After Eden Page 9

  Chapter Five

  Andrea shook her sister. “Wake up, Tía. We’re here.”

  Moaning softly, Tía pushed her hand away. Andrea shook Tía harder. They were so different. Tía was half-dead now, but she would be up at the crack of dawn. Andrea hated mornings. It was torture for her to get out of bed, but she could stay up all night and would, except for the threat of missing her schoolteaching.

  “Wake up, Tía. We’re here. We’re in Tombstone.”

  “Oh!” Opening her eyes, Tía struggled awake.

  The heavily sprung coach had stopped swaying, and the other passengers had already departed.

  “End of line, ma’am,” the driver said, leaning in the door.

  “But…what time is it?” Tía mumbled.

  “Eleven o’clock, ma’am.”

  “Why isn’t everyone in bed?”

  The driver laughed. “Tombstone don’t sleep, ma’am. They’s a day crew and a night crew working the mines, and the smelters are a goin’ all the time—night and day, day and night. That’s the sound you hear: the stamp mills. Got to where I don’t think I could sleep, that wasn’t going on.” He waved his arms around to encompass the town. “This here’s a boom town, ma’am, right and proper,” he ended proudly.

  Lights shone in every shop and store. As if it were broad daylight instead of almost midnight, people filled the stores and strolled along the sidewalks. A dozen saloons and bawdy houses added to the racket. Music and laughter in the foreground, the sounds of the stamp mills in the background, Tombstone pulsed with activity.

  Andrea took Tía’s hand and tugged. Reluctantly Tía stood and staggered down from the coach. Men had stopped to watch them, but no one came forward. Andrea searched the faces for one man who might be there to meet them. Seeing no one, she turned to the driver.

  “Sir, can you recommend a good hotel?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. The Occidental has good clean rooms, locks on the doors, and hear tell it be decorated just like the Astor in New York City—hear tell, anyways.”

  “Thank you.” The thought that one of these raw wooden structures could compare with the grandeur of a real hotel caused Andrea to raise an eyebrow.

  “I’ll take your bags, ma’am.”

  “Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you,” Andrea said, smiling with gratitude. Tía slumped as if about to fall back asleep.

  Shouldering aside raucous men who had fallen silent to stare at the women, the driver lead the way. A carnival sense of abandon filled the air, fueled by a frenzy of gambling—faro, chuck-a-luck, roulette, and poker—which no doubt went on all night to relieve the lucky prospectors of their sudden wealth and the miners of their hard-earned pay. As Andrea walked past, half-drunk men on the wooden sidewalks drawled merry, semi-lewd remarks. The driver yelled them down, shouting that these were “nice women.”

  The Occidental was only three buildings away. On closer inspection it did appear sturdy and reassuring. New wood on the outside, the interior of the hotel lobby was surprisingly well appointed with plush carpets, marble counters, gold-framed mirrors, a fan palm in a wooden tub, and crystal chandeliers.

  “On your feet, boy!” the driver barked good-naturedly at the man sitting behind the marble counter. Smiling from ear to ear, the man rose to his feet. Andrea deposited her still groggy sister on one of the gold velvet love seats and approached the desk clerk.

  “Got some real special guests for you, Luke,” the driver said protectively. “Treat ’em like you’re s’pose to, ya hear?”

  Turning the register with a flourish, Luke held out an ink quill with a white ostrich plume. A smile warmed his long face.

  “Don’t need Fargo trail trash telling me how to treat beautiful young ladies,” he said, and winked at Andrea.

  Hesitating, barely hearing the cheerful exchange that followed, Andrea took the pen and wrote “Teresa Garcia-Lorca,” just in case Steven Burkhart came looking for them. She scanned the names above the one she had written, searching for his. No luck.

  Watching her, the men fell silent.

  “Has anyone been asking for Teresa Garcia-Lorca?”

  Luke turned the register, looked at the elegantly feminine script and then at Andrea’s lovely face. It pained him not to be able to help her. “No, ma’am,” he said with real regret.

  Andrea shrugged. She had not expected to be met; she had only hoped. For Tía’s sake, mostly. It would have been nice to dispel the fears Uncle Tyler had raised.

