Denver
Mid-June 1876
Callie hesitated before knocking on the door of Tilly's office. Why on earth did the Chinese woman and her husband want to talk to her? Were they hoping she would come to be their cook? Lily had said they were fabulously wealthy. "S&L Shipping is one of the big ones. He's the man who started it, and he's still running it. Celeste says they've known her since the early days, back in Idaho."
Idaho? Tilly had come from Idaho? What if-- No, it was simply a coincidence. Besides, Tilly had been in Denver for at least four years before she came here. There was no connection.
"Come."
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Close the door," Silas Dewitt said. His was a commanding presence, silver-eyed, square-jawed, and wide shouldered. His voice was strong, probably made so by years of shouting commands.
His wife, the Chinese woman, sat at the corner of the desk, at his right hand. Callie cast her a quick glance, before looking back at Mr. Dewitt. "You wanted me?"
He nodded but said nothing.
"I have three questions for you," Mrs. Dewitt said. "I advise you to answer truthfully, because I am a very wise woman and I will know if you lie to me."
I'll lie if it will protect Gwennie. "Yes, ma'am."
"Is Evans your true name?"
She wanted to say yes. "No."
"Did you come here from Cheyenne?"
With a clear conscience, she said, "We changed trains there, but no, that's not where I came from."
"Ahh." More of a sound than a spoken word. "But you have been in Cheyenne--no, it was not a question. Do not answer."
The Chinese woman stared at her with eyes black as night. She was tiny, a full head shorter than Callie, and beautiful, even though she was no longer young. A faint white line crossed her cheek. She had been badly cut at some time long ago.
The silence lengthened, and Callie was tempted to shift her feet, wring her hands. Anything to break the tension.
Finally Mrs. Dewitt spoke. "Did your child's father come from Idaho?"
Her vision darkened. The room spun around her. And she felt herself falling down a deep, deep hole. Spinning. Whirling, sinking....
She awoke to find herself lying on the velvet settee. Mrs. Dewitt sat beside her, watching. She couldn't see Mr. Dewitt.
"I have one more question."
"Go ahead." She had nothing more to lose.
"Tilly told you your father was dead. The man who was his partner wanted to find you. Was this why you took a false name?"
"Frisco--one of his men, he wanted me. He's dead too. But Deed--Lily said he would sell his own mother--he took on Pa's house. I was afraid--"
"Perhaps you were wise. A woman who does nothing to protect herself is a fool. Who is the child's father?"
The change of subject was so sudden Callie had said, "He's dead," before she could think.
"You are certain of this"
"Pa gave me his things. His purse." The pain she'd hidden in a secret place in her heard burst free and sliced through her as it had for months, until her child's needs had taken precedence.
"His purse? Were you sure it was his? Was his name inside?"
Callie wanted to argue that those had been more than one question. "Yes. He was blind in one eye. Inside the purse was an eyepatch. Leather, just like the one he always wore. It was his."
"Ahh. So." Mrs. Dewitt's eyes closed but her lips moved, as if she was speaking to herself.
"What will you do now? Celeste says she does not want to be whore any longer. She will pay off the girls, sell this house."
Callie had already known, for Celeste had made no secret of the fact she'd had enough of what she called the sporting life. "She will let us stay in the Mothers' House until it sells. I'll find work somewhere. A hotel, or a boarding house. I'm a good cook."
"And your child? Will you be able to care for her?" Mrs. Dewitt's eyes smiled along with her mouth. "Such a pretty girl. Her name, Guinevere. It has a meaning?"
"She was a queen, in a story. A story about--"
"About bold men who fought for justice and honor, who sought glory and adventure. And about a wise magician. His name was..."
"Merlin." Callie couldn't have held the name back to save her life. "His name was Merlin."
Small hands reached to clasp hers. "You loved him." It was not a question. There was certainty in the Chinese woman's tone.
"Oh, yes, more than life. I'll never stop loving him."
"You are a very lucky woman. I will cast your horoscope. When were you born?"
Startled at the change of subject, Callie blurted, "Christmas Day, 1857."
"Ah, so. Thank you. I will speak with you again. I must go to Tilly now."
* * * *
Tilly died that night, peacefully, surrounded by people who loved her. Soomey, Celeste and Callie washed her wasted body and dressed her in a scarlet silk negligee.
