A Veiled Reflection (8 page)

“I've been looking all over for you,” Mac said as Jillian emerged from the alley onto Main Street.

“You have?” she asked curiously.

He pushed back his hat and smiled. “Yes, indeed. I had to find out how the rest of the social went. Did Mary talk your arm off?”

Jillian laughed. “She's a wonderful woman. So knowledgeable about the Indians. Does she actually speak their language?”

“Indeed she does. She speaks Navajo about as well as they do. She can also converse some in Hopi and Zuni, and I'm told she has a bit of Apache under her hat as well.”

Jillian was notably impressed. “She's quite a woman.”

Mac agreed. “That she is.” They walked in silence for a few moments before Mac questioned, “Where are you headed?”

She shrugged. “I figured I'd go back to the Harvey House. I haven't had any supper yet and—” “Have it with me,” Mac declared.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Have supper with me,” Mac suggested. “I know Mr. Harvey's food is probably the best you'll get in town, but there's another little cafe
down on Second. The Andersons run it, and you can't beat what Mrs. Anderson does with a beefsteak.”

Jillian felt a little nervous accepting his invitation. “I don't know if it would be right. It might raise some eyebrows.”

“Not right? To have dinner with a friend? Why should that raise any eyebrows?”

She looked up into his eyes and felt an unexpected current course through her. “You're right, of course. Dinner with a friend shouldn't cause anyone to give it a second thought.” She smiled, but inside her mind was reeling. Dinner with a friend was one thing, but dinner with this handsome man might be something entirely different. People would no doubt talk, and Jillian wasn't at all sure she was ready to deal with what they might have to say.

As if to prove her point, she had barely started toward Second Street with Mac at her side when Mrs. Everhart and her daughter appeared. Coming up the street from the opposite direction, Mrs. Everhart could only scowl at the sight of Jillian and Mac walking together.

“Well, I suppose the town must be in good health this evening if you have found time for an excursion with Miss Danvers,” she remarked snidely.

“Indeed it is,” Mac replied, completely undaunted. “Mrs. Bennett has delivered a healthy son, and the rest of Pintan seems to have made it through the day without mishap. We are just on our way to supper at the Andersons'.”

Mrs. Everhart seemed unimpressed. She pulled Davinia close and tried once again to promote her daughter to the doctor. “Davinia made an apple crumb cake yesterday. I've never tasted anything quite so good in all my days. We'd be honored if you'd come spend the evening with us and share in her glorious cooking.”

Mac glanced momentarily at Jillian and gave a quick roll of his eyes. “Would you like that, Miss Danvers?” He winked before turning back to face the older woman.

Mrs. Everhart stiffened noticeably, and Jillian wanted to laugh out loud. She knew full well she'd not been included in the invitation. Mac saved her before she had need to answer, however.

“I think we'll pass this time,” Mac told Mrs. Everhart and Davinia. “I promised Miss Danvers one of the Andersons' special beefsteaks. I know Davinia's crumb cake is probably a masterpiece, but we're committed to our previous plan.”

“Well!” Mrs. Everhart declared in a heavy expulsion of breath. Without another word to Mac and Jillian, she pulled Davinia down the street, muttering all the way.

“I suppose she won't have anything to do with me now,” Jillian murmured.

Mac laughed. “You'd be one of the lucky ones if that were true. No, my dear Miss Danvers, you will most likely become one of her main items of interest.”

Jillian looked at him in horror. “Please tell me you are joking.”

Still chuckling, Mac shook his head and took hold of Jillian's arm.

“Never fear, my dear friend. I will keep an eye out for you.”

Jillian felt a sudden discomfort at his nearness. Mac was so unlike anyone she had ever known. Back home there had been such decorum, such rules. Mac would never have touched her so boldly in Kansas City. She stiffened, fearing that Mac would realize her feelings.

“Relax,” he said, more seriously. “She can't really hurt you.”

Jillian sighed. He'd taken her reaction for fear of Mrs. Everhart. Better that, she thought, than for him to think she was displeased with him.

FIVE

NEARLY A WEEK LATER, Jillian found herself in the center of yet another controversial moment. Having been assigned to work a split shift in order to keep the dining room covered, Jillian took advantage of the quiet afternoon hours to get some shopping done. The heat of the day was pleasantly comfortable, and Jillian found the warmth of the sun upon her face to be most inviting.

The day seemed to promise solace and peace, without so much as a single cloud to mar the perfectly blue sky. Jillian found such simplicity suited her just fine. She tried not to worry about her parents and whether or not her father would come to fetch her home. Nearly a month had passed and no one had come for her yet, so she took courage in that and hoped for the best. And as she found strength in those thoughts, she also took pleasure in her new life. It was more than a little exciting and frightening, but Jillian had never felt more alive.
I like feeling this way,
she thought.

Pintan wasn't all that large. In fact, it was little more than a watering stop in the middle of a dry and desolate land. Natural underground springs fed into a decent-sized river, and these elements made it a necessary focus for the railroad. But like many other towns that had sprung up along the tracks, some found popularity and industry and others didn't. Pintan seemed to be among the latter.

Saloons seemed to be quite popular. Jillian knew of at least three in the town, and compared to the population and other businesses, it seemed a rather lopsided number. She'd overheard Gwen warning a new Harvey Girl of the dangers of walking in the vicinity of the saloons at night. Apparently cowboys frequented these businesses in the evening hours, and often after having too much to drink, they tended to be very brazen in their behavior. Decent women weren't out after dark, Gwen had told the girl, unless accompanied by a chaperone. Jillian took the advice to heart.