  Apparently enthralled, the men watched her as if starved for the sight of womanflesh. She stopped and lifted a brow to remind them they were staring. “Our bags…”

  “Oh! Sorry, ma’am. I’ll get them bags.” Rushing around the counter, the one called Luke picked up the brand-new bags, their going-away gift from Uncle Tyler, and rushed up the stairs. Andrea roused Tía.

  The room looked clean. Luke assured Andrea that the lock on the door worked. The decor was overdone in the extravagant grandeur that was so popular back east. Andrea found a nickel in her reticule and held it out to Luke.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I couldn’t take yore money. A smile from you is all the thanks I need.”

  Andrea led Tía to the bed and let her collapse across it. “Hey! Sleepyhead, take your clothes off first. You’ll sleep better.”

  Groaning pitifully, groggily, Tía obeyed. Andrea turned the covers back and searched Tía’s satchel for a nightgown. Dressed at last in a cotton shift, Tía collapsed into the wide bed. Andrea quickly followed her.

  “We made it, little sister,” Andrea whispered when they were settled into the big bed, its plump feather mattress closing around them.

  Tía smiled sleepily and nuzzled closer to Andrea. “The worst is over,” Tía murmured. “Nothing could be as bad as that dreadful trip. Except maybe Albany…I’ll never go back…”

  As soon as she closed her eyes, Tía slept. Neither the throb of the stamp mills nor the raucous sounds of the midnight marauders of Tombstone could penetrate the heavy mantle of sleep that enfolded her.

  Kissing Tía’s soft cheek, Andrea sighed. I hope you’re right, little one.

  Allen Street sported more saloons than the surrounding hills harbored silver mines. From their upstairs window it was apparent the town had sprung up almost overnight, like a sea of pale white mushrooms. A thousand tents lined the streets and spread out like the fingers of a giant hand, filling the flats between the hills that surrounded the town proper. Pale canvas fluttered in the morning breeze. Like milk flowing out and away from the main street of town, climbing partway up the sides of the ugly hills, tents wedged into the draws and gulches.

  Tía hung halfway out the window, thrilled by everything she saw. “Andrea, look! Hurry!”

  Groaning, covering herself with a towel, Andrea staggered to the window, not the least enchanted with the thought of seeing another ore wagon. Tía had awakened her three times before nine o’clock; now she pointed at a heavy ore wagon pulled by sixteen mules, two abreast along a trace chain half a block long. It was the tenth one to go rumbling down Allen Street since Tía had awakened that morning.

  Yelling and cursing, the mule skinner cracked his whip.

  “Tía, we’ve seen a dozen of those,” Andrea protested. “If you show me one more…”

  “But look at the name on the side of the wagon!”

  Faded black letters proclaimed the ore wagon to be the property of the Lucky Cuss. They watched in silence until it had passed down the street.

  “Well, at least the mine exists. Even if no one came to meet you.” Andrea stumbled back to the dresser, where she washed herself in the big bowl. At least the water was not cold. Her skin was too sensitive and sleepy to deal with cold water.

  “Well, maybe Uncle Tyler told him the wrong day. Anyway, we can’t stay here. The money he gave us is almost gone.”

  Andrea could not think. Fortunately, Tía did not wait.

  “I guess we had better make our own arrangements,” Tía said.


  Andrea groaned. “You go. I’m going to lie down for a minute. I think I’m sick.”

  “If you would go to bed at a decent hour, you’d feel fine.” The look Andrea flashed Tía had an edge she could skin rabbits with. Tía laughed. “So go back to bed. I’m going out.”

  Tía could hardly wait to get outside, to become part of this craziness called Tombstone. She grabbed her reticule, took out her last dollar, and stuffed it in her pocket. “I’ll go downstairs and see how to get to the mine. Maybe Steven Burkhart will be there. If not, they’ll know how to get in touch with him. I’ll bet the mine is close by, probably a lot closer than the ranch. I’m sure that once he sees me, he’ll like me. He has to. How could he not like his own sister?”

