Guests come and go and Ruby’s bank account swells. She has to pinch herself, the numbers are so good. The Miracle is certainly living up to its name.
A Mrs. R. Conklin and her daughter arrive on the Tuesday coach. Also on the shuttle from Tucson is a couple from Delaware and a single man, who has trouble descending from the wagon. Charley Paulson helps the man down the last step and unloads luggage.
“In the parlor, Charley,” Ruby says.
Paulson grimaces.
Ruby takes the freighter aside. “New prices, new services,” she says. “I’m not getting any younger and don’t have the help I used to.” She coughs into a hanky. It’s red.
Paulson hefts trunks and suitcases inside the front door of the inn. It takes him four trips up and down the wide front steps of The Miracle. “That’ll be four dollars extra, ma’am.”
“On top of the passengers’ fees?”
“New services, new prices.”
Ruby flicks her thumb at him.
“Come in,” she motions to her guests as she ushers them into the parlor. No one sits.
“Have a seat, Mr.…?”
“Redoubt. Chalmers Redoubt.”
“I’ll be back for you shortly, Mr. Redoubt.” Ruby walks Mrs. Conklin and her daughter and the Delaware couple to their upstairs rooms. “Freshen up and I’ll have those bags up to you in no time.” Ruby stops on the stairway and catches her breath. She hurries to the parlor where Redoubt waits, reclined now on the sofa.
“Mr. Redoubt, here, let me.” Ruby takes the man’s satchel and leads him to Room #3, now called “The Conquistador.”
“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asks.
“A good lie down is in order.”
“Make yourself at home. Water is on the bedstead and extra pillows in the armoire. Dinner’s at noon. If you sleep through, I’ll save you a plate.” Ruby fluffs up two large pillows on the bed and motions to the chamber pot beneath the bed. She doesn’t mention golf or tennis or horses. One look at him, and anyone can see he is not long for this world; consumption has rendered him nearly weightless as a feather. “After a spell, come sit on the patio,” Ruby says. “No one in Jericho has a view like ours.”
“I’ll avail myself of the bed for now, Mrs. Fortune. The journey was quite taxing. It’s a long way from Cincinnati. And no one warned me about the dust.” He shakes a mantle of filth from his clothing onto the newly swept carpet and coughs into a stained hanky.
“It is a desert, after all,” Ruby says. “Give yourself a day or two. The sunshine, the warmth, the views, that’s what people remember.”
“And your pie, according to the brochures.”
“Yes, my pie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, is there anything else until dinnertime?”
“Can you help me off with my jacket?”
Ruby peels the jacket from Redoubt’s narrow shoulders. He winces. Ruby drapes the garment on the back of the chair and pulls back the coverlet on the bed. “Have a good rest, Mr. Redoubt. Until I see you again.”
Ruby checks her watch. It’s nearly ten-thirty. She closes the guest room door behind her and bangs into the kitchen. She pins her hair up and grabs her apron. Her hands fly as she readies lamb roast, salted boiled potatoes, radish salad, and asparagus. She sets the table, pours water, and gets coffee to boil. Two pies cool on the kitchen table. She rests for ten minutes with a glass of cool tea. A few minutes to noon, she knocks on all the guest doors. “Dinner’s almost on.”
Mrs. Conklin and her daughter arrive first, taking places at the far end of the table. The Delaware couple arrives next and sits at the far side of the long table. Mr. Redoubt does not show.
“Haven’t had such an intimate group in ever so long,” Ruby says. She serves the meal family style and leaves the guests to eat. “No need to clear your places.”
The Conklins retire to their room after the noon meal and the other couple takes to the patio, where the woman fans herself incessantly and her husband sinks his nose deep into a book, his spectacles nearly touching the pages.
Ruby heaps leftovers onto a plate for Mr. Redoubt and finishes washing up. She peeks her head out the kitchen door but doesn’t get the guests’ attention. Ruby walks out to the patio and clears her throat. The man raises his head from his book. His wife has now dropped off to sleep.
