Fireblossom (15 page)

"Mr. Pym, how good it is to see you again! I can't tell you how impressed we all are with Fox's beautiful cabin, nor can I thank you enough for keeping an eye on my grandson. I do hope you'll send him home if he's a nuisance!"

"Nay, Mrs. O'Hara, we all enjoy young Ben. Fox especially has taken a shine to the boy."

"He's a good man." Susan put down her towel and gestured to Titus to take a chair. "I've just baked a rhubarb pie. You'll test it for me, won't you?"

The wiry, gray-haired man blushed with pleasure. "It would be an honor, Mrs. O'Hara."

As she cut the pie, prepared his plate, and set it before him, Susan inquired, "Where is Fox these days? It seems ages since we've seen him. I hope you won't be horrified if I confess that even at my age, I enjoy the sight of a man as good-looking as he is. Sometimes I steal a glance at him through the window just to reassure myself that I'm still alive!"

Drawn by the sound of voices, Maddie put down her copy of the movingly romantic
Jane Eyre
and wandered over to the doorway that separated the parlor from the kitchen. "Hello, Mr. Pym. It's nice to see you."

Titus grinned in her direction, then sobered. "Likewise, Miss Avery, but I hope you won't think me rude if I say that you're looking pale. I hope you aren't ill?"

"No, I'm fine," she replied, with a wan smile. In truth she was feeling abysmal, but there was nothing physically wrong with her. Secretly Maddie feared she might be heartsick.

"I was just about to ask your grandmother if she had any notion of Fox's whereabouts, but she asked me first," Titus said, attacking his pie with gusto. "We haven't seen him for three full days, Miss Avery, and I've never known him to just run off without a word. Odder still, he didn't take Watson. I've no doubt that he's fine, wherever he is, but I will admit to a measure of concern...."

"Maybe the Injins got him, just like they got General Custer," Benjamin piped up ominously. "Johnny Gordon says that the Black Hills belong to the Injins and they're gonna attack Deadwood and kill us all for trespassing! Johnny says that they cut your scallop off before they kill you, and they shoot arrows all over your body, and—"

"Benjamin Franklin Avery, be silent!" Susan commanded. "You know better than to speak of such things, particularly in the presence of ladies."

"I don't think the Indians've got our Fox," Titus Pym reassured the little boy. "He's been around them before and knows their ways. He told me so himself. They'd invite him for supper, not kill him, lad."

Madeleine joined them at the table. "Did Fox come back to the cabin after that Calamity Jane person left here three days ago?" she asked. "You saw her, didn't you, Mr. Pym? She said she'd been directed to my garden by you."

Titus scratched his sunburned pate and muttered, "Now you mention it, miss, I do remember her. I thought she was a him, but Wang Chee set me straight. And, thinking back, I believe that that was the last time I saw Fox. I saw him walking off shortly after that."

"Well," Maddie said softly, "I may have a clue. Miss Cannary told Fox that Mr. Hickok wanted to speak to him. I believe that he went to find him."

" 'Twould seem, then, that I ought to seek out this Hickok fellow and discover what he knows of Fox's whereabouts," Pym declared, swallowing the last bite of pie and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Wild Bill Hickok?" Benjamin cried. "I don't think he'll talk to you, Mr. Pym. No offense, but Wild Bill
is
famous!
He's performed feats of daring with his Colt pistol. I read a story about him in Philadelphia that said he'd killed more than one hundred criminals! Strangers must try to talk to him every day, so I don't think you could even get close."

Titus patted the boy on the head and stood up. "This is Deadwood, lad. I don't doubt that Mr. Hickok is treated with respect, but he's hardly the president of the United States. I'm sure he'll have a word with me... if I can find him."

"He plays cards in the badlands most of the time, but he's not staying at a hotel. He and Colorado Charley Utter are camping in their wagon alongside Whitewood Creek. Want me to show you where?"

"Benjamin, how do you know these things? Haven't we told you to stay away from that part of town?" Gramma Susan shook her head. "And you most certainly will not go with Mr. Pym. Honestly, you're incorrigible!"