  From the bed, Andrea groaned and turned over. “I don’t understand how you can be so practical about some things and so blind when it comes to knowing how families are.”

  “I know I’m right,” Tía continued. When Andrea’s eyes rolled back in answer, Tía smiled. At some point they would have to locate James Furnett as well. Better to let Andrea sleep. If Steven didn’t like her and tried to send her away…She stifled the thought. No sense looking for trouble. They’d had enough of that. Papa could be anywhere…

  She had wasted the better part of the morning trying to get Andrea up for breakfast. At the front desk Tía learned she would need a horse to get to the mine. Luke gave her directions to the livery stable.

  Tía walked into the dining room and found a table by the front window. The hostess took her order, and Tía sipped the strong, aromatic black coffee slowly.

  A pretty young girl in a white gown stopped in the doorway between the hotel lobby and the dining room. A woman seated behind Tía spoke to her companion. “That’s her. Can you imagine? She showed up at church with her brother just like nothing had happened. And her a bastard…”

  The man must have turned: his chair creaked. “I don’t reckon she had anything to do with her being a bastard. Right good-looking if you ask me.”

  The woman scoffed. “She may not have, but water seeks its own level. You mark my words.”

  The girl’s expression changed. As if she had heard, her lips tightened, and her chin raised slightly. Not looking at anyone, the young woman picked up the skirt of her gown with a dainty hand and walked gracefully away from the doorway. A few seconds later Tía saw her sweep past on the sidewalk. She did not look in either direction.

  A rush of sympathy flushed through Tía. She could be the one they slandered next week. She too was a bastard.

  The woman behind Tía put her utensil down with a clatter. “Well, I’m glad she didn’t come in. I hate it when they try to bluff their way into places with decent folks.”

  Tía turned in her chair abruptly. “’Pears to me you need to learn the difference between decent, self-righteous, and hypocritical. Decent folks don’t blab nonsense about a woman they don’t even know. Self-righteous hypocrites are prone to, though. Some of them—the worst sort, usually—even do it in public.”

  The woman sucked air in through her nose and pulled her chin in as if doing so would protect her from Tía.

  “Well, I never!” she said defensively.

  Tía glanced at the man with her. “Me neither. But I don’t believe in making fun of those that might have.” The indignant woman stormed out of the dining room. The man dug money out of his pocket, laid it on the table, and followed her.

  The waitress brought Tía’s breakfast—scrambled eggs and pan-fried potatoes and gravy. By the time Tía ate and paid for her breakfast, it was nine o’clock.

  Already a heavy, baking heat hung over the town. At street level the throb of the stamp mills felt like a giant bellows, vibrating the windows. The sky stretched from horizon to horizon—clear and blue—except for a patch directly over Tombstone that had turned pinkish with smoke from the stamp mills.

  Out on the street a feeling of vitality and jubilation prevailed. Tía absorbed it happily. After five days on trains and stagecoaches, walking felt exhilarating.

  From stereopticons to Paris fashions, shop windows displayed a vast assortment of goods. Tía was so engrossed in the bustle of activity—the rumble of carts and wagons, the laughing, shouting men she passed—that it took her twice as long as it should have to travel the three blocks to the corral.

  Fronting on Fremont Street, the L-shaped corral was deserted. A Mexican boy sat next to a small red burro in the shade of a building.

  “Buenos días,” Tía said, stopping next to the boy.

  “Buenos días, señorita,” he said politely.

  “Whom do I see about renting a horse?” she asked in English, testing the waters.

  “Señor Montgomery rents the horses…in the back of the store…see the muy importante gringa.” Dismissing Tía, he stood up and tugged on the burro’s lead chain. “Come, stubborn one.”

  A sign facing the road read “Papago Cash Store and O. K. Corral, Johnny Montgomery, Proprietor.” A tall, broad-shouldered man in dusty trousers and shirt, one gun on his right thigh, jammed his sand-colored hat down over his black hair with angry impatience and backed out of the store as if he were having the last word in an argument.

  “Excuse me,” Tía said quickly, stepping forward before he could brush past her and leave.

