Paint the Wind

  "This ain't no affair of yours, boy!" McClosky said threateningly as he backed off far enough to hike up his pants and gauge his opponent.

  Ford stood, fists clenched at his sides, the corded muscles of his neck and jaw working, a savage strength in him that Julia hadn't seen before. He said nothing, but the look of contempt on his face was easy enough to read.

  Dazed, ashamed, terrified, Julia pulled her torn clothes up over her body and tried to stand. She saw her father reach for his gun belt, saw Ford wrestle him to the ground... heard the shot that killed the older man.

  Ford said he hadn't meant things to end as they did, McClosky shot through the heart and dead before the powder cleared. But the men who hurried from the wagon train didn't believe his story.

  Julia was a slut, they said, and Ford had had his way with her. Hadn't everyone on the train seen the way she flaunted her body in front of the men? Hadn't they seen with their own eyes the way young Jameson watched her late and early? Her father had done the righteous thing following them out there into the desert to break up their love tryst... protecting his daughter's virtue with his life. The little bastard deserved to be hanged for it, they said.

  Ford said nothing in his own defense and Julia could see in his eyes that never from him would they hear one single word with which to shame her.

  She didn't tell them, either, what had really happened. How could she? But she did slip her father's gun to the boy in the wagon, where they kept him tied while they sat around the fire and decided where to hang him at sunup. And she did cut him free to use it.

  Ford Jameson used that gun to make his escape on a horse she held as he mounted and fled into the desert. The fine Christian people of the train had shunned her after that—they had dumped her, with only the clothes on her back, at the first hole-in-the-wall outpost they'd hit after the desert. They'd taken her brothers and sisters and all her worldly goods and left her at the edge of the Humboldt Sink to die. But she hadn't obliged them.

  Ford, too, had made his way in a less than perfect world. There was no way back, he told her later. No way back once you had the law on your tail and the reputation of a murderer.

  Later, he'd lived up to his gunslinger name, but maybe that was necessity, too. Once you were a fast gun on the wrong side of the law, every maniac in the Territories tried to beat you to the draw to enhance his own reputation.

  He'd be coming back now soon, Jewel told herself. It was near time for Ford to come riding back into her life like he'd always done over the years. She never knew exactly when it would be, but it was getting so she could feel when the time was coming.

  She pushed her chair back from the window, replaced the diary reverently in her lockbox, and forced herself from reverie to motion.

  People said whores didn't have the heart to really love a man— deep-down undying love of the kind the poets used to write about. Jewel knew better.

  Chapter 35

  "Well, now," Jewel said emphatically to Fancy. "There's the question of what we're gonna do with you, ain't there, kid?"

  Fancy was seated on a small rush chair by the window; the madam remained standing, an elbow propped against the cheap highboy that occupied one wall.

  Fancy felt stronger than the night before. You kin live through near anythin', honey, Atticus would have told her, one day at a time. Tomorrow she would give herself grieving time, but today she must find a way to survive.

  There was appraisal in Jewel's glance. "I've given you a lot of thought, since last night, kid.... You say you need a grubstake and I know a way you could get one real fast, but you might not like the price you gotta pay for it."

  "I'm willing to hear what you have to say, Jewel. I'm grateful to you for saving my life."

  Jewel nodded, satisfied by the reply. The girl had spunk and that could take her a long way.

  "There's a lot of men in this town, kid, and almost no women. What women are here, are sportin' gals like me and mine. Sometimes men get a hankerin' for somethin' a little more... exotic, you might say, than your basic whore." She paused and Fancy frowned, uncertain of her meaning.

  "Like what?"

  "Like a virgin. There's men out here'd pay a year's poker winnin's for a shot at a bona fide virgin. Maybe more." She watched for the girl's response with careful calculation.

  Fancy smiled, bitterly. "I'm not a virgin, Jewel."

  "Close as any of them buggers'll ever get to one. You're green enough so's they'll never know the difference."

  "What exactly would I have to do?"

  "Same thing we all do, honey. Let him fuck his brains out and tell him he's wonderful doin' it!"

