Glorious (17 page)

“Mr. McLendon,” Ella said again. She was a slight girl, and moved gracefully in his arms. In other circumstances he would have enjoyed feeling her body brush against his. “Will you still be leaving Tuesday on the Florence stage?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you find me so unattractive?” She giggled as Charlie and Rose Rogers bumped into them, and McLendon thought how young she was to be on her own in a foreign land, let alone primitive Arizona Territory. “I'd hoped you'd join me for some activity during your stay.”

“My attention was diverted elsewhere,” McLendon said. He tried not to stare at Gabrielle and Saint.

“That's been obvious. But now that you realize your attraction to her is unrequited, I hope you'll consider my company after all. Perhaps at the conclusion of this fete?”

“Didn't I hear Mary tell you not to do business during the dance?”

Ella giggled again. “But I'm suggesting a rendezvous afterward. In your hotel room, perhaps, not in one of those grimy cribs behind the saloon. If we're discreet, Miss Mary won't know a bit of it. Then I can
keep all three dollars for myself and be that much closer to passage back home to England. I'll be well worth the price. I can please you in any way you like.”

The song concluded. McLendon stepped away from Ella and said, “Thank you, but I couldn't.”

She said pityingly, “There's no use in pining, Mr. McLendon. For now I shall dance with more appreciative gentlemen.”

McLendon wasn't sure what to do next. He wanted to leave the dance, get out of the Owaysis, but his pride wouldn't allow him to. Gabrielle and Saint would surely see him fleeing and know why. He couldn't give them the satisfaction. But he didn't want to stand around looking like a fool, either. Gabrielle was dancing with adoring prospectors again, and Saint leaned against the bar talking to Crazy George. McLendon approached Saint and forced himself to smile.

“You and Gabrielle,” he said. “Quite a surprise.”

“Yes, I expect so,” Saint replied. He grinned back at McLendon with the self-satisfied expression of a man who'd won. “You see, she didn't need rescuing after all.”

“She told you about that?”

“She did,” Saint said. “In the last few days she's told me quite a lot. At any rate, the Florence stage arrives soon, and you'll be off to California.”

McLendon couldn't stand it. The patch-bearded, bent-badged sheriff was gloating. “I may go or I may stay awhile,” he said, enjoying the flicker of surprise in Saint's eyes. “There's nothing urgent in California, and I've made some fine friends here.”

“Stay if you like, but nothing will change,” Saint said.

McLendon shrugged and walked away. He had no intention of remaining in Glorious a minute longer than he had to, but it felt good to unsettle the sheriff. He drifted around the periphery of the crowd
and once again found himself near the seated Chinese. Sydney Chau looked just as ready to quit the place as he was. “Is it almost over?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “They'll go on until dark, probably another hour at least.”

“That sounds like an eternity,” McLendon said. He noticed that while Sydney had her hair pulled back, she hadn't woven it in a tight pigtail like the other Chinese. They were certainly the only two people in the Owaysis who didn't want to be there.

Back on the dance floor, Dinges bellowed, “Here's a real fast-stepper, ‘Come In, Old Adam, Come In!' Let's see who can scoot the best.”

Impulsively, McLendon held out his hand to Sydney. “Come on. Let's dance.”

Her jaw dropped in shock. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Why not? It will give us something to do.”

Sydney stood and hissed, “It can't be done, more for you than me. People will say I'm Chinese, maybe I don't know better. But you're a white man and they might never forgive you.”

“I don't give a damn,” McLendon said. “The hell with them. I'm leaving soon anyway.”

“I've never danced,” Sydney said. “I don't know how.”

“Neither do any of them. They're skidding like cows on ice. You can't do any worse.”

Sydney gestured toward her mother. “She'd be horrified. No.”