  “Yeah?” the man asked, his richly masculine voice impatient and strangely familiar.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Montgomery…” Tía stopped. Recognition flashed in the man’s dark eyes and in her at the same instant. An unexpected wave of joy caused her to flounder in silence.

  “You’re a month late and a little too far north,” Johnny drawled.

  Tía grinned. He hadn’t forgotten. “So are you.”

  A slow grin spread from his mouth to his eyes. He looked genuinely pleased to see her. “I waited a week for you to come back. I thought for sure I’d never see you again.”

  His black eyes accused her, and Tía flushed with pleasure. “I couldn’t.”

  “Finally figured that out. What happened?” With the complexion of a true blonde, Tía’s face was so transparent he had the feeling he could see beyond the pure, freckled skin and female prettiness directly into her heart. It pleased him that she appeared flustered.

  “I had to leave.”

  “Finally figured that out, too. Where’d you go?”

  “Back east.”

  Johnny frowned. That didn’t seem to answer his questions about Tía’s disappearance, but it appeared to be all she was willing to disclose. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman as closemouthed as he was. Forgetting how hot and tired he had been only a moment ago, Johnny leaned confidently against the wall next to the door as if he had all the time in the world—and meant to spend it looking at her.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stand up straight, all by yourself.”

  Slowly, deliberately, Johnny’s lips curled into a cocky, handsome grin, and Tía realized she was grinning, too. She’d never met a man before it felt so good to insult.

  Johnny felt better than he had in weeks. Previously covered by that damned bonnet that had almost blinded him, Tía’s hair uncovered surprised him. Its fine gold curls glinted in the sunlight. The urge to run his fingers through the fresh ringlets, to bury his nose there, overwhelmed him. The thought of actually smelling her skin roused the memory of its fragrance. Her freckled, baby-smooth face—a creamy shade of pink, except for her cheeks, which flushed almost scarlet—seemed to change color instantly. He could not believe he had actually kissed those alluring, bee-stung lips that trembled now like petals. That seemed years ago.

  “I’m looking for Johnny Montgomery,” Tía reminded him, still blushing.

  “You just get into town?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Not just, but almost.”

  Delighted, hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, he rubbed his shoulders against the wall. “Did you keep that bonnet?”

  “Bonnet?” Tía asked blankly.


  “The bonnet I bought for you.”

  Tía flushed with embarrassment. “I kept it, but I forgot to pay for it.”

  Johnny laughed. Suddenly he felt wonderful. Tía reminded him of a little golden kitten with big eyes and a face that was pure innocence, the kind that made a man want to take it home and heat milk for it. He grinned at the thought and was almost instantly sorry he had. His kitten had suddenly changed into a lioness.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

  “No, ma’am. I was just thinking how pretty you are.”

  “I happen to know exactly what I look like, thank you!” Tía snapped. “And I don’t need anyone teasing me about it, either.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t teasing. I like the way you look.”

  Johnny could not seem to stop grinning. Tía was accustomed to men teasing her, but she had no tolerance for it. Their teasing caused her cheeks to burn and reminded her how awkward she felt. “I guess I’ll have to find Mr. Montgomery by myself. The most useful thing you’ve ever done was to take a long squint at the sun and a quick squat in the shade,” she snapped.

  “Why you getting all mad at me? I ain’t seen you in a month.”

  “I’m not some little nester gal. I know when I’m being made light of.”

  Johnny’s black brows almost crowded his eyes shut. “You been this full of trust all your life?”

  “Not yet,” Tía replied, lifting her nose.

  “What the hell kind of answer is that?” he demanded.

  Tía sighed with as much condescension as she could muster. “I haven’t lived all my life yet.”

  Johnny laughed, and Tía pulled hard at the heavy door. Johnny put his shoulder against it and held it shut. He wasn’t going to let her disappear again. “What’d you need a horse for?”

  “None of your business,” she said.

  “You planning to run off again?”

  Tía shrugged. She was probably going to be run off. At any rate she was in no mood to deal with Johnny’s provocations until she found out where she stood with Steven Burkhart.