“I’m heading for the livery stable right now.” He tipped his hat and drove down Main Street. It was going to take bribery and fast talking to see Angel tonight. He left the two draft horses and wagon with McPherson and went down into the center of town to rent himself a room at the hotel across from the Palace. For the first time in his life, Michael wanted to get rip-roaring drunk. He went for a long walk instead. He needed time to get his emotions under control and think through what he was going to say to her.
He returned at dusk, no easier in his mind. A crowd was gathered outside the Gold Nugget Saloon listening to the new preacher shouting about these being the end times of Revelation. Michael stood on the outer edge of the crowd, listening. He glanced up once at Angel’s window. Someone moved back into the shadows.
He ought to go over now and make his arrangements with the Duchess. His heart raced, and he broke out in a sweat just thinking about it. He would wait a little longer.
Someone touched his back, and he turned to see an older woman looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. Her hair was dark and curly, and she wore a low-cut, garish green dress.
“I’m Lucky,” she said. “Angel’s friend.” She was drunk and slurring her words. “Saw you from across the street.” She nodded toward the Palace. “You are the one, ain’t you? The one who kept askin’ Angel to go ‘way with him?”
Anger shot through him like a range fire. “What else did she tell you?”
“Don’t get mad, mister. Just go an’ ask her again.”
“Did she tell you to come down here?” Was she up there laughing at him behind the curtain?
“No.” She shook her head sharply. “Angel, she never asks for nothing.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes, and she wiped her nose on her shawl. “She don’t even know I’m talking t’ you.”
“Well, thanks, Lucky, but the last time I saw her, she couldn’t wait until I walked out her door, and it was real clear she hoped I’d never come back.”
Lucky looked up at him. “Get her out of there, Mister. Even if you don’t care anymore, even if Angel don’t. Just get her out of there.”
Suddenly alarmed, Michael caught her arm as she turned away. “What’s the matter with her, Lucky? What are you trying to tell me?”
Lucky wiped her nose again. “I can’t talk anymore. I gotta get back before Duchess misses me.” She crossed the street, but instead of going in the front, she sneaked around the back.
Michael looked up at Angel’s window. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He strode across the street and went in through the swinging doors. Except for a couple of men playing cards and drinking, the place was almost deserted. The bodyguard wasn’t at the foot of the stairs to stop him from going up. The hall was dark and quiet. Too quiet. A man came out of Angel’s room, and the Duchess was with him. She saw Michael first.
“What are you doing up here? No one’s allowed upstairs until they’ve dealt with me!”
“I want to see Angel.”
“She’s not working today.”
He looked at the black bag in the man’s hand. “What’s the matter with her?”
“Nothing,” the Duchess answered sharply. “Angel’s just taking a few days off to rest. Now get out of here.” She tried to block his way, but Michael set her aside and went into the room.
The Duchess grabbed at his arm. “Stay away from her! Doc, stop him!”
The doctor fixed her with a cold glare. “No, ma’am. I won’t.”
Michael reached the bed and saw her. “Oh, sweet Lord…”
“It was Magowan,” Doc said quietly from behind Michael.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Duchess said, drawing back in fear from the look on Michael’s face. “It wasn’t!”
“She’s right,” Doc said. “If Duchess hadn’t come in when she did, he probably would have killed her.”
“Now will you get out of here and leave her alone?” Duchess said.
“I’ll leave, all right,” Michael answered. “And I’m taking her with me.”
Angel roused to someone’s touch. The Duchess was ranting again. Angel wanted the darkness. She didn’t want to feel anything, ever again, but someone was there, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. “I’m going to take you home with me,” the gentle voice said.
“You want to take her home, fine. I’ll gift wrap her,” the Duchess said. “But you’re going to pay first.”
“Woman, have you no decency?” Another man’s voice. “The girl will be lucky to live—”
“Oh, she’ll live. And don’t look down your nose at me! I know Angel. She’ll live. And he can’t have her for nothing. I can tell you something else. She brought this on herself. The little witch knew exactly what she was doing. She pushed Bret over the edge. She’s been nothing but trouble since the day I picked her up out of the mud in San Francisco.”
“You can have your gold,” came the voice that had pulled her from the darkness. But now it was hard. Angry. Had she done something wrong again? “But get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”
The door slammed. Pain exploded in Angel’s head, and she groaned. She could hear two men talking. One of them spoke to her. “I want to marry you before we leave together.”
Marry her? She gave a whimpering laugh.
Someone took her hand. She thought it was Lucky at first, but Lucky’s hand was soft and small. This one was large and hard, the skin rough with calluses. “Just say yes.”
She would agree to wed Satan himself if it would get her out of the Palace. “Why not?” she managed.
She drifted on a sea of pain and quiet voices. The room was full of them. Lucky was there, and Doc, and the other man whose voice was so familiar, but she still couldn’t place it. She felt someone slip a ring on her finger. Her head was raised gently, and she was given something bitter to drink.
