Under the Desert Sky (21 page)

Christian waved his arms, and the burro soon turned its attention to him. Phoebe picked up a few stones and began throwing them toward the animal, and soon it lumbered off.

“'Tis thankful I am that you came.” The woman threw herself into Christian's arms. “And what would I have done now had ye not come to m' rescue?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes as Christian contained his laughter.

“Let me help you back to the coach,” Christian offered as he eased her out of his arms.

“No, wait. I came out here because . . . sure 'n' could yer wife be for staying with me for a minute?”

Phoebe started, “I'm not—”

“She'd be happy to stand guard. Just yell if you need me again.” Christian strode off behind the rock.

“Aye, 'n' 'tis such a ninny,” the woman said as she took care of her toilet. “Yer husband is such a dear man.”

Phoebe started to correct her, but withheld her comment.

•  •  •

They'd been back under way for a while when an older gentleman pulled out his chain watch. “It won't be long now,” he announced as he rolled up the shade on his side of the coach.

Phoebe could see the sun dipping low in the sky, its rays bouncing off the rocky cliffs and crags of the Bradshaw Mountains.

In the gloam of the evening, Phoebe could see the flora begin to change. Interspersed with the saguaro and hedgehog cacti and ocotillo that grew in abundance, she also saw an occasional palm tree. When the coach rounded a bend, before them was a manicured green lawn and a seemingly unending row of palm trees. Excitement caused her heart to beat rapidly as she anticipated what was before her: an evening with a handsome man. Gwen was a dear to be looking after Will, to make this possible for her. Anxious for a glimpse of the resort, she saw it—a large yellow building with a red roof. The first story had a porch with inviting swings, while the upper floor had open balconies.

Just then, Christian opened the door and gathered up her package. “It's a good thing we bought a coat. I think you're going to need it up here in the mountains.”

“I think you're right.” Phoebe allowed Christian to help her down. When her foot reached the ground, a crone bounded from behind an exceptionally large palm tree. She was wearing a greenish false face with a grotesquely protruding nose, a flowing black dress, and a high-pointed hat that did nothing to control wayward strands of hair that seemed to be starched to maintain its dishevelment.

“Welcome, welcome, my dearies! Hee, hee, hee, hee!” the woman cackled.

“Bridgett, sure now 'n' you've outdone yourself,” said the woman who'd been frightened by the burro. “I wouldn't have missed yer Samhain for the world.”

Phoebe cast a questioning glance at Christian.

“I think it's a Celtic celebration, but I'm not certain,” he said. “Is today the thirty-first?”

“Halloween! That's just what we need to spoil our evening.”

“Who knows? Maybe it'll be fun.” Christian led Phoebe toward the witch.

The woman addressed as Bridgett stepped out of character and embraced her friend. “Renny, sure now, 'n' did Cullen know you were coming and he just didn't tell me? Himself and Mr. Calhoun left yesterday. Would you be for believing this? He said he didn't want anything to do with my folderol.”

“Folderol, is it? Here, now, 'n' if I didn't know Cullen O'Donnell better, I'd be for thinking that never had he set foot on our blessed Eire.”

Just then another woman came out to meet the arriving guests. “I see you've met my best friend, Bridgett O'Donnell. If this is your first visit to Castle Hot Springs and the Palm House, it'll be a visit to remember. I'm Margaret Calhoun and I welcome all of you to my home.” She stepped aside and, with a sweeping hand, invited her guests to enter a large room lit by dozens of candles, each set in a carved pumpkin. Shadows danced on the wall as cutout paper figures of spiders and bats and black cats swung from the ceiling.

“Before the festivities begin, we need to get everyone settled. Mary Kathleen will see you to yer rooms, since Cullen O'Donnell and Keevan Calhoun had to get to Phoenix in such an all-important hurry,” Margaret said. “They told us Governor Murphy needed two more blokes to campaign for him, but Bridgett and I know the only campaigning they'll be a doing is inside Paddy's Saloon.”

“Aye, 'n' 'tis the Lord's truth you are speaking there, Margaret,” Bridgett said.

A few of the male guests who had converged on the new arrivals raised their drinks in salute as they let out a cheer. “To Paddy. May he be remembered wherever he may be!”

“I'm sorry,” Christian whispered as he guided Phoebe toward the desk. “I thought Halloween was for kids.”

“You forgot. This isn't Halloween. It's Samhain.” Phoebe exaggerated the pronunciation as
sowin
, as she had heard it spoken.

Christian chuckled at Phoebe's mimicry as they stepped up to the desk. “You must be Mary Kathleen. We'd like two rooms, please.”

“No, I'm Mary Margaret. Mary Kathleen is standing by the steps and she will see you to yer room and look after the rest of yer bags. Are they on the porch?”

“This is all we have.” Christian indicated the bundle Phoebe had from the Chicago Store.

Mary Margaret's eyes widened. “No bags? How can that be? How long do you plan to stay?”

“Only for the night,” Christian said. “Do you have rooms for us?”

“I guess we do, but most of our guests stay all winter, or at least a month. Are you sure you came all this way only to stay one night?”

“That's right, we did. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Oh, no, sir, I can find a place for you. What did you say yer name was?”

“De Wet. Christian De Wet.”

“All right, Mr. De Wet, I can put you and yer lady in room 205. That has a wonderful view of the falls, and if you leave yer window open, you'll be able to hear it all night.”

“I asked for two rooms. Is there another room nearby?”

Mary Margaret looked up abruptly. “Isn't this woman yer wife?”

By this time, Christian was becoming more and more agitated. “No, she is not. Is that a problem?”

