyed your time working in my office."
Charlotte set the pamphlet down and said, "Father, I'm flattered you're finally recognizing my skills, but this has never been an ambition of mine."
He didn't seem to like that answer. "What else are you doing with your life? Your endeavor to make a life out west has failed, Charlotte. Not even a month into your new living arrangement and your husband was killed."
Mrs. Dorsch bristled and stated, "A horrible tragedy indeed, Howard, but Charlotte had nothing to do with it."
"A woman is supposed to take care of her husband, is she not?" Howard paused and prompted, "Is she not, Charlotte?"
"Father—" Ben tried to protest.
"Silence, Benjamin." Mr. Dorsch didn't raise his voice, but Ben clamped his mouth shut obediently. "I want Charlotte to answer the question."
Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, but she said evenly, "I am of the belief a married couple should take care of each other equally."
"Ah, so you didn't do your equal share, is that it?" He didn't wait for her response. "If you don't want the school, then I'll arrange a courtship between you and Mr. Booker when we return to Chicago."
"Stanley Booker?" Charlotte's mom looked horrified. "He's nearly seventy, Howard."
"Virile enough for his age. By the time the first babe is out, she'll likely be widowed again, but we'll at least have a grandchild finally."
"Father, this conversation is ridiculous." Charlotte stated. "I'm too old for an arranged marriage and I'm content with the life I have now. As hard as the road has been, it has made me come to value my independence."
"Independence?" Now Mr. Dorsch's gaze turned fully on Arthur. "Then what's this dog doing sniffing at your skirts?"
Charlotte started a protest, but Arthur held his gaze steadily and said, "What dogs do, protect those they're loyal to."
"Pray tell, how is it protecting her when you slap her around, Mr. Callahan?" Mr. Dorsch asked accusingly. "Don't think I haven't noticed the bruise."
All of the family moved their attention to Charlotte, who subconsciously lifted a hand to the spot on her cheek that hadn't fully healed.
The last of his patience was slipping, but Arthur managed through gritted teeth, "That weren't me that did it."
Charlotte added, "Arthur protected me from the man who did."
"If that were true, then he failed at that as well. I forbid you from returning to that cabin. Especially, not with this...this abuser of women."
"Father, I'm hardly a child and no longer under your roof. You can't dictate my life anymore."
"If you choose to sully yourself this way, you shall be struck from my will."
"Howard!" her mother gasped.
So much for the old man not trying to manipulate Charlotte into returning home before Arthur's death.
"I have no control over your actions, only my own," Charlotte said with dignity. "If that's what you must do, then so be it."
Mrs. Dorsch became distressed and even the brothers shared shocked expressions.
"Perhaps, it'd be best if I turn in for the evening." Arthur saw Charlotte's hands shaking, but her voice was even. "If you'll excuse me—"
Mr. Dorsch pounded the table with his fist and snapped, "You weren't supposed to remain in the damn wilderness!"
Charlotte froze. "What do you mean by that?"
Mr. Dorsch's face contorted to anger. "I approved your venture because I expected you back within two weeks. But, your husband took too long to realize he didn't have the capacity to survive without a net. And neither do you. The same idiotic choices are going to get you killed. Just like him."
Charlotte rose to her feet, her chair sliding back with a screech. "It's one thing to harass me about my current life choices, Father, but don't you dare tarnish Cal's memory like that."
She left the room to complete silence. Arthur stood abruptly, snatching his hat and ready for a hasty retreat. But he couldn't resist pausing at the door to address her father one last time.
"You know, Charlotte ain't stupid. She's a survivor, your daughter. I seen the life fell a lotta folk, but she's done it right and if I didn't think it'd break her heart, I'd thrash you right here for what you said, with the rest of your goddamn family as witnesses."
The rich bastard's eyes widened and Mrs. Dorsch gasped again. Woman was going to run out of air if she heaved at every shocking thing she heard tonight.
Arthur placed his hat on his head and nodded to Clark and Ben with respect. "Evening, gentlemen."
When he walked out the hotel, he took a minute to scan the streets for Charlotte. She was nearly to the trolley stop, halfway up the block. "Charlotte!" He caught up to her and bent over, winded. "Damn, woman...you...got a brisk walk."
"Does he think I wanted this life intentionally?" she asked with agitation. "That I sought to lose my husband and carry on in solitude for the rest of my days?"
Arthur was still trying to catch his breath and Charlotte was in such a distress she hadn't noticed.
"That bit about Aunt Rosie was low even for him. I knew when he said her name he was going to try and conjure up my guilt."
"Whoa, whoa. Settle down. All he wants..." Arthur wheezed and rubbed his chest. "...is for you to get worked up, remember?"
"He's gotten into my head." She pressed a hand to her temple. "I tried my best to resist his poison and his words still got to me."
"Yeah...he's a regular viper."
Charlotte's attention finally went to him struggling to catch his breath. Her concern immediately shifted. "Arthur, are you okay?"
"Fine." Apart from being threatened, bribed and accused of beating women. Not to mention this cough he couldn't shake.
"We should have never come." She looked exhausted, as if the man had taken the very life out of her in one conversation.