  Fancy pushed back her loathing; before yesterday she would never have considered such a preposterous proposition.

  "You give it some thought, kid," Jewel was saying, "I'll come back later on and we'll talk some. I know better'n you think how you're hurtin', but I know somethin' else too. Life's real tough, but long as you're alive you kin still give it a run for its money. And if you ain't got no choice, you might as well be brave."

  Jewel hesitated. "I can tell you somethin' else, kid... if you gotta climb a hill, waitin' won't make it any smaller—and self-pity'll kill you faster'n anything I can think of."

  Fancy tried hard to think clearly. If Jewel's proposition could give her enough money to reach Magda, maybe she shouldn't reject it out of hand. She had no way of knowing how long her search would take and no money to sustain her until then. The brothers and McBain were high up in the mountains, far from town; they came into Oro only once every few months or so for supplies. Long before their next town visit, she could have her money and be gone to Denver; once there, Magda would help her sort out the future.

  "I'll hold an auction," Jewel was saying, aware that Fancy was listening with renewed attention. "Get the biddin' up real high. Make sure you don't get pawned off on somebody who goes in for rough stuff. I'd split the take with you, of course. Twenty-five percent to you, seventy-five to me—seeing as how it's my reputation and overhead, and my customers we're talkin' about. Then you can stay here and work for me, if you want to. The working girls get ten percent plus room and board, so you can see I'm bein' real generous about the twenty-five percent." She paused for effect.

  "Sixty-forty," Fancy said, looking Jewel in the eye. "And I get the sixty."

  Jewel sat down with an exaggerated shrug. "Well, I'll be damned! You must be feelin' a mite better."

  "Look, Jewel... if I do this, it's got to give me what I need. I owe you for what you did, but I've got to get to Denver for a time to sort out some troubles. Then I might need a place to stay and a means of earning a living, but there's no way in this world I'd ever be one of your girls. I'm an actress and a singer. I can do Shakespeare or musical comedy or dance hall... or just about any other entertainment you can think of. I mean to make something of myself, something big. What happened out there may have slowed me down, but it sure as hell hasn't stopped me."

  "What's in Denver that ain't here, too, kid?"

  "Survival."

  Jewel's painted eyebrow twitched upward. The kid was real interesting; she wondered what kind of trouble was driving her so hard.

  "Have it your own way, kid. Just give me an answer about the auction soon as you can—I could start the ball rollin' tomorrow and you could have the whole thing behind you in forty-eight hours." She headed for the door, stopped, and turned back toward Fancy.

  "Tell you what. How about you come have dinner with me tonight? I promise I won't press you none about the auction. I don't get women visitors hereabouts too often and, well, I'd take it real neighborly if you'd come to dinner. I know you ain't got nothin' better to do..." She smiled almost shyly at her guest.

  "I'd like that," Fancy answered, wondering what on earth she and Jewel could possibly find to talk about, but grateful at the thought of not being left alone with her own dark thoughts.

  "Whorin's a decent enough business," Jewel said matter-of-factly over the roast chick
en. Fancy noticed that while the woman's table manners weren't elegant, neither were they coarse.

  Someone had taught her... but who? Fancy watched the madam with the shrewd eye of an actress assessing character traits for future reference. Jewel was full of contradictions; although she was uneducated, she was smart and canny. She was fun to be with, too. Fancy's spirits had improved considerably since arriving in the little sitting room off the bedroom, where Jewel took her meals.

  "Oh, there's bad parts, too, don't misunderstand me," she continued, warming to her subject. Her face was animated in the glow of the fire and she seemed anxious to make a good impression. "And there's a lot you got to know. Like how to skin a man back to see if he's got the clap, and how to tell if a girl's really got her monthlies or if she's just malingerin'. And if she don't get her monthlies at all, you got to know what to do that won't kill her in the bargain." Jewel sat back from the meal with satisfaction.

  "Got to know men, inside out. How to hustle 'em, how to fuck 'em, how to comfort 'em—dependin' on the circumstances. All told, it ain't the worst life, I guess. It's done all right by me, so I cain't complain none.

