CHAPTER

16

We pulled the worktable to the middle of the kitchen and drank our whisky out of tin coffee mugs. The gun lay on the table in front of me.

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“I stole it from Amalia’s store.”

Rosemond nodded. She refilled her mug, then mine, and drank. “Were you thinking of using it on me? Or yourself?”

I drank my whisky and stared at the mug, remembering choking on my first drink of whisky months ago. “I hadn’t decided.”

Rosemond laughed. “I do like your honesty. Why do you want to kill yourself?”

I held out my hand. “Can we not talk about me? I’m so tired of myself I could …”

“Kill yourself?”

I finished the whisky in my mug and held it out for Rosemond to refill. “Where’s Lyman?”

“What?”

“Lyman. The man who sold out Kindle and wanted to turn me in. Why didn’t he follow us?”

“Lyman wouldn’t want to get too far away from civilization. He likes the finer things. He’s probably waiting for Kindle to lead him to you.”

“What will he do now?”

Rosemond furrowed her eyebrows. “Now?” Her expression cleared. “That Kindle’s dead, you mean?” Rosemond shrugged.

“He told me you two had a history.”

“Did he?” Rosemond sloshed whisky onto the table with the next pour. “Oops.”

The silence between us was uneasy, neither of us sure where this conversation was going or how much of each other we wanted to reveal. My strength came from hating Rosemond, not what she was, but that she had meant something to my husband in the past, and maybe the not-too-distant past. I didn’t trust her in the least, but my options were thin and she seemed eager to pursue a friendship with me. What else explained the clothes, the medicine, and the idea for my nursing practice? What else explained that she hadn’t turned me in for the new one-thousand-dollar reward?

Rosemond isn’t a charitable woman.

I couldn’t let myself become complacent and forget Kindle’s words. She wasn’t trying to help me, she wanted something from me. Legitimacy, she claimed, but there was more to it. She would never tell me willingly, probably afraid I wouldn’t go along with whatever it was. I had to keep my guard up but manipulate her to let hers down.

Rosemond’s gaze kept settling on the gun in front of me. I turned it so the barrel pointed away from her. Her mouth quirked up into a half smile. “I wasn’t concerned.”

I chuckled. “How did you become a prostitute?”

She raised her eyebrows and waited to answer, holding my gaze while she did. “I spread my legs for the wrong man.”

“Lyman?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Kindle said—what were his words? ‘She has no respect for John Lyman.’ It’s not unreasonable to assume it’s a long-standing animosity.”

“You don’t go through what Lyman and I have and call it animosity.”

“What would you call it?”

She pursed her lips and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Mutual admiration, with a healthy dose of suspicion.”

“Admiration?”

“Lyman taught me a lot about myself, and other people. Specifically, how to manipulate them so I get what I want.”

“What a lovely characteristic to hone.”

“Don’t act as if you haven’t done the same thing to get where you are.”

I drank my whisky. She was right, to a point. I preferred to forge headfirst into conflict, but there were times when I took a more prudent approach to getting what I wanted. What had the last year been but a tactical approach to staying free? I’d lied, cheated, and killed to survive. I rolled my shoulders to banish the weight of familiarity that had settled there.

“Lyman was the man you spread your legs for?”

She finished her whisky and poured more. “He was a Union officer occupying Nashville. He took my virginity, probably took bets on how long it would take him to deflower me.”

“Surely you didn’t have to become a prostitute.”

She smiled, and I knew there was much more to the story. “Why did you want to be a doctor?”

“To prove everyone wrong.”

Rosemond’s mug stopped halfway to her mouth. “Truly?”

“I wanted to help people, too. But mostly I wanted to be better than the men.” I chuckled. “Maureen called me out on it in Galveston. Said I …” I stopped, refilled our mugs. “We’re not talking about me.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No, I’m trying to get me drunk.”

“Would you like the bottle of laudanum?” Rosemond smirked.

I shook my head. “Why do I feel like you’re leaving something out of your story?”

