Ruby (12 page)

Thoughts of Miss Torvald made Rand clench his teeth, the tension running out his hands, causing his horse to toss its head at the tightening of the reins. She was causing more trouble than she knew. “I hope she does get back on the train like Belle said. Save us all a pile of grief.” The buckskin twitched his ears and snorted as his rider added, “But she sure is a pretty little thing.”

He crested the final hill before home, his heart picking up as it always did when he saw his low cabin, sheltered by cottonwood trees along the creek. He’d known this little valley was home the first time he’d ridden over the hill. Elk had been grazing the flatland on grass just going to seed with the greens and golds mixed with nodding white daisies and a blue flower that looked like bits of sky had been trapped and were being held prisoner in the grass. Ducks had quacked on the river, and a crow had announced his arrival from the top of a cottonwood, sending the elk splashing through the shallows and up a steep bank on the other side.

Today Beans had red long johns, several sheets, and other clothes hanging on the line, a sure sign that winter was over. Rand had met Beans, who agreed to come cook for him, on his way west. The three hands he employed year around were two drifters and a cowboy who’d decided Texas was getting too crowded.

He watched a few minutes more, counting the calves that had started arriving in the last two weeks. His dream of buying a Hereford bull to cross with his longhorn cows from Texas had yet to materialize.

He leaned forward and patted his horse’s shoulder. He’d traded his blooded horse for the buckskin back in Kansas on the way west. Out here speed didn’t count as much as endurance.

Harrison, you got a good life here,
he told himself,
so stop thinkin’ about that heifer back at Dove House. I don’t reckon Miss Torvald is the one for the likes of you. Maybe Belle, then, now that Per was gone? Or one of the others?

“Must be spring when all men’s fancies turn to . . .” He snorted and nudged Buck forward. Beans had been heckling him lately to find himself a wife, but face it, there weren’t too many women out here on the frontier to choose from.

Even if you did head back east to find a wife, what woman in her right mind would be willing to come this far west, to the brink of civilization?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The front doorknob rattled and the door shook from the force of a slamming shoulder.

“We’re not open yet.” Daisy stopped scrubbing the woodwork stained a dull ocher by the cigar smoke and shook her head. “How many times. . . ?”

Ruby glanced over from measuring the windows for their new curtains that Cimarron was about to cut out of bleached muslin. “Be polite.”

Daisy shot her a disgruntled look.

“Sign said three days, and you been closed over a week.”

“Sam, we won’t have whiskey when we open, so go on down to Williams’.” Daisy dipped her rag in the soapy water and wrung it out. Scrubbing the woodwork without getting the flocked wallpaper wet took special care.

“No whiskey?”

“You heard me. We serve food now instead.”

As the man stomped off, Daisy looked over to Ruby and shook her head. She looked up at the wide white woodwork that emerged from the dingy yellow. “Looks good, don’t it?”

“Yes, it does. Better than I thought it would. Charlie said he would paint the floor tonight.”

“How you goin’ to keep them men from spittin’ on the nice new floor? They don’t take to change easy.”

“Who does?” came out on a sigh. “I ordered extra spittoons.”

“I scrubbed this floor three times afore I got all that up with a scrub brush. Near to wore it out.”

The grumbling tone grated on Ruby’s nerves, but she bit back a retort. Daisy had borne the brunt of the scrubbing in here since Cimarron spent all of her time sewing and Milly and Opal worked together on the bedrooms. Not all of the rooms would be open at first, but if she believed the girls, that wouldn’t be important, as no one would be staying.

Belle had been no help at all. More of a hindrance when she made her comments on the impossibility of success.

Keeping a civil tongue in her head took constant effort.

Daisy sighed and hefted her bucket of water. “Got to go change this. Don’t look like I’ll get any sewing done today.”

“Get yourself a cup of coffee.” Maybe that will help. As if anything would help.
Why, oh why, did I not get back on that train?
Ruby stared at her hands, now red, with one thumb cracking from the lye-soap water. Her skin felt rougher than the grit they’d used to scrub the floor. She rubbed the spot on her forehead that seemed to simmer constantly with headache warnings.
Far, how can I live up to my promise? I’m just too tired
.

“That’s too much money.” Belle stood, hands on her hips, glaring at Ruby.

“That’s what we’re charging for that room. It’s the best in the house. If you want to move to a smaller one, the price is seventy-five cents a night, breakfast included.” Ruby forced herself to stand toe-to-toe with Belle, wondering if at any moment the discussion might turn to fisticuffs or hair pulling.

“But that room’s been my home ever since we opened the doors at Dove House.”

“Save the tears for the men, Belle. I have a heart of stone.” At least she’d been working at toughening up her heart. Explaining to men in various stages of rage that Dove House would no longer have the same hospitality services as before either hardened one’s heart or broke it. And she was determined hers would not be broken. Not by hard work or whining women or thundering men.

