CHAPTER

3

I stood at the top of the stairs and surveyed the Grand Island Hotel, remembering almost a year earlier when I’d stood at the top of similar stairs and caught sight of Kindle in full dress uniform, handsome and dashing. The admiration in Kindle’s eyes when he took in my blue silk gown.

You look ravishing.

I shook my head to clear the memory. I patted my hair and looked down at my current dress, which hung on me like a forgotten coat on a hall tree. No one would call me ravishing now. Rosemond would be put together exquisitely, like high-priced whores are wont to do, and I would look the dependent relative I pretended to be. I straightened my shoulders, trying to stop my body from trembling from opiate withdrawals. I pressed my hand into my stomach against the nausea. After my bath I tried to eat one of the sandwiches Rosemond had purchased, but my stomach rebelled and I vomited it up. It would take enormous willpower to not do the same at the dinner table. The paper stuffed inside my sleeve crinkled. I pushed it farther up my arm and held the edge of the sleeve closed in my palm. The last thing I needed was for Rosemond to find my letter.

Cora walked through the hotel front door and looked around. I waved and caught her eye, and motioned for her to come up the stairs. I went back down the hall, out of sight of the entryway, and waited.

Cora’s shoulders and hat were wet from rain, and she smelled of mildew. “Laura?” She untied the ribbon holding her bonnet on and removed it, splattering water onto the floor.

I peeked down into the entryway. “Did you see Rosemond in the dining room?”

“I didn’t look.” She smoothed her red wiry hair, without success in taming it.

I pulled the letter from my sleeve and held it out to Cora. “Will you mail this for me?”

Cora’s brows furrowed. “Why not ask your sister?” Her emphasis on the last word made me know she wasn’t buying our story for a second. Still, I continued with the lie.

“It’s to my husband’s family. Rosemond would refuse.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter? Just know she won’t do it for me. She likes having me completely under her thumb. Please?” I hated her a little for making me beg.

Cora reluctantly took the letter and put it in her bag.

“Thank you.” I glanced down the stairs and saw Rosemond come around the corner. I leaned into Cora. “Hold me up.”

Rosemond’s expression was one of concern. She called up to us. “Laura, are you all right?”

Pretending to be feeble wasn’t difficult. “Just weak is all. Cora saw me and came to help.”

“She’s always there when you need her,” Rosemond said. Cora tensed. I squeezed her arm in warning.

At the bottom of the stairs Rosemond took my other arm. I pulled away from both her and Cora. “Thank you, but I will walk on my own power.”

Rosemond shrugged, and let her gaze travel to Cora. “Whatever do you have in that carpetbag?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why didn’t you leave it in your room?”

Cora’s face reddened. “I like to keep it with me.”

“Indeed.” Rosemond took in Cora’s sodden appearance like a wolf sizing up its next meal. “Martha found you. Invited you to dinner with us?”

“Yes, thank you for the invitation. It was … unexpected.”

“It’s the least I could do after you came to my sister’s aid. I hope you’re hungry. I’ve ordered us a feast. There is no way we will be able to finish it all. Come.” Rosemond slipped her arm into Cora’s and led her into the dining room, leaving me to make good on walking on my own. I did an admirable job of it, though my eyes darted around the front desk and the office behind, wondering where Martha would have put the bottle of laudanum.

The dining room was half full, with the majority of the hotel’s guests in the saloon across the lobby. Lively piano music and men’s laughter floated through the hotel, though it did little to give the staid dining room an air of celebration. I stopped dead at the sight of the man from the brothel sitting alone at the back table, smoking a cigar, his chair tilted up on its hind legs. A thin tendril of smoke curved into the air in front of the man’s unblinking eyes.

“Laura?”

Rosemond touched my arm, her questioning moving from the stranger to me. I shook my head slightly and turned away from his unwavering gaze only to meet Cora’s comprehending one.

Rosemond sat Cora across the table from her, forcing me to sit between the two, though thankfully with my back to the stranger. Rosemond had said I mentioned Kindle’s name to Cora. Did I say it to that man as well? I rubbed my sweaty palms on my skirt and tried to put the man out of my mind.

