Authors: Alice Duncan
Eulalie
felt her brow wrinkle. “I … um … think you’re mixing your metaphors,
Mr. Benson.”
Bernie
tapped his hat. “Well, that’s just the beginnings of an idea. I’ll
also write about how the women in town have taken to you, Miss Gibb.”
His eyes all but danced in their sockets. “And aren’t you singing
in church now, too?”
“Well
… yes, but no more than anyone else sings in church. We all sing.
Hymns, you know.”
“Ah,
but nobody else has a voice like yours,” said Bernie in a faraway
voice, as if he were creating yet another article in his head.
Eulalie
wished somebody else would move to town. Somebody already famous. Somebody
to make Bernie’s attention veer away from her.
“And
I hear your sister is coming to town, too, Miss Gibb. Is she an actress
too?”
“She
used to be,” Eulalie said cautiously.
“Give
it a rest, Bernie. Miss Gibb is tired. She deserves to get a good night’s
sleep after working so hard.”
To
Eulalie’s great relief, Bernie acquiesced, stepping aside so Nick
could guide Eulalie out of the chophouse. “That guy drives me nuts,”
he muttered.
“I
wish he didn’t take his duties so seriously,” Eulalie said, thinking
of Patsy.
“Oh?”
Eulalie felt Nick’s gaze on her. “Don’t you like being worshiped
by Bernie Benson?” His tone mocked her.
Eulalie
didn’t blame him a whole lot. If she’d met up with Bernie Benson
when she lived in New York, she’d have adored all the free publicity.
At the moment, publicity was the last thing she wanted. “No,” she
said. “I don’t.”
She
felt Nick shrug. “It’s good for the town, I reckon. Folks are coming
to see you from all over the place.”
Oh,
dear. Eulalie’s heart fell. “Are they really?”
“Yup.
Every day, more fellows show up. Bernie’s spread the word far and
wide about what he calls our cactus flower. I still think prickly pear
is a better name for you.” She heard the grin in his voice.
“You
would.”
They
walked the rest of the way to Eulalie’s new house in silence. The
moon was waning, but still fullish, and Eulalie was amazed by how clearly
one could see under its benevolent light. The night she’d been attacked
by those two drunken louts, she couldn’t see her hand in front of
her face. This evening, she could clearly see to pick her way across
the rocky ground to her home. Nick had even built a fence around the
place, enclosing a whole bunch of dirt. But Eulalie didn’t despair.
Mrs. Johnson said that grass could grow here if a body took care to
plant it deep enough that the first heavy rainfall didn’t wash away
all the seeds. Eulalie had dutifully sent away for a packet of grass
seeds from Sears and Roebuck.
“Junius
and I painted the place today,” Nick said, pushing the gate open for
her. “We used whitewash, so it will dry fast. We’ll get some real
paint as soon as we can.”
“I
see. It looks very nice. I can’t thank you enough, Nick.”
“Yes
you can,” he said, and Eulalie had no doubt what he meant.
She
noticed that he and Junius had set out flat rocks from the gate to the
front door. The notion of planting a few rosebushes along the walkway
appealed to her. “That looks nice, Nick. You really outdid yourself.”
“You
haven’t seen anything yet,” he promised her.
Eulalie
was getting just a little tired of his innuendoes, although she guessed
she couldn’t blame him a whole lot. She’d been itching to get him
alone for days now. She didn’t recall feeling this sense of anticipation
when she’d married Edward. Then again, when she’d married Edward,
she’d been seventeen years old and didn’t have the least notion
what marriage entailed. Now she was getting the benefits without the
ceremony.
Since
she didn’t feel like thinking about that anymore, she didn’t.
Nick
pushed the front door of her new house open. “Your new home, Miss
Eulalie Gibb. Hope you like it. Junius and I did the best we could.”
