CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Hank spent the rest of the day pouring whiskey down his neck and wallowing in self-pity, then fell into bed, waking the next morning with a stinking headache and a foul temper. He felt stupid and humiliated for telling Myra his feelings when it had become so clear in the few minutes of their conversation that she didn't feel the same. He must have sounded desperate and about as much of a man as Horace was. He was furious with himself and his anger successfully squashed his hurt. He pulled himself together and got on with making money, organising more poker games and subsequently more customers for the girls.
Myra kept out of his way a lot of the time for the next few weeks, but when he did deal with her he found himself being unnecessarily cruel, subconsciously punishing her for rejecting him. Myra began to look anxious and miserable most of the time again, counting off the days each week to her day off when she could spend a few hours with Horace and every time she returned, Hank treated her even less sympathetically.
It was May when everything came to a head. A visitor to town came into the saloon the day before one of Hank's poker games, introducing himself to Hank as John O'Malley and making it obvious he had plenty of money to spend when he paid in advance for as much whiskey as he could drink, a room for the night and some entertainment the following day. Hank decided to give Myra to him, but it seemed she and the other two girls recognised the man and were whispering that 'Dandy' O'Malley was bad news.
"He's the one that hurt that girl in Manitou," Myra moaned as Hank drew her towards O'Malley.
Hank ignored her protests and virtually shoved her into the man's arms, following which she shared several whiskeys with him, her expression one of fear. However, nothing untoward happened and O'Malley went to his room that night, taking up his business with Myra the following afternoon. She made more attempts to get out of it, using her 'feeling sick' excuse and Hank angrily pushed her towards O'Malley again and left them to it.
The poker game started a little while later and the crowded saloon was filled with noise, drowning out any sounds coming from Myra's room which would have alerted Hank to the fact that Myra had been right to worry. It wasn't until Sully suddenly charged into the bar from Myra's room, carrying her in his arms, that Hank realised the girls had been telling the truth.
"What the hell's goin' on?" he demanded, rising quickly from the poker table and blocking Sully's way.
"He cut me," whimpered Myra, indicating her lower leg which was bleeding heavily.
"Outta my way!" Sully stepped around Hank and hurried out of the door and across the street towards the clinic. Hank ran out after him, drawing his gun.
O'Malley had already got on his horse and was heading off at a gallop, too far away to hit, but Hank fired several times anyway, a warning to the man not to come back. He reholstered the gun, cursing himself silently. He should have listened to her. Now she was hurt just because he was mad with himself for behaving like a fool in front of her.
He hovered outside the saloon, staring across at the clinic and worrying about Myra. Michaela wasn't even there and Sully and Colleen were having to manage until she returned. He knew Michaela had gone out campaigning since she had taken it upon herself to run against Jake for the position of mayor, which the town had decided it needed at their last meeting. Actually Horace had put Michaela forward, thinking if she won she would ban prostitution and Myra would be free. The trouble was, Michaela was now too busy to attend to her patients properly and she didn't have a hope of winning since only men could vote and they would be putting their mark against Jake's name.
Michaela and Dorothy pulled up in a wagon outside the clinic moments later, met immediately by Sully. Michaela rushed inside and Hank returned to the poker game, hoping Myra wasn't seriously injured.
Myra came back to the saloon the next day, limping badly and using a walking stick, grimacing with pain. Melinda and Dotty rushed to help her to her room and came out later to tell Hank she had twenty-seven stitches in her leg and that Michaela would be expecting him to pay for the treatment in the sum of five dollars. Hank sent Dotty to pay, relieved Michaela hadn't charged him a dollar a stitch on this occasion.
Myra barely set foot out of her room until the day of the election and much to everyone's surprise Michaela didn't lose by all that much, although she did lose. Sully had deeded a small portion of his homestead to many of the women in town, giving them the right to vote and Myra was one of these people. Horace gazed at her adoringly as she passed him on her way to the voting box and Hank sighed heavily when her smile was quickly replaced by a scowl as she walked by him.
When it was announced later that Jake was to be mayor it was no great surprise and Hank was relieved there would be no attempt to ban his girls working, which Michaela would have done. However, Myra and Horace had been counting on that and both looked upset by the result.
Hank poured out drinks for everyone and then leaned on the bar, eyes narrowing as Myra suddenly headed towards him. He wondered what she intended to say to him. Her face was set in an expression of determination, but she was shaking visibly and when she spoke her voice shook too.
"I quit!" she said.
"Ya can't quit, Myra," Hank said with a sigh.
"Let me see my contract."
He hesitated a moment, then retrieved the box from beneath the counter which held the contracts, picking out Myra's and flicking it at her, thinking it a little pointless as she couldn't read it. Hands trembling, she tore the document in half.
"Give me that," Hank demanded, annoyed and somewhat surprised. "It's still good," he added, when she threw it back at him.
"I don't care!" Myra said fiercely, still shaking from head to foot. "You can call the law and ya can throw me in jail. Go ahead. I would rather be in jail the rest of my life than keep on workin' for you!"