“Yes,” McLendon said. He grabbed Sydney's arm and pulled her through the crowd and into the dancing area. There were murmurs and a few catcalls as he put one hand on the Chinese girl's shoulder, the other on her waist, and began to dance. She stood stock-still; he urged, “Come on,” and, after an apologetic glance toward her mother,
Sydney did, moving woodenly but trying. “Just look at me, nothing else,” McLendon said. They danced until the song ended, and when it did, McLendon realized that everyone had fallen silent and was staring at them on the dance floor. He bowed low to Sydney and said loudly, “Ma'am, thank you for the honor of the dance.” Sydney turned and went back to sit with the other Chinese. McLendon went over to where Pugh and Mulkins stood. “Too bad there's currently no beer to be had,” he said. “Dancing's thirsty work.”

“Ain't it just,” Pugh said. He leaned past McLendon and yelled to the musicians, “Don't just sit there, boys, play another. Something with spirit to it.” The trio launched into something that vaguely sounded like “The Flying Trapeze.” Pugh and Mulkins remained standing beside McLendon; he took it as a gesture of solidarity. McLendon was aware that other people were glaring at him, but he didn't mind, especially since he also noticed Gabrielle looking. For the first time since he'd come to Glorious, her expression seemed approving.

•   •   •

A
S
S
YDNEY PREDICTED,
the dance broke up around dark. The three musicians announced a final tune, and several grizzled prospectors teared up as they sang along to “Old Folks at Home.” Then Mary Somebody hollered, “All of you clear out for an hour, and then we'll have this place back up and running.” The saloon rapidly emptied. Gabrielle was escorted out by her father and Joe Saint. After everyone else was gone, the Chinese silently filed out. McLendon waved to Sydney, but she ignored him.

Crazy George, Mary Somebody, Ella, and Girl began pulling tables back into the center of the room. “Let me help,” McLendon said. “Most of the town won't be eager for my company just now.”

“Oh, I doubt that's true,” Mary said. “Scandal's always diverting.
Now they got something to talk about over supper. And if you had to pick a Chink to dance with, Doc Chau was the right one. They need her doctoring and her momma's laundry too much to hold a grudge for long. Now, help George drag this really heavy table, and you'll earn a drink for your trouble.”

When all the saloon furniture was back in place, McLendon returned to the Elite. Most of the dining room tables were jammed with prospectors, still decked out in the good shirts they'd worn to the dance. When McLendon came in, they watched him carefully, as though they hoped he might do something else unexpected.

Mulkins, wearing an apron over his gray suit, told McLendon that only bacon and biscuits were left for supper. “Everything else has been called for and eaten up.” McLendon said the simple fare would be fine. He took his time eating his meal. Most of the bacon was still on his plate when Charlie and Rose Rogers arrived. McLendon thought he'd invite them to join him, but when he greeted them Rose merely nodded and the mayor said, “Good evening, Mr. McLendon,” with more than a hint of frosty formality. Then he joshed a little with the prospectors before sitting down with his wife at the table farthest removed from McLendon's. The Rogerses ate fast, Rose skipped dessert, and they departed before McLendon finished his second cup of coffee. He declined a third when Mulkins came by with the coffeepot.

“The mayor is displeased with me,” McLendon observed. “My dance with Doc Chau has apparently dissolved our friendship.”

The prospectors got up, nodded to Mulkins, took final lingering looks at McLendon, and left the dining room. Mulkins seemed thoughtful. He put the coffeepot down on McLendon's table and sat down.

“Don't be thinking too badly of Charlie Rogers,” Mulkins said. “I
don't think he really minds you dancing with Doc, but he's got the opinions of voters to consider. When the territorial legislature makes us an official town, he'll have to stand for election. So he's real sensitive to the local mood. Give him time and he'll come right back around, soon as he thinks people have forgotten.”

“He'd better be quick about it, since I'm leaving day after tomorrow.”

“Is that still the case? I understood that you might be staying.”

“What, has Joe Saint spread the word already? I only told him that to upset him.”

Mulkins chuckled. “Oh, I didn't get it from the sheriff. You two were at the bar when you made mention of maybe staying, and Crazy George overheard.”

McLendon drank the last of his coffee. Mulkins gestured toward the coffeepot, but McLendon shook his head. “I'll be going on the Florence stage as planned. But even though things didn't work out here the way that I hoped—”

“With Miss Gabrielle.”