The dry goods store stood in the middle of a row of sadly weathered shops on Main Street. Jillian planned this as her destination. She didn't really need anything, but it gave her a good excuse to explore the town, as well as get to know the people better.

A wagon and two rather ancient-looking mules stood at the hitching post outside the store, but otherwise there didn't seem to be a soul stirring. It was almost as if the town had taken an afternoon nap. Jillian wondered at the stillness but decided not to dwell on it. The Harvey House always had plenty of action going on, and she figured maybe the rest of the town simply rode on its coattails. After all, it was hard to beat Fred Harvey's restaurants and hotels. The man had gone out of his way to make sparkling oases in the desert and prairie plains. Even Jillian had been impressed by his focus on the details. Fine china and crystal and only the highest-quality foods were allowed on Mr. Harvey's tables. Jillian was told that a person could expect the very best of service and food any place where Fred Harvey's placard marked the spot. It made her rather proud to be a part of the establishment, even if she was there under false pretenses.

Entering the store, Jillian was pleasantly surprised to find Mary Barnes. The woman was dealing with the store owner while a young Indian woman, heavy with child, waited near the door. When Mary saw Jillian, she paused in her bartering and smiled.

“Why, Miss Danvers, it's good to see you again. I was hoping to have a moment or two with you before I drove out to the village.”

“That must be your wagon I passed on my way in here,” Jillian replied, wondering how anything so rickety and worn could hold up to a jostling drive across the desert.

“Yes, indeed. That's Clarence and Dobbin standing ready and waiting,” Mary replied confidently. Mary turned back to the clerk. “So are you going to part with any remnant cloth today or not?”

The man looked a bit uncomfortable as Jillian, too, seemed to await his answer.

“Look, Mrs. Barnes, I already told you. There's some scrap pieces in the crate out back. You can have those. Otherwise, I've promised Mrs. Everhart I'd give her some remnants for her ladies' society.”

“Ladies' society, my foot. She just wants to keep it out of the hands of the Navajo,” Mary protested. “Well, how about I buy the cloth?”

The man perked up at this. “I can hardly say no to a paying customer.” Mary plunked down some change. “Give me whatever this will buy.” The man scooped up the money and quickly went into the back room. Mary bit back further comment as Mrs. Everhart entered the store with a basket over one arm and her daughter, Davinia, on the other. Another woman, one Jillian recognized as Mrs. Mason, followed closely on Mrs. Everhart's heels.

All three women stopped in short order at the sight of Mary. Then their gazes traveled around the store and finally settled on the young Indian woman who stood not three feet away.

Mrs. Everhart pulled her daughter close and moved away from the Navajo. Then, with as much drama as she could muster, she reached into her basket and pulled out a handkerchief. “I cannot abide the stench in here,” she announced, handing a cloth to Davinia before taking up another. Davinia raised the cloth to her nose and dabbed at it lightly, trying hard to look sophisticated.

Jillian thought the entire act appeared staged. It was almost as if Mrs. Everhart had known what she would find inside the store that day. Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Everhart's faithful follower, quickly imitated her mentor. Together they created a trio of handkerchief-waving forms. Jillian thought they all looked silly but considered it typical of the type of people she'd discovered the Everharts to be. Mr. Everhart was certainly no better. He ran the town's bank and assay office and doubled up by filing claims and land records for Pintan. He was quite outspoken at the church picnic, saying behind Reverend Lister's back that “the day he was equal to a low-down dirty Injun was the day pigs would fly and cows could knit.” This had brought a hearty laugh from several of the listening townsfolk, revealing to Jillian just the kind of people Reverend Lister had to deal with.

“I simply cannot abide that you let the likes of this squaw stand inside the store,” Mrs. Everhart said as the clerk came back with an armful of material. She frowned at the sight and added, “I thought we had an agreement regarding remnant cloth.”

“Mrs. Barnes bought and paid for this,” the man offered apologetically.

“Very well. If she chooses to spend her money on those savages, then let it be upon her head. They will no doubt abuse it anyway. Just as they abuse anything else offered them. Why, look at poor Mr. Cooper. He has tried over and over to help these people, and instead of being grateful and doing as they are told, they send that demon seductress to entice the poor man.” She turned to stare at the pregnant Navajo. “The daughter of Satan is who you are. You, who would steal the very soul of that poor man. Plying your wares before him, then parading your consequences around town as though it's something to be proud of. You're nothing better than a—” “Hazel Everhart, I'm half inclined to stuff this material down your throat,” Mary said, interceding on the girl's behalf.

Jillian backed up a pace as Mrs. Everhart drew nearer. She had loosened her hold on Davinia, and both the girl and Mrs. Mason stood back as if to watch their heroine go to battle for them and all of proper society.

“Mrs. Barnes, you have forced this town to endure your meddling. However, you need not think you have the right to infringe upon our way of life by forcing us to approve the Indian ways as natural.”

“I didn't ask you to approve the Indian ways. I merely ask you to accept that they are human beings with rights and privileges the same as you,” Mary countered. “I hardly see how you can hold Little Sister responsible for what happened to her when you know yourself how Mr. Cooper can be. Didn't I hear you warn Davinia about the man?”

“That's beside the point. I don't want any daughter of mine married to an Indian agent. I would rather see her settled back East where civilization causes folks to remember their places.”

“Their prejudices, don't you mean?” Mary asked.

Jillian saw how uncomfortable the young Navajo woman had become. She had no way of knowing whether the woman understood all that was being said about her, but Jillian felt confident that she understood the implication. The woman bowed her head and stared at the floor, as if deeply ashamed to even be seen.

“I do not consider it wrong to allow for each person to keep to their own kind,” Mrs. Everhart replied. “Even the Navajo want nothing to do with the white way of life. They've made it clear.”