It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (4 page)

Hiking up the stairs behind the men carrying the woman, Pepper muttered, “Pepper, you take care of her. Pepper, you do this. Pepper, you do that. The whole bunch is jealous. I’m the one the boys come here to be with. Beckett and the others don’t go chasin’ her around the table with their tongues lollin’ out. Selena! Hah! She has to stand in line for the leftovers. Sure, let’s get Pepper off the floor tonight. She pulls that knife on me again, and I’ll take it and slice her.”

“Did you say somethin’, ma’am?” one of the men asked.

“It’s none of your fat-bellied business,” she snapped.

“But which one is your lodging?” the startled man r
eplied.

Pepper looked back, then said, “Jist put her in that sloppy room down at the end of the hall.”

A voice boomed from the dance floor, “Don’t you put her in my place, you Jezebel.”

Pepper scowled, then m
otioned. “This is my room . . . wait! Don’t put her on my quilt. Oh, that’s great. Sure, let her bleed all over my stuff.”

After the men left, Pepper surveyed the small, dark room and her badly injured patient lying on the wood-framed bed. She strolled to the dresser and turned up the la
ntern. Then she pulled the combs out of her hair and shook the curls down to her shoulder. Slowly she unbuttoned the sleeves of her dress and rolled them up above her elbows as she stared into the mirror.

Pepper, you lucky devil. What a fine life you found for yourself. A magnificent home. A loving fa
mily. Surrounded by such close, caring friends. You’ve got it all, girl. Why, women all over the world would sell their souls to be right here . . . and that’s about what it’s costin’ me.

She reached up as if to brush back a tear .
 . . but there weren’t any.

Picking up the wash basin and a towel, she walked over to the woman on the bed. “Darlin’, it’s time to see what you got.”

Pepper spent the next hour cleaning and redressing the severe head wound, tugging off the torn dark dress, and tucking the woman under the covers of her bed. As she did, she could hear noise from downstairs and out in the hallway as business went on as usual for the others.

Without asking, she barefooted her way down to April Has
tings’s room and dragged the big oak rocking chair back down the hall. Closing the door, she dimmed the lantern, pulled the quilt off the top of the bed, and sat down in the rocker to face the woman. Pepper folded her long, thin legs under her in the chair and wrapped up in the quilt.

“Honey, I don’t think you will make it through the night. I surely hope you had a be
tter time of it than me. You got such soft, white skin. Yet you got calluses on your hands. I cain’t figure if you are some fancy Eastern city woman or a farm wife who knows how to keep herself.

“Now, look at me, for instance. I’ve been workin’ at jobs like this since I was fifteen. That’s almost ten years of smoky rooms, dim lights, vile language, cheatin’ card dealers, coarse jokes, and smelly men pawin’ at ya. It’s life in the shadows, that’s what I call it. Others get to live out there in the daylight where ev
erything is bright and beautiful, fresh, and full of promise. We jist live here in the shadows . . . pretendin’ to be happy . . . pretendin’ to be busy . . . pretendin’ our life is leadin’ somewhere.”

She fell silent for a long moment.

“Well, that’s enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”

Pepper waited.

There was no answer.

She could still hear the woman’s labored breathing.

Pepper leaned her head back on the chair and closed her green eyes. Talking softly, she continued, “Did I tell you I almost got married once? Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. About four years ago I was up in Idaho workin’ for April. This broad-shouldered straight-shooter came in and chums up to me. He was just the cutest thing I ever saw. He had a sparkle in his eyes, and I just wanted to melt ever’ time he smiled at me. Why, the first time he held my hand I thought I’d died and gone to Dixie. His name was Gideon Lane. Isn’t that a handsome name?

“I suppose you’re wonderin’ jist what ha
ppened? Well, he asked me to marry him. We was goin’ to have a big weddin’ right there on the north fork of the Clearwater. Everything was all planned for a certain Saturday ceremony. But I woke up Wednesday mornin’, saddled my pony, and rode off.