“Yes, with her. But there are positive aspects to my short stay in Glorious, my new friendships with you and Bob Pugh among them. I hope we'll cross paths on other days in other places. Meanwhile, though I'm apparently an outcast to many here in town, would you be willing to come to the Owaysis with me now and let me stand you to a beer?”

“I've already spent more time away from this hotel today than I have in all the months since I opened it,” Mulkins said. “I suppose another hour won't hurt. I'll buy the second round.”

The last person McLendon wanted to see was Gabrielle, but when he and Mulkins left the hotel she was standing in the open doorway of the dry goods store, sweeping dust out from the front of the shop. A
kerosene lantern inside the room offered just enough illumination for McLendon to see that she'd changed into a plainer dress. A kerchief covered her hair.

“Working late, Miss Gabrielle,” Mulkins called.

She leaned on her broom. “Yes, with church and the dance, I had chores left.”

“Work around here is never done,” Mulkins agreed. “It's important for us all to have the occasional frolic, even C.M. here. He needed a change from sitting in my hotel lobby with that book he reads all the time, the one about the Mohicans.”

Gabrielle stood up straight and leaned the broom against the wall. She asked McLendon, “You still have that book?”

“Yes. Always.”

“You kept the book.” For a long moment she seemed stunned, then recovered herself. “I'd best go back in. I wish you both good night.”

As they continued on to the saloon, Mulkins said, “She sure reacted strange to hear about your book, C.M.”

“Didn't she, though,” McLendon said. His heart was racing, and he suddenly felt in a merry mood.

•   •   •

T
HEY MET
B
OB
P
UGH
in the Owaysis and sat with him at a table. Mary Somebody brought them beers, and Girl surprised McLendon by coming up and patting his arm.

“You sure danced pretty,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” McLendon said. “I should have asked you to dance too.” Girl blushed and scurried away.

“Why, that young lady fancies you, C.M.,” Pugh said.

McLendon chuckled. “At least one woman in Glorious does.”

“Don't beat yourself up over it,” Pugh said. “You'd no way of
knowing that Miss Gabrielle had settled on another. My opinion, the thing to do when a woman spurns you is to stay around awhile and discover new romance. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you depart all forlorn.”

“Let's see,” McLendon said. “Other than Gabrielle, there's Ella, who wants to go back home to England, and Girl, who's sweet but simpleminded. Rose Rogers belongs to the mayor and Crazy George would batter in my brains with his lead pipe if I tried sparking Mary. Doc Chau is forbidden. I believe that exhausts my possibilities.”

“But those are just the possibles now, C.M.,” Pugh said. “We're going to get big here if you'll just wait and see. Then there'll be women of all sorts, a corncuppa of females.”

“Cornucopia,” Mulkins corrected.

“Yes, that.”

“As tempting as that sounds, there's still a practical concern that prevents me from staying,” McLendon said. “My funds are limited. As much as I like my room with a window at the Elite, I can't afford to keep staying at the hotel. If I'm here much longer, I might not even have the price of stage fare to California. So I have to go.”

“We could come to some arrangement, C.M.,” Mulkins said. “Guests are currently scarce at the hotel. If you're truly approaching broke, you could even stay for free for a while. I enjoy your company.”

“My pride wouldn't allow it, Major,” McLendon said. “Charity from a friend is still charity. No, on Tuesday I'll start the journey to California.”

Pugh took a swallow of beer and said, “You know, C.M., there's another way to skin this, respecting your pride and all. You pitched in just fine when you helped me clean stalls the other day. I got room at the livery. Right now I let the stage drivers and guards bunk overnight. How's this? You give me a hand with the mules and the upkeep,
watch the place for me some if I go out with the boys to prospect, just generally do whatever needs to be done. I can't pay you, but you can sleep in the main room with me. I'll lend you blankets to roll up in. And you'll get meals too. Nothing fancy like the Major here serves in his dining room, but I've got a Dutch oven for biscuits and a little woodstove for other common fare. We can have this arrangement for as long or as little as you like. California ain't going away if you decide that's where you truly want to be. And,” he added slyly, “if you give it a try, the sheriff can't think he run you off by besting you for Miss Gabrielle's affections.”