CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hank took the remaining bolts of fabric to Melinda's room in order for her to start work on some dresses in her free time. There was still at least enough material for a couple of frocks for each of the three girls. Then he went over to Loren's for some more cigars, the two he'd had when he left Manitou having been ruined by melted snow. He took half a dozen cigars from the jar and went to pay for them.
"Good trip?" Loren asked.
"Not bad," Hank said.
"Lucky ya didn't get caught in that blizzard."
"Yeah." Hank grinned to himself, then glanced around him. No one else was in the store and he had decided to buy something for Myra. He knew he'd been cruel to her over the damned social disease and seeing her miserable face every day had begun to make him feel guilty. She hadn't even seemed pleased to see him when he arrived home earlier and he wanted to get something nice to cheer her up.
"Is there anythin' else?" Loren asked him.
"I wanna buy some perfume," said Hank.
"You wanna buy what?" exclaimed Loren, eyes widening with sudden amusement.
"Perfume. Ya do sell it, right?"
"Weeelllll, yes, but I have to order it in special. What're you wantin' perfume for?"
"Mind yer own business," grunted Hank.
"Thinkin' of makin' those girls of yours smell enticin'?"
"Maybe."
"Here." Loren shoved a catalogue in front of him now and flipped it open to a page showing a number of bottles of perfume with fancy names. "Take yer pick."
"Why don't you pick, Loren? You sell the stuff. Ya must know what's good and what ain't," said Hank, not having the faintest idea how to select such an item.
Loren tutted and turned the catalogue around on the counter so it was the right way up for him to read.
"Well, this one right here is said to be very allurin'," he said, pointing to a picture of a bottle. "It's from Paris, France. They make the best perfume in the world, the French."
"How long's it gonna take to come from France?" asked Hank doubtfully.
"It'll come from New York; they have a store there that keeps stock in. I'd say it'll be here in two weeks," Loren said.
"Better get it ordered then," Hank nodded.
"Ain't ya gonna ask how much it costs?"
"Nah."
Shrugging, Loren put away the catalogue and began writing in his order book. "I'll have to take a fifty per cent deposit as this is a special order," he said. "It's five dollars."
Hank took out some coins and placed two-fifty on the counter.
"No, the deposit is five dollars," Loren told him. "The perfume is ten."
"How much?"
Loren chuckled now, the first time he had found anything to be amused by in a long time, aside from the doctor falling in the mud.
"Like I said, it's from Paris, that's how much it costs. So do ya want it, or not?"
Sighing, Hank took out another two-fifty and handed it over. For ten dollars, the perfume had better smell like nectar. He just hoped Myra would use it for his benefit and not waste it on the customers.
The perfume arrived the week before Christmas after a slight delay due to the store being inundated with orders for festive gifts. Hank had almost forgotten about it until Loren brought it out from under the counter one day when he had gone into the store to buy coffee.
"This arrived for ya yesterday," he said.
It was in an elaborate cut glass bottle with a silver cap engraved with leaves covering the glass stopper. No wonder it cost ten dollars. Most of that probably went on the bottle.
"'Bout time," grunted Hank, pulling out another five dollars for the balance.
"Who's it for? Myra?" Loren winked. "Ain't the others gonna be jealous if ya don't get them Christmas gifts too?"
"It ain't supposed to be for Christmas, it's just late," Hank grumbled. "Ya know I don't buy Christmas gifts."
"Maybe ya should. Would ya like me to wrap it in some fancy paper?"
"No," Hank said shortly.
He grabbed the bottle and thrust it into his pocket, then charged out of the door, almost knocking Michaela flat as he collided with her on the porch. He grabbed her arm to save her falling and she regained her balance before shaking him off angrily and brushing down her skirts.
"Excuse me," he muttered, stepping past her.
"Hank, may I speak with you?" she asked suddenly, halting him. He turned towards her again.
"If ya must."
"How is Myra? It's a few days since I saw her."
"Ya mean is she still 'chaste'?" Hank said, twitching one eyebrow upwards and grinning at Michaela's disapproving look. "Don't worry, I don't want it spreadin' 'round the customers; they'd be goin' elsewhere."
"I meant, is she feeling better?" Michaela said sharply.
"Far as I know. Is there anythin' else? I got things to do."
"No, nothing else."
Hank nodded and returned to the saloon, leaving the perfume in his coat for the rest of the day. He decided to give it to Myra after they closed for the night when the other girls had gone to bed.
When the last customer left, Hank locked the door and the girls went to their rooms. He poured himself a final whiskey, gulped it and then retrieved the perfume from his room before going to Myra's. He opened the door and found her sitting in front of the mirror brushing her hair, already changed into her nightgown. She glanced at him in the glass, but didn't turn around.
"Did ya want somethin', Hank?" she asked. "Ya know I still got a few days to go before I can do anythin'." She stood up and put her brush down on the table, still not turning to face him.
"Yeah, I know. I got somethin' for ya." He bent forward and kissed her neck, then lifted one hand up in front of her with the bottle of perfume in it.