Both Cimarron and Daisy bemoaned the demise of their soft hands due to all the scrubbing, water-hauling, and washing of curtains and braided rugs that had been inflicted upon them since the arrival of Ruby Torvald, despot and slave driver. But at least they worked, unlike the high-and-mighty Belle.

“Belle, my offer for you to run the cardroom still stands, and I am hoping we can offer some musical entertainment since we have the piano.”

Belle leaned forward, her cigarillo-tainted breath nearly knocking Ruby backward. “You won’t be open even two weeks unless you got money I don’t know about stashed somewhere. A lot of money. And how you going to pay me?”

“One third of the receipts from the cardroom, like I told you.”

“Half.”

“Either take it or leave it, Belle. I’m not going to haggle with you.”

“If I agree to run the cardroom at a third, can I keep my room?”

Ruby thought of the lack of customers desiring rooms of any kind, let alone the big room. Charlie had suggested she and Opal take that room, and she’d declined. But if she let Belle have privileges, that wouldn’t be fair to the others who had worked so hard. The urge to rub her forehead twitched her fingers.

“No, Belle, I’m sorry, but that room needs cleaning too. You can have a free room up in the attic like the rest of us.”

“You’re up in the attic too?”

“Yes. And we
all
”—she stressed the all—“have pallets on the floor for now.” Until we can make or buy some beds. Extra tables for the dining area had come in on the train just that day, but there was no money for beds. She thought of the funds in the envelope and the expenses so quickly slimming it down in spite of all her efforts at frugality. Dove House ate money like the stove did wood.

“I think not.”

“That’s your choice, but you must have your things out of the room today.”

Belle threw four dollars down on the counter. “There. That gives me four nights. You got at least one customer.” She glanced at Ruby. “And if I pay for my room, I get half the winnings?”

Ruby shook her head again. This was too much. Carefully folding and putting Belle’s rent in her pocket, she said, “Thank you. Breakfast is from six to eight.”

“I don’t get up that early, and you know it.”

“There will always be coffee and bread or rolls for those who would rather sleep later.”
Please, Lord, get her out of my hair before I tear it out
.

“Humph.” Nose in the air, Belle marched up the stairs, her heels tapping out her displeasure.

Ruby stared down at the dirty apron that covered a skirt badly in need of a brushing. Her waist needed washing, and more than anything, she needed a bath. In a tub—with hot water. But there was no way she was going to lug all those buckets of hot water up two flights of stairs to the attic.

Thinking of a way to remedy that situation, she went in search of Milly. Together the two of them dragged the tin hip bath into the pantry. Carrying the buckets ten feet was a relief compared to lugging it up all the stairs to the attic.

“Why don’t you go tell Cimarron and Daisy that, if they’d like to use the bath water, they are welcome to do so. I’ve heated enough water from the rain barrels for all of us to wash our hair and to bathe.”

Milly took a step back. “You don’t mean for me to get in that water, do you? Catch a chest cold is what you do if you take a bath before summer. ’Sides, that’s what the bowls and pitchers are for.”

Arguing took more energy than Ruby could dig up.

“Do you know where Opal is?”

“Last I saw her she was about done scrubbing the porch. She might be helping Charlie.”

“Tell her she can have a bath too.”

Ruby climbed the back two sets of narrow stairs to the attic to fetch clean undergarments. While she had a new skirt cut out, she’d not had time to sew it yet.

Daisy and Cimarron were sitting in the light from the window and stitching new aprons. They had finished their new navy-blue skirts, a white shirtwaist for each, and two aprons that pretty much covered their clothes. The cost of their fabric had been part of the drain on the money.

“You want I should start on your skirt?” Cimarron, much quicker with the needle than Daisy, asked. “I’m nearly done with these.”

“That would be good of you.” Ruby leaned over the trunk in the small space she shared with Opal and retrieved her undergarments. “We’ve moved the hip bath into the pantry, and right now I’m going to take a bath. You are welcome to do the same if you like.”

“Ah, a real soak in the tub?” Cimarron waved her hands above her head. “In the pantry—what a perfect idea.”

“How close to done are you on the table linens?” Ruby asked the two girls.

“If we all work on them, we should be able to finish hemming the tablecloths tonight. The napkins . . .” Cimarron shrugged. “You know, Opal is real handy with a needle too.”

“Opal is real handy with a lot of things. She fixed my window when it was stuck.” Daisy looked up from her stitching, and immediately the wrinkles left her brow. “She’s smart, that one, and not afraid of hard work.”

Ruby felt as though she’d just been handed a gift, all opened and ready to enjoy. “I’ll tell her you said so.” Treading quickly back down the stairs, she couldn’t wait to talk with her younger sister.

“Ruby, guess what?” Opal met her on the bottom stair.

“What?”

