Authors: Alice Duncan
Eulalie
began to breathe more easily. Evidently she hadn’t broached a forbidden
subject. Modestly she said, “Well, I just thought it might be nice.
And my sister would be happy to play the piano or an organ—if we could
find one somewhere.”
“My
Samuel brought his family’s organ from New Hampshire,” said Mrs.
Fanning. “I ‘spect we might could donate it to the church.”
“And
Mrs. Sullivan can make choir robes.”
“I’ll
be happy to direct,” said Eulalie, wondering how her position as saloon
singer would allow her to conduct choir practice once a week, but willing
to do anything to be accepted in the community. Maybe the Rio Peñasco
Baptist Church’s choir could break with tradition and hold rehearsals
at noon or something.
“Well,
my goodness gracious sakes alive,” said Mr. Huffington, looking slightly
alarmed by the herd of women that was growing ever larger around him.
“What an interesting suggestion, Miss Gibb.”
“It’s
the same one we’ve been making for a couple years now, Huff,” Mrs.
Fanning reminded him darkly.
The
minister flinched. It was a sensible reaction to the overpowering woman’s
aggressive posture. “Er … but no one ever offered to do the work
before,” he pointed out in a small voice.
Mrs.
Fanning sniffed. It was Mrs. Johnson who said, “Well, there’s no
sense hashing over what used to be. Now we have Eulalie.” And suddenly
Eulalie found herself being beamed upon by an entire townful of rugged
western matrons. Would wonders never cease?
When
she was finally able to break free from the throng, Nick and Junius
fell into step beside her as if they’d choreographed the move. She
glanced from one man to the other. Junius’ smile was as broad and
bright as the sun. Nick still looked as if he wanted to murder someone.
This time Eulalie had
no
doubt
it was her.
“That
was right nice of you, Miss Eulalie,” said Junius with his customary
vigor. “I wouldn’t mind singin’ in a choir myself.”
“You?”
Nick guffawed.
“I
think that’s wonderful, Mr. Taggart.” Eulalie gave Nick a quelling
glance. He remained unquelled, curse him.
Junius
slapped Nick on the back. “And you can join, too, Nicky! You’ve
got a great voice.”
“Huh,”
said Nick.
But
Eulalie’s interest was piqued. “Really? What range do you sing,
Nick?”
He
squinted at her. “What’s that mean?”
“I
mean, are you a bass, like your uncle, or do you sing in the tenor range?”
Nick
shrugged his massive shoulders. “Beats me.”
“I
reckon Nicky sings same as me,” said Junius. “Belt out a few bars
of somethin’, Nicky.”
Nick
eyed his uncle with what looked to Eulalie like horror. “Not right
here on the street, for cripes’ sake.”
Smiling
inside, Eulalie guessed Nick Taggart, while a big, strong, masculine
fellow, had one or two foibles. “We’ll discuss it later,” she
said.
“Don’t
threaten me,” grumbled Nick.
Eulalie
laughed. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Mr. Taggart.”
“Call
me Junius, Miss Eulalie. Everybody does. I feel like an old man when
you call me
Mr. Taggart
that way.”
“Very
well. Junius. And please, call me Eulalie.”
Dinner
was delicious. Eulalie had never tasted smoked meat until she’d moved
west, but she liked it. And the pinto beans people served with everything
were quite tasty, too, especially the way Junius fixed them with chilies
and onions and garlic. At least she and Nick would smell alike when
they consummated their deal.
The
idea of consummation sent hot shivers up Eulalie’s spine, and she
endeavored not to think about it. It was difficult not to, however,
with Nick eyeing her as if she were a piece of cake he aimed to devour
as soon as the meal was finished.
A
knock came at the door just as Eulalie took a last bite of brisket.
It occurred to her to ask Mrs. Sullivan if her costumes could be altered
slightly so as to make more room for her expanding tummy. Sternly she
told herself not to be silly. The problem wasn’t with the costumes.