"She loved red. First time I ever saw her, she was wearing a dress red as fire, with yards of black lace trim." Celeste made a small sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. "What a woman."
"Her piano was the first I ever saw. It frightened me. I thought it had teeth and would eat me." Soomey straightened the crocheted bedspread. "I loved her."
"I did too," Callie said, unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I lost my ma a long time ago, but I can't remember it hurting like this does. She was the kindest person I ever knew."
"Enough. We must go to bed. Tomorrow there will be business to take care of and guests to welcome. Come." Soomey shooed them out of the room and pulled the door shut.
Celeste called everyone together after breakfast. "We're closed," she told them. "Permanently. That's what Tilly wanted. Those of you who live here or in the Mother's House can stay as long you need to, or until the properties sell. But as of today, we're officially out of business. Jim, Rufus, will you stay on until everyone's gone?"
Both guards agreed, and followed the women out of the parlor. Callie started to go too, but Celeste gestured her to stay.
"The funeral will probably be tomorrow. Can you put together a feed for a couple of hundred by then? A big spread like we usually set out on Saturday nights?"
"I think so. I'll need to hire--"
"We'll all work. You tell us what you need. I haven't forgotten how to peel a potato."
The funeral was private, but the wake afterwards was not. Callie had thought Celeste mad when she said they'd probably have two hundred guests, but she prepared food enough anyway. I can always send what isn't used to the Poor House, as long as I don't tell them where it came from.
They ran out of food in two hours. Men, most of them well-dressed and prosperous-looking, came for a few minutes or an hour, from two o'clock until nearly six. A few were accompanied by women, and some of the women greeted Celeste and the other girls like old friends.
Callie, as usual, stayed hidden in the kitchen, but she peeked through the small window into the dining room frequently.
As long as she was busy, she didn't have time to think about the future. Late that night, though, when the girls had finished drying the last dish and were headed for bed, she sat at the table and buried her face in her hands. When she had come here, she could have given good references. Now there would be none, and she'd be lucky to find work in a saloon. Who else would hire someone who'd cooked in a whorehouse?
"Callie? Why are you sitting here alone?" Mrs. Dewitt slipped into a chair across the table. "You are tired. Go to bed. Tomorrow we will make plans."
"I'm fine. Really. You don't need to worry about me."
"I do not worry. Boss will take care of you. Of all the people who were important to Tilly. Come. I will walk across to the Mother's House with you."
The next morning Mrs. Dewitt summoned her to Tilly's office. Callie wondered if she was to be sent away, despite Mrs. Dewitt's promise.
"Do you have anything to prove you were married to Guinevere's father?"
She half-rose from her seat, wanting to scream at Mr. Dewitt for insinuating her child was a bastard.
"Sit." Mrs. Dewitt's voice was sharp. "We do not doubt your word, but some things must be proven. Do you have proof?"
All the starch went out of her. "No." She closed her eyes, remembering fire, the scrape when her wedding ring was torn from her finger, the terrible sense of loss when she opened a stained purse. "No, I have nothing."
"Where were you married? When?" Mr. Dewitt's voice was gentle.
"Cheyenne. The nineteenth of January, 1876."
Did Mrs. Dewitt really say, very quietly, "I told you so"?
"And your husband's name? You said Merlin, but what was his last name?"
Callie tightened her lips. When she had spoken his name the other night, she had felt as if she was letting him go. Once more and he'd be gone, forever.
"Callie, we can send someone to Cheyenne to get proof of your marriage, but it will save a lot of time and trouble if we have a name to start with."
His face blurred as tears welled. "Merlin Lachlan. His name was Merlin Silas Lachlan."
Mr. Dewitt came from behind the desk and knelt in front of her. He took her hands in both of his. "Callie, Merlin is alive. I spoke with him just over a week ago. I'm the Silas he was named for."
"No! Don't lie to me. He's dead."
"He came close to it. If he hadn't been found when he was, he wouldn't have survived. But he is alive."
Hope flickered, deep down inside of her. But so did anger. "He didn't come looking for me. He didn't care enough to find me."
"There was a woman's body in the ashes of the cabin where you lived. Your wedding ring was on her finger. He believed you were dead."