“Charlie found us a cat, only half grown but real pretty.” She grabbed Ruby’s hand and pulled her along. “Come see. We have her in a box. Charlie said female cats make the best mousers. He said her mother is a real good hunter.” Her words tripped over each other in her rush to get them all out. She knelt by a wooden box with the lid held down by a rock. “She’s so scared, being hauled around like this.”

“Where did he find her?”

Opal looked up, questions marking her eyes. “I don’t know. I forgot to ask. You think she will like it here?”

“She will if you get her a saucer of milk and some of that venison roast left from last night.”

“Good. I will.” She motioned Ruby to kneel down beside her. “I’ll lift the lid, and you peek quick before she jumps out.”

Ruby did as ordered and peeked in the box. A fluffy gray cat with a white spot on her head that took in part of one ear hissed back at her. Crouching in the corner, the cat glared back out of slitted green eyes.

“Oh, Opal, she
is
really pretty.”

“See, I told you. Now we got to tame her. Wish we had a cage or something so she wouldn’t run off.”

“We could keep her in the pantry, soon as we get done with our baths.”

“I don’t want no bath.”

“Any.”

“Any bath.”

“I know you don’t, but sometimes we . . .”

“ . . . have to do things we don’t like.”

Ruby cocked an eyebrow and stared at her sister. “I’ve said the same thing too many times, I take it. You even sound like me.”

Opal scuffed the floor with the toe of her shoe. “Sorry.”

“Bath after Cimarron.”

Opal heaved a sigh, the kind of sigh that said she was only doing this terrible duty out of love for her sister. “All right.”

Ruby tugged gently on one of Opal’s braids. “And we’ll wash your hair too.” Chuckling at the woebegone look on her sister’s face, Ruby headed for the pantry and the bliss of a bath.

That evening, with Charlie baking a cake to serve for dinner the next day, they all gathered in the dining room to spread the tablecloths on the tables and set them for the morning. Opal laid the last knife and fork in place and stepped back to see that all was straight. Ruby had given strict instructions on how the tables were to be set, how those who came to eat should be served, and who was in charge of what.

Daisy pulled at the high neck of the waist she now wore. “Can’t hardly breathe, this is so tight.”

“Won’t nobody come without booze behind that bar.” Cimarron shook her head. “While I sure do hope this works, I don’t have me a good feeling about it a’tall.” She nodded toward the pounding that had started on the front door. “I’ll get it.” She crossed to the door and yelled back. “We’re closed until six in the morning when we open for breakfast.”

“Breakfast! I want a drink, and I want it now.”

“Sorry, we will no longer be serving liquor. The cardroom will open at three.”

“Cimarron, that you?”

“Yes, Johnny, it’s me.”

“I heard there ain’t anymore . . . you know.”

“You heard right.”

“Well, whatever’s a man to do?”

“See you at breakfast from six to eight.”

They all listened as he stomped off, the words he threw over his shoulder none too complimentary, nor were they fit for young ears. Or any woman’s ears, for that matter.

“Told you so,” Belle called down from halfway up the stairs, where she’d been sitting and watching the goings on.

“Have you decided to run the cardroom yet?” Ruby asked.

“For now. But I ain’t sleeping up in the attic.”

“Suit yourself. You know the rate for the room.” Ruby glanced around one more time. Hard to believe this had really been a saloon. It cleaned up mighty fine, just like the girls did. White cotton curtains were looped off the long windows with red tiebacks to match the red papered walls. The floor took two coats of blue-gray paint that set off the dark chairs amid the white-clothed tables. All the woodwork shone from scrubbing and a fresh coat of beeswax. The former bar now gleamed like the rest of the woodwork, ready for its new life as a desk for checking guests into the hotel. A shiny bell sat next to the box for cigars. Thinking the carved and inlaid box might be the buksbom her father had referred to, Ruby had cleaned and polished it herself, finding nothing but cigar dust and disappointment. She knew both Cimarron and Daisy had applied a little kohl, some rouge, and some powder to their faces, but she decided to let it go for now. Their suffering in the new garments was bad enough to hear about without having them grouse about looking like ghosts.

They were all set for their new customers. Now if only some would show up.

That night, after the lights were all out and her stomach was knotted like the ball of yarn the cat had found to play with, Ruby realized how long it had been since she’d read in her Bible, how long since she’d really prayed.
Lord, how easy it is to fall away, please forgive . . .
Sleep claimed her.

6:00 A.M. No one.

6:30 A.M. No one.

7:00 A.M. Ruby went outside to make sure the open sign was still in place. Two of them, in fact. One nailed to the right front post read:

Breakfast 6–8, 35 cents.

Dinner 11–2, 75 cents.

Supper 5–7, 50 cents.

Cardroom 3 P.M.–1 A.M.

She had changed the cardroom hours from 10:00 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. at Belle’s insistence. Was she charging too much? Wrong hours? She returned to the kitchen to join the others in eating their own breakfasts.