Fireblossom Page 5

  Fox arched a brow, appreciative of this irony. "That was a fine gesture of faith on her part."

  "Folks say I'm prettier than Queen Victoria."

  "Well, I'd have to agree with that."

  Victoria asked for gin and bitters from the bartender and Fox paid for it, extending his own glass for a refill at the same time. He was beginning to feel the way he'd hoped to feel - numb and distant from the real world. It was almost possible to pretend that he had no problems, no guilt, no past, no future. All that the moment demanded of him was that he enjoy himself.

  "You look like you've wore yourself out getting to Deadwood," Victoria decided, leaning against his broad chest so that her breasts brushed against him. "Was it worth it?"

  Before he could answer, someone shouted for quiet and an odd-looking trio appeared on the Gem's small stage, which was located at the far end of the barroom. There was a woman wearing a fancy gown of crimson velvet that looked too hot for the season, a man with a fiddle, and a youth carrying what appeared to be a trumpet. The man who'd been shouting stood in front of the stage. He waved his hands in the air.

  "Now, folks," he cried, "give us your attention. You all are in for a rare feast for the senses, a performance by the one and only Queen of Song. Yes, pilgrims, I am referring to the world-famous Miss Viola de Montmorency, who is here in Deadwood on the eve of her departure for the great capitals of Europe!"

  As Miss de Montmorency began her first ballad, accompanied by the two game musicians, it occurred to Fox that she looked a bit worn around the edges for this songbird role. Victoria seemed to read his mind.

  "You look like you're in the mood for a little repose. Want to come upstairs where it's quiet? I can take off your boots and rub your neck...."

  It was a funny thing, the instincts a man had for a woman. Fox didn't care for her scent, yet it worked on him; and he didn't find her particularly attractive, but his body responded anyway to her warm curves pushing at him and the suggestive invitation in her voice. Annie Sunday used to say that a true man rose above his primitive impulses and would never sleep with a woman he didn't love, let alone barely knew. Too bad the world couldn't live up to those standards. It kept tempting Fox, and sometimes he felt reckless.

  "That sounds like an invitation I'd be a fool to refuse, Victoria. I'll bring the bottle, just in case we get thirsty." He gathered his other possessions and followed Victoria up the stairway, which was already beginning to warp. It smelled like freshly cut pine and cheap perfume and men who needed baths. Fox watched the way Victoria's bustle twitched as she mounted the steps above him.

  Upstairs, there were more curtained doorways with girls' names written above them in chalk. Fox was relieved to discover that Victoria's room had a real door; it seemed a favorable portent. When she turned the knob and stood aside, she glanced at him under her lashes with coy shyness and he almost believed that it was genuine. Inside the narrow bedroom, with one window overlooking Main Street, Fox set down his belongings, doffed his hat, and let out a harsh sigh.

  "Sit right down there on the bed and make yourself comfortable," she instructed, while lighting an oil lamp on the bureau. "Here, lie back. I'll take off your boots."

  Sheer exhaustion, coupled with the wallop of the whiskey, struck Fox with astonishing force as soon as he put his head back on the pillow with its perfumed-lace covering. Victoria was a blur above him, tugging at his boots.

  "I don't know," he managed to mutter, "if that's a good idea. I should've had a bath...."

  Victoria poured him another whiskey and held it to his lips, cooing, "Now, now, don't you fret. You think I'm used to a clean man in this town?" She laughed, hugely amused by that notion. "I know you're tired, and I know what you need for a good night's sleep. Just lie still. I'll undress you."

  God, tired was a weak description for the way he felt. The bed, with its lumps and broken springs, was like a gift from the angels, and Fox seemed to sink into it. He let his mind drift. He saw Custer, with his curls shorn, sitting astride Vic in the dawn light. And then he dreamed about a rattlesnake stalking him as he slept under the Wyoming moonlight. Madeleine Avery was making tea and serving it in her best china cups, but she said that Fox couldn't come into her house and drink his portion until he'd had a bath and donned proper clothes. "You must wear a paper collar," she said, backing away from him as if repulsed, "and a Prince Albert frock coat, and I will not permit cursing...."