"Tell her everything, Boss."
He turned to look at his wife. Callie would have sworn he was silently pleading with her.
"Tell her. She must know all."
His hands tightened until she cried out. "Callie, Merlin doesn't remember you. He can't remember anything that happened that winter. He knows he was married, because he was told so by people who knew you both in Cheyenne. But he has no memory of you at all."
"But he knew me before. He took me to Virginia City. I was twelve--almost twelve."
"He's never mentioned it."
Callie remembered when her mother had died. She'd felt alone, abandoned. But her father was in Virginia City, or had been several months before. So she wasn't entirely alone. Even though she'd come to hate him, he was her father. Merlin had been hers, but he'd been taken from her. And then she'd found Tilly. Now all she had was Gwennie, who needed her to be strong.
She stood, pulling her hands free from Mr. Dewitt's clasp. "Thank you for telling me. I don't think it makes any difference, since he doesn't remember me. But I do thank you for letting me know."
"Sit down and stop being a fool."
Startled, she sat. Mrs. Dewitt shouldered her husband aside. "Your daughter is Merlin's too. She has a family who will love her--who will love you too. You will come with us to Boise so you can take your proper place as Merlin's wife. So he can be a father to his child."
"He won't want me. Not if he doesn't remember me."
"That is for you and Merlin to decide. But you will not deprive him of his child. Tell her so, Boss."
Mr. Dewitt gave her a curious half smile. "Soomey's right, I'm afraid. The Lachlans will want you to come to them. What'll happen next will be up to you and Merlin, but I'll bet he'll want you to stay close. He's always liked children."
Callie resisted, but eventually they wore her down. At last she said, "All right. Send someone for the proof I am Merlin's wife. When you have it, I'll go to Boise with you. But I won't promise to stay there. We're strangers. Besides, he never loved me."
* * * *
Boise
Early July 1884
IMPERATIVE YOU MEET WESTBOUND TRAIN NAMPA SATURDAY STOP BRING WHOLE FAMILY STOP IMPORTANT GUESTS ARRIVING STOP DEWITT
Merlin read the telegram a second time. Why the dickens had Silas sent it to him instead of to his father? "Can you stop by my folks' place on your way back? I'll give you a note to deliver." He stepped inside and quickly scribbled a message. He handed over the twisted note and a dime. "Thanks for bringing it out."
"Welcome." The boy kicked his mule and was off in a cloud of dust.
Idly Merlin wondered which of the Sylvester kids he was. There were so many he couldn't keep track. Still chewing over who Silas might be bringing, he went back to his office. The bids for reroofing the livery stable were all too high, in his opinion. He picked up his pencil and started marking the items he believed were overpriced.
It was getting so he spent more time managing his various properties than working the ranch, not that there was much to do this time of year, beyond feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, and milking the cow. The cattle were up in their summer pasture, his few goats took care of themselves, and he'd sold his stallion and three mares to Micah, who was a much better horse breeder than he'd ever be. Time to hire me a full time man, he decided. Maybe a couple.
His house on the hillside would be finished before winter, and this one would be better off lived in than empty.
He knew he should go looking for a likely woman to court. The new house needed children. He needed children. But whenever he thought of having some of his own, they looked at him from leaf green eyes.
Damn Silas for making me think about it. I was going along just fine until then. Sometimes weeks would go by when he wasn't reminded of the missing part of his life. "Calista." That was her name, the woman he'd wed, but hadn't been given a chance to bury. Her burned body had been interred long before he'd learned he was a widower. Why can't I feel anything? It's like something in me died with her.
He walked to the window that looked out toward the river. One of the pair of nesting eagles was circling above the cottonwoods, dark against the sky. Faintly he heard its keen, just before it stooped and dropped out of sight. He waited. After a while it rose, climbing swiftly, and he could see something dangling from its claws.
Suppertime.
Even the eagle had children.
I'm thirty-one. If I wait much longer, I won't live to see mine grow up.
Maybe his sister knew some likely women. He wouldn't mind keeping company with an educated woman, one who didn't care he was mostly self-schooled. Surely there were some single lady teachers in the schools.
Somehow the notion of courting a woman, no matter how lovely, how young, how educated, felt more like duty than desire.