A broad smile crossed Mary Margaret's face. “Oh, no, 'tis not a problem at all. Just wait until I tell Bridgett about you two.”

“What do you mean, tell her about us?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh, nothing. It's just that you'll be her stars tonight. She gets so frustrated when every year she has to cast her spells over the same people. This year, maybe they'll work.”

“Spells?”

“You'll see,” the check-in clerk said. “Mary Kathleen,” she called. “Would you show Mr. De Wet and his lady friend to rooms 205 and 207, and do make certain their windows are thrown open.”

“His lady friend, is it?” Mary Kathleen said with a big smile. “Sure 'n' Bridgett will appreciate that.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe asked, beginning to get a little piqued by the repeated references to their being unmarried.

“You'll see, milady, when the festivities begin.”

Still frustrated by the lack of an answer, Phoebe started to ask another question, but then she thought about Mary Margaret and Mary Kathleen, who were no doubt only paid employees of the resort. Remembering her own experience in Mount Olive, Illinois, as a counter girl for Mrs. Droste's Bake Shop and then as the Sloans' maid, she held her tongue.

Mary Kathleen led them to the far end of the hall, where two rooms were separated from the rest of the rooms on that floor by a reading room. A linen closet was across the hall.

“Here they are.” Mary Kathleen opened the door to the first room. She raised the window and placed a stick under it to hold it up. “These rooms are a little out-of-the-way, but they're the closest to the falls, and tonight, especially, you might like that. I'll open the other room before I go down to help with supper. It's served in the dining room and starts in half an hour.”

Christian and Phoebe watched Mary Kathleen walk away, and Christian didn't speak until she was out of earshot. “Would you be for tellin' me, lass, 'n' is it to Ireland we've come? I was thinkin' we came by train 'n' coach, but I must've missed the ocean voyage.” He perfectly mimicked the Irish brogue.

Phoebe laughed out loud. “Sure 'n' 'tis the divel you be now for mocking them so, Christian De Wet.”

Christian laughed as well. “Which room do you want?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me. I want this night to be perfect for you.”

Would it be perfect? Although Phoebe didn't give voice to the question, it sounded loudly in her mind.

Room 207 was the end room, and it had windows on two sides.

Christian walked over to one of the windows and pulled back the crewel-embroidered drapery. “I think this room has the better view. You're facing away from the entrance so you can see the mountains and the waterfall. Come look. You can see where the water cascades out of what looks like a hole in the rock. We'll have to go explore that tomorrow.”

Phoebe came to the window and stood beside Christian.

“See?” He pointed to the waterfall.

Phoebe could smell a woody scent with a hint of cloves, or perhaps cinnamon, coming from Christian's face. She smiled. She'd never smelled men's cologne on him before. “You smell good.”

Christian turned to her, a grin forming. “I thought I'd better do something to make you notice me when we got up here with all the society folks.”

Phoebe nodded. “I suppose you think I'm after one of those old men who raised their glasses to Paddy.”

“I don't know. If you take up with one of them, I may have to go after Miss Renny.”

“You can't. She thinks you're my husband.”

“I see no immediate reason to dissuade anyone of that idea.”

“But if they believe that, won't they think it odd that we've taken two rooms?”

“I didn't want to be presumptuous. I'll leave you alone for a bit, but I'll be back in fifteen minutes. We don't want to be late for supper, especially when we're supposed to be the stars of the evening.”

Before Christian left, he kissed her on the back of her neck. The mere touch of his lips sent shivers of anticipation through Phoebe.

After the door closed behind him, Phoebe looked around the room. The fireplace had been laid with wood and tinder, ready to be lit if needed to push away the cool of the night. The bed with its canopy atop four posts was as large as any she'd ever seen. Its deep-green velvet coverlet sported elaborate crewelwork as well. She ran her hand over the handiwork, admiring the fine stitches that someone had spent hours completing. Her mother had tried to teach her the intricate stitches, but Phoebe could never satisfy her.

She seldom thought of her mother, but tonight she wondered what she'd think of her daughter. She was in a place where the Rockefellers, the Whitneys, and the Vanderbilts vacationed, yet she, a coal miner's daughter, could stay here as well. She'd never before been anywhere quite as beautiful as this hotel, but even as she was thinking that, she realized that this was the first time she'd ever been in a hotel room anywhere.

Her musings were interrupted by a quiet knock.

“Are you ready?”

“Oh, Christian, I meant to put on one of my new dresses, but now I don't have time.”

“I'll wait. Why don't you put on the white one?”

“For Halloween? I don't think so.”

W
hen Christian and Phoebe reached the dining room, they saw that it was appropriately decorated for the holiday. It had orange and black crepe paper intertwined all around the room. The only light was from the candles set inside carved pumpkins. There were no individual tables, but one long table set with gleaming silverware. Beside each place setting was a hollowed, carved orange that had a small candle inserted as well. On the table were three oversize oval copper trays filled with pumpkins, apples, pears, and clusters of green and purple grapes. In addition, the ubiquitous crepe paper was interspersed with the fruit and connected the arrangements.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe our last two guests have arrived,” Margaret Calhoun announced when Christian and Phoebe entered the room. “Mr. De Wet, I believe we failed to get the name of your friend.”

“My name is Phoebe Sloan.”

“Thank you. Mary Kathleen, can you find where Miss Sloan will be sitting?

“Yes, ma'am.” Mary Kathleen began scurrying along the table.

“All of you, please find your seats. The place cards are just in front of the orange jack-o'-lanterns.”

“Well, now, tell me, Margaret, aren't all jack-o'-lanterns orange?” a man who seemed to have had a bit too much to drink said.

“Of course you're right, Harry. I meant the jack-o'-lanterns made from the oranges.”