"Lad, I have a task for you," Titus said as he held the door for the sulking boy. "Fox would want us to take the best care possible of Watson. Agreed? I am quite certain he needs to be fed and brushed. Are you up to that?"

Benjamin nodded, brightening slightly. Smiling, Titus turned back to thank Susan again for the pie, assured her and Maddie that he would keep them informed of any news, and bade them good day.

When they were alone, Susan O'Hara turned to study her granddaughter. Maddie tried looking out the window, but she knew that there was no escaping her grandmother's searching regard. "You look terrible, darling girl. Let's have a tiny spot of sherry to put color back in your cheeks, and then we'll talk."

Maddie quaked at the sound of that last word. When Gramma Susan set a small red-and-gold Bohemian glass goblet before her, she sipped from it gratefully.

"Now then," said the diminutive old woman, "you have been wandering around here looking more like a ghost with each passing day. I've been waiting patiently, hoping that you might come to me and discuss your feelings, but I suppose I should have known better. Instead, by the look of you, you've been trying to pretend you
have
no feelings!"

"I—I don't know what they are," Maddie said miserably.

"Aha!" She cried. "So you admit that you're feeling
something.
That's a start. Tell me all about it, and I'll help you make sense of your heart."

"My heart?" The words made almost no sound at all. "I don't know that I'm not simply ill. Who knows what's in the water here? Perhaps I'm being poisoned." Seeing that her grandmother was in no mood to waste time, Maddie shook her head in despair. "Oh, Gramma, what
is
wrong with me? I ache, here"—she moved one hand to her breast—"and I can't eat, and I wake up all night long in the midst of unspeakable dreams..."

Susan fixed her with an unwavering blue stare. "The answer, I think, is clear if you have the courage to own it." When Madeleine looked down, she prompted, "Be honest. Is there not one person who inhabits your thoughts and the dreams you describe as 'unspeakable'?" Susan reached across the makeshift table and took Maddie's hand. "Those dreams are merely nature's way of prodding you into womanhood."

"But, Gramma... I can't bear it! How could this have happened? Of all the men in the world, why has my heart chosen"—Maddie swallowed audibly, then wailed—"Fox?"

Susan clapped. "Oh, happy day! What a relief! You
do
have some Hampshire and O'Hara blood flowing in your veins after all! Maddie, darting, I can only applaud the instincts of your heart. Fox is just the sort of man I would have chosen for you, but feared you would reject. He would have been too much for your dear mother, but not for me or your great-grandmother! This is one of the happiest moments of my life!" She came around the table, drew a crate up next to Maddie, and embraced her.

Madeleine, meanwhile, was panicking. "Gramma, what you have said is madness! I'm frightened! I feel as if my life has become... a runaway horse!"

Susan O'Hara laughed and hugged her again. "Darling girl, celebrate! Life is sweetest when it is carrying us off to unplanned adventures. How could the outcome be less than wondrous with a man like Fox?"

"But we are completely unsuited for each other, and even if that were not a factor, what makes you think that he wants to have more than an amusing flirtation with me? If Fox wanted a—a mate, wouldn't he have chosen one by now?"

"'Not necessarily. Few really interesting men settle down before the age of thirty. And if they are also as attractive as Fox, they may wait even longer." Susan patted Maddie's flushed cheek. "I haven't seen you with such hectic color since you were a little girl. Don't be frightened of the future, darling. Reach out and embrace it,
savor
its uncertainty. I cannot tell you exactly what lies ahead between you and Fox, but I will urge you to go forward and discover the answer for yourself."

Tears sparkled in Maddie's eyes. "Oh, Gramma, where is he now? What if something's happened to him?"

* * *

The dirty gold light of coal oil lamps suffused the Gem Theatre, heightening its tasteless, raucous ambience. There was plenty of smoke in the air, as well as an assortment of unpleasant body odors, and Colorado Charley Utter had to squint when he entered the saloon. Some of his cronies called out to him, but he merely waved and shouted, "Not yet, boys!"

The soiled dove who called herself Victoria was having a drink with a cardsharp at the bar. Charley hated to intrude, but he didn't want to wait all night, either. Coming up behind her, he caught a whiff of her perfume and cleared his throat.