“I’m
sure I’ll love it, Nick. Thank you so—”
She
got no further. Suddenly a lamp flared to life in the little front parlor,
and Eulalie nearly jumped out of her skin when just about everyone she
knew in town shouted, “Surprise!”
Before
she was engulfed in happy hugs, she heard Nick mutter, “Shit.”
Nevertheless,
it was a nice little party. Since it was a Saturday night, even the
Johnson children were allowed to attend. Joining them were the Loveladys,
Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan and their brood, Mr. Huffington the minister (who
blessed the house), Mr. Chalmers the schoolmaster, the sheriff, Dooley
Chivers and both lieutenants. Mrs. Johnson had set out a veritable feast
on the table in the kitchen, which she’d first spread with a tablecloth
she’d made herself, with the help of Sarah and Penelope.
“I
helped sew the hem,” said Penelope.
“I
pinned it up,” declared little Sarah.
“Thank
you so much. You’re both so nice to me.” Eulalie gave them each
a hug. As she did so, she glanced up to see where Nick was in the overall
scheme of things. He and Junius were being congratulated heartily by
Dooley Chivers and the two lieutenants. Junius looked happy as a lark.
Nick looked rather like a thundercloud ready to burst and rain all over
the party.
Thinking
she’d worry about her weight after Patsy arrived, Eulalie indulged
in a piece of cake and took one each over to Nick and Junius. “This
was so nice of everyone,” she gushed at Junius.
Nick,
holding a cup of something that didn’t contain alcohol, although Eulalie
wasn’t sure what exactly it was, looked at her as if she’d planned
this entire party out of spite to thwart him. She didn’t appreciate
it, and showed him so by lifting her chin and pasting on her most defiant
expression. He rolled his eyes.
“We’re
happy you come to stay amongst us,” said Junius, oblivious to the
silent exchange between his nephew and Eulalie. “Can’t remember
when we got a nicer surprise here in Rio Peñasco.”
“That’s
what I just told her,” boomed Bernie Benson. “To our own cactus
flower!” And he lifted a cup filled with the same liquid in toast.
“To
Miss Gibb!” the attendees said in unison, lifting their cups, too.
Was
it lemonade? Eyeing it dubiously, Eulalie didn’t think so. Where would
anyone come by a lemon out here?
Somebody
said, “Speech!” and the refrain was taken up by the rest of the
group. Eulalie, perceiving no way out, stepped in to do her duty, to
a rousing round of applause.
“I
can’t tell you how much I appreciate the warm welcome I’ve received
in Rio Peñasco. All of you have been so kind to a stranger. I don’t
know how to thank you.”
She
heard Nick mutter, “Christ,” and raised her voice.
“My
sister Patsy will arrive on the stagecoach the day after tomorrow, and
I know she will love you all as I do. Thank you
so
much!” She
lifted her own cup then, fearless, took a sip of its contents. Whatever
it was, it wasn’t half bad.
It
was probably heading toward three a.m. on Sunday morning when the last
of the celebrants left the little now-white adobe house Nick and Junius
Taggart had built for Eulalie and Patsy Gibb. Eulalie was pretty sure
she was going to die from exhaustion. She didn’t have a clue how Nick
was feeling, but if he thought she was going to begin fulfilling her
part in their bargain tonight, he was mistaken.
She
kissed Junius on the cheek and hugged Louise Johnson as the two herded
Mrs. Johnson’s sleepy children out the door. “Thank you so much,
Junius and Louise. This is the happiest day I’ve had in a long time.”
She meant it, even though she was so sleepy, she could hardly see straight.
Mrs.
Johnson patted her cheek. “You get a good sleep, now, you hear? Church
don’t start until eleven this morning, and if you miss it, nobody
will think a thing of it.”
Church.
Oh, sweet heaven, that’s right. Eulalie had been religious—so to
speak—about attending church services since her arrival in Rio Peñasco.
No sense riling the natives, and all that. Besides, Eulalie took comfort
from the rituals and hymns of the church, even the church in Rio Peñasco.