Lucky took her hand. “They’re rigging his wagon so he can take you home with him. You’ll sleep all the way with the laudanum you drank. You won’t feel nothing.” She felt Lucky touch her hair. “You’re a regular married lady now, Angel. He had a wedding ring on a chain around his neck. He said it belonged to his mother. His mother, Angel. He put his mother’s wedding ring on your finger. Can you hear me, honey?”
Angel wanted to ask who she had married, but what did it matter? The pain gradually receded. She was so tired. Maybe she would die after all. It would all be over then.
She heard the clink of a bottle against a glass. Lucky was drinking again. Angel could hear her crying. She squeezed Lucky’s hand weakly. Lucky squeezed back and sobbed softly. “Angel.” She stroked her hair. “What’d you say to make Bret do this to you? Did you want him to kill you? Is life really that bad?” She kept stroking her hair. “Hang on, Angel. Don’t give up.”
Angel sank back into comfortable darkness while Lucky rambled. “I’m going to miss you, Angel. When you’re living out there in your cabin with the climbing roses all around, think about me once in a while, will you? Remember your old friend, Lucky.”
I am dying of thirst
by the side of the fountain.
CHARLES D’ORLÉANS
Angel awakened slowly to the wonderful aroma of good cooking. She tried to sit up, then gasped in pain. “Easy,” a man’s voice said, and a strong arm slid beneath her shoulders, raising her gently. She felt something put behind her to support her back and head. “The dizziness will pass.”
Her eyes were swollen almost shut, and she could barely make out a man dressed in high boots, dungarees, and a red shirt. He was bending over the fire and stirring in a big iron pot.
Morning light was streaming through a window in front of her. The light hurt her eyes. She was in a cabin not much bigger than her room at the Palace. The floor was wood plank; the fireplace, multicolored stone. Besides the bed, she could make out the fuzzy shapes of a table, four laden shelves, a willow chair, a chest of drawers, and a big black trunk with blankets stacked on top of it.
The man came back and
sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you feel up to eating something, Mara?”
Mara.
She froze. Snatches of things came back.… Magowan’s beating, voices all around her, someone asking her—
Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt her fingers—there was a ring on one. The throbbing in her head worsened. She swore softly. Of all the men in the world, it had to be him.
“It’s venison stew. You must be hungry.”
She opened her mouth to tell him where to put it when pain shot along her jaw and silenced her. Hosea got up and went back to the fire. When he came to sit down again, he had a bowl and spoon. She saw he meant to feed her. She said something low and foul and tried to turn her head away, but even that simple movement proved too much.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said dryly. Pressing her lips together, she refused to eat. Her traitorous stomach growled. “Feed the wolf in your belly, Mara. Then you can try fighting the one you think is at your door.”
She gave in. She was starving. The gruel of meat and vegetables he spooned into her mouth was better than anything Henri had ever made. The throbbing in her head lessened. Her jaw ached horribly; her arm was in some kind of sling.
“Your shoulder was dislocated,” Michael said. “You’ve got four broken ribs, a cracked collarbone, and a concussion. Doc didn’t know if you had any internal injuries.”
Perspiration was dripping down the sides of her face from the painful effort of sitting up. She spoke slowly and stiffly. “So you got me after all. Lucky you. Is this home?”
“Yes.”
“How did I get here?”
“In my wagon. Joseph helped me rig up a hammock so I could move you out of the Palace.”
She looked down at the simple gold band on her finger. She clenched her hand. “How far am I from Pair-a-Dice?”
“A lifetime.”
“In miles.”
“Thirty. We’re northwest of New Helvetia.” He offered her the spoon again. “Try to eat some more. You need to put on some weight.”
“Not enough meat on my bones to please you?”
Michael made no response.
Angel couldn’t tell whether her sarcasm had gotten to him or not. It occurred to her belatedly that she might anger him and this wasn’t the best time to do so. She swallowed more soup and tried not to show her fear. He went back to the cooking pot and filled the bowl again. He sat at a small table and ate by himself.
“How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Three days.”
“Three days?”
“You’ve been delirious most of it. Your fever broke yesterday afternoon. Can you remember anything?”
“No.” She didn’t try. “I suppose I have you to thank for saving my life,” she said bitterly. He went on eating in silence. “So what’s it going to be, mister?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing for a while.”
“Just talk. Right?”
He looked at her then, and she felt uneasy at his calm. When he stood up and came toward her, her heart pounded hard and fast. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mara,” he said gently. “I love you.”
It wasn’t the first time a man had said he loved her. “I’m flattered,” she said dryly. When he didn’t say anything more, she clenched the blanket in her fist. “By the way. My name isn’t Mara. It’s Angel. You ought to get the name right if you’re going to put the ring on my finger.”
“You said I could call you anything I wanted.”
Men had called her by other names than Angel. Some nice. Some not so nice. But she didn’t want this man calling her anything but Angel. That’s who he had married. Angel. And Angel was all he was going to get.
“The name Mara comes from the Bible,” he said. “It’s in the Book of Ruth.”
“And being a Bible-reading man, you figure Angel is too good a name for me.”
“Good’s got nothing to do with it. Angel isn’t your real name.”
“Angel is who I am.”