He wanted to agree, but he coughed instead and a wave of nausea overtook him. He hadn't eaten much, but the food felt close to the surface.
He rasped out, "I think I gotta lay down."
She clutched his arm. "Of course." The trolley was rolling in and she said, "Let's board here so we can get back to the hotel quicker. Can you handle that?"
He nodded, but he didn't know if he were being truthful. They boarded and Arthur sat, leaning his elbows on his knees and trying to calm his stomach. Charlotte rubbed his back.
How did he feel like such shit all of a sudden? Stupid question as he knew why. It'd been a long day, maybe the longest he'd been awake since he'd come out of that coma from the mountain. Hell, it was only this morning he'd been on his way after Micah. He shook his head. He wouldn't have lasted a goddamn minute in a shootout. Not if he had taken ill this quickly.
"Almost there, Arthur." Charlotte said soothingly.
The trolley stopped, making his stomach turn. He followed Charlotte off and when he stepped onto the street, he knew he wasn't going to make it all the way down the hill to their hotel. Blackness seeped the edges of his vision and he staggered.
"Arthur?" Charlotte's voice sounded far away now.
His chest was burning, his stomach was curling and he couldn't focus on a damn thing.
"This is all my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you to do so much in a day. With the shopping and the dinner..."
He didn't hear the rest and he didn't know how they reached the hotel. Maybe the trolley stop weren't actually that far and he'd stumbled along with Charlotte's help or maybe someone else had taken pity on her and pitched in.
Whichever it was, the next thing he knew they were walking through the doors of the brightly lit lobby of Hotel la Licorne. The hotel clerk marched up to them, speaking rapid french and gesturing at him with displeasure.
Charlotte answered her with a few words in her same language so Arthur didn't know what was going on.
Whatever she said had the Frenchwoman's nostrils flaring and her going into a lengthy scold.
Charlotte snapped at her sharply mid-sentence and the Frenchwoman's posture straightened. She glared at them for a moment before clapping her hands and turning to a teenager in waiter's garb.
"Thomas, help these...invités to their rooms."
When they made it to his room, Arthur collapsed on the bed, feeling weak as he concentrated on breathing in and out.
Charlotte ordered the boy, "Could you please send up a pitcher of water? And some more washcloths for the room?"
The boy nodded and took off. Charlotte closed the door and walked over to him on the bed. She removed his hat and set it on the side table. She moved on to his boots.
"Charlotte..." He tried to tell her he was fine and not to bother with him. Does my daughter have to suffer so you can have a comfortable ending to your unfortunate life?
She perched on the left side of the bed and rubbed his arm. "Shh. You rest now, Arthur. It'll be okay."
A knock on the door and the boy had returned with Charlotte's requested items. She stood and collected them from him.
"I can handle it from here. Thank you, Thomas." She tipped the boy and returned to her spot on the bed.
She wet the cloth and dabbed it over his temple and the coolness soothed him. Arthur lost the will to protest and closed his eyes to her gentle touch. He drifted off to sleep.
When Arthur woke again, his room was dark and still. The first thing he saw was his new hat on the nightstand. Moonlight from the window streamed over it, as if purposefully lighting it for him to find easily. He sat up, feeling groggy. Damn. He hadn't passed out like that in a long while.
He was soaked in sweat, but he weren't feeling sick like earlier. He didn't know what time it was, but it was still night so unless he slept on through the next day, it was probably about midnight or so.
He needed to see how Charlotte was doing. She'd been upset and he hadn't had the strength to make her feel better at the time. He found the clothes purchased earlier in the day stacked neatly in the dresser. Arthur changed into them, pulled over his coat, tugged on his boots and swept up his hat.
He found his key still in his coat and locked his room behind him. A clock near a lit gas lamp told him it was nearing midnight like he'd guessed. The hallway was quiet, but he heard some muted chatter downstairs so maybe there was a card game going late. Arthur leaned on room three's door frame and knocked twice.
For a moment, he thought he was being a fool for checking in on her. The last thing he wanted was to ruin any possible sleep she was managing to get.
Then he heard her footsteps and her pause on the other side of the door. Her muffled voice called out, "Who is it?"
"Arthur."
Charlotte twisted the doorknob and opened it up part of the way. Her eyes were red. Aw, hell. She'd been crying. He wanted to pull her in and hold her until her pain was gone, but she was still mostly inside the room.
He settled for asking, "Did I wake you?"
She shook her head. "Is everything alright with you?"
He should be asking her that. "I'm fine. Or better than earlier, I should say." He moved his head to indicate the stairs. "You wanna go for a walk?"
Her brow furrowed. "But, it's the middle of the night."
"Best time to be in this city in my opinion. A lot less busybodies."
"I don't know, Arthur." She bit her lip. "I think maybe you should be resting."
"I've been asleep the last six hours or so. I need some fresh air."
She hesitated. "Is it safe?"
He quirked a half grin. "It ain't ever safe. But, you best believe I'm a lot more disagreeable than anyone who might try and cause trouble."
She thought about it for a moment, staring back into her darkened room. Then she faced him again. "Alright, Arthur. Let's go."