“I won’t be long,” Ruby says. “I’ll be to town and back within an hour. Help yourself to tea on the kitchen sideboard. You’ll find extra slices of pie there, as well.”
The Conklins and the Delawareans come to supper and sit in the exact spots they chose for dinner. Still the guests do not speak to one another. Again, no Mr. Redoubt. After supper, Ruby knocks on Redoubt’s door, a plate of cold food in her hand.
There is no reply.
Ruby puts the plate of food down and tries the door. It is unlatched. “Mr. Redoubt?” she whispers, as she nudges the door open.
The body in the bed is as still as the night. Ruby advances slowly, watching for the rise and fall of the coverlet. “Mr. Redoubt,” she says again, this time louder. Mr. Redoubt doesn’t answer, and never will again, no matter how loud Ruby calls for him.
Even before she reaches the edge of the bed, Ruby knows Chalmers Redoubt is dead. She drags the bedside chair close to the man and sits. For ten minutes, she stays by his side. It’s the least you can do for a body, sit by while his spirit leaves the room for the netherworld. When the curtain flutters, Ruby rises from the chair and covers the slight man with a sheet. She places her hands on his head and offers as much of a prayer as she remembers, not that it will do him any good. But it won’t do him harm, that’s what Ruby tells herself. It won’t do him any harm.
“SHELDON?” RUBY KNOCKS on Sheldon’s door behind the jail.
A minute later, Sheldon opens the door, half dressed. Ruby sees his mussed bed inside.
“Ruby? What is it?”
“I haven’t come for …”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you …”
“I know, Sheldon. And I’m glad for both of you. I’m sorry for the interruption but I need you for a different matter. Please come over quick. And bring Doc with you.”
Doc Swendsen and Sheldon remove the body at midnight. Ruby doesn’t want to upset her guests or her sons. She rummages through Redoubt’s satchel and finds no identification, as if he knew he wanted to die, and came here to do it. And he didn’t even have her pie before he left the world behind.
“What will you do with him?” Ruby asks. She holds the door for the men. They pass through and load the shrouded corpse into Swendsen’s cart.
“Anatomy,” Swendsen says. “The fate of anyone who isn’t claimed before a charity burial.”
“Please don’t tell Dog about this,” Ruby says. “I won’t have another customer.”
“Our secret,” Doc says. “The undertaker and I have an understanding on this; he won’t tell a soul. I pay his tab at The Axe and Pail.”
Swendsen covers Redoubt’s corpse with burlap sackcloth. “What did you say his name was, Ruby? I put it in my register under initials only. To help me remember.”
“I’ve had more people register with aliases than moths to flame. You just don’t know who to trust. He gave his name as Redoubt. Chalmers Redoubt.”
“Like a fortress?” Sheldon asks.
Ruby shrugs her shoulders. She doubts the man’s name was Redoubt. Or Chalmers. But who knows? Ruby took enough guff from Willie when she chose the name Fletcher for her third-born son. “Clayton is a strong name,” he had said, “but Fletcher? Sounds like a sodomite.” Willie had pranced around the tent like a fairy. “Why not John? Or Robert? Give a boy a real name.”
“The name Fletcher means arrow-maker. That a boy-name enough for you?” Ruby put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin out. “I birth a child, I name him. You go on, try to birth a child of your own, Willie Fortune. You can name him whatever you goddamn please.” And so Fletcher it was.
Doc wipes his hands on his long coat and shakes Sheldon’s hand. “I should know a sight more about tuberculosis by tomorrow, thanks to Mr. Redoubt, or whatever his name is. I’d wager his lungs are shriveled to the size of a pea.” Swendsen looks at Ruby. “At the end, that is, not until …”
Ruby shoots Swendsen a dirty look. This fact she does not want to know. “And where do you fit into this, Sheldon?” Ruby asks. “Being the sheriff and all.”
Sheldon lights a cigarette and leans against the wagon, his long leg crossed. He tilts his head up and exhales, that face she knows so well outlined against the dark night sky. “What body?”