His face hardened. “Angel was a prostitute in Pair-a-Dice, and she doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Nothing’s any different now from what it’s always been, whatever you choose to call me.”
Michael sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s a whole lot different,” he said. “You’re my wife now.”
She was shaking with weakness, but she fought back. “Do you really think that makes a difference? How? You paid for me, just like you always did.”
“Paying the Duchess seemed the quickest way to get rid of her. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Her head throbbed.
“You’d better lie down again.”
She didn’t have the strength to protest when he put his arm around her and removed the support from her back. She felt his hand, rough with calluses and warm against her bare skin as he eased her back. “Don’t push it,” he said and pulled the blanket up again.
She tried to get a good look at his face and couldn’t. “I hope you don’t mind waiting. I’m not up to showing any gratitude right now.”
She heard the smile in his response. “I’m a patient man.”
His fingertips ran lightly across her damp forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you sit up so long. You’re not up to more than a few minutes at a time.” She wanted to argue but knew it was useless. He was bound to know she was in great pain. “What hurts most?”
“Nothing I want you touching.” She closed her eyes, wishing she could die so the pain would end. When he touched her temples, she drew in her breath.
“Relax.” His caress was neither exploring nor intimate, and she eased. “By the way,” he said, “my name is Michael. Michael Hosea. In case you didn’t remember.”
“I didn’t,” she lied.
“Michael. Not too hard to remember.”
“If you want to.”
He laughed softly. She knew she had gotten to him that last night at the brothel. Why had he taken her away from Pair-a-Dice with him? When he had walked out the door, she never expected to see him again. So why had he come back? What use was she to him like this?
“You’re tensing up again. Relax the muscles in your forehead,” he said. “Come on, Mara. Think about that if you have to think about anything.”
“Why did you come back?”
“God sent me.”
He was crazy. That was it. He was just plain crazy.
“Try to stop thinking so much. There’s a mocking bird outside the window. Listen to it.”
His hands were so gentle. She did what he told her, and the pain lessened. He talked to her softly, and she grew sleepy. She had heard all kinds of men’s voices before, but none like his. Deep, calm, soothing.
She was so tired, she wanted to die and sleep forever. She could barely keep her eyes open. “You and God better not expect much,” she mumbled.
“I want everything.”
“Your litany.” He could hope all he wanted, and he could ask, too. But all he was going to get was what was left. Nothing. Nothing at all.
A mocker seeks wisdom
and never finds it.
PROVERBS 14 : 6
Angel didn’t care one way or the other whether she ever got up again. A still darkness lay heavily on her. She had seen a way to end her miserable life and had reached for it in a moment of desperation—and she’d failed again. Rather than find the peace she craved, she found pain. Rather than be free, she was in bondage to another man.
Why couldn’t she do anything right? Why did all her plans go awry?
Hosea was the one man she had wanted most to avoid, and now he owned her. She had no strength to fight him. Worse, she had to rely on him for food, water, shelter—everything. Her utter dependency on him chafed bitterly. She was raw with it. And she hated him even more because of it.
Had Hosea been an ordinary man, she would have known how to fight him, but he wasn’t.
Nothing she said bothered him. He was a mountain of granite. She could not wound him. His quiet determination unnerved her. There was a look about him now that she couldn’t describe. He once said he had learned a lot about her during her fever, but he didn’t say what. She worried about what “everything” he wanted. Whenever she was awake, he was there. She just wanted him to leave her alone.
Angel felt a trap closing in on her. She wasn’t in a fancy brownstone this time. She wasn’t in a rotting tent made out of a ship’s sail, or a two-story brothel, but it was a trap nonetheless, and this lunatic held the key.
What did he want from her? And why did she sense he was more dangerous than all the other men she had ever known?
After a week, Michael left her in the cabin by herself for a few hours at a time while he went out to work. She didn’t know what he did, and she didn’t ask. She didn’t care. She was relieved he wasn’t hovering over her, wiping her brow or spooning soup into her mouth. She wanted to be by herself. She wanted to think, and she couldn’t do it with him hanging around.
The aloneness she had craved turned to loneliness, and think was all she did. It rained, and she listened to the pounding on the roof… and with the pounding came visions of the shack on the docks, and Mama and Rab. Thinking of Rab led to Duke, and Duke led to all the rest, and she thought she would go mad. Maybe she would start talking to God, too, like this crazy man who had put his mother’s wedding ring on her finger.
Why had he done it? Why had he married her?
Then, there he would be in the doorway, big, strong, quiet, and looking at her with that way of his. She wanted to ignore him, but he filled the cabin with his presence. Even when he just sat silent before the fire reading the same old worn book, he took over the whole place. He was taking her over with it. Even when she shut her eyes, she saw him there. He was sitting in a chair before the fire, right inside her head.
She didn’t understand him any more now than she had at the brothel, but he had changed somehow. He was different. For one thing, he didn’t talk a lot. In fact, he talked very little. He would smile at her and ask how she was feeling or if she needed anything and then go about his own business, whatever his business was. Day after day she watched him put his hat on and knew he was going to leave her alone again.