Chances (30 page)

“Suffrage rally?” Daniel looked confused, too.

“Yes! What in the world were you thinking I was doing?”

He turned away from the cupboard and ran a hand through his hair. “Something with that Parsons woman?”

Sarah stared at him, unsure what he meant. “She’s on the committee for the suffrage association.”

“She is? A woman like that?”

So that was it. Morality. Sarah sighed. “Yes, a woman like that.” She shook her head. “There are no rules about the various members’ characters. As a matter of fact, most of the members don’t even know about her background, which is what I assume you’re talking about. I didn’t, not until a half hour ago.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No.” The question stabbed at her and, incredulous, she finally grasped his implication. “Is that why you’re upset? Because you think I have some link to what she does for a living? Oh, Daniel, how could you?”

“That’s what it sounded like,” he insisted.

“And you didn’t even ask me? Do you have so little trust in me that you can’t even ask if you’re unsure about something?”

His confidence wavered and chagrin filled his eyes. “I didn’t even think. I just reacted.”

“You assumed, based on what people might think?” Her heart sank. He hadn’t moved past his narrow world at all.

He shook his head. “To what I thought was something I didn’t want Kate and Molly exposed to.”

The comment made sense, at least partially. His reaction wasn’t
just
based on worry about appearances. She weighed her words, not wanting to drive him into a corner, but knowing they needed to be said. “Still, your response was based on what someone said, wasn’t it? Did you even think that it might be better to let the girls enjoy the praise someone from the community was offering, with no reference to that person’s background, instead of teaching them to fear and exclude someone because she’s not socially acceptable?”

“Morally acceptable.” He paused. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there? Morals are individual, remember? Or are you back to judging everyone?”

“But, she’s—”

Sarah shook her head and let the words pour out. “You don’t have to like what she does, but maybe you ought to recognize the difference between the person and the action.”

“Are you preaching at me, again?” A defensive tone had crept into his voice and he glared at her.

“No,” she insisted, then paused. Fighting would get them nowhere. “Yes. Would you expect anything less of me?”

He thought about it, his gaze probing her face as the moments stretched. Then, he smiled. “No.”

She smiled back. It was as good a break-through as she was likely to get. “So, are you speaking to me again?”

He nodded. “If you’ll accept my apology. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

An image of Amelie intruded and, much as she would have preferred to dismiss her promise to help the woman, Sarah knew Amelie's request would have to be dealt with. “You might want to wait until after I’ve told you about the friend I came for.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Amelie Parsons showed up at the depot a little while ago. One of … the girls … is dead. She doesn’t want Silverman involved. Apparently, he got rough with her once.”

Daniel processed the information for a moment. “You want me to prepare a prostitute for burial?”

“I didn’t know who else to ask.”

He shifted and leaned against the counter. “After the conversation we just had?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way when I told her I’d ask.”

He shook his head. “Would it have stopped you?”

“No.” She glanced up at him and waited.

“You don’t see anything wrong with me laying out a woman who sells her body? How would that look to the girls?”

Sarah shook her head, her palms lifting in a gesture of uncertainty. “It would look like an act of Christian charity.” She paused, unsure whether she should push, then plunged forward, keeping her voice gentle. “Have you forgotten about the woman at the well, about Mary Magdalene? Not everything is black and white.”

“But—”

She touched his arm, drawing his direct gaze. “Preparing her body for burial is not condoning her way of life. You’d be showing you care about people in spite of their everyday life and maybe even trying to understand what brought them there.”

Daniel lifted his palms to his face and drew a deep breath, then looked her in the eyes and shook his head in reluctant acceptance. “Why does what you say always force me to see things I don’t want to see?”

“That particular skill is one you possess as well.” She offered him a gentle smile, then waited.

He nodded, still sober. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain,” he said. His hand cupped her cheek.

She leaned into it. “I know. You’ve gotten under my skin, Daniel, and it scares me half to death that you might push me away. Pushing first was easier.”

“It scares me, too, Sarah. You know more about me than I know about myself, half the time.” His thumb stroked her face.

