Rose (6 page)

Caleb crossed the room and took Analisa in his arms. She stared unmoving at her son as Caleb softly whispered, “Anja? Anja, it’s all right, love.”

Unable to meet their eyes, Kase had left the room. A few hours later without another word, without even a good-bye to his aunt or the half sister he adored, he left them. He had no plan other than to get through one day at a time. He crawled off alone like an injured wolf seeking its lair. He had no destination until he found himself accepting the job of marshal of Busted Heel.

Kase tried to put that terrible afternoon behind him as he looked at Zach Elliot. How could he explain what the truth had done to him? How could the old man know how he had felt when he learned he was the son of a murderer, a rapist? It was all too clear now why he had never been able to control his anger. He was certain he had inherited the blinding temper he fought so hard to keep on a tight rein, just as he was certain that he could never look his beautiful mother in the eye again without feeling all the shame she had been forced to endure because she chose to keep him.

Zach shifted uneasily on his chair. “That explains your aunt livin’ on the Sioux reservation,” he said half aloud.

“I grew up thinking my Aunt Meika had chosen the Sioux way of life. Now I find out she had been taken captive.” He shook his head.

“What happened to the other one, the brother?”

“Pieter? No one knows. Caleb tried to track him through the BIA. But he seems to have disappeared.”

“So after you found out about your mother, you just up and left home without a word?”

Unable to meet Zach’s gaze, Kase stared at a point across the room.

“You ain’t seen your ma?”

“Or my sister. Not since he told me the truth.”

Zach’s silence was accusation enough. Kase knew what his mother must be feeling, knew that his knowing would shame her further, but to keep from going insane, he had to heal his own wounds first.

The tension between the two men rode the hot air as close as the silence that surrounded them. Finally, to Kase’s relief, Zach abruptly changed the subject. “Who’s this Quentin Rawlins that hired you?”

“An old friend of Caleb’s who knew him when he worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs.” Kase swiveled his chair back and forth, taking his time as he gave Zach an account of how he came to be marshal of Busted Heel. “I ran into him in a hotel in Kansas City and he asked straightaway if I’d consider coming out here to keep the peace. Seems he’s worried about all the farmers moving in hereabouts, tends to think there’s trouble brewing between the ranchers and the sodbusters.”

“He might be right.”

“He might be,” Kase agreed, “but right now I’d say the biggest problem Quentin’s got is how to keep his hands from dying of boredom and tearing up this place when they do get into town.”

“Had some trouble already?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Kase finally smiled at Zach. “Just a few rowdies shooting up the town one night. Some poor little Italian fella was killed accidentally.”

Kase paused long enough to stretch his hands high above his head and then lower them. “So,” he began again in an effort to make up for his surly greeting, “you gonna stay around for a while, Zach? Or are you just here long enough to make sure I’m alive and then send a report back to Boston?”

“Well, I reckon I got no place to go for a while. ‘Sides, what marshal couldn’t use a deputy?”

“This one.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s nothing for me to do here, let alone a deputy, but you’re welcome to stay.”

“Where do ya bunk?”

Kase smiled again and waited for his old friend’s reaction. “Got a room at the local pleasure palace.”

“You such a good customer you, need to call the place home?” Zach squinted his good eye and peered at Kase.

“Naw. It isn’t like that, just not much else available in this one-horse town. The lady at the boardinghouse didn’t take to having a ‘breed’ living under her roof. I have to admit, it’s convenient living at Flossie’s, although the decorating isn’t exactly to my taste.” He rolled up a Wanted poster lying atop the desk and used it to swat at a fly hovering above the empty bean bowl.

“If ya got an empty cell here in the jail, that’s good enough for me for a spell.”

Kase laughed. “Sure. Welcome to it. Nobody’s been locked up in it for weeks.”

“In that case, I think I’ll go stretch out for a bit, ‘cause I’m as tired as a tomcat that’s been walkin’ in mud. I’ll jes’ see to my horse and bring in my gear ... Marshal.”

“Go right ahead. It’s about time I made the rounds anyway.” Kase pulled on the gold chain that dangled from the watch pocket in his denims. He flipped open the lid of the timepiece and noted the time before he snapped it shut. He stood and shoved the watch back into his pocket. “Train’s late. Must be on account of the big meeting in Cheyenne.”

“What for?”

“It seems a lot of folks are pushing for Wyoming to become a state.”

“Plan on things changin’ a mite?” Zach wanted to know.

“Here?” Kase laughed and moved toward the door. “Not very likely.” He nodded toward the solid plank door with a small barred window in the wall behind his desk. “Make yourself at home.”

Rosa ran a shaking hand over her hair to make certain most of it was still upswept and in place and reached down to collect her valise. The small
Guide for Italian Immigrants
she had purchased in Genoa slipped from her lap to the floor, and she quickly rescued it, opened the valise, and shoved the pamphlet inside.

BEWARE OF OVERLY FRIENDLY PEOPLE.

THROW AWAY ALL WEAPONS YOU MAY HAVE.

SPEAK IN A LOW VOICE.

DO NOT GET EXCITED IN YOUR DISCUSSIONS.

DO NOT YELL OR WAVE YOUR HANDS ABOUT.

DO NOT SPIT ON THE SIDEWALK.