“Because I am. I know what you’re doing.” She pointed at me and squinted out of one eye. Her speech was noticeably slurred. Part of me wondered if this was an act. I’d drunk as much as she and was pleasantly numb around the edges but far from drunk. I’d assumed Rosemond would be an experienced drinker, enough so a few glasses of whisky wouldn’t affect her like this.

“What am I doing?”

“Besides trying to get me drunk, you’re pretending to care about me so I’ll tell you my secrets.”

“Sisters tell each other everything, don’t they?”

Rosemond’s head jerked back. “They do. Yes, they do. Do you have a sister?”

“If I had anyone at all I wouldn’t have left New York.”

“Of course. I had a sister. Cordelia. She was the favorite, naturally. Beautiful. Sweet. Innocent. Trusting. Everything I wasn’t.”

“You resented her.”

“No. I loved her. I would have done anything for her.” Rosemond poured more whisky. “And did.” She shook out the last drop into her cup. “Don’t worry. There’s more. Somewhere.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Rosemond shook her head. “Now I’ve started, I don’t want to stop.”

“What happened to your sister?” I asked.

“Nothing. Not a Goddamn thing. She’s married to a Tennessee politician and is having babies with alarming regularity.”

I waited while Rosemond laughed manically at her joke. When her laughter died down, her expression slowly faded to thoughtfulness. “I chose the winning side, but Cordelia won anyway.”

Rosemond drank her whisky in one swallow, rose unsteadily, and walked out of the kitchen. Curious, I picked up my gun and followed.

I found her in the studio, rummaging in her trunk. She straightened and held up a full bottle of bourbon. “It’s time for the good stuff. I’m surprised Dunk didn’t drink it.”

“Rosemond, you’ve had enough.”

“You’re taking this sister act too seriously,” she said.

“Am I?”

While Rosemond struggled with opening the new bottle, I returned to the kitchen and retrieved a bowl.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“When you get sick in the night.” I placed the bowl on the floor next to her cot.

Rosemond twirled around, bottle high in the air. “I don’t have a Goddamn sofa to sit on.” She stumbled over to the cot and landed heavily on it, sloshing bourbon on herself in the process.

I set the gun down on the worktable. “I’ll confess; I’m surprised you’re such an easy drunk.” I sat on the cot next to her and pried the bottle gently from her hand.

Rosemond shrugged and exhaled dramatically. “I gave up drinking whisky a couple of years ago.”

“You’re temperance?”

“God, no. Selling cheap whisky at exorbitant prices was almost as lucrative as whoring. Until I became the most expensive madam in Saint Louis.” She said the last with a healthy dose of derision. She smacked her lips. “I’m out of practice, drinking whisky. Wine isn’t the same. I see you’re one to be reckoned with.” She nodded to my empty tin mug. “Drink. There’s nothing worse than a lone drunk.”

I let her splash bourbon in my mug but didn’t drink it. “Why did you stop drinking?”

Rosemond leaned her elbows on her knees and stared off into the distance. “A lover.”

“What?”

“I stopped drinking because my lover didn’t like it.”

“A lover?”

She turned her head and glared at me. “I had lovers who didn’t pay.” She stared back into the middle distance. “Not many, but a few.”

My stomach clenched as I realized who she was talking about. Kindle had started as a client and morphed into more. “Kindle asked you to quit?”

Her glare was more brutal the second time. I defiantly held her gaze, and she exploded in laughter. “My God, you’re one of the most egotistical people I’ve ever known, including myself. Move.” She pushed against my shoulder. I stood and she lay down on her cot and closed her eyes. “Don’t forget your gun when you leave.”

I placed the bourbon on the table and picked up the Colt.

“If you decide to kill yourself, have the courtesy to do it outside so I won’t have to clean it up,” Rosemond said.

“And if I use it on you?”

Rosemond opened her eyes and grinned. “I’ll be beyond caring, now, won’t I? You won’t do it, though.”

“Why not?”

“You like me, though you don’t want to admit it. We’re alike, you and I. Survivors.”

I laughed. “What have you survived? You choose to be a whore.”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t kill me, and maybe one day I’ll tell you.”