It was with her tendency to eat everything that was put in front of
her. When Patsy got here, that would change. She hoped.
“I’ll
get it,” said Junius, hopping up from the table and heading to the
door.
Nick
glowered, as if he expected whoever had knocked was going to try to
impede him in his purpose for the day.
His
eagerness amused Eulalie, although it also stirred the butterflies in
her stomach to life.
“Come
in, come in!” cried Junius when he saw who was at the door.
Mrs.
Johnson took him at his word and stepped into the house. “Brought
you fellows over a pie,” said she, smiling at Eulalie, who returned
the favor, although she wasn’t necessarily happy to see the pie. She
had enough trouble resisting meat and potatoes. She was a sucker for
pie.
“Looky
here, Nicky! It’s a pie!” Junius sounded as if he’d never seen
a pie before.
Nick
and Eulalie rose from the table and joined Mrs. Johnson and Junius in
the parlor. “Thanks, Mrs. Johnson. What kind of pie is it?” Nick
wanted to know.
“Cherry.
I canned a whole mess of cherries last spring, and this is the last
of them.”
“Oh,
my,” said Eulalie. “Cherry pie.” One of her favorite foods, and
one she’d assumed she’d left behind in Chicago. “Where did you
get the cherries, Louise?”
“Why
in the groves up near La Luz,” said Mrs. Johnson. “My Zeke, God
rest his soul, and a few of the other men in town planted those cherry
trees. Closer to town here, we have pecan and apricot trees, too. They
were planted some fifteen, twenty years ago. They’re producing real
well now.”
“You’ve
lived here that long?” Eulalie blurted out the question before she
thought about it. “I mean … good heavens, Louise, Rio Peñasco must
have been
nothing
fifteen or twenty years ago.” It was nothing
now. Eulalie couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like then.
“You
got that right, sweetie.” Mrs. Johnson laughed, a circumstance for
which Eulalie was grateful. She hadn’t meant to criticize Louise’s
adopted hometown.
So
they all ate pie. Eulalie despaired of her figure.
Dusk
was falling when Nick escorted Eulalie back to her little adobe home.
Eulalie’s heart was racing like a roadrunner alongside a stagecoach.
She opened the door and looked up at him. “Um … are you coming inside,
Nick?”
Nick
glanced up the street. Then he glanced down the street. Rio Peñasco
was an exceptionally small town, but it looked to Eulalie as if every
single one of its inhabitants had decided to sit outside that evening
and take the air. Nick said, “Hell, I’d better wait until dark.”
Thank
God. Thank God
. Eulalie wasn’t sure why she was thanking her Maker,
since her reprieve was only temporary, but she did anyway. “Very well.
I’ll … see you later then.”
“Yeah.”
He scowled at her. “And this time, you’re going to have to start
paying.”
She
sighed heavily. “Yes, Nick. I know.”
He
stomped off, and Eulalie retreated to her nice new, if small and fairly
crude, home. Sinking into the sofa she’d bought from Fanning’s Furniture,
an infinitesimally small furniture store located along the row of business
establishments running each side of the main street of Rio Peñasco,
she looked around and decided life wasn’t half bad at the moment.
True, there was still Patsy and her problem to be dealt with, but all
in all, Eulalie felt a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t experienced
since before Gilbert Blankenship darkened her life. She missed her family
like crazy, but at least Patsy would be joining her tomorrow. And Uncle
Harry had written that he intended to pay a visit to her before much
longer. She smiled when she thought about what Uncle Harry, the quintessential
city feller, would make of Rio Peñasco. Knowing Harry, he’d probably
profess to love it.
She
wished she had something to read besides the few books she’d brought
with her from Chicago, all of which she’d read at least once already.