  Victoria found that it was rather a chore to undress such a big man, particularly since he appeared to be completely unconscious. Still, she enjoyed every moment, each glimpse of lean, tanned flesh. The more she saw, the more she prayed that he'd revive enough to do what they'd come upstairs for. Fox was the best-looking man she'd seen since coming to Deadwood. His hair, burnished in the lamplight, curled a little. There was a crinkled pattern of laugh lines framing his eyes, which had thick lashes. His face was weather-beaten, but there was something about his cheekbones and the line of his nose and the shape of his mouth that reminded her of a man of breeding... the kind she'd seen pictures of but had never actually met.

  Biting her lip, she unfastened his buckskin trousers and slowly worked them down over his hips and long, well-muscled legs. Her heart beat fast when she stood back then and drank in the sight of him, for Fox wore no drawers. He was a big man: tall, yet lean-hipped, and chiseled like a statue. Even his private parts looked highly promising to her now experienced eye. When she tried to get his blue shirt off, Fox woke up a little. He smiled at her, as if she were a nurse, and lifted his arms obediently.

  "Mercy," Victoria breathed, tilting her head to one side as she stared at his naked body. His face was turned on the pillow and he'd slipped back into his dreams, one arm curved above his head. Victoria decided that this was the ideal male body. His sun-darkened chest was broad, hard, and lightly covered with the perfect amount of crisp hair, just like his legs and forearms. Although she didn't care for men with smooth chests, an overabundance of hair was almost worse, especially when it grew up their backs and over their shoulders. Some fellows also had big white bellies, and she longed to charge them double.

  Her inventory of Fox ended, there seemed little for Victoria to do but have another drink, get undressed, and join him in bed. It was awfully early to be in bed with the intent to sleep, but it would probably do her complexion good.

  Besides, she mused as she wrestled with the fastenings on her gown, there was no telling what might happen in the middle of the night....

  Chapter 4

  July 9, 1876

  "You truly got yourself a bed?" asked old Frenchy Cachlin, wide-eyed under the frayed brim of his stovepipe hat. "That was real lucky."

  "I know, and I'm grateful." Fox, who had paid ten cents extra for the clean water Frenchy'd carried in buckets from Whitewood Creek, recognized immediately that the proprietor of the bathhouse was dull-witted. Still, he liked the fellow. After soaping his head and dunking it under the water, Fox surfaced and gave him a smile. "Yesterday I went back to the Grand Central Hotel for another of their tasty meals. While I was eating, Wagner, the owner, let me know that there was space now in the upstairs. I was glad, particularly because the food's so good there."

  Old Frenchy nodded with enthusiasm. "I know! Aunt Lou Marchbanks is the cook. She's a colored lady, you know."

  "A woman of rare talent." Fox rinsed his hair again, rubbed the droplets of water from his freshly-shaved jaw, then stood up and shivered. Frenchy, who was also known as the "bottle fiend" because of his huge and unusual collection of glass receptacles, rushed to hand him his biggest towel.

  "I like you, Fox."

  "I like you, too." He gave Frenchy a grin, then began to dry his hair vigorously. Part of the reason that Old Frenchy was so happy to see him, Fox knew, was because few of Deadwood's residents ever came near the bathhouse. As much as they hated lice, they seemed to hate soap and water more.

  The bathhouse was actually owned by Dr. O. E. Sick, which was why Fox had passed Frenchy
an extra dime after his first bath yesterday. When at last he was dressed in clean clothes fresh from a Chinese laundry, he gathered up his toilet kit and turned to Old Frenchy.

  "Now, there's fifteen cents for the clean water, ten cents more for hot, and this last fifteen cents is for you. Don't you go giving it to Dr. Sick."

  "Much obliged!" His face lit up with innocent joy. "Y'know what I'd like? I'd like you to come to my cabin sometime and see my bottles. I got thousands."

  "I'd be honored." Fox shook his hand, then headed out the door into the July sunlight.

  Standing on a crate that was half sunk in the swamp where Wall Street turned onto Main was a thin, black-haired, bearded man with the fire of God in his eyes. "Repent!" he shouted into the badlands. "Do not stray from the laws of God and you shall find salvation!"

  Fox dropped a coin into the hat that the minister had propped before him. There were a few pinches of gold there already, but nothing else. This was a place sorely in need of the word of God, and Fox knew Annie Sunday would want him to offer the fellow encouragement.