“Yep. I rode away without sayin’ a word. Missy, I jist couldn’t do it. I’ve never had much of a family, and I su
ddenly realized I didn’t have any idea in the world about how to be a wife. It scared me to death. Gideon deserved somethin’ better than me, that’s for sure. I worked down in Boise City until April decided to open up in Colorado. She gave me this job.

"You got a mighty pretty ring on your hand. You must be quite a charmer, but you shouldn’t pin up that beautiful hair. Us blondes has got a divine right to flaunt our hair, don’t you think so?”

About midnight the lantern flickered out.

At 2:00
a.m.
the activities downstairs began to wind down.

At 3:00
a.m.
April Hastings opened the door with a lantern and peeked in. “Pepper, what are you doin’ in bed? Oh, there you are. That gal sort of looks like you—in the shadows. I thought it was you under them covers. Is she still alive?”

“Yeah. But she hasn’t woke up or said an
ythin’.”

“Here’s her valise.” April set a leather case i
nside the door. “I guess she left several trunks at the Wemberly House in Fort Collins. At least, that’s what Judd reported.”

“Where was she going?”

“Don’t rightly know. She told Judd she was expecting to meet some man out here somewhere.”

“I don’t think she’ll make it. I got your rocking chair.”

“I figured as much. I’ll see you in the mornin’.” April closed the door.

Scooting through the dark, Pepper re-lit the lantern and toted the leather case back to the rocking chair. “Honey, maybe there’s some clue to who you are in here. So I hope you don’t mind me snooping around. Ain’t that fancy? Everything org
anized in neat little velvet bags.

“Cosmetics. And some fancy perfume? Oooh-weee, if that don’t trap the men, nothin’ will. Good grief, girl, where did you get all this money? You ain’t a bank robber, are you? A Bible? Let me see. It must be in the front. Here it is. Miss Suzanne Cedar, born June 1858, Franklin County, Ke
ntucky. Father: Thaddeus S. Cedar. Mother: Mavis Liddon Cedar. Brother: Abel Giles Cedar.

“That tells who you are, but not why you’re out in the mou
ntains of Colorado. You’re about my age, but I don’t think I look nothin’ like you. April has probably been drinkin’.”

She continued digging in the valise.

“Would you look at these pretties. Suzanne! A Bible-readin’ girl like you shouldn’t be wearin’ . . . letters? These must be real important. You’ve almost worn the ink off them. You got them numbered on the outside.

“Number 1. ‘February 23, 1881. Dear Miss Suzanne C
edar.’ Who is this guy? He doesn’t even know you . . . oh, knows your brother, Abel. Let’s see, he wanted to write to the ‘golden-haired’ sister. Honey, he’s buttering you up for something.

“Ah, he’s medium height and build, dark hair, brown eyes. 1848? Suzanne, this man’s ten years older than you. Punchin’ cows .
 . . goin’ to drive a herd to Montana and then buy a ranch and settle down. Oh, brother, is he out shoppin’ for a wife? . . . Zachariah M. Hatcher. That’s a handsome name. A man like that could be governor some day.

“Number 2. She must have wrote back to him. He says the ranch has a good-sized house and barn. That’s it, honey, this old boy’s lookin’ for someone to milk the cows. You didn’t string along with this, did you? ‘I’m drawn irr
esistibly once again to stay in this land, a land too vast to describe.’ Oh, you’re gettin’ suckered, Suzanne Cedar.

“Number 3. He pushed the cattle through .
 . . tough times . . . He’s a Presbyterian . . . doesn’t drink? Sure, Suzanne, don’t fall for it. They all make wild promises. He’s got few friends . . . family’s died . . . ‘can only speak to you.’ Oh, brother, get out the violins. She’s a singer? A patient lady? You can say that again, Mr. Hatcher. I would have dumped you a long time ago.”

Pepper dragged her rocking chair over closer to the la
ntern, turned up the wick, and sat back down to read letter number 4.

“He bought the ranch .
 . . still trying to butter her up . . . doesn’t have any cows. What good is a ranch without cows? He wears a .44 but hasn’t shot anyone. He sent a photograph.”

She dug through the valise, but she found no photograph.