"Perfume?" she said in surprise, taking the bottle.
"All the way from France."
Myra turned around at last and looked up at him. "Ya didn't have to do this," she said.
"I wanted to."
"Thank you, Hank."
She smiled now and took the cap off the bottle, pulled out the stopper and dabbed a little perfume onto her wrists. It smelled divine. Hank took the bottle out of her hands and put it down, then drew her closer and bent to kiss her. He knew he ought to pay more attention to her than he had been doing lately. He slept with her when he felt like it, but they weren't so close as they once had been and that look in her eyes that said she was thinking about something else kept appearing more and more. It had started after her trip to St Louis, but increased since she met Michaela. He knew the pair had seen each other more times than when the doctor attended to her and he wondered if her head was being filled with stories of life in the city again, making her want to move on.
He pushed it out of his mind as he kissed her. She responded the same as she always did, sliding her arms around him, her mouth soft and warm. He held her tighter, his body immediately beginning to react to the feel of her, but she pulled back after a moment.
"Hank, don't," she protested. "Ya know I can't."
He grinned wickedly. "Ya got hands, don't ya?"
Myra giggled.
"I wanna be with ya tonight," added Hank, drawing her towards the bed.
He stayed until morning, his arms wrapped around her, waking to the lingering scent of the perfume on her skin. It had been worth ten dollars after all.
As usual, Hank took Myra to the town Christmas party, wearing one of her fancy frocks and a hint of perfume. She looked beautiful and it seemed that whatever it was they had between them was still there.
"Perfume went down well, then," Loren said in a low voice a little later, having caught the scent of Myra as she passed him.
Hank grinned. "Tempted, are ya?"
"No!" Loren's face flushed slightly, making Hank snigger. The older man walked off to speak to the Reverend, an embarrassed frown on his face.
Myra returned to Hank's side with two plates of food and passed him one.
"What're ya laughin' at?" she asked. "Teasin' Loren again?"
"Think yer perfume's got him goin'," smirked Hank. "The doc given ya the all clear yet?"
"Yes. Is Loren thinkin' of...?" said Myra in surprise.
"No, but I am." He smiled wider. "Let's not hang around too long, eh?"
It was a white Christmas for once. The snow hadn't really let up since the blizzard at the end of November, with little flurries adding to it every so often and the temperature preventing it melting. A thick frozen layer remained on the ground for the next week and the townsfolk wrapped up warm for the New Year celebrations. As soon as midnight struck, Hank kissed Myra heatedly and hustled her back to the saloon, foregoing the rest of the party. Little did he know it was the last time she would kiss him willingly for a considerable length of time.
The snow melted and everyone welcomed the rise in temperature. The January sun was unusually warm and coats, hats and gloves were no longer needed. However, two weeks later Colorado Springs was struck down by a severe influenza epidemic which threw everyone into a panic. The first victim was the seamstress, Emily's husband, although she and her baby both contracted it and survived.
Most went to Jake, sweating, shivering, coughing and staggering and he bled them one after another, filling his barber's shop with gruesome piles of bloody rags, his patients leaving no better than they went in.
Hank closed the saloon and refused to let Melinda and Dotty set foot outside since neither of them had it before. He was reluctant to let Myra out, but acknowledged someone would have to go out to fetch food and since she'd had it before it was fairly certain she wouldn't catch it again. She brought back supplies and reported that Dr Mike had taken over the Coopers' old boarding house to use as a clinic as there was nowhere else to care for the sick. Sully had ripped off the boards nailed over the doors and windows by the bank to let her in. A number of people began turning to her instead of Jake in the hopes she would have a better method of treating them. They were encouraged by the fact that she had saved Emily's baby, and Emily herself appeared to be on the mend.
Within a few days it became clear that Myra wasn't going to get sick and against his better judgement, Hank agreed to her going over to the makeshift clinic to help out. Myra would do anything to help anybody if she possibly could. Jake was now sick himself and the old boarding house was full of people needing care. Several had already died and the moment they were carried out of the building, their vacant beds were filled with more.
Eventually Michaela herself was struck down with the grip. Sully, who had begun hanging around again, apparently interested in the attractive doctor, brought one of his Indian friends into town, who carried Michaela off in her under-garments on the back of his horse, much to the townsfolks' horror. However, she was returned no worse off and quickly recovered afterwards, then proceeded to use Indian medicine to help the rest of her patients as her own supplies had run out.
Gradually the epidemic subsided and the stores and saloon re-opened. Myra was never quite the same after her stint as a nurse and it wasn't too long before Hank realised the cause. One of her patients had been Horace Bing, the telegraph operator, and once he got back on his feet he began sniffing around the saloon in an attempt to see her.
"I just wanna talk to her," he told Hank timidly on his third attempt to get past the barkeep to Myra.
Hank evicted him quickly, advised him in no uncertain terms that whatever Myra's time was required for, whether it was talking or something else, it would cost him and then cuffed him around the head to drive his point home. Horace took off, intimidated and apparently not having five dollars to spare or considering he had better things to spend it on than Myra.