She stilled his hand with her own. “Maybe we can be scared together?”

“Maybe.” He grasped her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. His hazel eyes were soft, atoning. He let her hand go and smiled. “Is the body still on the Row?”

“I don’t know. Most likely.”

“Then I guess we’d best get going.” He reached for his jacket and a small brown satchel. “I’d rather my first visit there not be at night.”

* * * * *

Daniel followed Amelie Parsons up the stairs of a well-kept brick house. She pushed open a scarred oak door and they stepped inside. A small but tastefully decorated parlor bade them welcome.

“She’s upstairs. Please, wait here. I’ll get Mattie.” Amelie disappeared behind a dark green velvet curtain, leaving Daniel alone and nervous as hell. He hoped she wouldn’t be long. All he wanted to do was make arrangements to retrieve the body and get it back to the shop. The less exposure he had to this place, the better.

He glanced around the room. There were no gaudy mirrors, no ladies’ unmentionables draped over the furniture, not even a lewd sign describing the house offerings. Except that he knew better, he’d have taken the parlor for that of any respectable Denver family. The realization jarred him.

“Not quite what you expected, huh?”

Daniel turned and found a short, stately beauty with light brown curls piled above her flashing blue eyes. Framed in the late afternoon sunlight that poured through the stained glass windows of the parlor, she looked every ounce a lady. Her sultry tones lingered in the air. She smiled before her expression clouded.

She stepped forward and offered her hand. “Martha Silks. Call me Mattie.”

“Daniel Petterman.” He took the offered hand and shook it politely. He wondered how many men had felt its soft touch and kicked himself for the thought. He wasn’t here to judge.

“I’ll show you to her room.” Mattie led the way up the stairs.

Daniel watched her graceful movements, increasingly more uncomfortable. Somehow, he suspected it would have been easier to deal with had Mattie and the house been as seedy as the picture he’d had in his mind.

Below them, Amelie emerged from behind the green curtain, her eyes red and puffy. “Mattie? Should I come?”

Mattie paused on the stairs, and looked at the younger woman, then shook her head. “I think it’s best you don’t. Get some money out of my cache and go buy Dora something nice for the burial.”

Amelie’s eyes pooled with more tears. “Oh, Mattie … I don’t think I can face the questions—”

“Get Sarah,” Daniel interrupted. “She’ll field the questions.” The advice was standard. Find a trusted friend to assist the grieving family, but he almost wished he could take back the remark. Sarah was sure to hold it over his head after all his fuss about her association with Amelie.

Amelie hesitated, then nodded and slipped out the front door.

“That was a good thing to do, Mr. Petterman,” Mattie said.

“Giving her something to do was the right idea. She and this Dora were obviously close.” In fact, it was the sort of distraction he’d have offered a grieving sister. Odd, seeing as he’d always thought the girls on the Row were fierce competitors.

“Closer than most of my girls. Amelie took Dora under her wing. She’d been awful melancholy of late.”

Daniel digested the words, and the implication behind them. “Suicide?” he asked.

Mattie nodded. “The holidays were real rough for her. Made me feel there was someone important she was missing, but she never said.” She paused before a door at the end of the long hallway. “Marshal’s been here and gone. He left a release on the bureau.” She led Daniel into the small bedroom.

A body lay on the rumpled bed, curled into a fetal position. An empty bottle sat on a small table next to the bed. Daniel’s heart went out to the girl. Poisoning was a hard way to die. Curled up like that, it must have hurt a whole lot. He approached the bed, set his satchel on the floor, and stared down at her. “How long ago?”

“Her last visitor left at four this morning. Most of the girls sleep late, so we didn’t miss her until luncheon, about two o’clock. When she didn’t answer the door, Amelie came in. I sent someone for Marshal McClellin first.”

Daniel nodded. Long enough for the body to stiffen. He peered at the girl and shook his head. It was always easier when they died peacefully. He offered Mattie a sympathetic smile, wondering if she’d been close to the girl, as well. “Is there family or …?”

“Just us, that I know of.”

