Trish dashed up the outside steps and into her room without encountering anyone. She had to get the blood, Albert's blood, off of her. The skirt she wore and even parts of her blouse were both bloodstained. Reminding herself to remain calm, she peeled off her outer clothing. Blood had soaked through the fabric onto her arms, her legs and even her belly. She needed a bath. Without removing her undergarments, she wrapped a sheet around herself and hurried to the bath shack. Hopefully, no one would be there or see her.
"My, oh my." Zelda exited the bath shack. "Aren't we in a hurry?"
Trish scrambled for an excuse. "I -- was hoping to use your bath water if it's not too late." She didn't want to use dirty bath water, but how would she haul water while holding the sheet about her? She'd forgotten that detail.
"It's not very warm now, but sure." Zelda chuckled. "Forgot about nobody bein' here to wait on you, didn't ya? You empty the tub when you're done, won't you? The fellers leave such a mess. It's a wonder I ever get it clean."
Trish slipped into the tub with her under things still on. Hopefully the blood would wash out if she soaked. She grabbed the bar of harsh soap, scrubbing her hands and arms until they felt raw. She inspected her nails, finding hints of blood, and scrubbed harder, leaving nail marks on the bar. The action brought Quinn's scrubbing in the swimming hole to mind. Had he needed to scrub blood off of his hands and out of his clothes? The cold river water might do better than the bath water at lifting the bloodstains.
Someone approached, whistling a gay tune.
"The bath house is occupied," Trish called out.
"Excuse me." A dandy peered around the edge of the door jam. She couldn't be sure but he seemed to be undoing his buttons. "I just saw the other dame leave. Well, actually go up the steps. I didn't realize the ladies in these parts used the bath house as well. Pierre said I was welcome to it."
Trish sank into the shallow water, hoping he hadn't noticed she was wearing her camisole and bloomers in the tub. "You are. I mean, I'll be done in just a few minutes."
"Mind if I borrow your bucket there to haul water?" He indicated the bucket Zelda had left for her to empty the tub with. Trish noticed the scarlet of his vest and the ruffles on his shirt on either side of the buttons from collar to waist.
"I plan to use it to bail water, but-- go ahead."
"Hate to see a sparkling clean lady have to bail water. I can do it for you in exchange--"
Trish's heart jumped with apprehensive turmoil. Would she have to exchange bailing water for sexual favors?
"--for your name and a drink?"
"I-- okay." Trish hoped the heavy exhale of her breath didn't make too much noise. He didn't seem to notice and retrieved the bucket. He paused, looking at her expectantly. She raised her chin, trying to get him to hurry away.
"Your name?"
"Bail the water and have the tub clean when I return and I'll give you my name."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "You always bathe in your underthings?"
"I do when there's a man such as yourself about."
"Ah." He caressed her with his eyes. "Then you must work at the saloon as well, madam."
Trish exited the tub and the bathhouse when the dandy had his back to her, filling the bucket with water. The best she could hope for was to get up the steps before he noticed her exit.
She sagged onto her bed, relieved that he hadn't called her back but knowing she would have to face him again, if not at the bathhouse, then in the saloon.
She looked down at her shaking hands. She must regain her composure before leaving her room. Although dressing didn't calm her, brushing her hair and carefully coiffing it onto the top of her head did. She took her time, running through the songs she would try to sing that evening. Where the lyrics refused to come to mind, she toyed with alternatives. She felt confident as long as Quinn remained absent.
Quinn-- had he fought with his brother, left him bleeding and fled to the swimming hole to wash the evidence away? She knew he was capable of violence. His knife had dropped Old Curly to his knees. She swallowed, remembering how Quinn had forcefully scrubbed his clothes.
The stench of drying blood filled her nostrils. She went to the window and opened it wide. She must find a safe place to hide her clothes. Burn them? The idea fled as fast as it came. She was an attorney, not a murderer. An attorney without the credentials or even the hopes of pursuing her career here in this Wild West. Wasn't justice levied at the end of a gun here, or a rope? She hurried to fold and roll the evidence. A knock sounded at Zelda's door. She froze to listen. The dandy was looking for her. Quickly, she tucked the soiled clothing under her mattress. It wasn't even close to being a good hiding place, but she'd just run out of time to search for one.
The knock sounded at her door, gentle and restrained. She checked the mirror and hurried to the door. She answered it, pushing her way out of the room rather than allowing him in. He blocked her progress.
"You said a drink and my name."
"But we're already here."
"I'm a singer, not a whore."
"Sure you are." He stepped back, indicating she should lead the way in mock gallantry.
Pierre wasn't in the saloon so Trish positioned herself behind the bar. She poured two whiskeys topping her own off with a generous measure of water.
"Trish."
"Ace."
Chapter 22