Along with a choir, this town could use a public library. Eulalie wondered
if Rio Peñasco was large enough to support such an institution, and
decided that was one more thing she might as well look in to. As long
as she and Patsy were going to be living here permanently—her heart
twanged painfully at the notion—the place might as well be as up to
date as she could make it. As soon as Patsy was settled, Eulalie decided,
she would just write to Mr. Dale Carnegie and see what he had to say
about the establishment of a public library in Rio Peñasco, New Mexico
Territory. It seemed to Eulalie remotely possible that, with care and
a good deal of help, one day Rio Peñasco might actually grow up to
be a real town.
Perhaps
not. She supposed it would forever have its own personality. That wasn’t
necessarily a bad thing, but Rio Peñasco’s personality was different
from the personality of any other city or town she’d been in—and
because her family traveled a lot, she’d been in tons of cities and
towns. But that had been in the east.
A
knock at her front door startled her. Who could it be? Not Nick, surely.
Nick would use the back door, since he aimed to stay once he got here.
With some trepidation, lest her visitor prove to be one of the more
stubborn men who frequented the Opera House, Eulalie went to answer
the door. She opened it a crack and discovered Bernie Benson surveying
the front of her new house.
Opening
the door wider, she said, “Mr. Benson, how kind of you to pay a call.”
She didn’t really feel like entertaining the ubiquitous newspaperman,
but she knew that she was obliged to placate the press. Her family had
been dealing with reporters for decades.
“I
can’t stay,” said Bernie, although he entered her house anyway.
“I only wanted to bring you a copy of an article that appeared in
a New Hampshire newspaper. I tell you, Miss Gibb, word of you and, by
extension, Rio Peñasco, is spreading like wildfire.”
Wonderful.
Just what she wanted to hear. She said, “How nice,” and wished she
could think of some way to muzzle the man. Or, if not the man himself,
at least his reportage of her own personal career. She’d come here
to get away from publicity, not court it.
With
a flourish, Bernie presented her with a folded newspaper. “I asked
Clyde to send me two copies, so I’d be sure to have one for you.”
“Thank
you.” Eulalie suspected her smile was sickly. “Er … I’m afraid
I don’t have much by way of refreshment to serve you, Mr. Benson.
As you know, I only moved in yesterday.”
“No
refreshment required, Miss Gibb,” he assured her. “I’ve accomplished
my mission, and I shall now depart. I’d meant to bring it yesterday
and forgot.”
Well,
there’s a mercy.
“Thank you very much for the newspaper, Mr.
Benson.” She offered him one of her charming smiles.
He
swallowed and bowed. “Think nothing of it, Miss Gibb. I’m happy
to be able to report your beauty and talent to the world.”
Oh,
good Lord. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
Bernie
looked at her as if she were crazy. “Why not? Don’t you want to
be famous? After all, the more people hear about you, the more successful
you’ll be.”
Eulalie
would have liked to set him straight, but she didn’t quite dare. Knowing
Bernie, he’d advertise Patsy’s tragedy to the entire world, and
that might send Patsy into an even deeper melancholy than she was in
already. She fought the urge to pummel Bernie and tried to convince
herself that there was little chance that anybody who mattered would
ever encounter one of Mr. Benson’s articles. Eulalie prayed that she
and Patsy would be safe. Thank God for Nick Taggart. She kept her smile
in place as she waved Bernie off.
And
then Eulalie began to think about the advent of Nick into her home and
her bed. How should she greet him? Should she remain clad in her Sunday
best? Including corset, stays, corset cover, stockings, garters, chemise,
and drawers? Or should she take the bulk of her armor off and put on
a simple tea gown? That would be easier, but it might give Nick the
wrong idea about her.
“Stop
being an ass, Eulalie Gibb,” she advised herself aloud. Nick knew
exactly what she was: a woman in need of a man’s support and protection,
and one who was, moreover, willing to pay for those commodities using
her best asset, said asset being her body. There was nothing wrong with
that. Eulalie was only being more honest about her needs than most women,
who required marriage before paying for the assistance rendered by the
males of the species.