“Number 5. ‘Dear Suzanne.’ Now he’s gettin’ real chummy. He’s headed to Arizona to look for her brother and buy some bulls. Honey, the whole thing smells like bull. Let’s see, the ranch is on the western slope of the Medicine Bows by the Camp, Village Belle, and Lawrence Creeks. The Triple Creek Ranch? That makes sense. Five thousand acres . . . That’s a nice start. Big, wood-frame house with immense fireplace, small kitchen, one bedroom. But the barn is in good condition. Whoop-te-do, Mr. Hatcher, an engagement ring. Sent through the mail without meeting you? ‘Frightfully bold.’ Boy, ain’t that the truth?”

Pepper pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and then continued scanning the letters.

“Number 6. Condolences and prayers? Oh, your father died. . . . You could bring your Kentucky horses. That’s why you have calluses, darlin’. . . . ‘Every beautiful sunset, every crisp clear mountain morning, every smile in a child’s face makes me long to share these experiences with you.’”

Pepper stared over at the injured woman on the bed. Then she reached up to wipe her eyes.

But there were no tears.

“Number 7. He’s in Arizona now .
 . . worries that the photograph wasn’t a good likeness of him . . . oh, that’s great. Will meet you in Fort Collins sometime around the nineteenth of September. That was last Monday. ‘Are we really going to get to meet? To look into each other’s eyes? To touch?’”

She glanced again at the woman in the bed, who seemed to be struggling for every breath. “Don’t count on seeing or touc
hing her, Mr. Zachariah Hatcher. Your lady ain’t doin’ so well.”

“Number 8. Boy, this is a short one. Let’s see .
 . . got her letter . . . leaving Arizona for the ranch. It’s about one hundred miles from Fort Collins. He might be late, but he will be coming in on the Cache la Poudre River Road. Hopes to be there by the twenty-second. That’s why she’s here. That was yesterday. She’s going out to the ranch.”

Pepper set the valise on the floor and turned the lantern off. She rubbed her stiff shoulders and then pulled the quilt up tight around her neck.

“It’s cold in here,” she murmured. “It’s gettin’ real cold.”

She fell asleep dreaming of a big house with a huge rock fir
eplace.

Startled awake, Pepper could feel the neck of her still-buttoned collar filled with sweat. She heard a rasping noise and pushed the blanket down.

The voice was so faint it was almost a whisper. “Zachariah?”

“Miss Cedar?” Pepper spoke softly.

“Yes. Who is it? Where am I? I can’t see anything.”

“I’ll light a lantern.”

“Where am I? My chest . . . Is there something lying on my chest?”

“No, ma’am, just a blanket.” Pepper lit the lantern, turned it up, and walked over to the bedside.

“Now then, I’m Aimee Paige, but most of the girls here call me Pepper and—”

“The lantern .
 . . Are you going to turn on the lantern?”

“The lantern is lit. It’s sitting over there .
 . . oh!” she gasped.

“I can’t see,” Suzanne moaned. “I can’t see!”

Pepper reached out with a damp cloth and stroked the woman’s battered forehead. “Just relax. You’ve been in a bad stagecoach accident. Your vision will probably be back by morning.”

“Is this a hospital?” Miss Cedar inquired.

“You might call it that.”

“Are you a nurse?”

“That’s right. I’m nursing you, Miss Cedar.”

“How do you know my name?”

Pepper tucked her hand in her lap. “The men who brought you in told me that.”

“How did they know? I didn’t tell anyone my name since I arrived in Colorado.”

“Oh, you know men. A beautiful blonde lady like yourself comes into the region. One of them will scout around and find out your name.”

She closed her eyes a moment. “Thank you for the compl
iment,” she finally offered. “I’m sure I’m not much of a beauty right now.”

“I don’t think Mr. Zachariah Hatcher would mind one bit.”

“Zach? Do you know him?" She stopped. "Why can’t I get my breath? Are you sure there’s nothing mashing my chest down?”

“Just a blanket. I’ll move it. Is that better?”

“Do you know Zach? We’re going to get married.”

“Sure. Everyone knows Zachariah Hatcher. Why, he’s a big-time cattle rancher in these parts. He owns that Triple Creek Ranch.”