She walked off across the room to Horace and Michaela and all three left the saloon together, leaving Hank stunned. He hadn't really thought she would just leave like that. They had been so close for years and even after she met Horace mostly things were alright. It had only really gone bad since he went and spilled his guts to her and then spent the last few weeks lashing out at her at every opportunity, just because he couldn't handle her response. As usual he only had himself to blame and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
Myra returned later that night and went straight to bed without speaking to Hank or the other girls. He had expected her not to come back and now assumed her walking off had merely been a spur of the moment thing and that she had changed her mind. However, when he went to her room in the morning, deciding to try and talk to her, he found her belongings all spread out on the bed in piles, some already in a suitcase.
"Whaddya think yer doin'?" he asked.
"Packin'," Myra said.
"And goin' where?"
"Anywhere but here, Hank." She carried on sorting out her things, not looking at him and merely repeated what she had said the day before, that she didn't care if he had her arrested.
"What're ya doin' with this stuff?" he demanded, trying to cover up his hurt with anger.
"These I'm leavin'," she said, indicating one pile. "These I'm takin'." She touched the case.
The bottle of French perfume lay in the unwanted pile in the gold coloured silk bag Myra kept it in to keep the dust off the glass. Hank picked it up and took it out of the bag.
"I gave you this," he reminded her.
"I don't want it."
"It come all the way from Paris, France, it cost me ten dollars, you keep it!" He tried pressing it into her hand, wanting her to keep what had at the time been a special gift, but she jerked her hand away, refusing it. Apparently it meant nothing to her any more.
In the end, Myra left with nothing but her little red silk purse. Hank lost his temper, pointing out he'd bought everything anyway and she just left without it and walked out into the street where Horace and Michaela were waiting as if they'd arranged for her to leave at that precise moment. He stormed out onto the porch to watch, wondering where she thought she was going to go. Live in sin with Horace maybe? No one would be surprised; she was a whore after all.
Michaela marched towards him then and demanded Myra's belongings, annoying him even more than Myra had herself and he charged back into the saloon, gathered everything up and took them outside. He just couldn't help himself. He began throwing the things at her feet in the dirt, first the case and then the items that had been stuffed into a bag, knowing he was behaving like a child who had had its favourite toy taken away and completely unable to control himself.
Myra's face took on an expression of both shock and embarrassment, her whole body flinching each time something else hit the ground, until he stormed off back to the saloon. Then she fell to her knees and began to gather things up. Hank didn't see what happened next. He went to the bar and poured himself a large glass of whiskey, gulped it down in one and refilled it. Melinda and Dotty were both peering out of the window and after a moment he called Dotty over to him.
"What's goin' on?" he asked.
"Myra's things are all in the street. She left 'em."
"What?" frowned Hank. After Michaela coming and demanding Myra's things, now she hadn't even taken them?
"Looked like Horace wouldn't let her pick them up," Dotty added. "He pulled her away."
"Go and get them," grunted Hank.
"What for?"
"Just do it!"
Dotty went out immediately and returned minutes later with the case and the bag and went to put them in Myra's room. The saloon wasn't yet open and when Dotty was out of the way he went to Myra's room himself. He closed the door after him and for a moment stood looking around. The room was just as she left it, only it felt curiously empty now that she wasn't going to come back to it.
Hank opened up the case and began looking through her things, wondering what to do with them. They wouldn't fit the other girls as Myra was tiny and he didn't like the idea of them wearing her clothes anyway, but he didn't want to throw them away either. For the moment he hung them back up behind the curtain which formed her closet and shoved the empty case under the bed.
The bag held smaller items including her under garments, nightdress, hairbrush and other things. The nightdress smelled of the fancy soap she used and the soft scent of her skin. Hank's annoyance evaporated and he simply felt lost as he accepted that she was never going to come back.
He put the hairbrush back on the chest where the mirror stood and tipped the last few items out of the bag - some stockings, hair decorations and makeup. The perfume was missing. Neither the bottle nor the little gold bag were there. He frowned, wondering if someone had grabbed that from the pile in the street before Dotty went out. He opened the door and called her.
"Yes, Hank?" Dotty leaned against the wall of the corridor opposite him.
"Did anyone go near this stuff when it was in the street?"
"No. Me and Mel were watchin' till I went out."
"Ya sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Ya didn't leave anythin'?"
"No, Hank, I didn't leave anythin'. What's the matter with you?" she frowned.
"There was a bottle of perfume. A glass bottle in a kinda yellow bag."
"Didn't see it," she shrugged.
"Or maybe ya took it for yerself." He took a step forward and grabbed her arm. "Ya steal it, Dotty?" he demanded.
"No!" She wrenched her arm free, red marks showing on her flesh from his fingers. "I ain't a thief, Hank! If that's what ya think of me, I'll go an' all! I don't know what happened to the damned perfume, maybe Myra took it herself. Who cares?" She turned and flounced off up the corridor, leaving him standing in the doorway completely at a loss.
Myra wouldn't have taken it. She'd said she'd never wear it again if she lived to be ninety and she hadn't been able to wait to get away from him. Why would she take something that had been a special gift, a peace offering almost, for one of his many episodes of cruelty after she got sick. A reminder of someone she looked at almost as if she hated now. But where else could it be?