  "Bless you." The minister paused for a moment, bending over to clasp Fox's hand. "The name's Henry Smith, but folks in the Hills just call me Preacher Smith. You're a good man, I think. It's something in the eyes I've learned to recognize."

  "Well..." Fox bit his lip, thinking of the coy, knowing smiles he got from Victoria every time she saw him. He wished he knew what they meant. "I suppose I'm a sinner like everyone else."

  Preacher Smith didn't smile much, but it was hard to resist this strong, tanned fellow with the look of a renegade. "God won't give up on you, son, and neither will I." Gazing heavenward, he shouted, "Dear Lord, look kindly on this town! The folks here need your love and your forgiveness, too...."

  Continuing on his way, Fox felt that familiar, prickly mixture of conflicting emotions, made worse by the reminder that God knew all the secrets he was trying to keep from everyone else in Deadwood. Fortunately he had a supper engagement and welcomed the distraction of preparations. Madeleine and Benjamin Avery were guaranteed to take his mind off his troubles.

  * * *

  "I agree that we should fix a special meal in honor of Father's homecoming," Maddie remarked to her grandmother, "but do you really imagine that he expects such extravagance?" She looked around at the bounty that seemed to spread throughout the kitchen. "I had no idea you were buying such things. Why didn't you take me with you?"

  Susan O'Hara turned to face her granddaughter, her pretty gown of violet silk covered by a long blue-checked apron that was dusted with flour. "I longed to do a bit of exploring on my own, to tell you the truth. Wang Chee was kind enough to take me while you were outside in your new garden. I made the acquaintance of young Peter Gushurst, the grocer. He had treasures that he hadn't put on the shelves, and he told me about other shopkeepers who are selling produce and jam and baked goods." She swept a hand sideways, indicating her purchases.

  Maddie followed her gesture with a puzzled frown. There was a bowl of succulent, fragrant strawberries, which Gramma Susan had announced would be wedded with fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits and topped with rich cream. She'd gotten hold of some game birds, now plucked and cleaned. They were waiting in a pan to roast in the wood-fired oven. There was a basket of string beans and carrots, and several young cucumbers formed a pyramid on the table.

  "I bought some rice, which I thought would taste good with gravy," Susan was saying while snapping the ends off the beans. "They eat differently out here but that's to be expected. Certainly we can't buy the same variety of foods, yet I was surprised to find canned goods and fresh herbs. I bought some lovely-looking brandied peaches, and a fine bottle of sparkling catawba wine to accompany our meal."

  "Gramma Susan, are you simply in a cooking mood, or is there more to this?" Madeleine had spent the past two hours working on plans for her flower garden, but now she let them go. Her indefatigable grandmother was up to something.

  "Perhaps I have a surprise for you all," Susan said, with a secret smile, as she slowly turned her head and gazed out the window. "Indulge me, my darling."

  "Oh, Gramma, how can you be so—so high-spirited? The only source of excitement in my life at this moment is the prospect of my seedlings flourishing during the next fortnight! I confess, I begin to wish I had never come here. Benjamin is always off running wild with that other little boy, and I don't know how to stop that—"

  "Maddie, he's a little boy himself! It's summer. What would you have him do besides play in the sunshine? Sit indoors and read Gulliver's Travels?"

  Her green eyes were beginning to flash. "Now that you mention it, that's an excellent idea! And what about Father? We came out here to be with him, yet he seems to make appearances in his own house just to be polite! I thought that he needed me...." She stared at the strawberries and defiantly popped one into her mouth.

  "What sort of attitude is that? Why, I thought that you were stronger than that—stronger and more resourceful. You're nearly a grown woman now and you must know that you can't look to a person or a town to make you happy!"

  Maddie sighed. "I would be willing to give this town a fair chance if Deadwood weren't inhabited by barbarians! Honestly, every time I've ventured down the hill I've been leered at by the most repulsive men. Even the placer miners Father pays stare and call out to me and—" She turned away, upset by her own loss of composure.