He nodded, wishing he was better at comforting folks, softening the questions that were part of his business. He touched Mattie’s arm and waited for her to acknowledge him with her glance.

“I guess there are a few things I need to know before I start,” he said, “so I can decide whether to do things here or at the shop. Have you thought about whether you want her embalmed or if you’re going to have a viewing?”

As with most families he dealt with, the questions seemed to confuse her for a moment. Then, she waved her hand. “Oh, Dora wasn’t much for science. I think she’d prefer to let nature take its course but I do think some of her customers might want to see her before she goes.”

Daniel debated his options. Nobody liked having the body hauled away if it wasn’t necessary. He’d be here longer, but he hated to move the body to his shop if he was just going to send it back in an hour. He offered Mattie a soft smile. “I can lay her out here so you can have the viewing as soon as possible. Without embalming, she’ll need to be buried tomorrow.”

Mattie nodded. “We can do that tonight. The girls won’t feel much like working anyhow.” Her voice drifted away for a moment before she brushed he hands across the front of her dress and straightened her posture. “What do you need me to do?”

He smiled again, in reassurance, and inclined his head toward the door. “Why don’t you go downstairs until I’m done.”

Daniel waited until he heard the echo of her shoes on the stairs, then turned to Dora. He slid back the coverlet and sighed. She was such a tiny little thing, almost like a doll, lying there in an innocent white cotton chemise and drawers. If she wore any fancy silk underthings, she’d hidden them away.

Lifting his bag from the floor, he rummaged for a wooden mallet, hoping he wouldn’t need it, then gritted his teeth and began the distasteful task of straightening the stiffened body.

He moved with quick forcefulness, ignoring the all too familiar sounds as he broke past the rigor and moved Dora’s delicate limbs to a restful position. Silverman probably would have enjoyed himself, the bastard. Amelie was right to have avoided him.

Once uncurled, Dora’s beauty was evident. Though her skin was beginning to sag, her bone structure was light and fragile. Daniel wondered at her, at the sadness that caused her to take her own life. He pulled a small cloth from his bag, dipped it in the washbasin, and wiped dried spittle from her once pretty face. Her high cheekbones would make it easy to restore the shape of her face, and he figured the powder and rouge in his bag would hide the purplish hue where her cheek had lain against the pillow.

A knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Petterman? Are you finished?”

“Yes, Mattie, come on in.” He covered Dora with her sheet, hiding most of her death-stained skin.

Mattie stepped into the room, washcloth and towel in hand. “I’ll help clean her up and get her ready for the new dress. I think she’d want that.”

“She’s a fragile little thing, isn’t she?”

“Dora had a way about her, an extra softness that most of my girls don’t have.”

Daniel moved away from the bed, giving Mattie room to sit down next to Dora, and began to draw needed supplies from his bag. “She’s not quite what I expected to see,” he said.

Mattie raised her eyebrows. “Not all hard and worn and old before her time?”

“I guess. She looks so pure and innocent.”

“Dora had a pure heart, I think. Made her men feel again.”

Daniel put down the container of rouge and the roll of cotton batting and stared at her. “Feel? I don’t think feeling has much to do with it.”

Mattie shook her head. “More than you think.”

Curious, Daniel sat down opposite and began reshaping Dora’s face. “How so? Men come to places like this for one thing, don’t they?”

“Men go to the cribs at the end of the Row for that, Daniel, or get it in the alleys. They come here for lots more.” Mattie rose and moved to the dresser, setting the washcloth and towel down, then rummaged through a drawer until she found a chipped tortoiseshell hairbrush.

“Specialized services, you mean?” He kept his eyes focused on Dora’s face, wishing he hadn’t asked the question.

“Comfort, adventure, love.”

He shook his head and began powdering Dora’s face, evening out her coloring. “Love doesn’t exist here.”

“But for those who need it, they get to feel it while they’re here.” Mattie sat on the bed again and reached for Dora’s flaxen hair. She brushed it from the girl’s face with her hand, then began to brush through the tangles. “Dora was real good at making a man feel like he was loved, like he was the center of the universe. There’s going to be some real tears, come the viewing.”