BEWARE OF STRANGE MEN OFFERING PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

The list of admonitions in the
Guide
seemed endless. And silly. Still, Rosa had tried to memorize them all. She intended to make Giovanni proud of her. Had he changed very much over the past three years? Perhaps, she thought, he had become as outgoing and confident as the Americans she had seen on the streets of New York.

The train began to slow with a screech of brakes and a hiss of steam, and through the window beside her, Rosa watched the station at Busted Heel appear at last. A long platform fronted a tiny building near the railroad tracks. Beyond the depot, the town stood in profile against the empty landscape. A few ramshackle wooden buildings stood in two straight lines divided by a wide thoroughfare. As she stepped from the train onto the firm footing of the wooden platform, she took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the warm, dry air of Wyoming in summer.

There was no sign of Giovanni on the platform.

Disappointment assailed her, doubt that was soon followed by forgiveness as Rosa realized her husband had no way of knowing exactly when she would arrive. His only alternative to not meeting her would have been to greet every train that stopped in Busted Heel.

The conductor stepped down to ask for the brass tag needed to identify her trunk, which was stored in the baggage car. Rosa reached inside the deep pocket of her dress until she found it. Following the man’s directions, she moved out of the sun and stood alone beneath the overhang that fronted the small building perched on the platform.

A slight movement to the right caught her eye and she watched as the stationmaster opened the side door and stepped out of the building that served as both ticket and telegraph office. The look on his face was one of doubt, but his stride was purposeful as he moved toward her.

“Have you got the right stop, miss?’ His brows knit with worry as he peered over spectacles that rode precariously near the end of his nose.

“Come dice
?Pardon?”

Realization dawned, and he bent down until they stood nearly nose to nose. “Speakie English?” he yelled.

Rosa took a step backward and tried to enunciate as clearly as she could. “
Sì
. This is Busted Heel?”

“Yes.” He nodded officially. “Yes, it is.”

The conductor interrupted as he set her trunk down with a loud thud. Rose thanked him, then turned her attention back to the stationmaster and waited for the hissing, chugging train to depart before she spoke again.

“I come to meet my husband. Maybe you know him?” She smiled hopefully. “Giovanni Audi?”

The man’s open expression immediately fell, and he focused his attention on the ground. When he did raise his eyes, they failed to meet hers directly.

“Mrs. Audi, ma’am”—he cleared his throat—“I’m gonna send you along to see the town marshal, Kase Storm.” He pointed in the direction of the group of buildings just beyond the platform.

“You walk down the left side o’ Main Street till ya get to the jail and you’ll most likely find Marshal Storm inside. If not, jes’ wait there an’ he’ll be in shortly.”

“Jail?” She’d never heard the word before.

Confusion must have etched itself upon her features, for he held up a hand, a signal for her to wait. The man hurried back into his office and returned a moment later with a small piece of paper on which he’d written the word “jail.” Apologetically, he took Rosa by the elbow and turned her about before he walked her to the edge of the platform that faced the town. He pointed toward the wide street flanked by an assortment of false-fronted wooden buildings.

“You just stay on this side, he indicated the left, “until you come to the building with this word on it.” He tapped the paper.

“But my husband said...”

He smiled a kindly, sympathetic smile that sent a wave of apprehension through Rosa. “Just go on along now, little lady, and I’ll pull your trunk inside for you. No need to worry about that, too.”

Although she continued to clutch the valise before her in both hands, she had forgotten about her trunk until the man mentioned it.

Slowly, moving as if in a daze, she made her way toward the group of buildings squatting on the open plain.
This
was Busted Heel? This small, dirty outpost standing unprotected from the elements by so much as a single tree? Even the village of Corio was far grander than
this.
Where were the green fields she had expected to see? The rich farmlands? In lieu of those, where was the thriving settlement of her dreams?
Dio,
she thought as she stared at the two straight rows of forlorn-looking buildings, where was the church?

But above all,
where
was Giovanni?

The heels of her high-button shoes rang loudly against the boardwalk that rose above the dusty street. There was no one about, no sign of life other than a horse tied to a hitching rail farther along the way. A drop of perspiration trickled along her temple and started down her cheek before she swiped at it with her fingertips. The black velvet gown grew heavier with every step. The wide-brimmed hat, instead of affording some relief from the blazing sunshine, only added to her discomfort. She passed the first building, barely glancing at the various and sundry merchandise displayed in the windows.

The next shop was much smaller. The letters above the door spelled out “Laundry” in peeling white paint. A strange-sounding singsong language issued from inside the darkened interior. Curious, Rosa paused to listen for a moment before she hurried on.

“Barber, Baths and Dentistry.” The words spread out in bold red, white, and blue across the next storefront. A striped pole stood against one corner of the building. Not only was the door closed, but the shades inside were drawn tight, so Rosa moved past without stopping to stare. Her attention was soon focused on the last building on the west side of the street.

“Jail.” She compared the letters spelled out above the door with those on the paper in her hand. Hesitantly Rosa reached out and knocked.

When no one answered, she looked left and right. The street had been deserted since she arrived. The heat of the sun beat down on her mercilessly, and for a moment Rosa felt lightheaded. Suddenly she wished she had eaten before she had given away her foodstuffs. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the door frame, then tried the knob. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open.