At the moment, however, she wanted to attend a church service about
as much as she wanted to walk barefoot from Rio Peñasco to New York
City. She said, “Thank you, Louise. I shall try to attend.”
As
soon as she shut the door behind Louise and Junius, Eulalie turned,
expecting to find Nick Taggart behind her, ready to ravish her. She
had a few choice words to say to him.
He
wasn’t there. As Eulalie went through the small house—parlor, kitchen,
service porch, hall, first bedroom—she didn’t find him anywhere.
Had he given up and gone back to his own home behind the smithy? It
seemed unlikely, Nick being a full-blooded and lusty male and all that.
When
she finally pushed the door of her own bedroom open, she found him,
sprawled on the bed, fast asleep.
With
a sigh of relief, Eulalie decided that took care of that quite nicely,
and she grabbed her nightgown and hied herself to Patsy’s bedroom,
where she changed, fell into bed, and slept the sleep of the innocent.
Which she was, at least for the time being.
Chapter Ten
Nick awoke because some damned
fool had shined a light in his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he discovered
the fool was God and that Nick himself was spread-eagled on Eulalie
Gibb’s bed. Alone.
“Damn
it!”
He
stormed out of the bedroom, furious that his plans for the night before
hadn’t been achieved. Although he wasn’t sure, he had a sneaking
suspicion that Eulalie had known all about the party her friends had
planned for her. Oh, very well. They were his friends, too, although
they sure hadn’t proved it by thwarting his purpose.
She
was gone.
Nick
looked high and low, feeling kind of frantic, although he figured he
was being irrational. Finally, when he slowed down long enough to really
look
for signs of Eulalie’s presence or absence, and possible
reasons for either, he discovered a note she had set on the table in
the kitchen. She’d set a little bowl of wildflowers on its edge to
hold it down. Good thing she’d thought to do that, Nick thought ruefully,
since it was the note’s fluttering in the breeze he made as he barreled
through the house that had caught his eye. He reached out to snatch
up the note, realized that if he did that, the bowl of flowers would
fall over and he’d feel like an ass, so he carefully moved the flowers
and picked up the note.
Dear
Nick
, it read.
I’ve gone to church with Louise Johnson and
the children. Please make yourself at home. Eulalie.
“Make
myself at home?” he asked incredulously to the universe at large,
since no one else was there. “How the devil am I supposed to do that?
I’m not even supposed to be here during the day.”
Hell.
Another day of frustration and misery. Nick stomped out of the house—via
the back door and making sure nobody saw him—and scurried to the house
he shared with Junius.
Junius,
naturally, was in a jolly mood. Junius was always in a jolly mood, and
Nick didn’t understand it. Nor did he appreciate his uncle’s good
humor. Especially today, when Nick was feeling rather like a bear who’s
been deprived of sustenance for too damned long.
“Howdy,
Nicky!” boomed Junius. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Nick
wondered if the man was
trying
to irritate him. “What’s so
damned beautiful about it?”
“Why,
it’s Sunday, Nicky! A day of rest. We don’t have to do no smithing
today, and the house is built, and Miss Eulalie’s sister will be coming
to town tomorrow, and we’ll have another lovely young lady to spruce
up the place.”
“Cripes,”
muttered Nick. He stomped to the stove and poured himself a mug of coffee.
“Here,”
said Junius. “Miss Eulalie gave me some of these buns Mrs. Johnson
made up when I left last night.” He eyed his nephew speculatively.
“Say, where were you last night, Nicky? I didn’t see you come home
till right now, and you come through the front door.”
Nick
downed some coffee, glaring at his uncle over the brim of his mug. He
didn’t want to answer that question, mainly because he felt kind of
like one of those wicked seducers out of the old-time Gothic novels
his stepmother used to read when he considered his relationship with
Eulalie. Or, rather, what he wanted his relationship with Eulalie to
be.