“Wine?” Rosemond lifted the bottle in the middle of the table and tried to pour a glass for Cora. The redheaded woman placed her hand over the top. “I don’t drink.”

“In general, or wine in particular?”

“I do not partake of alcohol.”

“More for us.”

I nodded. Cheap wine gave me headaches and I was fairly confident whatever wine was to be found in Grand Island, Nebraska, would qualify as cheap. But I couldn’t be discerning. Cut-rate or not, wine might help ease my shakes. I reached out to grasp the glass but paused. I squeezed my hand into a fist, inhaled, and concentrated. I picked up the glass and brought it to my mouth, ashamed at the quiver in my hand. I gulped the wine, determined that it was indeed some of the worst wine I’d ever tasted, and set the goblet on the table. I looked up and realized Cora and Rosemond had been watching me. One with an expression of concern, one with amusement.

“So, Cora.” Rosemond lifted her glass like a queen gesturing to her ladies-in-waiting and said, “Tell us your life story.” Rosemond drank the wine without grimacing and placed the glass on the table.

“Oh, it’s not interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure it’s scintillating.”

Cora narrowed her eyes. Rosemond looked as if she was struggling not to laugh. Cora clasped her hands together and rested them on the edge of the table. “I grew up in Maine with an alcoholic father and consumptive mother.” Cora’s eyes flicked to me and away. “When she died the care of the children and my father fell to me, being the oldest. When they grew up, I took care of my father. He died recently, leaving me nothing more than the clothes on my back, the furnishings of the house to sell for what I could, most of which went to pay his tab at the saloons in town, and this ugly carpetbag.”

“Well, that explains your aversion to alcohol and your attachment to the bag.” Rosemond drank deeply from her wineglass. “And how did you come to be on a train to California?”

“I answered an ad in the paper.”

“For?”

The muscles in Cora’s jaw pulsed. “A teacher.”

“Of course. In Grand Island?”

She lifted her chin. “No, Denver.”

“And my sister made you miss the train?”

“Not at all.”

“But I thought …”

“I decided to get off at Grand Island. I’ve been on a train for a thousand miles. I wanted a day or two on solid land.”

“And Grand Island was such a better choice than Omaha.” Cora reddened, realizing too late her lie was thin. To Rosemond’s credit, she moved on quickly. “Do you have a room in the hotel?”

Cora paused. “No, not yet. I’ve been walking around the town.”

Rosemond pursed her lips and nodded as if this were one of the most reasonable answers she’d ever heard. “Strolling in the rain is refreshing.” Martha Mason came to the table carrying three plates loaded with food.

“Martha dear, this looks wonderful,” Rosemond said.

It did, and it smelled wonderful as well. A chunk of pork roast doused with a brown gravy, lima beans in a thick white roux, collard greens, and a large slab of corn bread covered the plate completely. My mouth watered as my shaking hands picked up the utensils. Rosemond and I were digging into our food when we realized Cora had dropped her head in prayer. I glanced at Rosemond and for once our thoughts were in harmony. Neither of us had much use for God. He hadn’t done anything to help me this past year; I doubted he cared enough to grace what I was about to eat.

The dinner was an obstacle course. The beans fell off my trembling fork and my hands were too weak to cut the roast, which was tougher than it looked. The greens were long and unwieldy and dripping with grease. I settled for picking a corner off my corn bread. It was greasy and gummy but delicious all the same. A few moments after I swallowed, my stomach cramped from the shock.

“I have a friend,” Rosemond said, picking up the previous thread of conversation, “who answered an ad in Colorado for a schoolteacher.”

“Do you?”

“She was married within three months.”

“And is she happy?” Cora asked.

“From what I gather from the one letter she sent, he isn’t completely reprehensible. She had her pick, you see, being the only single woman in a new town. She wasn’t very pragmatic. She chose the poor, principled man instead of waiting for a rich one.”

“She married for love.”

Rosemond laughed. “I doubt it. You seem like a pragmatic woman.”

Cora’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “With a face like mine, I’ve had to be.”

“Do not say that,” I said.