  "It's a real shame you won't consider bein' a whore. A looker like you could fetch a pretty penny in a place like San Francisco or New York City. Even Denver..."

  Fancy took a sip of the wine Jewel had put out for their dinner and shook her head emphatically.

  "Not me. That's not how I plan to get rich." Jewel heard the defiance and ambition in the girl's words.

  "It don't look to me like you're too far along on the path to riches yet, kid. You expectin' to find a gold mine like the rest of them suckers out there?"

  "I am a gold mine, Jewel. I just haven't found a way yet to make that fact pay off."

  Jewel threw back her head and laughed appreciatively. "I like you, Fancy. You got what it takes. I've got a hunch you and me have more in common than you think."

  Fancy smiled a little. "How'd you get into this business, Jewel?" she asked to change the subject.

  "Just lucky, I guess," Jewel said, bitterness beneath the words. "I was hungry. I had no place to sleep. A man offered me a meal and a bed and I took it."

  "He took advantage of you?"

  "Or me of him, I guess. I mean, I didn't love him or nothin'.

  Like I said, I just needed somebody to help me stay alive. There was a lot of others after that. In a lot of towns."

  "How old were you?"

  "Thirteen or so, near as I can recall. Got took in by a House when I was fourteen or thereabouts. It seemed a real good deal to me by then. I mean, stayin' in one place, not havin' to pack up my belongin's every mornin'. I had this little knapsack made from a bandana..." Jewel made a descriptive gesture with her hands as if folding a knapsack, and Fancy was moved by the poignancy of it.

  "Not having to worry about gettin' them stole from me was good. Eatin' regular, you know? That was real nice." Jewel smiled, a soft smile of remembrance and regret.

  "I understand," Fancy whispered, recalling only too well what safety the circus had provided in her own nomadic life.

  "Did you ever have a friend? I had one named Atticus. I guess he made all the difference."

  "Yeah, kid, I had me a real good friend. I just don't talk about him none."

  "Sometimes it's awfully hard not to be scared, isn't it?" Fancy said, not sure exactly why she did.

  "Scared? Hell, honey, I been scared every day of my life since I was twelve. Scared is what keeps you movin'. Scared is just another word for bein' alive."

  The two women looked at each other in the candlelight and something intangible passed between them. Fancy went back to her room later with a sense that to be a woman alone in the world took far more than independence. It took guts.

  Chapter 36

  Fancy knocked at Jewel's door and was startled by the gruff response from within. "Go away!" Jewel's voice growled, without asking who was there.

  "Jewel! It's me, Fancy." She was surprised by the rebuff; the friendship she'd sensed in the woman the previous night couldn't have vanished so quickly.

  "Ain't got no time now for visitors, Fancy."

  "Jewel! Are you all right in there? Something's going on around here—everybody's hanging crepe, I can't get a word out of anyone..."

  The door squeaked open a crack and Jewel's worried face peered out at her from the opening. "Ain't got no time for you now, for Christ's sake!" Hurt by the rejection, Fancy almost turned to go when she noticed blood splatters on the front of Jewel's gown.

  "God Almighty, Jewel. Are you hurt?"

  Jewel grabbed Fancy's arm and yanked her through the opening, then slammed the door behind her.

  "It ain't me. It's Nellie. The damn fool was in the family way and let some quack have at her with a piece of wire."

  Fancy's stomach lurched at the words; she'd given considerable thought lately to all the ghastly tales she'd ever heard in the circus about abortion. She looked in the direction Jewel had indicated and saw a thin, fragile girl tossing feverishly on the bed. Jewel seemed to have wrapped her lower body in rags, but the state of the bed said she'd bled through them several times over.

  Fancy swiftly crossed the room. She put a practiced hand to the sick girl's brow, then held her wrist and cocked her own head, listening. Nellie's forehead burned with fever; she was sweat-covered and nearly gray from blood loss. She whimpered with pain, like a frightened animal.

  "My God, Jewel! This girl's in a real bad way. What'd the doctor say?"

  "The doc? He's the old fool who did this to her." Fancy's throat constricted.

