Rose (10 page)

She glanced up and found the marshal staring down at her with a thoughtful expression. When she met his gaze, he looked away.

“Hey! Marshal! Where ya goin’?”

The sharp, high-pitched call of a child’s voice drew Rosa’s attention. She watched a small boy, his skin as black as the smith’s, run into the livery and pause beside Kase Storm.

The big man beside her squatted down on his haunches. “Taking the lady here out to the graveyard—and before you ask about it, no, you can’t go.”

“You bein’ rude again, G.W.?” the blacksmith called out from the rear of the barn.

“No, sun,” G.W. called back.

“Not at all, Decatur,” the marshal assured the boy’s father.

Rosa watched the exchange with interest.

The little boy squinted up at her. “You gonna live here?”

“No, she’s not. She’s leaving on the train right after we get back,” Kase Storm informed the child before Rosa could answer for herself.

For some reason his assumption made her angry. The man was positively rude. She realized it felt good to feel something other than grief, but she did not voice her anger.

Decatur Davis led a horse with a shining black buggy up to the front of the stable and held the horse while Rosa set her valise on the floorboards. Kase Storm helped her board, and within minutes they were riding down Main Street, G.W. Davis running along behind as fast as his spindly legs could carry him.

It was not a long ride, but the silence that hung between them made it an uncomfortable one. Rosa used the time to stare out at the surrounding landscape and try to acquaint herself with the place that might have been her home. The land to the west banked slowly upward toward the mountains in the distance. There was nothing to relieve the endless vista that stretched toward the east. Unlike the Alps that surrounded Corio by tenderly cupping the village amid their gentle peaks and valleys, the rugged mountains she saw in the distance looked as forbidding as the vast emptiness of the open plain.

Ahead of them Rosa saw what appeared to be a crooked fence standing on a barren rise in the land. Kase Storm must have seen it at the same time, for he nodded and flicked the reins over the horse’s back. “That’s the graveyard up ahead.”

As the horse stepped lively, her mouth went dry. Rosa clutched her hands together in her lap and tried to keep her balance in the swaying rig lest she bump against him. What had appeared to be a tiny fence on the horizon was growing larger as they swiftly drew near.

The marshal pulled the rig up to the base of the rise and tugged back on the reins. He set the brake, tied the reins, and then jumped down. Rosa started to climb down alone, then stopped when she realized he was coming after her. Because of his earlier silence, she was a bit surprised by the polite offer of his hand. She grasped his fingers as he tightened his grip to help her down.

“I’ll wait here, ma’am,” he said softly, the usual harshness missing from his tone.

She wanted to say no, to tell him that she would rather have him walk with her, but unwilling to appear impolite or demanding, she held her silence. This was something she must do alone.

The few steps up the hill to the small plot of land surrounded by a wind-twisted fence of barbed wire and weathered stakes were the longest steps Rosa had ever taken. She stopped at the edge of the graveyard and stared down at the even rows of graves that dotted the hilltop. Some of the headstones stood askew, twisted by the settlement of the earth or by vandals, she knew not which. She tried to find Giovanni’s grave, desperately made her mind focus on the foreign names and words that she did not understand.

Frustration quickly brought her to tears.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I just remembered that you probably wouldn’t know which one it was.”

Rosa nearly fainted, he startled her so. She had not heard him approach. She glanced up to find him standing at her elbow, squinting at the graves. He pointed to a plot marked by a simple white cross without any ornamentation or markings at all.

“That’s it,” he said.

She thought he would leave her again, but instead, he remained standing beside her as she stared uncomprehendingly at her husband’s grave.

It was all so final, so simple, and so sad. Rosa could not believe that Giovanni had come to such an end. What had his life been for? she wondered. Why had he come this far, only to die so suddenly and for nothing?

She shook her head and knew that she could not go any closer. Nor could she utter a prayer now that she stood face to face with the truth. The words would not come. Rosa turned away and stared at the rig at the bottom of the gentle slope. “I am ready now,” she said simply.

The marshal stared down at her for a moment as if he had something to say. Then, without a word, he indicated with a wave of his hand that she should precede him down the hill.

All right, so the girl’s not much older than your sister and she reminds you of your mother,

The thought tripped around in Kase Storm’s mind and echoed with every heavy step he took as he made his way back down Main Street. He found himself comparing Rose Audi with Analisa Van Meeteren Storm, although Rose was quite opposite his mother in appearance. Analisa Storm was tall, blond, and Dutch; Rose was short, dark, and Italian. They were both beautiful. Just like his mother, Rose had suddenly found herself alone and grieving, abandoned in a foreign land, struggling with a new language, fighting to be brave. But there he wanted the similarities to end—before anything could happen to Rose, as it had to his mother. He took it upon himself to insist she leave Wyoming and return to her own people.

Rose Audi hadn’t appeared very courageous a few moments ago when he left her sitting at the depot. She looked as forlorn and lost as an abandoned child, stubbornly fighting back tears as she waited for the train that would take her to San Francisco.

What he thought would be an easy task had instantly turned into a debate. He had insisted she go back to Italy and had offered to pay for her trip. Her eyes flashed as she stood firm and fought his suggestion.

“I will go to San Francisco,” she had said. “There are many Italians in San Francisco. I will not go to Italy. No. Italy is no good for me now.”

“Do you know anyone in San Francisco?”