  Susan O'Hara came around the worktable to embrace her. "Don't despair, my darling. Wait a bit; give Deadwood a chance. It's nothing like Philadelphia, I'll admit that, but I believe in adventure." She kissed her flushed cheek. "Now then, I'll give you a hint regarding my surprise, just to lift your spirits. Everyone in Deadwood isn't a barbarian. I've invited someone to join us for supper tonight, someone I think we'll all enjoy entertaining."

  "Entertaining?" Maddie echoed faintly. "But the house isn't fit for guests. I don't see how—"

  "Nonsense! We have fine food and wonderful company to offer. However, you could unpack that last trunk of your mother's things. There's plenty of time to hang a few pictures, to spread a lace cloth over the table, to arrange her needlepoint pillows on the settee... and don't forget the silver service and Colleen's good china." Susan nodded briskly. "You are far more accomplished at such niceties than I and hardly need my advice. I'll leave you to it."

  "But I'll need a bath—and my hair—and what shall I wear?" Maddie exclaimed, staring down in horror at her dust-covered calico dress.

  "No need to fret. We've hours to prepare." The picture of serenity, Susan returned to her string beans. "Everything will be just fine."

  It was exciting beyond words to anticipate a real dinner party, with a real guest. Perhaps there really was society in Deadwood after all, and her dear Gramma had discovered one of its members! Maddie was in a near panic, mentally making lists and wondering how she could ever do all that was necessary in a few short hours. The trunk; that would come first! Her heart began to pound with anticipation as she hurried off to find it. So great was her pleasure that she forgot to ask or even wonder about the identity of the mystery guest.

  * * *

  "You!"

  When Madeleine opened the front door, pink-cheeked with excitement, she couldn't suppress an exclamation of shock at the sight of Fox. Ever since their first meeting, she had tried to block the unsettling memory of him from her mind. Now he had returned just when their first dinner guest was due and his timing couldn't be worse.

  "Miss Avery," he said, sweeping off his hat and smiling into her eyes, "may I say that your beauty does this humble town great honor?"

  "Please, do not," she replied, blocking the doorway.

  "Sir, I am sorry to be blunt but I must tell you that we are expecting a distinguished dinner guest, and—"

  "Fox!" Susan O'Hara emerged from the kitchen, having removed her apron, and warmly extended her hands to him. "Goodness, how splendid you look!"

  A wry smile crept over his mouth as he glanced down at the Prince
Albert frock coat, starched white collar, pressed gray trousers, and expertly knotted black silk tie he had donned for the occasion. The formal clothing only served to accentuate his broad shoulders and powerful physique. "It's kind of you to say so, Mrs. O'Hara, but I sense that your granddaughter remains unconvinced."

  His ironic tone and the gleam in his eyes were not lost on Maddie. Before she could think she retorted, "Perhaps that's because I realize that a lot of fancy decoration is worthless if it's covering up something—or someone—that is crude and—"

  "Madeleine Avery!" Gramma Susan broke in, aghast. "Never have I heard you display such a shocking lack of manners. What would your mother say if she could hear you?"

  Blushing profusely, she murmured, "You are right, Gramma, that was inexcusable. I don't know what came over me. Mr. Fox, please accept my apology." She couldn't look at him, though, and wondered why he lingered when he knew they had other plans.

  "Apology accepted, of course." As if reading her mind, Fox turned to his elderly hostess and cocked an eyebrow. "Your granddaughter is expecting a very important dinner guest. Is there someone else?"

  "Certainly not!" Susan shook her head. "Pay no attention to Maddie; she must not be feeling well. Now then, do come in. I'm so pleased that you were able to join us."

  As she took in the truth of the situation unfolding in her own parlor, Maddie wished the floor could open up and swallow her. Fortunately, distraction appeared when her father and Benjamin entered the room. He looked grumpy in his little blue suit and the shoes he'd worn to church in Philadelphia. They were pinching him now, and his pants were too small, but his hair was neatly parted in the middle and slicked down, and he even wore a paper collar. The instant he recognized Fox, the boy's freckles seemed to pop out from his suddenly white face.

  "What are you doing here?" he cried.

  "Fox is our guest for supper tonight, and I trust that you'll remember your manners," Gramma Susan said, with a threatening glance. She turned to her son-in-law. "Stephen, I would like you to meet Fox Daniel. Fox, this is my son-in-law, Stephen Avery."