  "What have you given her?" She pulled back Nellie's eyelids and looked into her glazed pupils in a practiced fashion.

  "Laudanum," Jewel replied, curious at the competency of Fancy's ministrations. "Thought to ease her passin'."

  "In my room," Fancy said hurriedly, "there's a carpetbag. Under the bed. Have someone fetch it. Quick!" She turned to look Jewel full in the face. "I mean it, Jewel. If we're going to try to save her, we haven't much time. I know what I'm doing; please trust me."

  Uncertainly, Jewel moved into action—Fancy heard her shout orders to someone outside the door before she returned to the bedside.

  "Get me boiling water, Jewel, a lot of it. And soap—any kind of disinfectant you can lay your hands on." She began to undo the reeking bandages.

  "Hemorrhage, infection, fever, shock..." Fancy ticked off the symptoms to be dealt with, rifling her mental pharmacopoeia for knowledge. Cure de symptoms, Atticus would have said. Give you time to cure de disease.

  "There's only so much we can do, Jewel," Fancy called over her"" shoulder, without looking up. "After that, it'll depend on whether it's the infection that's real bad, or just the bleeding. How strong she is will make a difference, and how much she wants to live."

  "What can I do?"

  "Get a pillow under her legs. She's in shock from hemorrhage. If we lift up her legs and cover her with plenty of blankets we may buy enough time to save her." Jewel did as she was told.

  Fancy was scribbling something on a sheet of paper at the desk. "I'll need these things for a draught, if you can find them. Bay-berry, ginger, white pine, cloves, and cayenne. Most of it should be in your kitchen, Jewel. Get someone to take the proportions I've written here and put them through a fine sieve twice, then steep one teaspoonful in a cup of boiling water for fifteen minutes. If we can get Nellie to drink this remedy, it may cool the fever."

  Jewel nodded as a knock sounded at the door. Mary Ellen was visible at the opening, white-faced and carrying Fancy's bag. Jewel snatched the satchel from her hand, gave the girl the herbal recipe, and packed her off to the kitchen. Fancy could see in Mary Ellen's face the empathetic fear of what had befallen Nellie. Some said pregnancy was the reason why one out of every five parlor girls committed suicide.

  "I need leopard's-bane and monkshood for the bleeding," Fancy told Jewel as the woman carried both the bag and a basin of soapy water to the bedside. "God! I
wish I had some sabrina." She'd managed to strip the bloodied rags away from Nellie's body and reached for the sponge in the bowl to cleanse her patient.

  "I can do that part, honey. You go find what you need in your bag here while I get her cleaned up." Fancy nodded, and rose from her kneeling position beside the bed. She rooted through the carpetbag, found what she wanted, and headed toward the door.

  "Fancy!" Jewel called after her, and the girl turned, her hand still on the knob, to look back questioningly.

  "I just wanted to tell you... thanks. I really mean it."

  "She's not saved yet, Jewel."

  "But you're tryin'. You're tryin' real hard and that's what counts. Most people don't care much what happens to the likes of us."

  Fancy saw the gleam of tears in Jewel's eyes; she nodded, then slipped quietly from the room to make her decoction. It seemed the woman had meant to say more.

  Jewel bathed Nellie's shivering body and covered her over with her own blankets; she brushed the sweat-matted hair back from her pale face and sighed. More than once over the years she'd buried the remnants of such butchery as this child had suffered— septic abortion was a real crummy way to die.

  Fancy administered her potion and settled in beside the bed to watch, as Jewel sat down in the rocking chair near the window. It was night outside, and the boisterous sounds of Oro's seamier side wafted into the room on the evening air. Kerosene lamps were being lighted all up and down the street, like fireflies.

  Jewel spoke, after a while. "I wouldn't have figured you to get mixed up in such as this. How'd you learn doctorin'?"

  Fancy took a deep breath; it would be a long night, and she felt a camaraderie with the other two women in the room. The battle they fought was a woman's war, no man could ever suffer it, or fully understand.

  "My friend Atticus taught me. He knew a whole lot about a lot of things, doctoring was only part of it..."