Cora furrowed her brows. “Why? It’s the truth.”

“Your only armor against other people’s insults is a belief in yourself. Agreeing with them gives away your power,” I said.

“What power?” Cora laughed. “I am alone in the world, nearly destitute, and a woman.”

“It didn’t stop me fr—” Rosemond kicked me under the table.

“Cora,” Rosemond said, “are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine. A sip? To celebrate. It’s quite good.”

Cora’s gaze traveled between the two of us. I picked a bit of corn bread and ate it, chastising myself for almost giving away my identity. “What are we celebrating?”

“Making new friends.” Rosemond raised the wine bottle in question. Cora nodded and Rosemond splashed wine into the goblet.

Cora drank and her face twisted in disgust. “That’s good wine?”

“It’s not the worst I’ve ever had.” Rosemond laughed.

Cora tilted the glass back and held it out to Rosemond, who filled it up. Cora drank again, licked her lips, and placed the glass on the table. “Laura, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Not that I recall. I’ve never been to Maine,” I said.

We all knew Cora Bayle had a memorable face. The only way she would have known me, however, was from the Wanted poster that had been dogging my feet since February last.

Cora speared a few beans on her fork and took a dainty bite. “I suppose you have one of those faces.”

“Laura would have thousands of friends if she knew everyone who said she looked familiar,” Rosemond said.

Cora studied me. “No, I’m certain I’ve seen your face before. I’m sure it will come to me. I’ve always been good with faces.”

Disappointment clouded Rosemond’s expression. With something like resignation, she motioned to Martha, who disappeared into the kitchen. Rosemond refilled her own wineglass. “I suspect you either have the money for a room or train fare, but not both.”

“Why would you think that?” Cora asked.

“You said you were practically destitute. Obviously, you’ll save it for train fare. You can’t stay here with everyone knowing your potential husband rejected you.” Rosemond cut her roast, placed a few pieces on my plate, speared my uncut portion, and put it on her plate.

Cora placed her fork and knife on the table. “How did you—” Cora’s breath caught. She wore her mortification like a second skin.

Rosemond cut my meat up and returned it to my plate. “He was talking about it in the shebang, I’m sorry to tell you. Bullock was his name, I think. It was reprehensible, and I told him as much. What kind of man promises a woman a home and marriage and reneges on the deal?”

Cora gripped the edge of the table and breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure.

Rosemond smiled at me and nodded toward the food on my plate. She treated me like an invalid, and who could blame her? I’d been acting like one. Trembling and shaking like an addict. Unsure of what she wanted of me. Destitute. Completely under her thumb.

“I understand how terrifying it is to be alone, with nothing but your own wits and body to survive,” Rosemond said.

“My body?”

“When everything else is gone, it’s the one thing of value women have. Even you would make a fair living. You wouldn’t starve, at least. I don’t want it to come to that. For you. I’ll be happy to pay for your room tonight, as well as give you extra money for your journey. We don’t have much. Most of our belongings are still on the train, but we can spare five dollars.”

I watched Cora throughout Rosemond’s speech, noting the flush crawling up her neck until it covered her face and reached her ears.

“Why?” Her voice was tight.

“I hope I never ignore another woman in need. We have so few advantages, as it is. Helping each other when we can seems the least we can do.”

Cora narrowed her eyes at Rosemond, as if trying to judge her sincerity. Her gaze traveled to me and her face softened before she averted her eyes.

“I appreciate your offer, but five dollars will do little to help.”

Rosemond’s jaw muscle pulsed and her eyes turned flinty, but her voice retained its compassion. “I do wish we could help more, but we will have to buy new tickets, pay for dinner, the room. Your room.”

Cora reached down into her carpetbag, pulled out a piece of folded paper, and placed it in the center of the table. For a moment, I thought it was the letter I gave her, until Rosemond snatched the paper, folded it over again, and put it in her lap.

“The Wanted poster?” I asked Rosemond, who nodded once but didn’t take her eyes from Cora.

“Calling the man ‘Kindle’ helped, as well as using the name Laura. You look nothing like that photo now,” Cora said, her voice soft.