Victoria glanced back absently, then recognized him and smiled. She was a pretty girl, Charley decided, with soft white skin and generous curves. Her long black curls were striking. Too bad she had fallen into Al Swearingen's trap.

"You want somethin'?" Victoria inquired, showing him her dimples.

"Sorry to interrupt, ma'am." Charley touched the brim of his hat and gave the man who'd bought her drink an apologetic look. "I'm looking for a fella, on behalf of Wild Bill Hickok. Bill wants me to have a word with Fox—"

She widened her eyes to cut him off, then turned to the cardsharp and said sweetly, "Honey, I gotta speak in private with Mr. Utter, then I'll be right back. You won't even miss me. Now, don't move, promise?" That taken care of, she led Colorado Charley over to the staircase and whispered, "Fox is in my room upstairs. He's been here more'n three days!"

Charley's brow furrowed in thought. "If he's up there, what're you doing downstairs?"

"That's not what he's lookin' for—not that I don't wish different." She shook her head in confusion. "Somethin' is eating him, know what I mean? He's been drunk or passed out most of the time since we went upstairs that day the news came about Custer."

"It's none of my say-so, but don't it hurt your business to have Fox hanging around in your room all the time?" Charley asked politely.

A fleeting look of regret passed over Victoria's pretty face, then she laughed. "Fox gives me money every day he's there. He's generous. Besides, I like him. I'd worry about him if he was lying senseless somewhere else. And even like this he's still twice as much a man as anyone else in this crazy town." She glanced up the shadowy stairway. "You're welcome to have a word with him, if he's up to it. Maybe he'll tell you what's bringing on those nightmares. Never knew anyone to suffer more in their sleep."

Charley thanked her, received directions to her room, and went slowly up the staircase. When he knocked on Victoria's door, there was no response.

"Fox? You in there? It's me, Charley Utter. Bill sent me to look for you 'cause he didn't feel up to it himself tonight. Mind if I come in?"

He thought he heard a sort of grunt and decided it was an invitation. Opening the door, Charley discovered a sad little room with an iron bed, its mattress made up with patched sheets and a quilt, an old bureau with a mirror, and a little table and stick-back chair. An oil lamp on the table was lit, giving off flickering shadows. Fox sat on the chair, forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely and head bent.

Charley took stock of the situation and decided quickly on a course of action. It was pretty obvious that this fellow wouldn't welcome his intrusion, but his first loyalty was to J. B. Hickok, the truest pard a man could have. He knew that Bill would do what he could to help Fox if he were here himself. So he closed the door and crossed the warped floor, twisting his hat in his hands. At Fox's side, he hunkered down.

"Looks to me like you've got a problem," he said in neutral tones.

Slowly Fox raised his head, and Charley tried not to betray his shock. The man who had been the picture of health just three days before, bronzed and vigorous, now looked as if all the juice of life had been sucked out of him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and body smelled stale, and he was pale and hollow-cheeked beneath his tan and beard stubble.

"'Wild Bill sent me to find out what's become of you, pard. Seems that a friend of yours, one of them miners from Cornwall, searched Bill out today. He said there are folks worried about you; people who care about you."

Fox lifted one hand, looking as if he were in pain, and rubbed his eyes. A long moment passed while he sat thus in the quivering lamplight.

"Are you sick?" Charley pressed, hating to do it. "Did someone die? I got to tell Bill something."

When Fox took his hand away, he looked at his visitor with haunted eyes. "Yes, someone died," he said harshly.

"Well, you can't sit up here for the rest of your life! That won't change anything, will it?"

He shook his head. "I... can't. Not yet." Reaching into the shadows behind the chair, Fox produced a nearly empty whiskey bottle and drank deeply. When he held it out to Colorado Charley, the man drew back as if repulsed.

"What about your friends? The fellow who came to our wagon today mentioned a little boy who's worried about you and misses you. Won't you at least let me send word to them—"

"No!" Suddenly fierce in his drunkenness, Fox raised his voice. "Get out of here and leave me alone!"

"You don't have to ask me twice." Charley straightened, knees aching, and walked to the door. He paused there and glanced back. The figure who sat in the shadows across the room looked like an old man, bent and broken.

Chapter 9