When she hesitated before she nodded yes, he knew she was lying.

“Look, Mrs. Audi, go home.”

“No. San Francisco.”

Kase sighed. Time was running out. At least San Francisco was civilized and did have a large immigrant population. He hoped she could find people of her own kind who would take her in and a decent way to provide for herself. He glanced over and saw John Tuttle watching the exchange with interest from the ticket booth.

“Fine. San Francisco it is,” Kase said, sliding the money beneath the window bars. He bought a one-way ticket and then handed it to her before he walked her to a nearby bench, tipped his hat, and quickly told her good-bye.

She had been unable to meet his gaze. Instead, she stared down at the ticket she held clutched in her hand. Coward that he was, afraid she was going to start crying again, Kase had left her there to wait alone.

The truth, he admitted to himself, was that he feared if he had stayed he might have sat down on the bench beside her and passed the time trying to ease her fears. He might have even gotten to know her. And for what? It was definitely better this way. He was sure of it.

“Marshal Kase?”

He felt a tug on his pant leg and glanced down.

“Hey, G.W.,” he said in greeting.

“Hey, Marshal Kase.” The boy looked up at him. “Anythin’ you be needin’ done this morning?”

Kase hated to squelch the hopeful expression in the child’s glowing eyes. “Well,” he began slowly, pressing himself to think of something, “you can go down to Al-Ray’s store and tell them to send one of the boys around to my office to fill up the water barrel.”

Intent upon his errand, George Washington Davis immediately started to run down the street, but Kase stopped him before the boy had gone ten steps.

“And, G.W., get yourself and Martha a sugarplum.” Kase tossed a penny to the boy, who deftly caught it before he continued on his way, the light pink soles of his brown feet pounding against the boardwalk.

At Paddie’s Ruffled Garter Saloon, Kase moved through the short double doors and set them swinging behind him.

“Mornin’, Marshal.” Paddie glanced up from behind the bar where he stood wiping glasses. Kase stared at Paddie’s bald head and wondered if he shined that, too. Unlike most saloons, every inch of the Ruffled Garter was sparkling clean, even to the brass spittoons. With such an undeniable lack of patrons in Busted Heel, Paddie O’Hallohan had more than enough time to keep the place clean.

Kase walked up to the bar, rested his booted foot on the brass rail, and leaned forward.

“Whiskey, Paddie.”

The diminutive bartender glanced at the clock on the wall near the end of the bar, then back at Kase.

“You sure, Marshal?”

“Why would I be asking if I wasn’t sure?”

Paddie swiped at an invisible mark on the well-oiled surface of the bar. “It’s only eleven-thirty.”

“I can tell time.”

The man shrugged and turned away without further argument. Kase avoided looking at himself in the long mirror behind the bar as he drew a dime out of his pocket and slapped it down.

Paddie set the drink before him, and Kase stared down into the rich amber liquid for a moment. Damn, if it didn’t remind him of the color of the girl’s eyes. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around the glass and lifted it to his lips.

Here’s to you, Rose. Safe journey.

The whiskey was warm and smooth. It went down fast and easy.

He knew the bartender was watching him out of the corner of his eye and so Kase hid a smile. He had had his share of drinks here, but none at eleven-thirty in the morning, and never when he had the shining tin badge pinned on his chest. No wonder Paddie was ill at ease.

“Thanks,” Kase nodded in the squat Irishman’s direction. “One should do it.”

He headed toward the door and wished he could dispatch Rose Audi from his mind as easily as he had the shot of whiskey.

* * *

The train tracks stretched away from the depot in both directions until they disappeared over the horizon. Rosa stared down at the ticket in her hand without really seeing it. She felt nothing. Kase Storm had insisted he purchase the ticket for her after she informed him, much to her humiliation, that she hadn’t enough money left to buy one for herself. She shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench and swung her feet to and fro, the toes of her shoes scraping the rough wood of the platform.

You’ll be back, Rosa.

Why was it she could not stop reminding herself of Guido’s taunting prediction? She could just imagine her brother’s face when she arrived back in Crotte. That was the reason she’d told the marshal she wanted to go west to San Francisco. Even in Corio Rosa had heard of the large settlement of Italians in San Francisco. It was second only to the one in New York. She might be able to find work in the city and make her way without having to return to Italy at all.

The thought did little to cheer her. Rosa tried to imagine herself moving through the bustling streets of San Francisco, a city she could not even picture. She shuddered and recalled how happy she had been that Giovanni had chosen to leave the crowded, dingy city of New York behind and move west. She remembered the tall, dark buildings and narrow streets that massed together on the shore of the Atlantic. It was impossible to think of herself making her way in any American city; she was a country girl, a simple girl. A farmer’s daughter. In San Francisco she would be lost in the mass of humanity, a faceless specter moving through mobs of strangers.

If the marshal had had his way, she would be going back to Italy. She lied to him when he asked if she knew anyone in San Francisco, but there was no way she was going home before she had at least tried her luck here in America.

She brushed at a bothersome fly and thought about the desolate building Giovanni had rented. The secret of his dreams had died with him. She would never know why he had chosen this dusty little town for their home. Had he made any friends here? Perhaps the boisterous Mrs. Flossie had befriended him. Maybe he had envisioned fertile fields that stretched as far as the eye could see across the now barren land. Why here, Giovanni? What did you see in this place?