I stared at my plate, jaw clenched. I didn’t want to be reminded by this woman what I’d lost.

“You want five hundred dollars,” Rosemond said, voice flat.

Eyes downcast, Cora shook her head. “They’ve updated it.”

Still keeping her gaze glued to Cora, Rosemond unfolded the paper. My head turned back and forth, watching them. Cora, mortified that she’d been reduced to extortion, and Rosemond livid and defiant at being bested by a pathetic, lonely woman. After an extended glare, Rosemond dropped her eyes to the poster. One eyebrow crooked up and she handed it to me.

I covered my mouth. “A thousand dollars, dead or alive?” I inhaled a long, shuddering breath. Before there’d been the remote chance I would be able to mount a defense in a court of law. The necessity of bringing me in alive no doubt reduced the number of bounty hunters willing to chase me; why bother with the long trip back East for five hundred dollars? A dead body for one thousand dollars would bring every trigger-happy desperado and destitute farmer out of the woodwork, searching for Dr. Catherine Bennett, the Murderess. Or a rejected spinster with no options or future.

I jumped at the sound of a loud thump behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the stranger rise from his table. He walked past our table, touching his hat to us, and out of the dining room and into the saloon.

I took a shuddering breath and let my gaze travel from the stranger to Cora to Rosemond, one threat to another. This was what my future held, being constantly under danger of exposure, arrest, or manipulation by everyone I met, and now death. The only person I could trust completely was in the brig in Saint Louis. Even if he was alive, he would be no help to me now.

“I want your necklace,” Cora said to Rosemond.

The last indignity. I swept my plate off the table. It shattered on the floor. Everyone in the dining room stopped eating and stared at me. Cora and Rosemond didn’t take their eyes from each other. The game was between them. I was merely a pawn.

Martha Mason came running from the kitchen. “Well, I’ll declare! Look at the mess you’ve made.”

“Please bring me another plate, Martha,” I said, glaring at Rosemond.

“It’ll cost extra.”

“My sister will pay.”

Rosemond wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and said, “Sorry for the mess, Martha. It was an accident. Bring my sister another plate.”

Martha left, grumbling as a young boy came through the door, holding what looked like a letter.

“’Ere a Cora Bayle here?”

Cora’s head jerked toward the boy. She raised her hand slightly. “Here.”

The boy walked to Cora and held out his empty hand. Cora hesitated. Rosemond came to her rescue. “Here,” she said, pulling a coin from her reticule. The boy took the coin and bit it. Satisfied, he handed the note to Rosemond and left. With an arched eyebrow, Rosemond held it up between her thumb and forefinger, taunting Cora, whose present coloring reminded me of the bright red dirt of Palo Duro Canyon.

“Please hand me my note.”

“Technically it is mine, since I paid for it.”

Cora inhaled and exhaled slowly, gathering herself.

Rosemond pursed her lips. “Who could possibly know, or care, you’re here? Hmm.” She studied the handwriting on the outside of the note. “Looks masculine.” She looked over the top of the note at Cora. “And uneducated. This must be from your former future husband, Mr. Bullock. Has he had a change of heart? Is your future secure?”

“Give me the letter.”

“You can do much better, Cora. Even with that face.”

I snatched the note from Rosemond and held it out to Cora. When Cora grabbed the note I didn’t let go. I made her meet my eyes.

“Are you going to turn me in or kill me?”

“Kill you?” Cora had the grace to seem scandalized at the idea. Most like she was. She hadn’t lived in the West long enough to be hardened by the struggle to survive. Martha Mason watched us from the edge of the room.

“Most of the people who have threatened me in the last year are dead.” I let the note go and Cora fell back, her eyes full of fear. She pushed away from the table, picked up her carpetbag, and left.

Martha set my new plate in front of me. I picked up my utensils and, with steady hands, cut a chunk of roast and lifted the fork to my mouth. I continued to eat, letting the food nourish me, the strength seep back into my bones. I drank deeply and was halfway finished with my meal before I glanced at Rosemond. She was sitting back in her chair, holding her wineglass near her head, an expression of deep admiration on her face.

She lifted her glass in toast and said, “There she is.”